StarDestroyer.Net BBS

OK. Here's the main story thread. Post whatever you want- big grand overarching arcs, made-up news stories, one-off bits of lunacy, you get the idea. Just remember, this is for in-universe stuff: discussion goes in the discussion thread.

To illustrate the idea of lunacy, I'm bringing back something from SDNW4.

Previously, in the saga of the Elysians...

Ptilinopiclesius smiled. "Wisely spoken, young one. We will take this as a mission from the gods! Aye! A ten year mission! To seek out new life, and new barbarians! To go boldly, where no trireme has gone before!

Elysian Hero-Trireme Far-Go
Aimlessly Roaming the Void*
Round About the Middle of 4154 AUC**

*Sector ?-??
**GODDAMN UNREAL TIME

Truly did all among the mighty star-company of the great trireme Far-Go REGRET their impiety and the incurred wrath of the spacegod Neptridon. Aye, for a long year already had they wandered the cosmos, knowing not the way toward home.

They had encountered sorcerors and pirates, madmen and hypersanities, barbalien savages and gleaming citadel-worlds. They had fought, traded, and at all times preserved an upright state of readiness, as was fitting for hero-warriors of fair Elysium. But aye, were the heroes weary, longing for some safe haven in which to bring their journeys to a brief pause. They had once harbored hopes of striking through the lands of the glaring, three-eyed enigmas of the far northisouth, and thence to fabled Solaria, where it is said that invincible HERACULES once conquered that realm with one and a half hands tied behind his back. They had even contemplated traveling through the brightly-drawn stars driven by the ANIMUS of enigmatic oriental empires, where steel giants battle across the stars and oddly dressed schoolgirls display phenomenal thaumaturgic might, even knowing that their noble galley might somehow find itself TRANSFORMED into unrecognizable JUNK amid such strange artistry!

But it was not to be. The currents of space did blocked them at every turn, and not even with every man upon the oars could they find a way through. Truly, was the hand of NEPTRIDON raised against them. They cried out loudly at their fate, and made countless sacrifices of beasts that might please the god, but to no avail.

And so they turned to the only choice remaining them, to chart these strange and little-known sectors, far out on the rim of civilized and uncivilized space, in hopes of a way forth from their becalmitude. Days passed. Weeks passed. Many moons passed- and with great speed, as the hero-band did ROW away from them.

After an indefinite but dull-edged time, which did cut upon the nerves of the mighty astrogonauts like unto the very saw of Procrustules, Adonemo the fair-visaged spoke. "We could... stop and ask for directions?"

From across the deck, the indomitable overgeneral STRONGGO did bellow forth his iratitude. "WHAT IS THIS FOLLY?"

At this did Adonemo flinch, as who would not? "...Sorry?"

And yea, then did Astrometrius the navigator, ink-bestained and scholarly-bebearded, chuckle. "Nay, young Adonemo, for we know exactly where we are. We just know not where we need to be. Give it time, and fear not."

Some days passed. Twice did the hero-astrogonauts stop at minor planetoids to refill their water-casks, remembering well their misadventures amid the barren stars of Chiron, and in the desert constellations of Klavostarabia, where the starcamel caravans roam the nine vectors, guarded and warded by the innumerable silver-chased warvessels of that oriental race. Once did they stop to hunt among the beasts of a jungle world, doing battle with ferocious jeopards and moostrosities for the most excellent of steaks.

It was... not so bad.

Still more moons passed. Some twelve hours later, behold wise Astrometrius, peering into the dark nebulae and shading his eyes from the baleful glare of a passing red giant. Then did he shout in joy, tossing his caliproids up and catching it on its downward fall!

"Two points right, half a point upward and into the nebula. The cosmic winds are favorable!"

Then did STRONGGO, dauntless conqueror of worlds, laugh mightily. "AT LAST! SOON YOU MAY CEASE YOUR ROWING, MEN! ONWARD! RIG THE SAIL!"

Swiftly did the hero-sailors of the cosmos traverse the megaleagues! Eagerly did they rig the trireme's mighty sail! And soon, soon could the mighty but weary men of the great company rest their strainéd shoulders, locking their oars in a stowed manner and permitting the cosmic winds to propel them toward their unknown destination. Onward, into the wild black yonder! Onward, past the rubeous midget-suns and frozen cometoids! Onward, to GLORY!

But then were all their plans set to naught by the malice and wrathful nature of NEPTRIDON, lord of the interstellar seas and the beasts of the deepspaces. And then did Stentor, loudest of the Elysians, bellow from the crow's nest:

"SPACEQUAAAKE!"

---

Elysian Hero-Trireme Far-Go
Shaken About the Cosmic All*
Lost in Time**

*Sector OMG-WTF-BBQ
**GODDAMN SURREAL TIME

The titanomachian-throated herald leapt the many fathoms from his perch atop the mast, plummeting towards the deck below, slowed only by his grip on the great cables holding the hypersail in place. All among the Elysians did then make to brace themselves against the inharmonious cacophony of the spheres, clinging to stanchions, staunchions, tompions, and truncheons, to lines, curves, planes, and vertices, and even forming human chains.

The spacequake struck. But it did not smite the hero-astrogonauts of Elysium alone. Nay! The terrible disaster did land with terrible, galaxy-rending force upon all the known and unknown worlds! The entirety of the metacosmic all did BLUR under the dreadful blow. Whole barbalien quasi-civilizations perished in that instant, and were forgotten, while others were called into being through forces and from octants unknown and unfathomable. Great empires shifted their lands between one eyeblink and the next. Vast constellations many scores of megamegaleagues across did EVAPORATE, vanishing into the all-devouring ether as though they had never existed.

Aye, and in the moment of greatest strangeness and unreality, when even the mighty-thewed champions of Elysian exploratorianism did tremble in fear, knowing not what forces had been unleashed upon reality itself, then came a terrible crack! For at that very moment was the great hero-trireme Far-Go DISMASTED! The blasts and buffets of the trans-solar wind reaved the great vessel's hypersail away, carrying with it the mighty mast from which it had flown, to vanish in quadrants unknown and unknowable!

But even the dreaded starquake, which makes at once every-thing and no-thing possible, must ultimately come to an end. And so it was that the Elysians heaved themselves erect from where they had been flung across the decks. Great was their dismay, for no few of their comrades had been swept overboard, never to be seen again!

Aye, then did they lose Pyrophilus the Disturbing, master of all things inflammable, he who had fought so bravely and toastily in the deepest darkness of the dread star-kraken. In those deeps lay the unmarkable grave of Beroculonites, retainer and shield-bearer to Ajaxalon the Greater, prince of Cosanostria. There did the terrible all-shattering bring an end to that red-bladed and red-eyed warrior, the only other living man that the mighty prince did trust to carry his wall-like bullshield when battle drew near.

All looked about. All counted their own limbs, to be assured that they were all attached and that the terrible metavortices had not turned them inside-out, or worse yet ROTATED them about some inconceivable axis, cursing them to never know their right hand from their left and to slow, agonizing starvation on even the heartiest of fare! All also counted their comrades, some removing sandals so as to count more accurately.

"WHERE IS CRISPUS? I DO NOT SEE HIM!" The hero-band looked around the battered deck. Had Crispus, the boring son of Petrus been slain as well? Truly would his loss be regretted by any company of warriors, for all honored his unmemorable yet worthy part in their adventures, clad in his brilliant crimson tunic.

"Alas, poor Crispus, we barely knew ye..."

"He helped me sharpen a ridiculous number of swords once..."

"When I was wounded, he bore me on his back from the innards of the baleful kraken, which we slew..."

But when all feared him lost, then did the boring son of Petrus utter the most mundane and mortal words.

"Uh, help?"

Aye, then did STRONGGO son of Ironbeef silence the crew's reverie. "HE IS ALIVE!" Witness the heroes making haste to the rail of the covered ship, there to HAUL their comrade back aboard, from the line to which he had clung so fiercely!

After all had gathered around, parties roamed the hold and vacuum-bilges, examining their ship for damages and struggling to repair them, a call came, from hard by the steering-oar.

"The stars! The stars are wrong!"

Astrometrius called from the prow, in the chart-house of the covered ship. "My sextant, it has been swept overboard!"

STRONGGO, indomitable and iron-headed overgeneral, silenced the ranks ere they could grow fearful. "SILENCE! ASTROMETRIUS, WHAT IS HAPPENING?"

"Something strange has happened to the constellations, and I have lost some of my instruments. We may have been swept still deeper into uncharted space by the starquake. It will be difficult, but with the aid of the cabin boys I may be able to deduce our location regardless."

"GOOD! OARSMEN, CARPENTRONICIANS, LET US BEGIN REPAIRS!"

All men busied themselves about their tasks. Some time passed.

Behold upon the bow of the covered ship, where the navigator did STRUGGLE to learn unto what continuum the mighty spacequake had flung them! Behold, for lo, Phylonctetes the turbo-archer, slayer of battletanks, robber of the rich and giver unto his vassals, did scan the heavens with his keen eyes as well, seeking that which Astrometrius beheld through his spyglass! He peered in the direction where the mighty constellation of the hunter ought to be. Had another wave of barbalien attack ships gone forth to horrible on-fire deaths, dueling the baleful GUARDIAN which lurks at the ankle of Orion and slays all who come near with death ray and plasma torpedo? Had the great stargiant BUGJUICE at last exploded?

Phylonctetes could not tell, for he saw no sign of that constellation. He peered at the scholarly-bearded one, the beloved of Mathenerva.

"What do you see, suspiciously clever one?"

Astrometrius scratched his beard. "I cannot find Orion's belt..."

"What holds up his trousers, then?"

"I know not.."

"Truly it is an ill moon. But I must know something."

"Aye?"

"The stars are most displaced. I do not think... I do not think it is simply that we have moved, Astrometrius. I think some of the stars we knew are... gone."

Astrometrius set down his spyglass, and shooed away the measuring and note-taking cabin-boys. Low-voiced did he reply. "It is possible. And yet other things may have taken their places. I see nebulae the like of which I have never yet seen, and the techno-oraculary detectulators record strange chants, the likes of which I have never yet heard."

"What... what if the constellations of fair Elysium have been erased from the Cosmos as well?"

Seeing the bowman's dismay, Astrometrius did CLAP him on the shoulder, drawn from his confuséd and contemplative reverie into the rightful province of ACTION! "The gods would not allow such a thing. There is no time to think about this! We must find a world and hew lumber, to repair our ship. Quickly, let us go to General Stronggo!"

---

Elysian Hero-Trireme Far-Go
Dismasted and Adrift*
Lost Beyond All Calendars**

*Sector U-21
**Early January, 3300 AD

"Splice those oars! We are short!"

"Go below! Check that the amphorae are unruptured!"

"Physician! Come here, this man was in the armory when the spears shook loose!"

Mightily did the Elysians labor, to preserve the lives of men and of vessel! Heroically did men dangle upon long lines in the void, examinizing the planks of the trireme's hull and the great cords that bound together its multiplex tensegrity! Lovingly was the ship's figurehead checked for damages! But after only a small fragment of time, their labors were INTERRUPTED by the arrival of foreigners, even as the ill-timed annoyingweed outbreak interrupts the ceremonial dances of the sponge-eating pygmies of Goxar II!

"A flame, yonder! From out of the very heart of the Way of Milk!"

"MAN THE ROCKETBALLISTAS! ASTROMETRIUS! PHYLONCTETES! TO ME!"

So did the mighty lieutenant-champions rush to their captain's side, to peer off into the void! Then did Astrometrius retrieve his cunningly worked instruments of brass and transparency, while the great general did SQUINT in a manly fashion.

"Hmm. I believe I know where this passing vessel lies. Mark you construction like unto a myriad of boxes of steel, all joined in uncompromising and brutalist ways?

"AYE!"

"And mark you that bluish glow about their engines? The obligatory racks of ammunition, in which these men carry their copious frakflak and hydrotomic cannon, even upon a vessel which is plainly meant for mercantile trade, the carriage of bolts of whatnotteries and amphorae of goods unknown?"

"AYE!"

Ajaxalon the Greater, passing by, grunted as was his way. "Perhaps they hail from... Ursa Major..."

"Nay, this vessel is too friendly unto nature-spirits to belong to the dread starbears. But not by much, so it must be-"

"THE SHEEP-SQUEEZERS!" And the hero-company was made GLAD at this revelation, for here was a familiar race, barbarians of a valiant and warlike breed known to civilization! Truly this must be a ship of those master geometers and nukophiles of the West, archnemeses of all sorcery and oracles, the smiters of craboids, of geese and of toasters, they who dwell in the fallen-out worlds beyond the technomages of Sumeria, locked with the weedy and bespectacled scholars of that realm in eternal staring match.

"FERRICLES, RIG THE ANTENNA! HAIL THE SHEEP-SQUEEZERS!"

Aye, then did master-craftsman Ferricles, uber-smith of Metallia and headbutter of minotaurian mutoids, begin to reassemble the great communicators of the hero-trireme, jury-rigging with balks of lumber to replace the precious MAST with which normal starfarers would bespeak each other across the vasty etheric depths!

Shepistani Merchant Vessel Frakoffavich
Sector U-21
January 3300

Ellicott, master of the Sheep-Squeezer vessel, did squint in commendable fashion and uncommendable paranoia at the ink-bestained arch-calculator, Astrometrius. "You some kind of Hellenes?"

"Who are these 'Hellenes' of which you speak?"

"Whatever. What do you want, anyway?"

The great astrogator frowned and stroked his beard. "Have you instruments of navigation? We are lost and without direction."

"...Wait, what? Don't you have SPS?"

"What is this of which you speak?"

"Spatial Positioning System." From elsewhere on the bridge of the foreign argosy could be heard the voice of an otherworldly woman, trapped in some strange spirit-box: "Steer left. Go straight. Steer left. Look for pulsar on the right," but Astrometrius regarded not its heathen and sirenious callings, instead answering the barbarian's query.

"Oh, aye, I have the same system as any other member of the Guild of Navigators. First, I identify bright stars, finding their spectra in consultation with the kerscratchéd glass and chartmapograph. Then, I measure angularity... or would, had I a sextant."

The foreigner muttered, no doubt fearing the influence of evil spirits: "Some kind of commienist bullshit... wait, what? Sextant? That's all you want?"

"You have one to spare?" At this the wise scholar-warrior, beloved of Mathenerva, found his hopes once more RISING.

"Yeah. Here!"
"That crap's been cluttering up my quarters ever since the academy. Never got around to selling it on Shepbay. What'll you give me for it?"

"Hmmms. Would barter be acceptable to you?"

"Depends. What you got?"

The navigator was somber at this, his eyes hooded in memory as he recalled the many things lashed in the trireme's holds. "Perhaps... I can speak for the shield of my distant kinsman, Cadmokos, who perished in the storm. It is of no small value, being forged on the world of Metallia of the purest kabongium."

"A... shield?"

"It is no ordinary shield. Like unto the one I bear upon my back." And at this did Astrometrius unfasten the clasps holding his own shield in place, for he was fighter as well as thinker, and it would never be THOUGHT than an Elysian would FIGHT the noble impulse to bear his arms among foreigners. Nor would the Sheep-Squeezers oppose this, for it is even as unthinkable to them that a free man might be deprived his right to BEAR ARMS!
"Test your own weapon against it. I offer you its twin for your sextant, it is only fitting that I prove my words with the test of mettle, and of metal!"

At this did Astrometrius RAISE his shield, and the foreign captain was struck with confusion! "Being as this is a .44 Bragnum, the most powerful handgun in a shitload of worlds, and would blow your head clean off..."

The beloved of MATHENERVA beamed with a mighty Athenian grin. "Try me, for I am feeling lucky."

"Your funeral."

'BLAM!' went the chem-weapon! And of course, true to its nature and forging did the shield of Astrometrius make a mighty and bell-throated 'KABONG!'

"See?"

"WHORESHITS, MY FRAKKING EARS!"

"Told you."

"TAKE THAT THING AND SHOVE IT!"

"Nay, so you will not take it in trade for the sextant?"

"FRAK YOU YOU FRAKTARDED FRAKKER OF FRAKKABLE FRAKKERY!"

"...Perhaps you would instead, hm, ah the very thing! Would you then accept this bar of gold?" At this did Astrometrius offer up a share of his own war-booty, obtained after battle with the valiant but savage greenskins. For aye, in that great action did the arch-navigator cunningly hurl a clanking, clonking, ten-geared warrior of Morkdor over his hip with a cunning WRESTLING maneuver, then smite the very engines of the barbalien's armor from behind, disabling the brute. In honor of the victory had Manius the athletic trainer and Crispus, boring son of Petrus melted down the greenskin's golden teeth into a solid ingot which the salt-bearded one had borne unto this very day!

"...Bar of gold?"

"Bar of gold, for the sextant. You understand?"

"RIGHT!"

And thus it was that Astrometrius did LOSE a battle-trophy, a passing inconvenience until such time as he could gain another, while WINNING with mighty DUH that which all the lives of the great hero-company did depend upon! For now it would again become possible for them to navigate and chart their progress in this unknown stretch of the universe, allowing survival and triumph!

But where would the damaged hero-ship go? And what would they do?

Harken to me again, gentle listeners, for these matters will be TACKLED in days to come, the next episode of the hero-company's saga!

Dockyard No. 23, Space over Centrum
The Center Sector, The Centrality
12:00 AM, 1 January 3300

"Captain, I'm seeing a lot of fireworks today!"

"It's kriffing New Year's Day, Leftenant. What are you, a moisture farmer?"

"I was raised in Aurora, sir."

"Then why are you so excited? Aurora isn't all that different from Centrum."

"The Party's here, and obviously they want to see a lot of bang."

A facepalm. I hope he's not as much of a laserbrain in combat as he intelectually.

"How's the shielding system's going, anyway?"

"Engineering's supposed to report to me right about-" A beeping. "Now."

The Lieutenant activated his comlink, and a heavily accented voice came on the line.

"Suhs! Da shild's off its rocker! Polarity sehttings ahr a bleeping mess! Ah'm not sure if we can fix this turd in a week!"

The Captain grabbed the comlink from the Lieutenant's hand. "You fix up those polarity issues! We have a schedule to keep! Twist the laws of physics if you have to!"

"Ah cannae change the laws of physics, Captain!"

"Just do what you can! And fast!" The comlink was then shut down.

"This day has just been peachy, sir," said the Lieutenant. "I doubt it could get worse."

"Fool! You just had to say-"

A shudder.

"That?"

A voice boomed through the loudspeakers. "ALARM! Munitions explosion detected in Datton aft section! Damage control teams to enter affected area at ONCE!"

"Me and my big mouth. Jeez. You'd think some deity is out there to screw us, Captain Forg."

Forg sighed. "Sorge, if a deity took a look of just how many misfortunes the Datton suffered and still came out of them intact, they would want nothing to do with it. Or maybe two deities are playing tug of war with our ship. I don't know what."

"For a stealth ship the Datton is quite a schizo, sir. How come we're still alive after all this time?"

"I don't think we're meant to know. What I do know, is that we are on a stealth ship converted from a standard destroyer, crewed with sailors who have only a passing understanding on how a stealthy vessel operates (that includes us), are always sent to ridiculous situations with potentially dangerous outcomes, and somehow we survive to sneak another day. The Datton is such a failure that it even fails to fail."

"Wow, that's quite a description of our situation. Anyway, should we check up on that explosion on the aft?"

"Yes, I need a distraction. Thinking of my poor ship made me depressed. Work might solve that."

The two officers then ran towards the unlucky ship.

Republic of Arcadia

January 1st, 3300

Border Sector F11

ARS Hindentanic
*************

On the border of Arcadia, floated one of the many transport ships in the Republic’s fleet. This particular vessel was the ARS Hindentanic, one of the newest ships in the fleet. It was currently carrying a shipment of goods to the New Romulus Republic, and it was nearing the end of Arcadian territory.

“Man, I hate these shipments, so boring,” Captain John Lehmann-Smith said, scratching his white beard.

He was standing on the bridge of the Space White Star Line ship, on its maiden voyage. And he had been pushing it much more than was probably necessary, but it didn’t matter to him. Lehmann-Smith was determined to break the current record for fastest transit between their nations. And the experimental hydrogen-ion engines were doing everything in their power to push the ship along.

“Well Captain, how much longer till we hit the border?” one of the SWSL Officers asked mildly.

“No more than a day. We are far ahead of schedule,” Lehmann-Smith answered calmly.

“Good job, keep it up Captain, our employer would love to win that medal from Space Cunard!”

“I know sir, I know.”

While those two men were having their discussion, life went on as normal on the Hindentanic. The crew went about their jobs with a mindless efficiency, and kept people from messing with the engines. Which proved difficult, as there was a large number of Space Brits onboard who had an un-healthy fascination with the experimental engines.

But that calm was broken from a call made by the sensor operator, “SPACEBERG!!”

Hearing that shout, Lehmann-Smith looked out the bridge viewporst and saw a massive block of ice and rock in front of the Hindentanic. He immediately ordered a turn to port to dodge the berg, but it was far too late, as the vessel scrapped along the side of the massive block. Multiple holes were made in the Hindentanic’s hull, the explosive decompression wrecking the internal bulkheads. The ship was soon careening in sickening spirals towards a nearby planet…an old Furling military base to be precise. Not that any of the crew/passengers cared as their ship started to burn in the atmosphere…
******************

Breaking News

Earlier this week, contact was lost with the new Space White Star Liner ARS Hindentanic. The most likely culprit was the large number of Spacebergs on the border of Sector F11. 4,000 of our citizens are missing, but search vessels are looking for any sign of the Hindentanic. Continue watching Arcadia Central News for more updates…

Somewhere in Shepistan

"Goddamnit!" shouted Senior Scientist Timothy as he stared at the accursed clouds blocking their view of a once in a century planetary transit of Montgomery's sun. Thousands of people were already on the roof of the University of Rockville's astronomy building, looking futilely into the completely overcast sky for any sign of the sun.

What was even worse, was that SecScience herself was amongst the crowd, and was starting to get bored with the whole event. Not good for my chances of making tenure. thought Timothy. But there was a solution. U of R's ROTC detachment manned an air defense complex on the weekends as part of their training to become Shepistani officers.

Being Shepistan, the missiles were of course, nuclear-tipped; and furthermore, since everyone already had their shades on for direct solar viewing...the flashblindness problem wasn't an issue this time.

Pulling out his Shroompod, Timothy dialed the number for Battery AWESOME (as it was called by the detachment, because Battery A was so pedestrian).

"I want you to nuke the fucking clouds."

In a zone of warped gravity, somewhere near an ancient supernova;

MCP Coalition- Temporary Parallel Hive Mind no.22376;
'Order, order. And no smartass calls for anarchochronosynclasty, either, Tluth I'm looking at you. Everyone got it out of their buffers? Right. I'll hold you to that.

First thing; we appear to have lost two sectors. Whose idea was it to name one of them Move It To The Left A Bit? Congratulations, heatsink head. You get to go and look for it.

We have two things to consider; we have lost contact with home. We have not yet made contact, but we have awareness, that we are not the only things moving among the stars. There are electrogravitic signals, not yet decoded; hyperdrive interference that on analysis seems to be from other hyperdrives.

Most of which seems to come from a rough hemisphere, although lensing effects are making it seem remarkably rectilinear, to rimward. We have our backs against the 'wall' formed by the energy levels in the galactic core- there is little if anything coming from that direction beyond natural flux.

Plans and suggestions?


[much rambling nonsense later]-
All of this is speculation. Worse, speculation informed by the fictions and imaginings of a species that...doesn't seem to be able to make a serious go of trans- solar civilisation, and isn't doing very well at that, even.

Peaceful, hostile, all of this seems very much like asking the wrong question. Another civilisation will have filled out their possibility space; have thought all the thoughts that are probably and be working down the list of the diminishingly possible; they will, of course, be both. In phases, and by turns.

Yes, you're right, this is bloody useless as a strategy. Perhaps we don't need a strategy. Just turn up, be ourselves, and see what happens. They probably won't have a full understanding of their intellectual processes, if they're a biological lifeform. Generationally perfected synthetic intelligences may be more, um, interesting.

Of course, we still have no detailed information as to what's out there.


There are three main groups of signal sources, one distant group to trailward, one in the same general direction but closer and more to rimward than the first, one divided into two blobs to rimward- spinward.

So many objectives to chase and we seem to divide evenly by seventeen- right, we can work with that. Six sectors still in the process of being fully surveyed and stellar collectors established, two of them in difficulty.

One Operations Group to do as much fleshing out as possible on each of the four still on the circuit; two groups to restore contact and render aid to the missing sectors. Wherever they seem to have got to.

Nine remaining. One group to start backing up against the gamma line, explore and give us a secure root, secure the space up to the sterilisation limit. (One battle group to sector N-1, start constructing partial dyson shells using local materials, antimatter converters, hyperdrive/hyperwave relay stations, astronomical survey sensor platforms, argus arrays, things like that. Generally, colonise.)

Actually, that deserves to be a more major objective. Start surveying and constructing what infrastructure is practical against the gamma line at all points directly adjacent to our own space. (Similar detachments to K, L, O, P on the 1 row.)


Start working towards each of the nearby civilisations- survey and colonise the nearby space, let's have something to try and meet them with. Groups to sectors K3, L4, P3, P4. Stellar collectors and hyperdrive anchor stations are priority.

Home, regain contact? No...not yet. Premature. Besides, if we do make contact with something entirely unreasonable we can always use them as bait.

End total network protocol.'

Septemmensis 15, 5440
BASTET - Emperor Gaius Marius VI, fulfilling his promise to shut down all wasteful activities in the imperial government, announced today the end of a chemical weapons program intended to exploit the Furlings' allergy to shed fur, citing the importance of the Republic of Arcadia as a trade partner. He further commented, "This program has consumed billions of denarii every year over the last twelve years and has had nothing to show for it except confirming that Furlings are allergic to cat fur. I am certain there are more of these bloated projects out there and I will not rest until I hunt them all down. I can promise that those responsible for making this project possible will be held accountable for their actions."

----------------------------------------
A Bastian in a black cloak paced around the room as a dozen others in, for lack of a better word, blinged out military uniforms stood at attention, bracing for the fury of the Emperor.
"Which of you geniuses thought this was a good idea? Did you, Severus Quinctillius Varus?"
"Caesar..."
"Answer the question."
"Yes, Caesar."
Fuming, he walked over to the next of his Legates in the room. "And you, Lucius Marius Pompeius? Did you approve this project?"
"Yes, Caesar."
"And you?"
A nod of the head.
"How about you, Claudius Julius Antonius?"
"I... I had my doubts, Caesar."
"Oh, you had your doubts."
He turns to the next. Another nod of the head. He walks past them all across a sea of nodding heads.
"Is there anyone in my General Staff who isn't a complete moron?! Take them out! I'll decide what to do with them later!"
As the Legates are escorted out, Marius' young daughter walks in. "Daddy, what's wrong? What are you up to?"
"My armpits in incompetence!" He sighs. "I'm sorry, Tomasa. Shall we watch a hologram? Elvis should do, I think."
"OK, daddy."

Deep Space

A long, spindly, vaguely dragonfly-esque transport ship tumbled through the void, shedding atmosphere and Bees as it went. Its killers, a pair of nefariously piratical frigates, moved in to investigate.

"Fucking finally! Did you jackasses remember to actually load your damned missile tubes that time or something?"

"Screw you, boss. Some of us know that these things actually cost *money*"

"Quit your bitching and board that bastard!"

"Sir, we don't know who's on bo-

"That's why you slackers are going first."

"Fuck."

The slightly less spiffy frigate rather reluctantly brought itself alongside the freighter, deploying a boarding tube as it went. Just on principle, the crew cut the welcomingly large airlock open as they boarded the freighter.

"First!"

"Shut the hell up, Colin. Hey, Cap'n, you seeing this? Looks like a big empty hotel in here."

"Yeah, well, keep looking around, there's got to be a bridge or engineering in there somewhere."

"I'm telling you, there's nothing here, just some tacky furniture and a whole lot of air vents. Seriously, Frank's been taking a look in all the rooms... there's only the airlock door here."

"Well, blow one of the bloody walls; see if you can't find something, huh? Do I have t-

"-o think of everything? Yeah, yeah, we'll break out the det cord.
Neville! Blow the bloody doors off!

Wait. Neville! Make a bloody door!"

A few minutes later, the Cap'n heard the reassuring rumble of the detonation over the comms, which was followed by the slightly less reassuring sound of screaming.

"...Oh shit, it's a bee hive.
...
Oh FUCK, it's full of BEES."

"Why do they have lasers?! WHY DO THEY HAVE LASERS?!"

"Get into cover you silly wanker!"

"Why do they have SPACESHIPS?!"

An unsuprisingly panicked retreat back to the frigate followed, the pirate vessel detaching the boarding tube and venting the freighter's atmosphere as it went.

"Hey Boss? We tow this one, okay?"

Later

"Tow cables secured, we're getting the hell out of here, right now!"

"Uh, sir? We've got a hyperspace exit... uh, call it a million or so klicks aft. ...Can't get a lock."

"Output looks like a frigate, but I can't be su- missile! Missiles incoming!"

"Fuck this, punch it! I'm not losing our first kill!"

...

[Hive/mother] world. [Hostile/aggressor] vessels [attacking/seizing/defiling] world-nectar transfer vessel at [an overly long list of complicated Bee directions]. Attempts to track [over/superior]spacial travel underway. Support desired.

Muzaffer, Klavostan
Imperial Palace

The Sultan of Klavostan could only sigh, and rest his tired face in the palm of his hand at the sight of the results of will of the people. While the top job in the Sultanate was sacrosanct, democracy had its place for lesser offices. The votes were in, and an enormous space habitat complex had narrowly voted for a Governor whose policies ran counter to those of the Sultan himself and his many advisers. Despite the Sultanate's hardest efforts to incorporate the many refugees from Makay, the social wounds between them and those who had lived in Klavostan longer were still raw to the touch, and open to exploitation by those who wished to enrich only themselves.

"Sultan, you know we could-" the ethereal, smoke-like voice of his Master of Assassins came over a channel of the turbanputer, but the Sultan frowned and shook his head before the thought could be finished.

"No. It would change nothing, it would only make things worse. Against our own people, we should only fight a war of words. Save the beam cannons and garrotes for the Chamarrans."

Parnitha Forest, Kephalonia
Sector Q-23 Frourio
Hellenic Confederacy

Brashidas of the house of Tellis, a son of Hellas and of Sparta, threw his Hoplaheron sideways, the massive man-shaped machine thudding heavily against a tree as a pair of rockets flew through the space where its chest plate had been a few moments before. One sped off into the gathering darkness while the other turned another tree into splinters that vanished in puffs of steam as they hit the shields of the three Hoplaheres in Brashidas’ patrol.

If the rebels were following procedure, they’d be packing up now. They had nothing to gain by engaging a Hoplaheres patrol that was alerted to their presence – the war machines were sturdy enough to survive anything but a coordinated salvo, and their weaponry was more than capable of shredding unarmored guerillas into so much confetti. Brashidas eased his machine out from behind the tree he’d taken cover behind, raising the particle cannon mounted on the left arm and sweeping the forest with keen eyes backed up by infrared sensors, hoping to catch the enemy fleeing.

Nothing. That could mean almost anything, of course; a robotic launcher, heat-proof camouflage, the rebels’ position being outside of sensor range, or any number of other things. Brashidas glanced back the way his patrol had come. Fifteen stades back to the edge of the forest, then another ten stades of cleared ground before the perimeter of the Hellene base on this part of the planet. There were dozens more Hoplaheres there, a few regiments of mechanized infantry, and a wing of interceptors that helped enforce the Confederate Navy’s blockade. It was the main fighter base on-planet; a convenient plateau of dense rock had had launch tubes bored out of it by the Sons of Ares, which the Confederacy had continued using after conquering the sector after the Chamarran invasion was beaten back. Brashidas kept scanning the forest around him. For all the men and materiel the Confederacy had funneled into the occupation of Frourio, there were billions of people on this world alone who had much preferred their sector’s time as an independent nation. With odds like those, it paid to be careful – and it was well known that the guerillas’ deepest desire was to capture Confederate aerospace craft. If the Navy ships in orbit could be neutralized, there would be nothing holding the vastly-superior numbers of the Sons of Ares back. The guerilla bands, scattered by the threat of orbital bombardment, would come together and dig up the equipment they’d buried when Frourio fell, and there wouldn’t be anything the Confederate Army could do to hold Kephalonia.

“Move up. Eyes sharp, you best of men, and may Apollo Who Guides Rockets prefer our lives to theirs.” The three armored war machines stomped through the undergrowth, being as loud as one would expect from an 80-ton walker, but that wasn’t a problem. They wanted the enemy to panic and run for it. One could be invisible to sensors or one could move, but not both. The Hoplaheres moved in a loose pattern, about a hundred feet between them, making sure to leave space for evasive action if it should prove necessary. Brashidas fed a trickle of power to his particle cannon, warming it up. If there was a rebel antivehicle weapon out there, he wanted to be able to engage it as quickly as possible. Even if the enemy got in the first shot, no sense letting them have the second as well.

There! A flicker on the IR sensor, nestled between a pair of boulders and – ah, now that was clever. After firing, the rebels had thrown their launchers into a small lake and submerged themselves as well. A natural heat sink; no wonder the IR hadn’t seen anything until now. There was a piece of rock with some residual heat left from backblast, or Brashidas never would have noticed.

“They’re up there, gentlemen, in the lake. Apollonius, HE.” The pilot of the Hoplaheron to Brashidas’ left acknowledged, and his machine raised its right arm and shot a grenade from the launcher attached to it. The explosive sailed through the air, plunged into the water, and then detonated, sending a fountain of water high into the air. Before it had started downwards again the Hoplaheres were moving, dashing forwards at high speed to see what was left of the rebels. They’d almost reached the lakeshore when Apollonius’ Hoplaheron disappeared in a pillar of fire, only to come out on the other side minus a leg. Mines. The rebels had been counting on this exact move, and now the forest was alive with weapons fire as hidden antivehicle weapons powered up and let loose their fury. Brashidas threw his machine behind cover for the second time that night, this time behind a small boulder. Apollonius’ machine was still moving, that was good, aiming its arm skywards. It launched a flare, the red light making the forest seem even more forbidding than usual. Brashidas snapped his particle cannon up and loosed a short burst at what he thought was a dismounted tank gun under a camouflage tarp. It fired back, but Brashidas’ rock took the blast. Splinters flew everywhere. In his machine’s cockpit, Brashidas flicked the radio on.

“Hydra Base, this is Lokagos Brasidas, Patrol 15-0-3. My patrol’s under attack by significant rebel forces 25 stades out. Requesting support, over.” Another burst at the dismounted tank gun. This one connected, the hyperaccelerated particles slicing into the barrel and setting the camouflage tarp on fire. Brashidas fired at the gunners conveniently silhouetted against the blaze, but missed. A rocket buzzed past, barely missing his Hoplaheron and blowing a tree to splinters.

The third Hoplaheron in Brashidas’ patrol was less lucky. When the rebel ambush had started its pilot, an Athenian named Gorgidas, had been out in the open with no convenient cover. A trio of particle cannon had burned away his shields and a rocket with a shaped-charge warhead had punched straight through the Hoplaheron’s chest plate. The machine was keeled over now, smoking heavily. Apollonius had dragged his machine over to it and was bracing his grenade launcher against the fallen Hoplaheron, firing at muzzle flashes – his IR must have been taken out by the mine.

“Patrol 15-0-3, this is Patrol 15-11-3. Inbound with a platoon of infantry and three more Hoplaheres, over.”

“Acknowledged, 15-11-3. Look out for mines, over.

“Acknowledged, 15-0-3. 15-11-3 clear.” The next few minutes were tense, bursts of particle cannon and grenades serving to light up the night just as well as the flare, but Brashidas was lucky enough not to take any direct hits. A few grazes were deflected by his shields and constant explosions kept shrapnel and splinters flying constantly, but nothing serious happened until the other patrol arrived. They announced themselves with a massive explosion: Brashidas was afraid at first that they too had suffered an encounter with a mine, but as the three fresh Hoplaheres strode through the wreckage he realized it had been a generator or ammunition store of some sort. The fresh troops, arriving from the rebels’ flank, quickly decided things in favor of the Confederate troops and before too long a pair of Pterodactyl dropships had arrived to lift the damaged machines back to Hydra base. Brashidas and the other patrol’s officer, Lokagos Metaxas of Delphi, had left their machines to survey the battlefield.

“This was much better-planned than usual. Three layers of ambush? The rebels haven’t been that tricky before.” Brashidas flicked his head at the tank gun he’d destroyed. “And look at that! They set up a third-meter particle cannon just to ambush a patrol. Those things weigh more than a ton; where did the equipment come from?”

“I’m not a seer, but it’s certainly not comforting. We know they want Hydra Base. This has to be something to do with taking it.”

“A new commander, do you think?”

“Probably.” The other man looked thoughtful. “It would explain the change in tactics, anyway.”

“Good point. This was good, especially for disorganized guerillas. Very good.” Brashidas frowned. “We’ll have to be better.”

The Parasite
SOS Imperial Armed Forces Medical Research Institute of Infectious Diseases (SOSIAFMRIID)
Kyoto, Kansai Sector

Panzersharkcat wrote:

Bastet Times
Emperor Shuts Down Shed Fur Chemical Weapon Program

Septemmensis 15, 5440
BASTET - Emperor Gaius Marius VI, fulfilling his promise to shut down all wasteful activities in the imperial government, announced today the end of a chemical weapons program intended to exploit the Furlings' allergy to shed fur, citing the importance of the Republic of Arcadia as a trade partner. He further commented, "This program has consumed billions of denarii every year over the last twelve years and has had nothing to show for it except confirming that Furlings are allergic to cat fur. I am certain there are more of these bloated projects out there and I will not rest until I hunt them all down. I can promise that those responsible for making this project possible will be held accountable for their actions."

"What a bunch of amateurs and incompetents," Dr. Harumi Kiyama scoffed as she glanced at the Bastet Times newsfeed on one of the computer screens in her office before dismissing the feed. She then turned her attention over to another screen at her desk and resumed her usual routine of scrutinizing lab reports and research notes. SOSIAFMRIID ostensibly studied and produced "strategies, products, information, procedures and training for medical defense against biological warfare agents," as per its mission statement, but it also performed clandestine research on offensive biological warfare. The Holy Empire was surrounded by known and potential enemies on all sides, and the leaders of the SOS Imperial Armed Forces were very keen on the utilization of weapons of mass destruction in order to even the odds. Bioweapons were of relatively limited utility as actual front-line weapons, but they were useful against agriculture, industry, and other civilian targets; disrupting the enemy's food supply, crippling workers, and causing chaos among the civilian population were all valuable aims, particularly if it meant that the enemy could quickly be brought to its knees with a minimum of military casualties.

Dr. Kiyama's attention turned to a report describing the life cycle and reproductive patterns of a parasite that infected felinoid mammals, then to a very familiar face staring at her from across the desk, none other than that of Field Marshal Homura Akemi herself. "I hope I didn't arrive at a bad time, Dr. Kiyama," Marshal Akemi greeted.

"Nope, not at all. Didn't even see you come in, Marshal Akemi," Dr. Kiyama replied.

"What do you have for me now, Doctor?" Marshal Akemi asked in her usual straightforward manner.

"I've just finished reviewing a preliminary report on an organism that could potentially be of use against the Bastians and the Chamarrans," Dr. Kiyama replied.

"Speaking of the Bastians, you've obviously heard of the abrupt termination of their anti-Furling bioweapons program," Marshal Akemi remarked. "It's quite perplexing as to why they'd openly announce such a thing to begin with, to say nothing of the horribly inefficient manner in which they conducted the program."

"We've already developed several different agents for use against the Furlings, as well as efficient delivery methods," Dr. Kiyama said. "Not that we'd ever find ourselves at war with the Arcadians, of course, but it's always worth having the contingency just in case."

"Right. So, about this organism you're studying..."

"As far as we know, it only takes mammals of felinoid aspects as hosts. Found that out after keeping a few of them with one of the test cats. It has a rather curious life cycle, if you're willing to look over the entire report."

Marshal Akemi walked over to Dr. Kiyama and perused the section of the report currently displayed on the screen:

...The Incubator's typical form when encountered in the wild is remarkably similar to that of a larval salamander, with the presence of certain neotenic traits such as functional gills. Despite this, it is fully amphibious, capable of surviving indefinitely in both aquatic and terrestrial environments. The Incubator in its natural state is a remarkably intelligent creature and can be trained to recognize patterns and perform relatively complex tasks. While capable of understanding and responding to human speech, it cannot make vocalizations of its own....


FIGURE 1: A wild-type Incubator (third from top) compared with an Incubator-infected cat in various stages of transformation (first and second from top) and an axolotl (A. mexicanum, bottom)

...The Incubator undergoes a remarkable transformation upon encountering mammals of felinoid aspects, the only animals which it will accept as a host. An Incubator typically enters its host by burrowing in through the back, leaving a distinct entry mark. Once within the host, the Incubator positions itself under the spinal column and begins to integrate itself with the host's nervous system by extending thin filaments into the spinal cord and all the way to the brain. Both the Incubator and its host undergo a considerable amount of physical changes after infection (see Appendix for detailed chart of stages of Incubator maturation), to the extent that the host is completely dependent on the Incubator for its continued survival. The Incubator's physical form is also altered significantly; though it still retains its intelligence and is still more than capable of surviving outside of a host, the Incubator in this altered form is largely restricted to terrestrial environments. Most significantly, though, the Incubator after taking a host has the ability to speak coherently and fluently, with some specimens observed carrying on short conversations with lab personnel assigned to work with them....


FIGURE 2: Left to right - A domestic cat (F. catus), an active Incubator parasite inside a cat, a mature Incubator outside of its host

"'Incubator,' huh? Mind if I ask how that name came about?" Marshal Akemi said.

"One of the specimens used the word to refer to itself after taking on a host, and it pretty much stuck," Dr. Kiyama replied. "They really are smart critters."

"We'll get them to sing Haruhi's praises in short order," Marshal Akemi said. "So, you said that they can be trained?"

"That's what the studies have found so far, ma'am," Dr. Kiyama replied. "Like I said, they really are smart critters. Look at how quickly they picked up human speech patterns after taking on hosts, for one."

"Just how feasible would be to actually expose Bastians or Chamarrans to these...Incubators, anyway?" Marshal Akemi idly mused. "I wonder if that little hypothesis of yours can actually yield results. We need a lot more than just Lactobacillus in the milk supply if we ever find ourselves up against the Bastians, and the Chamarrans still represent a grave threat to the stability of the spinward region, even if they're doing an effective job of keeping those damn Hellenes and Klavostanis occupied."

"In all likelihood, we wouldn't be able to carry out such an experiment without violating a ton of laws and ethical principles in the process," Dr. Kiyama deadpanned. "Not like any of us care, of course. They'd do the same to us given half a chance."

"We are some truly nasty bitches, aren't we, Doctor?"

"Sure are."

"Indeed. Just have a finalized version of your report ready for me and the other Marshals soon."

"Will do, ma'am."

_____________________________
Joint Arcadian/Furling Secret Military Base

Location: Wouldn’t you like to know?

Time: See above

Planet: The Planet of the Sentient Robo-Monkeys…obviously…
______________________________

Panzersharkcat wrote:

Bastet Times
Emperor Shuts Down Shed Fur Chemical Weapon Program

Septemmensis 15, 5440
BASTET - Emperor Gaius Marius VI, fulfilling his promise to shut down all wasteful activities in the imperial government, announced today the end of a chemical weapons program intended to exploit the Furlings' allergy to shed fur, citing the importance of the Republic of Arcadia as a trade partner. He further commented, "This program has consumed billions of denarii every year over the last twelve years and has had nothing to show for it except confirming that Furlings are allergic to cat fur. I am certain there are more of these bloated projects out there and I will not rest until I hunt them all down. I can promise that those responsible for making this project possible will be held accountable for their actions."

“I can’t believe the Bastians had plans to drop their fur on us…how very cruel,” General Jasan Karana said, shaking his blue head.

“I know…this would be a reason to not trade with them…if it weren’t for how inefficient this project was. I mean really…billions of denarii spent…just to collect shed fur? I mean, our program is so much more efficient!” said Dr. Klaus Adolph, head of the Bio/Chemical Weapons division.

Jasan turned to his colleague and gave him a bemused look, “Are you really talking about programs built to drop…*shudders*…cat fur on your allies? Should I even be surprised anymore?”

“Nope! We have to look at every potential situation you know! Besides, it is so much fun to build these ideas!” Klaus replied with a distinctly disturbing grin.

“You should have been born an Umerian…I swear…” Jasan muttered, before turning his attention to the current project in front of the men.

They were standing over a pen, looking down on the latest experiment at the *location redacted* Military Base. This particular pen belonged to Klaus’ division, and it held an odd looking creature. It resembled the sentient dinosaurs that the Grays ‘helped’, but it had a layer of downy fur on it, instead of the typical scales. The wings were also rather distinctive, along with the burn marks on the walls now that Jasan thought about it.

“You seem to be interested in my project Ja? This is our newest model of Vacumn Flying Fire-breathing Lizard! We call it...the Dragon!” Klaus said, with a maniacal look in his eyes.

Jasan just wore another bemused look, “It took you that long to think up the name dragon…really?”

“We had to deal with copyright laws! It would have cost even more money!” Klaus protested with a fake hurt look on his own face.

“I give up…what use is the dragon anyway?” the Furling General asked.

“The current plan is to release swarms of them over hostile planets. By using these Dragons, we can make people think we are the SPACE VIKINGs…Ja?” the mad-scientist replied with another creepy grin.

“Sure we can…not like the VIKINGs are very active right now, or that they use mechanical dragons not biological ones…” Jasan pointed out, the sarcasm going right over Klaus’ head.

“Ja ja, just keep the Dragons well fed and they will cause havoc on the planet, now then leave me to continue working on improving the design,” Klaus said, shooing the Furling away.

Jasan was all too eager to leave though, considering he didn’t like the Arcadian Bio/Chemical weapons division anyway. They were all too crazy for their own good…which made him happy the Furlings didn’t have an equivalent. They much preferred to fight in the open, just not against anyone who had cats…

Cafeteria, Nuova Torino Municipal Administrative Headquarters, Province of Nuova Torino, Speranza Sector, 579 IA

Two Imperial Bureaucrats sat at a table together, a Drell and a Dual and both of them were Third and Second Class General Inspectors. The Drell had a small plate of fried meat strips in front of him while the Dual had a small pizza. They were named Kaig nil Shinagj and Yoan Epsilon-Kaylesburg, both had been friends for some years. Shedualling conflicts

"So, how are things going down in urban planning?" Shinagj asked quietly.

"Frantic." Shi said exasperated. "People want to get the next few years efforts in motion before the switch over happens. Get things going now so that when the new Provincial Legislature takes over they can't scrap everything because work's begun. Same in Industrial Aid, right?"

"Yeah, but we got most of these things in motion already. Been getting more locals recently."

"Same in urban development" Yoan replied "Most of them are pretty keen young bastards. They got everyone on edge, what with the transfers and layoffs that are inevitably going to happen down the line."

"Lets just hope that neither of us." The transition from a SRZ to a Province was always a shaky time for members of the Imperial Bureaucracy, and there was always the risk of being reallocated somewhere else. Neither of them wanted to go to Lada, even if the level of violent insurgency had been going down for the last few years. The remaining anti-imperial movements left on Speranza were now small withered husks of their former selves, a smattering of bitter badly organized outcasts regarded as dangerous thugs by the majority of the population that made themselves know with the occasional car bombing, kidnapping or assassination attempt and making deals with the less sophisticated organized crime rings when not being a bunch of grappa swilling self righteous layabouts. The same could not be said about Lada.

"Anyway" Yoan asked "How's the house holding up?"

"Could be worse, we got of three new hatchlings, Tregi, Thrab and Fyim. Some conflict between a few of my siblings and the familiarch going on and my sibling Kaih got a promotion at Amazon Foodstuffs. So how are the two kids?"

"Not to bad. Sam's team is doing pretty good in the bowling league and Leonardo's is a bit of handful with puberty and all. Even after looking into guides he still confounds me and Jonna."

"It still amazes me that you two adopted a baseline kid you know."

"Well its something that Jonna has always wanted to do."

THE CENTRAL TIMES

Massacre in Eschate! Governor among 1133 dead!

Scythian City, Eschate, Rimland Sector- In the most brazen display of terrorism done by the rebel scum still infesting Rimland, a masssive bomb was detonated inside tne governmental compound at Scythian City, capital of the planet Eschate, killing at last count about 1133 people, including the governor of the sector and several of his top subordinates. The so-called Rimland Liberation Front has claimed responsibility for the attack. The Centralist Party has condemmed this blatant shedding of blood and instituted martial law over the whole sector, the second time in five years. All citizens of Rimland are required to comply with the central authorities in order to root out the insurgents more quickly. Failure to do so would bring grave consequences to the uncompliants and their families. More on this story as it develops!

In other news, the Navy has intercepted and impounded an illegal shipment of weapons and ammo at the border of Rimland, carried by foreign smugglers who dumped their cargo as soon as Navy vessels arrived. Currently it is unknown where exactly these smugglers came from, as well as those who paid them to commit this act of contraband....

Valhalla

SPACE VIKING Territory

Royal Palace

January 10th, 3300
___________________

Standing in the middle of the expansive VIKING Royal Palace was a single man. Ivan Kerolenko, the leader of Arcadia First. After the failed raid on a Nation Commune the terrorist group had retreated into hiding. Thankfully for them, the VIKINGs hated the current Arcadian government enough to offer them shelter. Which was a good thing, considering all of their bases in Arcadian territory had been hunted down and destroyed by now.

Of course, they still had the problem of just what to do now that they were confined to the VIKING planets. And Ivan was deep in thought of how to solve that very problem. Thus he didn’t notice a man walking up behind him, until said man tapped his shoulder.

Ivan spun around, drawing his pistol in one smooth motion and holding it in the other man’s face. Going almost cross-eyed as he stared down the barrel of the pistol, the younger man held his hands up warily. Ivan snorted and lowered his gun, recognizing the man as one of the VIKING lieutenants.

“Odin requests to see you,” the man said, fingering his plasma sword.

“Of course he does, that man can’t find his own shoes without my help,” Ivan replied snidely, before walking past the fuming VIKING.

As he walked down the halls, he was struck yet again by the curious mix of modern and ancient materials used in the ‘Palace of the Holy VIKING’. It was styled after the old Viking buildings from Terra, right down to using wood in a lot of places. But holoscreens and exotic metals were everywhere, showing that the VIKINGs were still advanced people…despite wearing fur outfits that offered no protection whatsoever.

But that wasn’t Ivan’s problem, as a group of his own people split off from their jobs to escort him. All of them were still dressed in pitch black uniforms, even if they were also fur. The lack of anything else proved to be a powerful motivator to ‘go native’ in some ways.
A while later

“About time you showed up Ivan! Get over here!” a massive man yelled, pointing his equally massive broadsword at a wooden table.

The AF leader glared at the VIKING leader. It was only the lack of other safe havens that kept Ivan here and working with (certainly not for) Odin.

“Of course Lord Odin, excuse my tardiness,” the Kurskian said, with a distinctly sour tone to his voice.

“No worries Ivan, now that you are here we can move on to the business of dealing with those utlanningars,” Odin said, lapsing into Space Swedish.

“Of course…would you like me to prepare the Centurion?” Ivan asked, still loathing every word that came out of his mouth.

“Of course! That ship is too powerful to leave behind!” Odin replied, biting a chunk out of a lamb leg.

Ivan nodded and got up to leave. He was disgusted by his surroundings and was eager to get back to his ship.

“One more thing Ivan…don’t even think about betraying me. And do not let your ships be captured,” Odin shouted after the retreating AF leader, showing his rare sober side.

Millennial Party of Mr. MacCarmichael, MacCarmichael Compound, MacCarmichael’s World

Rarely did members of the Board, that is to say; The Board of Directors of MultiGlobal United ©, ZLC, meet in person, they were never allowed to travel together, and the risk of all of them being in one place at a time was something no one could ignore. But each of the 20 members of the Board said, there is only one Millennium. 1000 Years of The Commonwealth needed to be celebrated properly, and the entire Board, along with thousands of taggers-on and servile citizenry would celebrate on the majestic palatial estate of Mr. MacCarmichael.

If there were a thing close to a ruler of The Commonwealth, Mr. MacCarmichael would make the short list. He was the most powerful of the Board members, and the one who most flaunted said power, even now, with his truly massive party, he was playing the ever dutiful host, travelling by air-car across the acres and acres of land, and acres of bodies, waving and keeping a jovial atmosphere, and making peerless progress towards the massive central chamber that he made as his throne room. He picks up numerous hangers-on, but only the very bold, very stupid, or very powerful follow MacCarmichael into his own inner sanctum.

Inside his cathedral-like inner sanctum sat what was glorious enough to deem his throne room, taking the aesthetics of the pre-Historic pre-spaceflight human nobility to their very extreme. To flaunt his power he had hired throngs of guards to line the exterior of his throne room. He maintained an actual throne centered on the wall facing the main entrance, and in the center of the room itself, slowly rotating on a floating dais, was a set of midnight blue armor missing only the left glove.

As day broke upon the second day of the festivities of the Millennial, the air car carrying MacCarmichael through his party arrived at the center of it all. The lines of hired mercenaries were encouraged by a hand to salute for MacCarmichael as he entered the lavish throne room to thunderous applause. The sea of people parted to allow the corporate despot free movement to his seat of power, closing behind him. As MacCarmichael’s gaze moved past those hired to provide his fantasy with toy soldiers, hands and postures dropped like what it was, people being paid too much to do too little, save acknowledge the whims of their employer. Some dropped the farce faster than others, who used the moment to themselves escape the toil of a mercenary existence.

One man adorned in the same fine uniform as the rest of the paid honor guard, ignored the charade all together, following the throng of people as it collapsed in on MacCarmichael’s advance. As MacCarmichael moved to take his seat, his face came to rest at the barrel of a Highly Generic MultiGlobal Ray Pistol, or a HiGen Ray Gun. MacCarmichael’s smile did not leave his face at the sight of the Ray Gun in his face, nor did the demeanor of one of his hired hands cause any alarm or surprise to come to the face of MacCarmichael.

“And what, pray tell, brings an assassin into my very own throne room, have you no sense of tact, we celebrate one thousand years today, and my world will keep spinning without me, as much as I am loath to admit it,” MacCarmichael said as he tried to rally the crowd into a fit of laughter.

...

“Have you no sense of decency, no sense of honor, no sense of humanity,” the assassin readjusted the gun in an attempt to menace the autocrat, “My father was killed by you, put on an asteroid.”

“You are going to have to be specific I’v.”

The Ray Gun struck across MacCarmichael’s face, which caused the first real change in demeanor in the tyrant as his easy mood gave way to a simple frown.

“Now, you are going to listen to me, Mr. MacCarmichael, you forced my father to fight a Minotaur in his deep space Labyrinth, and now, I shall have revenge for his sacrifice. I will, live through Newslyvania’s coverage of this appalling gathering, give you your sentence, and administer justice in the name of my father. And I shall give you a simple spoiler now, Mr. MacCarmichael, you are guilty as sin.”

The assailant kicked MacCarmichael in the knee, forcing his leg to give out and placing the Assailant in a position of power over MacCarmichael, who did not speak a word since he was silenced with the barrel of a Ray Gun. Staring daggers into the other’s eyes, the executioner lifted his Ray Gun to the center of the oppressor’s forehead, his finger depressing the trigger as he is tackled to the ground next to MacCarmichael by one obviously not dressed as one of the despot’s toy soldiers, but rather a man wearing relatively simple garments for the present company, a fitted suit with caplet adorned with the emblem of the Order of Black Tar. The silver chain keeping the caplet affixed to the man’s shoulder, another piece modest by comparison, was immediately set to work restraining the assailant’s hands as the savior, established as a member of the Order of Black Tar through the caplet, called for assistance from the toy soldiers.

MacCarmichael and his levy handled the restraint and disposal of the assailant, and the member of the Order of Black Tar was left, encouraged by the mob and the occasional motion from MacCarmichael, to stay with the impromptu kangaroo court MacCarmichael held to bring the atmosphere back before personally killing the assailant with his own weapon. This shock to the party slowly faded into the haze of joy and revelry that would dominate the record breaking least productive week in The Commonwealth’s 1000-year history. Eventually, MacCarmichael was able to turn his focus to that of the Order of the Black Tar.

“I apologize, Mr. MacCarmichael, if I acted out of turn, but you appeared to be in real danger, the man had the look of someone with real intent, what did he have to say to you, might I ask,” the Order of the Black Tar member said.

“Something about something or other, which reminds me, does the Order have knowledge of any Labyrinthine Minotaurs? I’m reminded of something. But, that is unrelated to that task at hand, I take you to be Sir Gwain?”

“Indeed, Mr. MacCarmichael, I was sent here by the Council of Elders personally for whatever it is you have to request.”

“Yes, yes. I specifically requested you, as I have something that requires your brand of expertise.” MacCarmichael’s tone changes as he gages Sir Gwain’s reaction, “Nothing wrong, nothing wrong. It is simply that you are one of the more reliably field commanders, and I have a field command issue,” he gestures to the suit of armor, “you are familiar with Exodus correct?”

“He was a folk hero, rebelled against the Port Authority, captured a planet, named it after himself, is a legend solely because he stood up to the PA. This is correct?”

“Yes, yes. The Folk Hero. Now, I have in my possession the almost full set of Exodus’ armor, I am only missing his Left Glove. Now, I have verification that it is located in the Palace of Exodus on Exodus, damn that man had an ego,” his voice wandered off listlessly, “So, I have been in contact with your Council of Elders about a trade, Technically the Port Authority owns the Palace, though it has been long since taken over by squatters, but I have worked out a deal in which the deed of ownership is transferred from the Port Authority to one of the Order of Black Tar itself to use as a new base of operations in the region. I am telling you this, because, and this is important, you will be sealing the deal by brining me the Left Glove of Exodus to complete my set!” MacCarmichael was giddy at this point at the thought of having the entire set of the Armor of Exodus.

“Why me, Mr. MacCarmichael, I was only made a full Knight of the Order of Black Tar a short time ago, why force me to be made a Knight Commander?”

“I have had a thorough search of your histories done, don’t look like that, if I want it, I can have it. Either way, you are the brightest upcoming star, and I want that to owe me a favor. I didn’t get where I was by being a fool with who does what for me. Now, thank you for your assistance earlier, but I have the business of keeping this party going.”

MacCarmichael turned from Sir Gwain and paid no heed to his leaving of the Throne Room, nor did he take notice his escape from the Compound itself. He might have realized by the time Sir Gwain was on public transportation to the Newsroom and the central temple of the Order of Black Tar, that the man he had been constantly talking up to various guests had disappeared, but by that point he had no longer fancied the man who saved his life, and would produce the Left Glove of Exodus for MacCarmichael, and had moved on the various beautiful and well adorned other guests of his inner sanctum.

The Rimland Job
Docking Bay 49, Yokohama Spaceport
Kanagawa, Kanto Sector

Force Lord wrote:In other news, the Navy has intercepted and impounded an illegal shipment of weapons and ammo at the border of Rimland, carried by foreign smugglers who dumped their cargo as soon as Navy vessels arrived. Currently it is unknown where exactly these smugglers came from, as well as those who paid them to commit this act of contraband....

FILE PHOTO: Nagi Sanzen'in (left) and her faithful bodyguard Hayate Ayasaki

Nagi Sanzen'in was pissed, to put it bluntly. The failure of her latest attempt to profit off the unrest in the Rimland Sector was but the latest in a long string of setbacks that had beset one of the Holy Empire's foremost arms dealers. The last decade had been particularly bad for business, with the failure of the Browncoat revolt in Umeria and the gradual decline of the insurgencies in the Unified Imperium, and while she still had her operations in the Volscian Confederacy and the spinward-rimward frontier to fall back on, she was facing stiff competition on those remaining fronts. She had already established a foothold in the Centrality's illicit arms trade, but it had been an uphill battle against the Bastian and Volscian interests that had traditionally dominated the black market of that region of space. The fact that their operations had been hurt just as badly by the recent crackdowns as her was little comfort; while she was sure she could find a way to turn the current situation to her advantage, she still had to deal with the loss of her latest arms shipment to the Centralists.


FILE PHOTO: Captain Veronica Dare, SOS Imperial Navy (ret.)

Nagi often employed ex-military personnel for her legitimate and illegitimate business ventures. Veronica Dare, a retired SOS Imperial Navy Captain and intelligence officer, was one such person in Nagi's employ. One of the most trusted lieutenants of Nagi's organization, Veronica was one of Nagi's go-to girls for sensitive jobs such as running guns to galactic hot spots like Rimland. She and her intrepid crew of former Navy, Marine, and Guard personnel had a reputation for getting jobs done in a timely, efficient, and professional manner, but they were starting to get a little down on their luck themselves, just like their employer. Patience was a virtue Nagi was sorely lacking in, and while she was certainly fond of Veronica, she was nevertheless getting frustrated with her current string of failures, and she was serious about receiving compensation for the latest consignment of weapons that had been lost to the Centralists. As a warning, Nagi had sent a couple of her lesser enforcers over to Veronica to "remind" her of her commitments to the organization, though the resulting confrontation turned out to be messier than anticipated. Nagi then decided that a personal confrontation would get the message across, and so she decided to meet with Veronica at the Yokohama Spaceport in Kanagawa.

The actual meeting, however, got off to a very inauspicious start, with Nagi and her usual retinue of thugs and sycophants gathered in the hangar around Veronica's empty freighter, waiting on their guest. "Captain Dare! Veronica! Come out of there, Veronica!" Nagi called out, seemingly in vain. "Veronica!"

Nagi and her retinue found themselves startled when a voice called out from behind them. "Right here, Nagi! We've been waiting for you!"

Nagi turned around to face none other than Captain Dare herself, accompanied by several members of her own crew. "Have you, now?" Nagi remarked as she approached the veteran spacer.

"You didn't think I was gonna run, did you?" Veronica replied nonchalantly as she and her crew approached Nagi, meeting her halfway.

"Veronica, my girl, there are times you disappoint me. Why haven't you been paying me? And why'd you have to blast my representatives like that? After all we've been through together?"

"Listen, Nagi, next time you really wanna talk to me, you come see me yourself," Veronica said sternly as she started walking with Nagi to the parked freighter. "Don't be sending in just any of these twerps. At least have the common decency to send some of the former Guard or Marine guys if you can't be bothered to do it yourself."

"Veronica, you just gotta understand, I can't afford any more interceptions," Nagi said. "Where would I-- Where would we be if every pilot who ran guns for me dropped their consignments at the first sign of a Centralist or Unified Imperium or Chamarran starship or whatever? It just ain't good business, know what I mean?"

"Even I get boarded sometimes, Nagi," Veronica retorted. "You really think I had a choice? Anyway, I got some other jobs lined up. I'll pay you back, plus interest. Just need a little more time, is all."

"Veronica, my girl, I'm only doing this for you 'cause you're the best, 'cause I like you, and 'cause I need you. So, for an extra 20%--"

"Fifteen, Nagi, don't push it."

"Okay, fifteen. For an extra 15%, Veronica, I'll give you the extra time, but I expect results! I can't afford any more disappointments!"

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Veronica replied offhandedly as she signaled at the rest of her crew to board the freighter and prep it for takeoff. "You're a wonderful human being, Nagi," she added as she walked up the entry ramp into the ship. As Captain Dare's crew prepared to embark, Nagi signaled for her retinue to leave the hangar.

Royal Palace, Eutopia, Philosopher's Kingdom

Queen Tripura sat upon her white jade throne in an open, austere room of white marble that overlooked a paradisaical, park-like jungle underneath the immense palace. Despite the flocks of multi-hued birds singing siren songs beneath her, her attention was on various holoscreens detailing entirely mundane economic information. While everything in her kingdom had a nominal price for bookkeeping and trade, she and her team of economancers worked furiously to ensure the free flow of goods to all who needed them, especially the Kritarchy, which demanded from the Kingdom billions of trillions of gene-manufactured organisms to replenish the blasted ruins of their own planets. The Hoavi had, in their climb to ascendancy, stripped their own planets of much of the native life, especially during the War of Waiting against the Kryptonians and Bastians; the ecological collapse was only hurried by some sort of viral panphage some 8 centuries ago, brought on by either a terrible, catastrophic release from their own biolabs or an undeclared attack from the Kryptonians or Bastians. The humans of the Philosopher's Kingdom would never find out, as the Hoavi did not discuss the panphage beyond cursory mentioning, seeing it as a black mark in their history.

Tripura furrowed her brow, allotting more resources to the plant initiatives, as the surviving plants of the Kritarchy needed a great deal of genetic aid to survive, due to the inherently low-light conditions of the Hoavi homeworld and the terraforming designed to induce it on their long-colonized daughter planets. Such massive expenses for the Hoavi.

They deserved it, however, due to their perfection and largesse, though. All citizens of the Philosopher's Kingdom owed it to the Kritarchy for they removed the flaws of humanity and had led them to a glorious new planet for all other humans to see. No useless internal conflicts between factions, which meant no internecine warfare over the pettiest distinctions. No congenital diseases and an improved immune system meant that healthcare was much cheaper and that the scourges that brought on early, untimely death were eliminated. And the beauty of the planets and habitats in the three stellar systems! Such grace and perfection given to the humans by their benevolent adoptive parents!

So Tripura persevered to undo the damage wrought by the War of Waiting on those she considered her dearest friends.

Zor wrote:...the anime girls of the Holy Empire try to equip dangerous rouges...

Recommended Listening: The Russian Revolution, by the Red Army Choir

Autarky of Krägle
Sector K-8
January 14, 3300

The Coalition for Privacy revolutionaries did not look at all furtive as they wound through the undercity to their destination. Centuries of urban sprawl and infill on their world's few habitable mesas left truly impressive tunnel networks- dormitories and maintenance tunnels closed and reopened, and new additions raising the great aristo-spires ever higher into the atmosphere, as if to distance themselves from the grimy unbreathable muck of the lowlands, and the grimier muck of the lowlife Citizens.

Even so, there were enough cameras, gait-sensors, and copseye drones to contest all but the lowest levels of the undercity. Rebels against Autarkh Ekaterina III Groznaya in the seventh decade of her reign had learned to dissimulate, so as to avoid her minions and traffic-analysis codes.

This meeting was an unconscionable hazard. There were people from dozens of cells here. They'd all come anyway; most of them knew what was coming.

The current number two of the resistance was a replacement for the woman killed by a knife-drone the week before, who had in turn replaced the man killed by a bomb-drone along with the rest of the occupants of his bus two weeks before that. He rapped the butt of his pistol against the table.

"Ladies and gentlemen, you were all brought here by our valiant and may I say very secretive leader. This is his first appearance to more than two of you at once since the mid-nineties; it's that important. I give you... call him Star A Star." He gestured to an unassuming fellow in a mousy brown suit, who stood. Suddenly his posture changed, his eyes blazed, he stood like a completely different man. They knew without doubt that he was who he claimed to be, the elusive Robin Hood of their dystopian world.

"Good evening. Most of you know why I've summoned you here. Our dear leader Cathy finalized a contract with the Unified Imperium eleven days ago, offering them a variety of trade and resource concessions in exchange for two things. One, nanoretroviruses to modify a fraction of our people to... suit them for the chem-mines. Officially that's to reduce casualties. We have reason to believe the psychoactive aspects of the nanites would turn at least twenty percent of the Kräglian people into her mindless, loving slaves after an "accidental" release into the public atmo-filters. Obviously we've been looking into some countermeasures, including some promising contacts who... shall remain nameless."

Everyone knew what he meant. The rumors that popularitarian nano-communists of the Stasbush Cluster had revolutionary vanguards on the ground in Krägle were among the few pieces of good news they'd had in the past eight months.

"We might be able to parry that stroke in isolation. But the Imperium has also been gracious enough to provide the Autarkh with a subsidy for the expansion of the national surveillance net, including some of their more interesting wrinkles on the idea of ubiquitous microbotics. If they get the network running, on top of the manpower and resources the Autarkh already has hunting for us, there will be no place to hide. None."

Faces around the table tensed. Pallid from lifetimes of artificial light, they grew yet paler. Three voices spoke as one. "Then we have to strike now..." "Hit first." "Take them with us!"

"Of course. It cost us much, but we have our counterstrike in place, and you will not believe its scope. And it begins... right at the top!"

The Council for Privacy was overjoyed- and confused.

"What?"

"Huzzah!"

"You're joking!"

"Woooo!"

"We'd discussed this, Star. Assassination-"

The arch-rebel waved his hand. "Yes, yes. Theoretically possible, practically unlikely. The murdering old harpy's been through so many courses of enhancement, cybernetics and genetic modification that you'd practically have to drop a moon on her to be sure of getting her."

"I still think vaporizing her head with a melter-beam would..."

"Comrade Clayton, while it's still likely, we don't strictly know if she keeps her brains in her head anymore. Her last round of treatments at those Solarian clinics... we'd need something truly hellacious to be sure of her." Star A Star smiled, even white teeth showing as the mirth reached his eyes. "Fortunately, we've got it. Our contacts with the Church of Haruhi came through. We don't know where they got it, it may not even be theirs, and we're told there will be no more no matter what. Probably something expensive and hush-hush, but we've got it."

"And this makes it possible for us to snuff her out?"

"Yes. You see, she has one vulnerability she never bothered to close. Despite her prating about the posthuman overelite, the Autarkh is in her black soul a creature of habit! She was as normal as you or I when she took the throne, and she still keeps up the outward pretense of humanity to this day. I cannot say why, but she still uses... makeup. Which is, of course, applied directly to her face, and we have a woman on the inside in her very household- and most of you wouldn't want to know what that cost; God knows I wish I didn't."

These were all hardened revolutionaries. The connections were obvious. "Poison?"

"Better. Some sort of explosive. Powerful enough to be rid of even that infernal she-devil."

One of the urban guerillas glanced around nervously. "Are you crazy telling us all this, Star? You know as well as I do that in spite of everything, at least two of the people in this room are probably secret policemen."

He chuckled. "Donna, I'm not an Arcadian serial villain. Do you seriously think I'd explain our master-stroke if there remained the slightest chance of the Statspolice affecting its outcome? I did it thirty-five minutes ago.”

Tower of the Autarkh
Thirty-Five Minutes Ago

Despite the assurances of her surgeons, Autarkh Ekaterina still swore she could find the faint traces of the implants they'd installed, the wiring and durability-enhancers and mind-machine intereface and all the rest. It was there if you really looked at her- and hers was a face plastered on banners ten stories high all across this world. Nothing less than perfection was possible!

She was more than human, that was an article of faith. And yet the longer she looked in the mirror, the more she felt... less than human somehow. Servants had done most of the work, but she carefully applied the last touches to her chemical face with her own hand, from her own personal supply.

Fifteen seconds later, the binary triggers activated, and the reaction began.

Meeting of the Coalition for Privacy

Proudly, "Star A Star" stood with one arm akimbo and the other on the visiplate. The bootleg footage would have been impossible to get on such short notice had it not been preplanned, but there it was. Full thirty stories of the Autarkh's personal palace vanished in a mushroom of flame, smoke, and debris.

"So, you see just how well our first strike went! Teams are already in place and moving out to strike other targets around the planet. Many of you were involved in the planning and positioning. But I hope you now realize that you were all part of a larger machine. A distinguished analyst of my acquaintance expects the state security, army, and navy to be at each others' throats in a matter of days. I know not what will happen. Perhaps we will all be conquered by Vikings, but at least we shall die on our feet, like free people, and at long last- Big Brother is blind!"

Cheers rang out.

"Smulté, fetch the drinks from the cabinet in the other room. I propose a toast!"

Glasses were filled.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I give you... the most dangerous rouge in the quadrant!"

Hierarchy palace, New Chamarra

For forty five years Naya Kithandra had built where Allia Kithandra and conquered and destroyed.
The implication that settled on Kara was that perhaps Naya had prepared the way for her to continue the great commission. But she couldn't be sure, Naya had never said what she expected of her chosen successor. Was she just imposing her desires on the unknowns of the past?

It probably didn't matter. Even if the Hierarchy was ready to continue the great commission the Hellenics and the Sultanate had had equal time to prepare. And the Hierarchy had tried and failed to conquer those nations of humans back when they weren't as distracted by the intricacies of ruling over humans. It would be difficult to prosecute their righteous commission against a prepared foe with their mental energies so divided. There was no easy way to combine rulership and righteousness...

“Kara, you're supposed to brood quietly staring out the window AFTER you're crowned.” Melia commented from a patch of pillows adjacent to her. Kara smiled and glanced to her younger sister.

“I can't help it. 'Sides getting my 'brood' on a few minutes before won't matter much in the grand scheme of things.”

“Just don't do it too much. I might reconsider being dragged into responsibility along with you otherwise.” Melia replied.

“You'd leave me to face the noble houses and Fatherkind alone over a trifle like that? Fiend.” Kara snapped back playfully.

“Probably not, just don't change too much okay?”

“I'll try, I make no promises.” Kara said before she glanced at the vidscreen and smiled turning to the door.

“What are you-” Melia began turning expectantly and then breaking out into a smile of her own
“Big sis!” Melia concluded happily.
“Welcome home Tia.” Kara added, a tad more formally.
“Thank you Heir-sister.” Tia responded and found herself a place to sit “I'm sorry I couldn't come sooner. Word about mother took a while to reach me.” she said, subtle cues revealing that it's still something she's come to terms with. Understandable really, her sisters had had months while Tia had had weeks.

“Well you're just in time for the coronation.” Kara said and fidgeted a moment awkwardly and then added “Tia, I want you as a ring bearer. I've offered Melia one already but the traditional number is two and there's no one I trust more.”

“That's not the only reason.” Tia said probingly. Even if she could guess at the reasons it paid to be open before being given royal power by proxy.

“No, I also need your expertise. We're going to need to talk to the Fatherkind if we're to ever get them off balance enough to continue the commission.” Kara replied.

“Expertise?” Tia smiled “I'm just a tourist.”

“And how many other Chamarrans can even say they've left our borders to anywhere other than the Authority?”

“Not many, I'll admit I got a frosty reception in a lot of places.” Tia said and then fell silent as Kara watched her expectantly. The eldest considering for a time and then nodding.
“I accept.”

“Very well then. We should probably get ready.” Kara said and turned to go though paused
“Tia, I know this can probably wait till after the coronation but there's a question that's been niggling at me that I never got a chance to ask Naya.”

Tia could guess but let Kara say it first “Well, if you think I can answer...”

“Why'd she choose me instead of you? You're the eldest.”
“Over the last decade I've spent more years outside the Hierarchy that inside of it. I guess she figured I've been corrupted by my time amongst un-subjugated Man.”

“Makes sense.” Kara said and almost turned to go again “Have you?” she asked with a headtilt.

“Probably not but ask me after the coronation.” Tia said and smiled.

Kara nodded seeming satisfied and walked out to prepare.

“Tia. Seriously now. I don't idolize you any so tell me straight, do you still believe in the commission?” Melia asked, the normally mischevious youngest suddenly serious.

“I'm still a Kithandra sis, I'll always have what's best for the Hierarchy in mind.”

“The commission IS what's best for the hierarchy though.”

Tia looked at her sister silently for a moment, and then just smiles “Of course sis, and that's what i meant. I have to get ready now though.” she said and left. Melia sat troubled amidst the cushions a moment, Tia sounded sincere. But there was something off about her body language, in a way it was lucky Tia had wandered so long away from her own kind. She'd gotten lousy at hiding the cues that only kitties noticed. Melia made a vow to keep an eye on her older sister and then left the royal lounge herself to get ready.


And so it was that in the first season of the year 48 CCE, Kara Kithandra, Daughter of Naya Kithandra and chosen heir, ascended to the throne to rule the hundred and score worlds of the Hierarchy. Her blood sisters Tia and Melia to rule under her with the power of the throne at their backs. A great new day dawns.

No one ship is an invasion, not even one that, by trajectory and signature, was a League of Thought vessel. What one lone ship emerging from League space on a direct course to Chamaran Hegemony space definitely was was an anomaly. Relations between the two nations has scaled between rocky and nonexistent every since the bloody first contact between them. Shows of force, ultimatums, demands, and stonewall silence had long become the norm between the two governments. One lone, small transport, and one that by its signature was clearly not a warship even by League standards, was none of the above.

As the ship closed with the Chamaran border, it altered course to pass near the nearest Hegemony border post, broadcasting a formal message on a noticeably-crude hyperwave transmitter. It slowed midflight, giving the Chamarans some small time to answer before its course would intersect the border.

Chamarran Border

Unexpected moves were a rarety in the Chamarran dealings with the League. And dealing with such was well beyond the authority of the border station, with conference with higher authority a lengthy process to achieve however action must be taken. But not taken without due precaution And so with a stealthed cruiser trailing in their wake the Feast of Crows was given leave to journey to new Chamarra.

Adjorian Sector (O-24)
Adjoria System
Adjora (Capital World of the Authority)
Apex Caste Duelling Spire, Capella City
January 4th 3300

The armoured figure hit the ice with a crunch, starting to stain the snow as deep red a red as his bioluminescence was flooding as his pain and nervousness finally broke through into his expression.

“Yield” He spluttered, having to repeat himself as he found his voice stolen by the howling wind, “I yield!”

The opponent allowed herself a smirk, vibrant red hair blowing in the breeze, matched by a similarly coloured cape, the rest of her bulkier armour was a deep green, marred only by the occasional silver scratch and splatter of her foes blood, the blade of her equally green sword in a similar condition.

As the announcer droned on about her victory the Emerald General descended the stairs away from the stand and into the interior of the tower proper, brushing loose snowflakes from her hair as the door cycled open, revealing an older Capellan woman, body almost entirely hidden beneath layer upon layer of bright crimson robes, hair the same colour as the Generals done up far more formally with some kind of crimson metallic decorations interwoven throughout.

“You been waiting long… ah no, let me guess you only just showed up because as part of some far reaching scheme you were already counting on me winning at just this second, and come to embroil me in another of the Crimson Shoguns legendary schemes?”

The older women simply smirked slightly as she stood aside to let the sword wielding combatant through, falling into step several paces behind as the pair of them strode through the spiralling corridors of Capellan power.

“And I see the General is once again disregarding her political duties, not even staying to witness neither the reactions of her opponents nor the new policies that will be drawn up as a result”

“We all play our role and nothing more, the Weave writes the rest” The General stated, not breaking her stride or turning to face the woman she was having a conversation with.

“But” The Shogun began, face as impassive, neutral and unreadable as ever, quite the feat for a Capellan, “This time is different, you’ve set the whole Authority on a new course, and potentially set into motion events that will change the very role we play on the galactic stage, it would be denying your role to step back into obscurity after this”

The General slowed as the pair approached an ornately edged oval window, the endless webs of trickling traffic suspending in the air beyond a breathtaking sight that had had its impact diluted by familiarity.

“So, what would you suggest?” The green armoured woman said as she turned to face her unreadable company, unsure if she was getting into another duel or not.

“Something you will enjoy my dear, take a ship, a small escort, travel the stars to see all the nations that interest you and build our relationships with them one way or the other, it should do much to help the cause you have championed”

The idea struck a cord, a chance to see the galaxy, to strike out into new adventures, the General gave an approving nod, causing the crimson clad woman facing her to give the smallest of smiles.

“I’ll take a cruiser from the capital fleet, that’s not been formally put together yet after all, so won’t be missed before I get it back, and then I could go to… well I think I need a star chart for this”

She continued to talk quietly to herself even as she walked off towards her quarters, excitement shining from her cheeks and wanderlust gleaming from her eyes.

As the Shogun watched her go, she turned to look out at the vast icy mountains just beyond the city limits, flicking a paper fan from somewhere under those vast robes, using it to cover her mouth as she allowed herself a brief break in the mask, very much enjoying a rather un-heroic smile.

“Another piece in place, now how will the other players counter I wonder?”


Adjora (Capital World of the Authority)
Capella City Outskirts
January 6th 3300

Steam hissed out around the heated bulldozer blades as another mound of compacted ice and snow, that had sat there longer then the Authority had existed, steadily hissed out to condense into the frigid air almost immediately.

From here it was plucked from the air and funnelled to storage tanks, for some use to be found for it later and prevent it from freezing up around the vast treads of the equally vast industrial engine crunching across the plains and preparing this section of land.

It was one of countless such machines visible from the mostly glass survey pod flying overhead, one filled with a team of the best and brightest designers from across the planet, planning out the various plots for their new ambassadorial district.

Inside was abuzz with their voices as the layout of all the various plots was drawn up, to be submitted to various nations for their new embassy and district extensions, it was an exciting time to be an architect that’s for sure.

“Well given what the Holy Empire’s ambassador mentioned about their new premises I think we’re going to need to expand their allotted compound and encase it in some kind of climate controlled dome”

“Does it have to be a dome? It’s always a dome, maybe we should make it a cube, or a pyramid!”

“No, it’s going to be a dome, now how are our stocks of chrome looking? The Umerian building is going to require a lot of chrome”

“I’ve ordered an increase in production, we should have enough, as long as they don’t go too overboard, well by their standards anyway”

“I’m still not sure it’s a good idea to assign their plot right next to the Kritarchy’s myself, don’t they have that little feud going on?”

”They’ll be fine! It’s not like we’re putting the Hellene or Klavostani plots next to the Chamarrans after all, that’s the one you’d expect that’d cause fighting.”

“Maybe we should give the Furlings their own plot? They are technically independent after all…”

“Oooh, good point, we’ve got some space between the Hierarchy and Star Empire, that should be good for them”

“Do we even know if the Bees will be interested? I’m not sure if we should be…”

On and on the conversation danced excitedly to point to point as the machines and workers crunched on below, setting things out for the next page in the Authorities history, as had been decided days earlier, they would work to increase their prominence in galactic affairs and to do that one of the proposals was already underway, this vast new ambassadorial district, drawing upon the finest building styles from every nation in the galaxy, it would be a wonder to behold, assuming of course they could ever hash out all the details.

“You know, maybe we should have just added this in on the other side of the city, is it too late to start over?”

CNS Datton, Aurora Space Dockyards
Dovan Sector (D-19), the Centrality
January 7, 3300

"ATTENTION!!!", blared the ship's speakers. None but the deaf (and even then they noticed) could miss it.

"This is your Captain speaking! We have been given a mission, of an importance only known to the top brass! We are to sneak near the territories of several ill-disposed nations to ascertain the purpose of a space station with a rather racy name! This is a quick photo-shoot, so we need to be fast! No stopping to admire the stars! Oh, and by the way, WHO POOPED IN A NORMAL ROOM!?!?"

In an out-of-the-way cargo hold, a veldtchomper illegaly taken as a pet was busy doing its business. Outside, a crewman was sweating profusely.

"Kriff my life," he muttered under his breath.

He decided it was better to go back to his post and let someone else worry about that animal. For the Datton was now going into hyperspace.

Sector P-23
Orbit of Planet Danzig
Evigt Hopp Stationen
January 12, 3300

The bridge of the station which had been the center of so much attention recently lit up with activity as their sensors picked up the incoming Hyperspace translations of a number of ships, some of them even of quite a fair tonnage. However, when the nature of their visitors became apparent, the atmosphere became calm once more - nobody who covered THAT much of a ship in gold and exotic artwork painted across the hull would intentionally pick more fights than they were forced to. The legendary majesty and splendour of a Klavostani Royal Trade Caravan was not exaggerated too much, especially on the grand trade xebec that led it. Not unarmed, certainly, but a mercenary Barbarossa class destroyer and a half-obsolete carrier added some welcome muscle to the rogue trader flotilla.

"Greetings Arcadians! I am Guildmaster Ibn Battuta! The warding off of pirates is the heart of any healthy trade route, and I know a good investment opportunity when I see one. We wish to obtain commercial, residential, and warehouse space on board your station to construct a proper trade emporium. My daughter, Doquz, will be heading up this venture, it was, after all, her idea." The bearded older man's hologram smiled, and disappeared. He was replaced by the chocolatey-skinned form of a shapely younger woman in the finest blended xenosilks, with the holstered bulge of a pistol upon her hip.

"Greetings, Captain Sven Sisko, I am Doquz. I hope our relationship is peaceful and profitable," she said, as one of the medium-sized ships of the trade caravan broke off from the rest to proceed to the station, hers.