SDNW4 Story Thread 1

[Shroom Man 777]

(And now for something warm and fuzzy before I sleeps!)

Burgerin' for Home in Hyperspace
____________________________________
- August 51, 3400 -
- The Bohemian Rhapsody, somewhere in Solarian space -
____________________________________

“Daddy, what are you doing?”

Juan looked over his shoulders to see that Carol had somehow infiltrated the freighter’s bridge. She was probably hungry, or all excited about finally going back home to Solaris. Back to mom. “I’m just talking to the computer, sweetie.”

Five year olds couldn’t possibly understand the processes involved in preparation for a hyperspace jump, no matter how short and easy the computers made them to be.

“For the…” neither could they pronounce ‘hyperjump’ right. Juan chuckled as the chubby blonde girl struggled to articulate the complicated adult words. “For… going very fast?”

“Yes, yes,” incredible how smart kids were, or at least his kid. Couldn’t pronounce the big grownup words, they made their own. “And now the computer has to think how to make the jump safe for us. So that we can see mom as soon as possible.”

Carol’s face lit up in amazement as she looked at the big boxy mass of buttons and glowing things and holographic display monitors that was in front of Juan, realizing that it helped her father in his very long and boring job. Realizing that it was what made going back home to mom possible. “Can I have some of your recaff?”

“No, sweetheart. You’re too young. Recaff’s only for old people, so that they can stay awake,” Juan answered tenderly. He was reading what the computer had to say after it scanned the local hyperwave channels and used its own hyperspatial sensors. “Thirteen parasecs, eh?”

“What, daddy?” Carol looked confused.

“Ah, nothing. Just talking to the computer…” the reply only made Carol even more confused. “Hey, why don’t you go to sleep? Tomorrow, mommy’s going to be waiting for us at the starport and she wouldn’t want you to be dozing off while we have breakfast at BurgerBoat.”

“BurgerBoat?!” they didn’t have those in Zigonia. The party-lizards only had eggs with boiled bird fetuses, and those scared the living daylights out of Carol. Gave her nightmares. She preferred the six-inch thick slabs of pure Freedom-branded BurgerBeef and BurgerBread interspaced with BurgerCheese, paleomayonnaise, nanoketchup, pseudolettuce, flavored FreedomMeatFat, and so forth. Just the thought of it made Juan salivate.

“Yes dear. Now you - "

"YAY! BURGERBOAT!!!" Carol hopped around happily.

" - better go to sleep. We’ll be dropping in system the middle of the night and land on Solaris Minor in the morning.”

“Aw kay.” Carol said as she turned and bounced to her quarters. Juan could hear her yell ‘BurgerBoat!’ repeatedly. He smiled. She’d never go to sleep now.

“Haha, BurgerBoat,” the ship had sent a hyperspace ping. The signal, aside from carrying a bit of information, would enable nearby ships to triangulate the Bohemian Rhapsody’s present location and its destination. This was necessary to prevent collisions, even though the odds against them were astronomical. Also, should the ship get attacked by pirates (rare when a ship was this close to Solaris) or otherwise disappear because of unforeseen circumstances, the hyper-ping would help in the rescue effort. “Computer, set course for Solaris. Eneregize hyperdrive. Engage Ludicrous Speed!”

He heard that from a holoscreen movie. Probably them bloody McBain movies Carol so desperately wanted to watch, despite his protests.

Acknowledged. The computer beeped, the ship’s engines hummed, and the sea of stars in the holographic viewscreen transformed into a sea of white streaks that highlighted a tunnel of blue energy. Ludicrous Speed indeed.

[Force Lord]

CNS Govard, Centralist 5th Fleet
B-A Gap, The Outback

Vice-Admiral Kordis was not happy.

He had just recieved word of the Datton's fate. He hoped to Dovan's word that Forg would scuttle his ship and go down with it.

"Sir, our force has left hyperspace. Sensors detect a flotilla of Coalition warships several kilometers from us."

"Hail them."

"Which sir?"

"Whichever you want."

The monitor soon showed the bridge of said ship. Kordis talked to the naval officer in front of him.

"This is Vice-Admiral Guring Kordis. We are from the Centrality. We do not seek a confrontation. I can explain."

HCNV Black Knight
Edge of the Bannerman System, The Outback

"Vice-Admiral Kordis, I am Rear Admiral Kim Paktu Hiigaran, Clans Navy. I am in command of a multi-national fleet charged with ensuring the blockade of Pendleton. This is an active warzone and no non-Coalition vessels are allowed within the exclusion zone. I'm afraid that without orders I cannot allow you to proceed, but by all means I'm eager to find out why you're here and as long as it doesn't conflict with my orders perhaps we could work something out. I do not wish to throw away the lives of those under my command, I'm sure you must feel the same way."

"Indeed I am, Rear Admiral Patku. It was never our intention to break this blockade. We were here for another reason."

Kordis took a deep breath. It was now or never.

"Several months ago, a hundred loyal citizens of the Centrality were kidnapped by a Pfhor slaver party. We tracked down ten of them in Pendleton just before your Coalition reached the B-A Gap. Since it was too late for us to join you, we were forced to send a cloaked destroyer to Pendleton just after you got there. But our leaders feared that there was a chance it could be detected, given that said ship's crew and commander lacked much expertise in stealth operations. Hence the prescence of our 5th Fleet. Yes, this is not our entire force. The rest of the fleet is just outside the Outback. Again, I assure you we are not seeking a conflict. We only want our cloaked destroyer back. In fact, the last message we recieved from it suggested it was caught by an Anglian vessel. You must tell the Anglian command about this, or there would be an incident of ghastly proportions."

[Steve]

Pendleton, The Outback


The bombardment of planetary missile sites was brief and furious. Light batteries were used, minimizing planet-side casualties as a result of collateral damage while accomplishing the necessary goal of knocking out the Pendletonian SAM network. Much of their roughly 16,000 low-grade, atomic-tipped SAM arsenal was already expended or lost from the Shepistani bombardment. With a fairly complete map of the planet from long decades of experience, the Royal Navy directed the bombardment to take out most of the missiles. Some of the mobile ones survived, by dint of pure luck, and fired on the landing troop transports, just to be shot down, for the most part, by escorting atmospheric craft or the transports' own point-defense. The transports suffered hits that were contained (in some cases barely) by shielding, and with that accomplished Pendleton had no means of capable self-defense left.

The next sequence of events were the repeat of at least 8 prior invasions of this kind (3 of the prior Anglian interventions on Pendleton had been smaller-scaled and concentrated on raid-level strikes on the planet over a certain time period). Across the planet forces landed. Aside from the scourged zone from Hushy's bombardment there were troops to oppose them, but to a man they were vastly inferior. Small-arms fire bounced or dissipated harmlessly off power armor. The armored vehicles the Pendletonians kept, geared primarily toward fighting revolting slaves or an abolitionist coup, didn't even have the firepower to do more than wound those troops in the lighter variants of power armor, as seen in the army formations. The Anglian Royal Marines proved as invincible against them as they did the other units.

The usual strategies of Pendleton were not to resist heavily anyway, but only to obstruct and annoy while materials and persons were secured for hiding. But this invasion was larger than any the planet had been subjected to, and Pendletonian morale had never been so low. While every invasion defense had been infused with desperate fatalism in the prior cases, today was different. The Pendletonians had, for a a brief time, entertained notions of victory and immunity. They had become allied with the Collectors, never again to face Anglian invasion! Pendleton had been secured... but in a space of minutes that had been stripped from them. They had gone from the euphoria of imminent victory to imminent defeat, their own propaganda having made the people understand just what the invasion fleet was intending to do; the result was a complete crash in morale, magnified by the first awful reports of the atomic scourging suffered by three of the southern continental provinces. None could know the Anglians would not allow another nuke to pass through, instead it seemed more like a warning shot: submit or we will annihilate you for good.

Here and there you had a dramatic last stand. Some fatalistic officers, convinced their fate was the gallows anyway, fought where they stood. Others tried to save themselves by abandoning their posts and hiding. Entire plantations and estates became denuded of slaves as the invasion progressed, or alternatively the owners hid in their panic rooms knowing the justice of New Anglia would be slower and more deliberate than that of vindictive slaves, their hour of retribution come round at last. There were those slave owners killed themselves to avoid either fate, a few even doing the same to their children and wives, convinced especially that their female relations would face rape at the hands of the slaves if taken alive. Some just killed themselves from despair; such was the result of a society facing what so many perceived as its final doom. New Anglia would not be implementing a half-hearted occupation to be abandoned as soon as the political winds turned; they had come for good.

The capital was already in a state of chaos. Much of the government was badly wounded or dead at the hands of the Collector emissary. PIE and BOSS troopers proved the strongest resistance - their guns actually posed a threat to power armor infantry, albeit a slight one. The Royal Marines, fighting cautiously and carefully to minimize their own losses, took three hours to secure the capital against them, but when it was over the very cream of Pendleton's military resistance was done. By then numerous units had disintegrated or surrendered.

Shortly after his meeting with Commander Hushy, with Montalba secured, Fisher finally boarded the pinnace that brought him planetside. A squad of Royal Marines accompanied him, as did the elite bodyguards of the other commanders in the force (Save the Shepistanis, now departing). They gathered at the capital in Montalba where a badly wounded Secretary of War Jeffery Forrest, wounded by Unit 7, was limping in the company of Navy medics. Fisher and the commanders of the other national contingents appraised him carefully as he tried to draw to his full height, hampered by a terrible hip injury and a broken arm, along with a concussion that left his thoughts blurry. "We submit to your superior physical might and surrender our nation to your's," he mumbled. "We are your conquests. But we were in our right to protect our sovereignty... and all the blood shed this past day is on your heads, not our's."

"So you say," Fisher remarked. "But allow me to explain things, Mister Secretary. For every droplet of sweat and blood that has been wrung from your slaves, through forced labor or lashing or shooting, is on your heads. Every man and woman slain by your state security forces and your warped courts of justice for believing in the principles of Civilisation, for the end of the trade in living, thinking beings, is on your heads. And do not forget that this day could have been avoided by action on your part. The Empire has tried, repeatedly, to make you see the evil of your deeds. We have with great patience waited these centuries for your people to reform; you have not. That, sir, is why you are now conquered, and why Pendleton is to be integrated into the Anglian Empire. And so, ultimately, all of this bloodshed rests upon your heads, not our's."

"Spare me your hypocrisy, your pretensions of moral superiority, agent of monarchy and oppression," Forrest retorted. "Shoot me now."

"No. You are in our custody, pending investigation into your estate to determine your ownership of slaves, whether they were mistreated severely, and if you committed murder against them or those committed to their liberation," Fisher answered. "If such is suspected, the Crown will prosecute you in a court to be determined, governed by fairness, unlike the kangaroo courts your people subjected good men and women to in order to protect slavery." The interview concluded, and the surrender accepted, Fisher was done with Forrest. "Lieutenant, take this man to a field hospital."

One of the Marines nodded. Forrest was led away to be treated in custody. Fisher turned to the other officers and permitted the faintest of smiles. "I thank you for your service here, under my command. We faced death together and, as well, have upheld the customs and will of Galactic Civilisation. I shall speak of your deeds and sacrifices with great pride to the end of my days." With that said, they embarked upon a tour of the capital.

By the stroke of midnight, 26 January 3400 General Standard Time, the organized fighting on Pendleton ceased. The invasion was done; Pendleton was lost, at the mercy of her invaders. The war, such as it was, had ended.

Now the peace was to begin. What kind of peace that would be was left to be determined...

[PeZook]

Pendleton
Armed Forces Command Complex

The command complex for the Republican Armed Forces was one of the few targets struck by heavy weapons from orbiting Anglian cruisers, because of its importance to the war effort. Despite more than half the facilities being located in heavily fortified bunkers, the fire missions managed to pretty much destroy most of the complex, thus decapitating most of Pendleton's defences.

The ruins were mostly ignored by the landing troops, which had more important objectives to secure. In the aftermath of the invasion, however, they came to the interest of Coalition command again. Documents and records recovered from surrendered units and local command centres indicated that contact was lost with the Fleet Command Post hours before the fleet entered Pendleton's orbit.

And so, a Royal Marine detachment was hastily mobilized to investigate the remains of the command complex, even as fighting was still going on across the planet.

The assault shuttle came in low, skimming to surface in order to avoid fire from whatever SAM sites still remained operational. They sighted the ruins quite a long way off, thanks to the oily smoke plumes and high levels of rad emissions.

"Two minutes to target. Stand by.", the disembodied voice of the pilot sounded out inside the crowded crew compartment. Lance Corporal Hendricksen checked his plasma carbine and shifted in the uncomfortable seat. The ten men under his command, members of 13 Troop, 2nd Royal Marine Commando Batallion were squeezed together like sardines, their powered armor making them barely able to move.

"Equipment check!", Hendricksen called out on the squad's internal battle network. He received status updated almost immediately: everything was in working order.

"Bloody hell...", the heavy gunner, private Tomlin, muttered under his breath, "...I came here to kill slavers, not sift through ruins..."

"Tomlin, you're online and have a hot mike.", Hendricksen scolded him. He didn't see if the private reacted in any way, thanks to the armor, but he at least shut up, "Ten seconds."

All commandos braced themselves. With a thud, they were violently ejected from the crew compartment. As the shuttle powered away, the squad hit the ground between ruined buildings. Almost immediately they came under sporadic and uncoordinated fire. It was swiftly supressed by overwhelming firepower.

"Squad on me. The objective is right down that street."

The Marines moved, their heavy armor protecting them from radiation and the occasional small arms burst. All topside facilities that once supported the complex were in ruins. Shell-shocked survivors wandered about, in many cases horribly burned. Some lay dying in pools of their own blood and other bodily fluids. They were ignored, for the squad had their mission and that was all they cared about.

As they cleared the last turn, however, the image changed. Instead of bombed-out ruins, they met open space, covered with a fine layer of concrete dust.

"What the...there should've been a building here."

"Maybe it was hit directly by one of the heavy batteries?"

"No, there's no crater."

"Corporal! These men were shot.", Tomlin pointed to a group of corpses laying in the dust, "Not by our weapons, either."

Hendricksen approached the bodies, noting giant holes in their chest, surrounded by a layer of liquified flesh. His suit's sensors detected radiation emanating from the bodies.

"Okay, stay alert. The entrance to the bunker should be over there", he pointed to a spot on the squad's map. Thanks to battle management software, the entire squad could see the spot he had in mind.

The point man approached the site cautiously and exclaimed in shock, "Damn, there's nothing left! Just an elevator shaft!"



"That's the spot, though. We go down in pairs, grav units on full power."

The Commandos didn't hesitate. With well-practiced movements, they entered the shaft in twos, gliding down into the bunker. They encountered ruins: corridors inside were littered with damaged furniture, broken lighting fixtures and makeshift barricades. Little damage from the bombardment could be seen.



Tomlin approached a barricade right next to the elevator shaft. Something crackled under his armored boot, "What the bloody hell..."

He lifted his foot, seeing a disfigured...bug. Pieces of carapace, electronics and strange fluid formed a puddle.

"Keep going, watch your angles. Move in twos.", Hendricksen didn't comment. The bodies littering all corridors were of far more concern to him

"Why did they build barricades?"

"Beats me, Jackson. Keep the chatter down."

"Movement! I got movement!", a stream of bright plasma bolts briefly illuminated the corridors. A human figure ran from one room to another. It screamed when Tomlin opened fire.

"DON'T SHOOT! OH GOD PLEASE DON'T SHOOT!!!"

"Tomlin, cease fire!", Hendricksen switched to outside speakers, "Come out with your hands up!"

The human slowly emerged from his hiding spot. He wore a tattered and dirty uniform of the Pendletonian Republican Navy, and there was something in his eyes - sheer, unbridles terror - which made even the hardened Marine Commandos uneasy.

"You're here! You're finally here! God bless you all!", the man cried, as if the hulking armored figures were salvation impersonated, "Quickly! We must get out of here! He may still be around!"

"Get down on your knees! Hands up! Jackson, secure him!", Hendricksen wasn't about to let the crazy bastard get close to his team, "I said down on your knees!"

"No! You don't understand! He's going to kill us all!", the man squealed in a girly voice.

"Shut up, mate.", private Jackson said quietly and snapped a pair of disposable restraints on the prisoner. The man tried to scream and kick, but there was little he could do against powered armor.

"No explosives or weapons, he's clean."

"GET ME OUT OF HERE!!!", the man kept screaming.

"Okay, tag him for the follow up teams. Let's keep moving."

It took hours to search the entire sprawling bunker. The commando squad managed to recover several other survivors, but the most stunning discovery was made on a security terminal. The system was badly damaged, but a few frames of data were recovered.

[MKSheppard]

Pendleton, Nuked Region

The four hundred megatons the Shepistanis had unleashed onto that section of Pendleton had blasted millions of tons of dust into the air through near-ground level initations; along with millions of tons of fallout. While the Shepistani weapons were very 'clean', when you dropped nearly half a gigaton of nuclear atomic firepower onto a planet; a lot of radioactivity was released.

ALready, the Pendletonian towns downwind of the nuclear blasts were receiving a localized version of atomic winter; albeit with radioactive ash instead of snow.



Already, casualties were trending past the two million mark and climbing, as people who were injured in the initial strikes expired due to no immediate medical treatment, and as Pendletonians left their cheaply constructed blast shelters early and sucked in hundreds of rads in a few hours.

Pre-war Pendletonian planning had centered around limited Anglician strikes which would cause minimal amounts of radiation by simply striking a small target set.

Unfortunately, they hadn't counted on the Shepistanis being part of this punishment expedition, so all their preparations were for naught, as blast shelters only had 24 hours of provisions in many places before the occupants were forced into the post-nuclear apocalypse.

Battlestar Annapolis

The Shepistanis on the Annapolis slept wherever they could sleep. Some slept beneath their Vipers; some on the nuclear weapons in the deep magazines, and some in their bunks.

The last couple of days had been very tiring, and it was only through the judicious application of Shabu that they had managed to get through it all and maintain optimum efficiency; and now that the Shabu applications had stopped, everyone had crashed and crashed hard.

In his office, Colonel Tight muttered to himself, rubbing his newly cloned eye frantically, like it was itching.

"My eye...my goddamn eye feels like it's burning up. It's...it's like I was shot with a diamond... a diamond bullet right through my eye. Goddamnit. Fucking Bragulans."

Elsewhere, Hushy was smoking a cigarette as he filled out his final mission report to Fleet Command.

///TS/SI/DIET COKE///
TO: CINCNAV
FROM:BSG-102

SUBJ: FINAL PENDLETON OPERATION REPORT

1. AS OF 2100 HRS; BSG-102 IS HEADED BACK TO SHEPISTANI SPACE, HAVING BEEN FORMALLY REMOVED FROM THE COALITION FORCES BY ADM. FISHER (SEE ANNEX:DR PEPPER FOR EVAULATION AND COMMENTS ON ADM. FISHER).

2. TOTAL CASUALTIES FOR THIS MISSION ARE 35 ON ANNAPOLIS, 54 ON UPPER MARLBORO, AND 1210 ON BALTIMORE.

3. TOTAL ENEMY CASUALTIES CONTINUE TO RISE. LAST ESTIMATE USING SPY SATELLITES INSERTED IN ORBIT AND SEEDED EYEBOTS ON THE PLANETARY SURFACE ESTIMATE THAT TWO (2) MILLION PENDLETONIANS HAVE NOW DIED AS A RESULT OF OPERATIONS BY THIS BATTLESTAR GROUP.

4. FINAL COUNT ENEMY CASUALTIES IS UNCERTAIN. WE ARE ESTIMATING AN ADDITIONAL SEVENTY FIVE (75) TO ONE HUNDRED (100) THOUSAND DEATHS A DAY FOR THE NEXT THIRTY (30) DAYS UNTIL THE WORST OF THE RADIATION AND AFTEREFFECTS OF OUR STRIKES HAVE WORKED THEIR WAY THROUGH THE REGION.

5. RECENTLY, A TRANSMISSION WAS RECEIVED BY THIS BATTLESTAR GROUP ANNOUNCING THAT ANGLICIA IS ANNEXING PENDLETON INTO THEIR EMPIRE. IN THE OPINION OF THIS COMMANDER, THIS IS AN INSULT TO ALL OF MY PERSONNEL WHO DIED ON THIS MISSION -- THEY DIED NOT TO LIBERATE PENDELTON AND PUNISH THE SLAVERS, BUT TO ADD PENDLETON TO THE GROWING ANGLICAN EMPIRE.

6. OPERATION YOSEMITE WAS A COMPLETE AND UNQUALIFIED SUCCESS, DESPITE INITIAL FRICTIONS WITH ELEMENT YOSEMITE BASED UPON ANNAPOLIS.

7. ENCL IS PHOTOGRAPH TAKEN BY ONE OF OUR CAMOUFLAGED EYEBOTS ON THE SURFACE OF PENDLETON.


SHEPNET Photo #2214AF taken by SpyDrone #212 from 6 kilometers

///TS/SI/DIET COKE///

VULTURE ROCK, SUBLEVEL 90

"They WHAT?" shouted Tarsus, his rage rising.

"We're receiving confirmation of this through other sources as well, Saul. Looks like we got all played by the fucking Anglicians."

"Those....those fucking degenerates! This will not stand! Copy this over to the diplomatic pouch and send it over to the Grand Dominion. They most likely will be very interested in this blatant land grab." snarled Tarsus.

[Lonestar]

Dominion News Service



Occupation of Pendleton begins
The DNS wire services have learned that coalition forces have begun landings on the planet of Pendleton, and that resistance on the ground has been sparse and erratic. Rumors abound of heavy space-borne casualties, apparently as a result of intervention by outside forces. As yet the DNS Wore service has been unable to confirm the magnitude of the battle in the Pendleton system.

"I am sure than the Anglian Government has no plans to unilaterally annex Pendleton, and will take into account the wishes of it's people." Foreign Minister MacKaye said in a televised statement. "National Sovereignty is a treasure to all people, and the Grand Dominion will not look kindly upon it being trampled."


National Court rules against the Latin Patriarchate, Psi Corps to continue to exist
One of the current Lord Fairfax's early reforms was taking away the Church's monopoly on the use of Pyskers. Although there had long been rumors of Pyskers employed by the secular military, the Troubles revealed the existence of the so-called Shadowblade program. By greatly expanding the secular program in a public form known as the "Psi Corps" Lord Fairfax undermined the primary military advantage held by Patriarchal forces, the College of Cardinals.

Upon appointment of Corbin II to the Latin Patriarchate of the Grand Dominion, the New Church has made legal overtures to attempt to dissolve the secular Psi Corps, with the National Court ruling it seems that the book is finally closed on Patriarchal Monopoly of Pyskers within the Grand Dominion.

[Lonestar]

Bragulan Commissariat Vessel Thrusting Piston
Spevik Ansils



With a whirl and click the microfiche machine began operating, feeding the data from the security satellite constellation into the projector. Special Commissar Vikim Vikimsivik was beyond livid. He hated being out on these fringe worlds holding the paws of the provincial militia, who could not investigate their way out of hew-mon Mini Van with peanut butter inside of it. What kind of fool waits a month before informing the Commissariat that there was something suspicious about the a blown up hew-mon bear in the woods where the missing Yearling was last seen?

"There! Stop." Vikim paused the projector, and he could see where the drop ship suddenly began burning as it entered the atmosphere. "Cross reference with all satellites in this location." A cloaked ship! It wouldn't have been able to get close to a core world, to be sure, but a tranquil forest moon like Ansils? The computer whirled as it crossreferenced all sensors, visible light, ultraviolet, infrared, and gradually a picture formed of the vessel.



"Identify!" Vikim roared. The computer dutifully went through it's microfiche of Jaynes and burped up an identification.

Code: Select all

95% certainty it is a M3189 Dominion Patriarchal Star Sloop-of-War

Vikim roared. He opened communications to his superiors.


Ramsey's Draft Wilderness,
Damascus
Dominion Space

Unlike many human nations, the core worlds of the Grand Dominion were relatively underpopulated. Chesapeake itself maxed out at 10 Billion, while Damascus, capital of the Rogers Sector, only had 6 billion. This led to a lot of wild land, as Yivgny was discovering. He ran through the woods as quick as he could, having made a break for it as soon as the chance was afforded. He had heard the Hew-mons were mad, but this was a level beyond what he had been indoctrinated to believe. These people were lunatics. They could not have been government representatives, especially considering the disparaging way they spoke of the so-called "Lord Protector". He continued running. Somewhere up ahead there was a road, he had heard cars whizzin by and had yet to be caught after an hour of flat out sprinting.

hew-mons regard Bragulans to be lumbering beasts, but they could in fact run much faster than the pitiful monkeys. Suddenly he stumbled. The whizzing of cars was so close! He felt his throat closing and he was gasping for air. A shadow fell over him as a human in golden power loomed over.



The Hew-mon waved and lifted Yivgny up and together they walked back towards the camp, at an easy pace that took several hours. Yivgny was just floating along and was still floating along as they entered the clearing around the main camp buildings. Pastor Bill and his wife Charlene were standing there, with their stupid insipid smiles. He had met the director of the camp only once, and loon named Davies, who held the title of "Dean Pastor Davies".



"Howdy Camper!" Said Pastor Bill. "Boy howdy you sure gave us a chase! Cardinal Francis was able to find you though."

"Let me go..." Yivgny pleaded. "Please. I know what you thinking you are doink, but you are wrong! I am Bragule! I not this Moreau!"

"Oh Eugene sweety," Said Charlene, using what Yivgny felt was a retarded Anglicization of his name "Now if we let you go you'll just go running home and have all your furry friends come attack us, you wouldn't want that, would you?"

Yes. "I wouldn't tell!"

"Besides we need to save your eternal soul! Well! You just go right back to your room with your responsibilibuddy, mister."

Yivgny howled as the Human pysker forced him back into the small room. The door locked behind him.

[Shroom Man 777]

SHEPISTANI ZONE*, Pendleton

*The area that got nuked.



The family huddled in the safety of their shelter. The same shelter that had protected the previous generations of their family when the Anglians came for their planet so many years ago, so many times. They had hoped this time would be the same as the previous attempts by the damn monarchists to interfere with their world's affairs. But it wasn't the same. It was worse.

The Anglians had brought with them the great destroyers. The monsters of abject antiquity, the ancient horrors whose acts of atrocities were passed on generation after generation by word of mouth, in bedtime stories to scare children from misbehaving and in mythic tales of bygone eras. The memories of those things so heinous lingered on in the collective Pendletonian consciousness ever since the days of obscurity back on old Astaria of Nova Terra despite the attempts at historical revisionism and cooking history books. Despite all attempts at forgetting the ghosts of the past and their haunting memories, the Astarians remembered. Though they had feebly changed the name of their very people, calling themselves "Pendletons", they could not deny it. And now, the destroyers had returned. Just as there were those who celebrated The Running of the Astarians, there were those who quaked in womanly fear...

At the coming of the Shepistanis.

The prophets had long foretold of the day when history would come full-circle. There were oracles, who were also whores for they had fuck, whoracles who roamed the landscape in torn tattered clothes, or in sheer haggard nudity, screaming proclamations that the end was 'EXTREMELY FUCKING NIGH.'

They were right. By god, they were absolutely right.

The congregations of the most devout churches were now filling the empty streets, bathing themselves in the radiation and flagellating themselves with whips of thorns, confessing their sins and begging for forgiveness. They did not beg their gods, yet they reached out to the sky, for so they thought the Shepistanis watched them from above. The Pendletonians world-over wallowed in their own feebilitude.

The fallout made them look like they had covered themselves in ash, while their tattered clothes looked of sackloth, as though they mourned the death of their whole world. The radiation burns seared their skin and gave them a resemblance to lepers. On street lamps and poles and posts, the bravest of them gathered silver coins and ropes to hang themselves with, like Judas. Those thought of bringing about this pox upon their land, those branded as sinners, were crucified upside down.

Homes were marked with the blood of virgin lambs, as the Nuclear Passover passed over their lands, the Angel of Death carried in the wind. Strange as it was, some say the first to succumb to the radiation were the firstborns. Weeping in fear, many attempted to baptize their newborn and firstborn children in the rivers and lakes, to cleanse themselves of perceived sins and avoid the wrath-curses, but dams weakened by the bombardments ended up bursting, and the resultant deluge swept away hundreds of layfolk and clergy, flushing their bodies into the ocean where they would never be seen again.

Those enraged at these biblical happenings tore their holy books asunder and burned them in piles, and likewise threw nuns and slaves into these pyres - funeral pyres for their world, burning like the cities Eel and Dogadishu. Abolitionists, and those children who they taught to be kind to the slaves, were thrown off buildings or dashed against stones. In revengeance, escaped slaves formed mobs and took the children of landowners and likewise threw them off even taller buildings. Or drowned them in manholes.

The last moments of Pendleton were rife with wickedness. Like Sodom and Gomorrah, but without pillars of salt to iodize. Only radiation that ionized.

The processions continued unabated even as the privitized fire departments struggled to put out the blazes that ravaged their customers' establishments, for in doing so they ignored the burning houses of those who were too poor to pay for coverage. The nuclear firestorms continued and blew fire and brimstone in the faces of the marching acro-flagellants, yet instead of turning back they merely continued and walked on burning coals that fried their bare feet to the bone.

Their moans of pain were heard even in the family's shelter.

The father wept, for he had sent his own mother out to gather food. His daughter asked where her grandmother was, but the father could not reply. He had read an ancient, and thus holy, book called On Thermonuclear War by a prophet named Genghis Khan, or something. He remembered how the holy scriptures said that: "contaminated food could be designated for consumption by the elderly, who would presumably die anyhow before the delayed onset of cancers caused by radioactivity."

He sobbed. To drown out the painful lamentations of the processions outside, he tuned up the radio. Pendleton's privatized emergency broadcast system was airing advertisements from its sponsors.

This kind of immoral behavior is exactly why I'm building the Pastor Richards Salvation Statue. Noah hand an ark, the Dominion had the Alamo, and I am building a highly fortified structure in my image. Simple. This 50 story statue will be able to deflect alpha, gamma, and beta radiation. The day is coming, and coming soon, when the Artificial Suns will rain down to punish the degenerates of this planet. But you can save yourself. The Pastor Richards Salvation Statue will be a completely self-sufficient community. We have canned food rations, private living quarters, and enough supplies to survive happily the predicted 40,000 years of nuclear winter. In phase 2, and with funding from FASTA, we will equip this massive statue with rockets. So when the poopy hits the proverbial fan, we will load up the statue with all of the people who saved themselves through generous donations, blast into space, and colonize Saturn with a race of morally correct, affluent people ruled by me.

Hmm... Will there be naked people?

No, turd brain! It's morally corrupt people like you we're shielding ourselves from: Liberals, abolitionists, the Anglicans... They're the ones responsible for the nightmare Pendleton is today. The crime in the streets, the parties, the children born out of wedlock to a future of hopelessness. Anyone who does not agree with me is mentally sick, and should be shot I'm afraid to say. We need to build a place to escape these transgressions.

Mark my words! Any day now, you're sitting in school, passing notes, and talking about the prom when suddenly you look out the window and there are Anglican paratroopers dropping in to take over. What can you do? Run into the woods with your friends? Call yourselves The Shroomverines? Put twigs in your hair and beat back the Anglican Marines? No... You hightail it to Pastor Richards Salvation Statue and blast off into space! But there is a limited amount of space. That's why I suggest anyone who wants the safety and security of your own bunker, give now. Call 866-9SAVEME. We'll get you on the payment plan and if you're paid in full on D-day, you and your family will be safe! If not, you may have to choose to save yourself and leave the others behind.

The father turned off the radio. The noises outside were gone. The post-nuclear procession of flagellants had continued elsewhere.

[Shroom Man 777]

[REMOVED. Too weird. Jesus.]

[Steve]

Tasker Cloister, New Caroline Islands
New Anglia, Star Kingdom of New Anglia
2 February 3400


Jennifer Long was aged 95, though in biological terms she didn't look a day over 35, at oldest an especially youthful and spry 40 year old. Her physical features were the product of a melange of Human ethnicities - skin tone from Anglicized Yoruba and Caucasian grandparents, a tinge of Asian facial features from her father's Chinese ancestry, lips and chin from the Yoruban side of the famile, ears and cheeks from the Caucasian - as was common in the 35th Century, especially in an ethnically mixed society like New Anglia's. As a Master she was beginning her second decade, her life dedicated to the Order.

Hilda couldn't help but fidget under her gaze. Long was not deaf to the needs of her subordinates and younger Sisters, and she tolerated a fair share of looser living, but she still believed that one should put the needs of the Order first if one was under oath. She understood Hilda's situation, with the death of her brother making her the heir to her father's crown, and that she had obligations beyond the Order. But the request being made of her was different.

"I need not remind you that Sister Zara is, like you, a new Knight, on her first Apprentice. We do not send such away from the Cloister, and the supervision of superiors, lightly."

"There is the Chapter Mattan," Hilda pointed out. "Sister Bianca Magi can provide any supervision necessary."

"She has other duties. Surely you don't expect her to add supervision of Sister Zara's training of such a... difficult student as Druni Jestani to her other duties, including supervision of your training of Layla.O'Malley during your stay," Long pointedly asked.

"I know she would not mind," Hilda said. "She would be happy to help us."

"That doesn't mean she should be imposed upon simply so you can have the luxury of your lover being close at hand for what will only be a short departure. It is a short departure, isn't it?" Long gave Hilda a suspicious look.

"My father did not say he expected me to stay. Though he does sound rather urgent that I come quickly. "

"Whatever affair of family and state he needs you for wouldn't require you to have your lover along. I cannot in good conscious send her too, not on such flimsy reasons."

"They are not flimsy. I..." Hilda felt tears form in her eyes. She fell out of her chair and went to her hands and knees, sensing Master Jennifer's curiosity in her mind. "We have been through so much, Master. Especially Zara, with everything that happened to her. And now training Druni, who is so headstrong... please. Let us be together. Just this once, grant my selfish request. Because... the day will come soon when Layla passes her Trials. I will then be required by duty to go through the Departure Rite, so that I can return to Altair and assume my duties as Crown Princess. And when that day comes, I know I will lose Zara, perhaps forever. She is loyal to the Order's mission, she thinks only of service, even with what it has cost her." Hilda raised her eyes to look at Long's. "We have so little time left. I only wish to share a bit more with her."

Long looked down at Hilda, long and hard. She sensed the genuine hurt in her, the knowledge that the Bond she had established would be sundered by duty in the future anyway. She remembered her own friendships in the Order separated by the needs, and sad consequences of, duty. And, despite her sentiments otherwise, she relented.

"Just this once, Sister Hilda, I will grant this request. I will let Zara go with you, for your sake, her's, and that of her young apprentice. Perhaps the trip may yet cause some thinking on the part of young Druni."

"Thank you, Master," Hilda said, wiping the tears off her cheeks. "Bless you."

"Do not make me regret this decision, Sister Hilda," Long answered carefully. "I shall expect you back as soon as your father releases you. And your stay is extended, know that Zara cannot be justified as spending too much time away. I will recall her if I must."

"I understand." Overjoyed, Hilda left to share the news. Jennifer continued to look out and stare through the window at the Cloister around her. A literal community of Gifted, laity, and contracted workers on this fine island, all under her care. Sometimes it felt good to know that she was still capable of doing a favor, or a good deed, for a fellow Sister.



Druni had, to Zara's face, accepted being informed of her imminent trip passively. But once in her quarters the Dorei teenager fumed. She didn't want to leave to go to Fynn just so her Master could be with her lover. It didn't seem fair! Why had she accepted that passive Knight as her master anyway? Zara was so quiet and passive about things, Druni couldn't get any fire, any passion, out of her. Just her calm criticisms and remarks, marked only by an occasional smirk or smile of amusement when Druni did something to amuse her.

Tired anyway, Druni pulled off her robes and laid on her bed. They were taking a courier sent by the Fynnian government, but even on it the trip would be at least a day and a half, Fynn being two sectors away. She would have to pack light, and then once on Fynn they'd be staying in this cruddy little Chapter that was nothing more than a small two story structure outside the capital with like 30 people living there, including laity. Just a few girls her age, a few Sentinels and Knights, and the Knight-Captain in charge. And there'd be nothing to do but training training training....

The door to the two-girl dorm room opened. The figure that entered was Zaharia, the Trill girl and apprentice of Shayera. She saw Druni laid out on her bed and asked, "Well, you look upset. Did Master Cassandra toss you around again today."

"I'm being taken to Fynn," Druni growled. "Master Zara is being allowed to accompany Master Hilda for some trip she has to make."

"I hear Fynn's a beautiful world, the planet's summer solstice is in four days."

"It's a single, lonely chapter outside the capital. Nothing to do but train, not even enough girls our age to put together a game of Lanta."

"Aww, and you're such an excellent defender too." Lanta was a favored game among the young Gifted of the Order, an adaption of a popular Dorei sport that was akin to football (or soccer for those from Hansom's Planet's North American population), though with elements of rugby and, of all things, basketball. A small ball was moved about, the player required to manipulate it in mid-air with telekinesis while moving and, if they stopped twice, having to throw or kick the ball either for a pass or an attempt at goal. There was no distinction between throwing and kicking; either were allowed, and part of the point was mixing up which you'd do, since the other team's players could attempt a telekinesis-aided interception. There was no goalie involved, and the goal was a a small goal with a net in it that would hold the ball once it had been put in. For added complication, the shooting lines were at the one quarter marks of the field; no offensive player was allowed to make a shot attempt within them.

Sitting on the bed beside her, Zaria said, "Want to see the move I learned from Master Shayera today?"

"Okay."

"Stand up." Zaria stood across from Druni as she did so. "Now come at me "

Druni made a fairly direct, uncaring strike. Zaharia brought her wrist up and deflected it. Druni felt a tug against her leg, the result of a telekinetic grip, and lost her balance. Zaria's arms moved out and quickly grabbed her, twisting her around and throwing her down ont he bed. Druni was recovering, and trying to probe for a telepathic attack, as she felt her sheet being wrapped around her wrists and forearm, binding them together. "It's a variation from Thanagarian unarmed combat training," Zaria said. "Taught to their first generation of ESPers by the Trill, supposedly. You deflect a strike and attack the footing with TK, then put your weight into putting your off-balance opponent down and restraining him or her."

"Nice move if you're fighting unGifted," Druni answered. "Now, can you get these sheets off?" She wiggled her arms but found the material was quite strong, holding her wrists and forearms together snuggly.

"Maybe," Zaria teased, cackling mischievously. "It's just I don't get many opportunities to make you helpless." She turned Druni around so she was on her back, after which she pressed her moist red-hued lips against Druni's blue ones. Her hand touched and gripped Druni's breasts as they kissed warmly. "What would your parents say to the fact that you're about to have a godless Trill take advantage of you?"

"Probably the same thing your parents would say about the fact that you're going to have sweaty sex with an irrational, science-hating, moon-worshipping Dorei," Druni countered with a chuckle. She moaned at the sensations from what Zaria was doing to her chest.

"Not likely," Zaria whispered in her ear, bringing a hand up to run her hand along it, drawing a hoarse moan from Druni at the sensation of her sensitive ears being touched. "All I have to do is say two words: 'casual sex'. And my parents would shrug and think it fine. My aunt might even ask me about it. Being the curious, scientific-minded doctor and therapist she is, while your parents are religious prudes like the rest of your family." The laugh that elicited from Druni was stifled by a renewed kiss. "Now, since you're leaving tomorrow for those cramped quarters in Chapter Mattan, let me give you something to look forward to when you get back..."

[Shroom Man 777]

Encyclopedia Galactica > Food and Drink > OrGazmo

Symbolizing the sexual promiscuity of the United Solarian Sovereignty's decadent technopolitan population, OrGazmo is one of the most popular ‘hard candies’ in the Koprulu Zone and is regarded by the vast majority of posthumanity as the best thing ever since sliced bread.

Acclaimed as an integral and irreplaceable component of modern culture by the populace of the USS and its neighbor the Holy Empire of Haruhi Suzumiya, and branded in the Byzantine Imperium as a shameful heretical vice that is the incarnation of all things wrong and sinful with secularism. Ogled at by the Zigonians and Apexai as a perplexing yet entertaining curiosity, and deemed by the Bragulan Star Empire as a degenerate influence wrought about by the disease that is humankind, no matter what part of the galaxy you reside in, you’re bound to have strong opinions on OrGazmo one way or another, regardless of species and sexual orientation.

Classic OrGazmo is a narcotic-like candy in the shape of a long cylindrical lollipop. It causes mild and supposedly harmless addiction by subtly stimulating the brain’s chemical composition, much like chocolate but more extreme, and by generating a chemically-induced orgasm (hence the name) regardless of the user’s gender. However, its effects are restricted to mammalian species, as discovered via extensive xeno/animal testing done by the Byzantine Imperium's Schola Medicae (whose research was funded by several special interest groups concerned with the preservation of the morality and God Emperor-fearing family values of the Imperium’s youth).

Although the ingredients have remained the same for nearly a century, OrGazmo exists in many shapes and sizes other than the classic lollipop. OrGazmo gum exists, as does coin-sized OrGazmo candies that melt in the mouth. There is liquid OrGazmo used to lace drinks, and even OrGazmo powder that can be snorted. One of the most successful variants is one that is very similar to the classic lollipop, but much larger and shaped in the form of a phallus. Hard-On OrGazmo, as it is called, was exclusively meant for females, its chemical makeup optimized for the female biochemistry. However, many males also purchase Hard-On OrGazmo, preferring its form, shape and feel over that of the Classic OrGazmo lollipop. In the Sovereignty and elsewhere, males, females and other genders of the population can be frequently seen sucking OrGazmo Hard-Ons.

OrGazmo can come in a variety of flavors and corresponding colors.

Gazmo Biomedicals was the company responsible for the invention of OrGazmo, and is the sole distributor of the product. Its owner and CEO, Eric Wu, is rated as one of the richest men in the Sovereignty due to OrGazmo profits. Ever since its orgasmic breakthrough, Gazmo Biomedicals has geared itself to the production and distribution of OrGazmo, ridding itself of all its other pharmaceutical products. Recently, Gazmo Biomedicals found another niche to exploit in the form of commercials. Gazmo commercials depict scantily clad women (OrGazmo Girls) advertising OrGazmo while feigning sensual pleasure and performing erotic acts. CEO Eric Wu lovingly calls this form of entertainment ‘pseudo-porn’.

In the Sovereignty and Holy Empire of Haruhi Suzumiya, one can consume OrGazmo at the age of 13 and onwards, while in the Byzantine Imperium, selling OrGazmo to people below the age of 31 years is considered a Moral Crime. In the Bragulan Star Empire, it is said that the mere possession of OrGazmo will warrant a meeting with agents from the IBGV for prompt ideological review, though most often the task of ideological reinforcement is delegated to Imperial Arbitrators out looking to give a good stick-beating.

OrGazmo candies, lollipops, gums, juice puree, snort-power and Hard-Ons are available in most major retailers in the galaxy, not only in the Sovereignty and the Holy Empire of Haruhi Suzumiya, but also in the Kingdom of New Anglia, Altacar Empire, Technocracy of Umeria, Shinra Republic, Fourth French Empire, and the Nova Atlantean Commonwealth of Worlds. The product is also distributed in several other nations, as well as Wild Space outlets, and can be obtained in the Byzantine Imperium via confidential mail order magazines.

[Lonestar]

Lord Protector's Palace



"Eh? What the hell, is this serious?" Fairfax asked as he got finished reading the missive from the Bragulan government. "Well?"

Benton MacKaye, the Dominion's Foreign Minister sighed. "It appears to be a serious inquiry sir."

"This came from our Embassy on Montgomery? What did Admiral Sykes tell them?"

"I believe he said it was an outrageous implication that the Grand Dominion would go about kidnapping citizens willy-nilly, and that the claims were so outrageous he would have to seek further guidance from the Foreign Ministry."

Fairfax grunted. "Did we kidnap this goddamn Furry?"

"I would ask the Justice Ministry, or the War Ministry. We're not really in the habit of clandestine operations over at Foggy Falls."

"Fine." Fairfax picked up a handset. "Get Attorney General Ramirez and Space Marshal Reinsch on Holo as soon as possible." He barked at the hapless switchboard operator. He hanged up. In less than a minute the leaders of the War Ministry and Justice Ministry appeared. "Gentlemen, we have a problem." Fairfax read them the brief note. "Are we running around kidnapping other nations citizens?"

"Well sir," Ramirez pursed his lips. "The FIS, at any given time, has dozens of operations ongoing..."

Fairfax sighed. "Did we kidnap this one?"

"No sir." "No sir."

"Alright, first of all, I want a inventory of all these sloops, ASAP..."

"Won't be easy." Reinsch said. "Quite a few are unaccounted for after the end of The Troubles, and just as many we demilitarized and sold to private interests. May be difficult to track down even the ones we know exist."

"'Sold to Private Interests'...who the hell authorized that?"

"You did sir, as part of your austerity measures most of the functional patriarchal fleet was scrapped or sold."

"Oh." Fairfax paused. "Fair enough. I also want us to prepare to cooperate with the Bragulan security services. I hope the Justice Ministry has appropriate personnel for the job. As for the return message...Benton here is what I want you to tell those fucking furries..."

[Shroom Man 777]

SPEVIK ANSILS, Severnaya Sector, Bragulan Star Empire



Special Commissar Vikim Vikimsivik had arrived to meet his local compatriotic counterpart, Arbitrator Fiyor Byordyng, at the moon world's central arbitrato-judicial precinct. Even in a farflung forest moon such as Spevik Ansils, there were still criminals and ideological deviants deserving of persecution, which the Imperial Arbitrators of Justice Enforcement happily provided. It was service with a smile, after all.

But the Commissar was not smiling when he met the Arbitrator Fiyor Byordyng.

"Pray tell, Arbitrator, give me one good reason why I should not have you dragged away to the gulags for de-education, in light of your incompetence and tardiness?" the Special Commissar asked icily.

"Because I was neither incompetent or tardy," replied the Arbitrator, meeting the Special Commissar's glare with his own.

At the lowly Arbitrator's display of impudence, Vikim Vikimsivik seriously contemplated shooting him on the spot - an act that was well within his rights as a Special Commissar. Vikim unfastened the safety catch of his service weapon's holster and the Arbitrator's eyes widened, he noted. "You have ten seconds to explain yourself, Arbitrator Fiyor Byordyng, before I give you sanction for contradicting a superior officer and Commissar of the Imperator."

"Special Commissar, I was neither tardy nor incompetent, for I had sent the message to the Commissariat a whole month ago!" Arbitrator Byordyng protested. "I cannot be faulted for the slow action of the Imperial Agency for Imperial Inter-Agency Correspondence!"

"We shall see about that," Vikim replaced the safety catch of his gun. Few Arbitrators had the balls to disagree with a Commissar, much more a Special one, it either meant that he was that desperate or... "And your incompetence?"

"My investigation has already provided several leads, including the origins of the animal corpse the kidnappers used in their stupid attempt at hiding their tracks, and the explosives they used to blow up said corpse," the Arbitrator said defensively. "We've traced them to be of Dominionite origin, particularly the bear which is native to only few human worlds and -"

"All of which I discovered for myself in a day or two's investigation." Vikim scoffed. "I also identified the particular kind of space vessel the perpetrators used in just a short while by skimming through the Space Fleet's satellite data. Why did you not do this?"

"I tried, but the personnel at the navy said that I was exceeding my jurisdiction and told me to fuck off," the Arbitrator spoke the truth, the planetary precincts' authorities only extended up to the planet itself, and anything beyond the planet's atmosphere was out of their jurisdiction. The same went for moons like Spevik Ansils too.

"Be that as it may, you still lingered for a whole month with only your meager findings of the animal corpse and human explosives," Vikim snapped. "That is tantamount to dereliction of duty, a negligent failure to protect a citizen of the Bragulan Star Empire, an innocent cubling no less, and gross inadequacy in bringing judicial retribution to the Imperator's enemies. You are of no use to me, and I will summarily dismiss you from this investigation while I decide your fate."

The Arbitrator stiffened. Then he sagged, like so many ideologically incompetent Bragulans found wanting in the eyes of the Imperator. "I guess you don't want to know of my other leads, then."

"What other leads?" Vikim spat derisively.

"Testimonies from humans who claim to know the exact identity of the perpetrators." Fiyor shrugged. "Who claim to have encountered them before."

"Humans? What humans?" Vikim wondered if he could hang this impudent law-enforcer for sheltering enemies of the Empire or some other trumped-up charge. "What on Bragule are you talking about? There aren't any humans!"

"There are, Special Commissar. Many humans, in fact."

"Show me." Vikim growled.

And so Arbitrator Fiyor Byordyng did.



"What the hell are these things?!" The Commissar sputtered, staggering back and drawing his sidearm. "These aren't even humans! They're worse!"

"Hush, Commissar," the Arbitrator admonished lightly. "You'll hurt their feelings!

Commissar Vikim looked at him as though he'd gone mad. As soon as he got out of here, he would report that the law enforcement department on Spevik Ansils had been thoroughly sapped and impurified in more than just ideological grounds, he'd promptly recommend to the Commissariat that all law enforcement personnel on Ansils be processed posthaste and subjected to summary combustion. But first, like any good Commissar, Vikim knew he had to investigate just slightly to understand the root of this mental affliction before consigning everyone to the Technicians, he must know the cause of this newest strain of ideological impurity in order to better liquidate anyone else harboring this... these... things. Whatever they were.

"Explain," the Commissar demanded.

"Believe it or not, these are puny humans," Arbitrator Fiyor Byordyng explained eagerly. "According to them, they are not content with their physical forms and seek to become more like non-human species in space, like Chamarrans or Orthii and such. That is why they come to Bragulan Star Empire in pilgrimage because they wish to know more about Bragulan ways and cultures. They fully acknowledge the inherent superiority of Bragulanity to the extent that they willingly alter their inferior human bodies surgically to bear more resemblance to Bragulan standards. They call themselves the furry. Am i rite, my friend?"

"Yip! Yip!" barked one of the humans whose face had been surgerized to that of a canine's.

"Somehow... I don't think that's it." Special Commissar Vikimisivik suddenly didn't feel so special anymore.

"Comrade Commissar, I assure you, there is no ideologically incorrect shenanigans going around here. These are the most ideologically correct humans I've encountered thus far," Abritrator Byordyng said proudly.

"Whatever," Vikim sighed and regretted not shooting the Arbitrator in the face when he had the chance. "And those are your leads?"

"Da," the Arbitrator nodded. "Tell them, boy."



Suddenly the canine-man reared up on his hind legs, and with an (Anglian) accent that none of the Bragulans could identify, he began telling them his story:

"I say, what happened to your fellow countryman was most regrettable. Dear me, and he was just a cub too. How dreadful. You say he was kidnapped, and that there was an animal corpse blown up at the scene of the crime?"

"Da," Commissar Vikim nodded. He had no idea where this was going, but from what he had seen so far, all these strange and bizarre hew-mans in their mutated forms, he was compelled to continue on out of sheer morbid curiosity.

"Dear me, this is just like... just like what happened to my friend, my good friend, a fine lovely chap. I miss him so dearly..."

"What happened to him?" Commissar Vikim was leaning forward now, gripped by the story.

"He was taken from me."

"How?!" Vikim could barely restrain himself.

"My friend had transcended from merely donning of play costumes. He went all the way. He had himself surgerized and gene-modded, with both superior dominant Chamarran genes and inferior recessive ones infused to his being. He became no longer human. He became a Moreau. It was... it was... beautiful."

"By Bragule," Vikim gasped.

"Then they came, at night, they came and took him away. Took him from me. Took him screaming and clawing at the ground, shouting my name. I heard it in the darkness, and by the time I got there, he was gone. All that was left was the body of an animal, a big cat left behind..."

"And then?" Vikim couldn't believe it. Yet it was too outrageous to not be true.

"And then it exploded."

The furry hung his head low and shed a single tear.

"Incredible..." Vikim uttered, flabbergasted yet at the same time moved to the very core of his being. "Do you know who did it?"

"My love, in his captivity, had managed to send a message. Somehow, someway. It reached me, and his last message said that he was in the hands of the League. That was the only time I heard of him."

"The League...?" the Commissar was convinced, then and there, that Arbitrator Fiyor Byordyng had indeed been doing his patriotic duty to Imperator and Empire in serving the good of Bragulanity. His investigative prowess was undeniable. No one could match his keen sense of deductive reasoning. To uncover this wretched conspiracy... this League, whatever it was. He turned to face the Arbitrator.

"Commissar, I believe I may have made a breakthrough. When we narrowed the explosives and that bear, and now that ship, to those wretched humanists at the Grand Dominion, at first I did a search for counter-revolutionary, unpatriotic and anti-Bragulan slurhetorics from those Dominos." Arbitrator Fiyor showed him a newspaper clipping. "Look at what I found!"

Bizarre rantings by subhuman Moreaus
The so-called Bragulans have launched a bizarre and lunatic PR campaign accusing the Grand Dominion of copying their starship designs. The War Ministry and Foriegn ministry are scoffing at the claims, noting that the entirety of the Star Dreadnoughts were built several centuries ago.

"Unfortunately this is what happens when furry culture goes to it's logical conclusion. " Says renown analrapist Dr. Tobias Funke. "The run off to some part of the galazy and turn themselves into Moreaus. Obviously some Bragulan naval architect saw a Dominion Star Dreadnought in a copy of Jaynes and went with it."

The Bragulan PR campaign has resurrected calls from the All-Human league to occupy and surgically restore the Bragulans to their true human form.

"All-Human League. Moreaus. Occupying and surgically restoring us... to true human form..." Commissar Vikim's fur nearly turned white. "Byzon's beard! These must be the basterds who got young Yivgny! There can be no question!"

"I told you, Commissar, I have not been idle." Arbitrator Fiyor said smugly.

"Indeed you haven't, Arbitrator. I was wrong to misjudge you. We must make haste, we may be able to save young Yivgny from the depravities of these human degenerates," the Commissar replied. "And tell your pet he did good."

"I did goods?" the dog-man's ears perked up, and his animatronic tail began wagging. "Can I has yiffs now? Can I? Yiff! Yiff!"

"Yes, boy." Arbitrator Fiyor laughed and pointed him to the location of a dark dank cell, where an ideologically impure Bragulan inmate was chained and hanging upside down. The dog-man happily trotted into the cell and once he got inside with the prisoner, Fiyor closed it shut. "You can have your yiff. That's a good doggie."

"I still don't understand why you have those things in this damn moon," Commissar Vikim muttered as he shook off feelings of revulsion sticking like cobwebs on his skin.

"We have them because they are useful," a voice interrupted the Commissar. Expecting more monstrosities and abhumanoids, the Commissar spun around and removed the safety catch of his sidearm. But upon seeing who it was, he promptly straightened himself and saluted.

"Liquidator-Lieutenant!" Commissar Vikim exclaimed.

"Da, it is I." Liquidator-Lieutenant was known by no other name, for he had none. He was one of the Imperial Bureau of Galactic Vigilance's top agents who the Commissariat liaised with. The IBGV was put into this case because of its potential interstellar and international implications. Commissar Vikim answered under the Liquidator-Lieutenant. "We keep these furries because after Pendleton, we're in need of good subservient humans who can be molded to comply with the true righteousness of Bragulanity. They can be made to serve our ends. We can make good use of them, you see."

"I see." Commissar Vikim didn't. "They're still creepy as fuck though."

"Indeed," the three of them nodded at that. Then the Liquidator-Lieutenant of the IBGV continued. "We have forwarded word of our investigation through the People's Department of Limited Foreign Interaction and Human Affairs and sent a message to the Grand Dominion. The reply was swift, word is they are willing to cooperate with us."

"They are?" Commissar Vikim didn't believe it.

"Yes. They disavow all responsibility. Their denial, and willingness to help, points out that third parties may be involved in this," the Liquidator-Lieutenant added.

"The League," Arbitrator Fiyor said.

"Perhaps," the Liquidator-Lieutenant nodded. "I want you to pack your honey tree, Commissar. You are now given the authority and jurisdiction to operate extra-nationally, outside the Bragulan Star Empire. You're going to the Grand Dominion to bring young Yivgny back home, and to rebuke the humans responsible with extreme prejudice."

"Do I get a license?" the Commissar asked.

"Yes, you get a license to kill humans," the Liquidator-Lieutenant answered.

"Then I want to bring one more thing." Commissar Vikim said.

"Name it."

"I want to bring him," Vikim pointed to the Arbitrator. Fiyor Byordyng looked at him with wide eyes. "Yes, you. This time, do not question or contradict your superior."

"Very well then," the Liquidator-Lieutenant affirmed. "The two of you are going to the Grand Dominion with license to kill humans. You'll rendezvous with whoever the Dominionoids send to meet you, and hopefully they will cooperate instead of blowing smoke up all our stubby little tails. Let's get this done quick and professionally. There are lives at stake here, people. Bragulan lives! Not human lives, because nobody gives a shit about that. Let's go!"

"Hut-hut-hut-hut!"

[Magister Militum]

Palais de Tuileries
Paris
Nouveau France

Emperor of the French Jean-Baptiste IV had always been a workaholic. Throughout his long reign, there had never been a time when the public viewed him with the same contempt that they had for the monarchs of the Ancien Régime . His Great Society programs had brought the peoples of France into a new Golden Age; lifespan, standard of living, and wealth had all made impressive gains, with the average citizen living up to 300 years and being far more wealthier than their predecessors. Of course, such advancements came at the cost of imperial expansion. With the exception of trade and some basic diplomatic procedures, France had been a relatively isolationist polity. Part of such a move had to do with the desire to focus on their current holdings, but the actual reason involved a profound sense of disgust over pointless military adventurism.

The military adventurism Jean-Baptiste IV’s predecessors had indulged in had gained some victories for France, but, in the Emperor’s eyes, had also brought many problems and hardships, too many, in fact, to justify such behavior. The French Civil War had only been over a few centuries when another round of colonial conflicts was waged between Anglia, the Ascendency, and Prussia, with varying levels of success in each skirmish. Empress Josephine II, Jean-Baptiste’s mother and the architect of France’s reclusion, had come to deeply regret the pointless fighting she and her predecessors had overseen, and realized that France would be lead to ruination if such a trend continued uncontrolled. Despite the howls of protest from the militant members of the government, Josephine II ended the destructive conflicts and turned inward, focusing on the universe that is France and creating a great, enlightened society. Based on her work and that of Jean-Baptiste IV’s, he could proudly say that they had accomplished what they set out to do. Now he could finally rest in peace.

Resting in his chambers, Jean-Baptiste IV had vividly recalled the trials and triumphs of his rule and life on his deathbed to those near him. Many of those present, including the Imperial family, the Grand Chamberlain of the Imperial Household and Chief Advisor Montesquieu, the most powerful AGI in French space, and his personal physician, Consuelo de la Villa, had been with him for nearly all of his reign, and were more confidants than subordinates. It pained the doctor that nothing more could be done for the Emperor other than make his final moments as painless as possible. The only thing left now was to wait.

“Montesquieu?” said the Emperor in a progressively weaker voice.

“Yes, Your Majesty?” said Montesquieu as he leaned in, the solidgram form projected from his mobile node providing full tactile interactivity.

“After I’m gone, you’re going to be the only one who can truly guide my son down the path I’ve set up, at least in the beginning. There are many in France who would like to continue to remain in their perfect little shell, while others want to rush out and conquer the universe. Neither of these two extremes are the ultimate destiny for the Empire. We can’t let France come so close to destruction as we almost let her so many centuries ago, but we can’t continue to act as hermits, either. Sooner or later, our time to take our position as a player in the galactic arena will arrive, and we must be willing to take it up in a reasonable and controlled manner.”

“Of course, Your Majesty. Louis-Napoleon knows this, as do many of his supporters. He’ll be fine. Now, please, try to rest.”

“I’ll be resting for eternity soon enough. I want you to give a message to my son. Tell him to remember the work that got us here, and not to throw.... away everything... we’ve...accomplished.” The Emperor exhaled one last time and closed his eyes. The Emperor of the French was dead.

The Emperor’s wife, the Empress Consort Margaret, finally lost all composure and sobbed uncontrollably, her children doing her best to comfort her and stay as strong as they could. Sighing (as best as an AGI can, anyways), Montesquieu left the chamber before reaching out over the infosphere to all the major news agencies in France. I have a flash for you...


Le Figaro

BREAKING NEWS: Emperor Jean-Baptiste IV dead at 305

Paris – The Grand Chamberlain of the Imperial Household Montesqieu, Duc de Avingnon, announced the death of the late Emperor Jean-Baptiste IV today at 13:15 Nouveau France time. Little is currently known of the circumstances surrounding the departure of the late Emperor, but it is expected that he died of natural causes.

The sudden death of the late Emperor has caused some unexpected problems. The next in line to the Lilies Throne, Vice Admiral Louis-Napoleon, Prince Imperial, is currently conducting a naval offensive against the Ork enclave near Rapture and is unable to take full responsibility. As a temporary measure, the Minister of Foreign Affairs, Comte Greet Boerboom, has taken the position of Imperial Regent of the Lilies Throne until the arrival of the Prince Imperial.

More information will be available as it develops.



IFS Terrible
Battlegroup 4.1
Near Rapture

Admiral Louis-Napoleon hated pirates, especially the type that had taken a hold of Rapture, a lawless shithole of a world in wild space. Rapture was the type of world that attracted troublemakers, murderous pirates, warlords, and pretty much any other type of scum you could come up with. They weren't really concerned with expansion or conquest, not that they could, anyways, but instead settled for wanton chaos and destruction. In the past, France probably wouldn't have paid much attention to them, but the return from their self-imposed seclusion had changed many things.

From the Fleet CIC of Louis-Napoleon’s flagship, the Napoleon IV-class dreadnought IFS Terrible, the Admiral had been overseeing the prosecution of a significant pirate enclave that had been allowed to fester far too long near France’s border. Of course, they could never really challenge France in any way, shape, or form, but they could still upset the local balance of power and cause serious damage to the nearby colonies. For those reasons, the pirate kingdom of Rapture had to be purged.

To send the entirety of 3rd Fleet, Starfleet’s primary expeditionary element and Louis-Napoleon’s command, would have been ludicrously overkill at an unimaginable level. Instead, the Admiralty settled for a single battlegroup, a fraction of the total naval power of 3rd Fleet, but more than enough to quell the pirate kingdom. It’s officially stated mission was to “secure the French border through the pacification of lawless holdouts”. In more blunt terms, that translated to kill everything and anyone that even vaguely looked hostile and reduce the pirate bases to radioactive dust. A bit brutal? Nobody denied that, but the hive of scum and villainy they were facing did not fall under classification as prisoners of war and had no real rights to speak of. In French political parlance, that meant they were easy pickings.

“Admiral, we’ve got a clear fix on the remnants of the pirate fleet,” reported one of the technicians manning the fleet-wide sensors. “A few dozen ships at most, with what looks like is a battleship in the center, though jamming is making it hard to make out.”

“A battleship? Hmm, didn’t think Rapture could manage to snag such a prize.” Louis-Napoleon zoomed in on Rapture and the naval defenders via the massive holotank that dominated the room. The Rapture Fleet, as it had been dubbed, had been mauled in the first stages of the battle and had now retreated to their power base for a final stand. He had to give them credit for their tenacity, even when it was all over for them. “Well, I guess it won’t do them any good now, huh? Give the order to all squadrons to move in. It’s time we end this massacre.”

The dozens of French warships and hundreds of starfighters and gunboats lurched forth at full power, their massive graser cannons and torpedo tubes thundering out all manner of mass destruction. The Louis-Napoleon I, escorts in tow, pushed ahead at full power, its main batteries reaching out at enemy warships. A pair of aging cruisers, their shields already failing, had great molten valleys carved into them from the capital graser batteries of the Louis-Napoleon I, while starfighters strafed the dying hulks and wrecked other valuable mounts and equipment. A salvo of torpedoes from an accompanying Jean-Bart class heavy cruiser reduced one cruiser into an expanding cloud of vaporized metal, while the carrier space wing of a Hallebarde-class light carrier reduced the other into a glowing, misshapen hulk, gaping holes replacing what were once gun batteries and valuable equipment. The scene repeated itself all throughout Rapture, as the pirate fleet was whittled down to nonexistence.

“New target moving in to engage us, sir,” responded the sensor station. “Its... it’s a big one, Admiral. Should be appearing on the holotank now, sir.”

Burning through the jamming, Louis-Napoleon was greeted by the sight of something he definitely hadn’t expected. An asteroid some three kilometers long had been re-purposed by the pirates as a makeshift battleship, its engines, guns, and sensor mounts jutting out in an awkward fashion. It was a crude construct, but it was definitely lethal.

“So, that’s what that thing was. Impressive, especially for a bunch of thugs and murderers. All nearby ships are to fire on that thing. Hold back the starfighters and gunboats until I give the signal, and tell Captain Rousseau to ready the Grand Cannon.”

A chorus of ‘aye, aye, sir!’ resonated in the massive room, as the French battlegroup poured all of its collective firepower into the monster ship. The asteroid battleship’s thick shielding glowed brightly in response to the torrent of coherent gamma radiation and antimatter annihilation. Particle beams from the battleship reached out to strike at its aggressors, while overtaxed point defense clusters struggled to hold back the swarm of munitions. The war asteroid was already succumbing to the bombardment when the Grand Cannon, the pinnacle of French naval artillery, came to bear on the ship. Super-dense matter was annihilated in the cannon’s conversion chamber, and it’s great, nigh uncontrollable energy was channeled and directed into a single hideously powerful beam. For a brief second, the beam out shined everything else in the system, including Rapture’s own star. The Grand Cannon punched right through the war asteroid’s shields with contemptuous ease and vaporized a great chunk of it, temporarily disabling the man ‘o war in the process.

Given their go-ahead, the starfighters and gunboats moved in towards their wounded pray. Anti-ship missiles and other super-heavy ordnance streaked towards the asteroid’s naked form, tearing great chunks of rock and metal out from the dying ship. A final barrage of graser fire from the French dreadnought and the lesser ships killed the pride of the Rapture Fleet, its remaining dead form drifting lifelessly in space. The last surviving ships, in a final act of defiance, charged at the nearest ship they could find, hoping to take as many French invaders as they could. Weapons fire from the much larger and powerful French warships tore them to lifeless shreds before they could do any sort of appreciable harm.

“Good work, ladies and gentlemen,” said Louis-Napoleon as he hunched over the holotank. “Have the battlegroup move into orbit and begin general bombardment of the main base and all other assets of value. Leave nothing standing.”

“Sir, you’ve received an urgent transmission from Paris,” said one of the comm. technicians.

“I’ll take it in the comm. room. Duclos, take care of the final stage of the operation.”

The chief of staff, Commodore Bénédicte Duclos, acknowledged the order, as Louis-Napoleon entered the adjoining communications-briefing room. Moving past the table that dominated the heart of the room, the Admiral mentally activated the holoprojection comm. system at the front of the room through his cybernetics.

“Montesquieu?” said Louis-Napoleon with a bit of surprise as the Grand Chamberlain’s form appeared before him. “If it’s what I think it is, I don’t want to hear it.”

“I’m sorry, Your Imperial Majesty, but your father has passed away.”

Louis-Napoleon buried his head into his palm, sighing before looking back up. “I thought he would have lasted for a few more days, at least until I arrived. Wasn’t there anything you could have done?”

“He took a turn for the worst, Your Majesty. Nothing we could have done would have delayed the inevitable. We need you back home as soon as possible. Boerboom’s acting as regent for the moment, but France needs her Emperor, especially if we are to be coming out of our shell.”

“I understand. I’ll be heading straight for Nouveau France as soon as the operation is finished with. And my mother and family?”

“The Empress Consort is taking the loss of her husband quite badly, as are many of us. I will await your arrival, Your Majesty. We have a lot to discuss.”

Louis-Napoleon shut off the comm. system. Louis-Napoleon, Emperor of the French, he thought. He’ll have to get used to that, as well as the intrigues of the Imperial Court. For his father’s sake, and that of his people, he would have to do his best in this new era of France. Otherwise, they might as well stay in their little self-absorbed world.

[Steve]

No. 19 Churchill Street, Westminster
New Anglia, Star Kingdom of New Anglia
29 January 3400

It was getting late in the evening of New Chatham-Westminster. Around them the great megalopolis continued to thrive with life - the cities never truly slept - but in the home of the Prime Minister sleep was soon to come. The children were already put to bed, save Rafael, who was performing late studying for a test the next day. Rachel and Stephen were down to their night clothes, taking in the night air from the balcony overlooking the internal courtyard facing the Palace of Parliament.

The secure line chimed. Stephen kept his phone with him at all times and, knowing this was something important, glanced at his wife with some concern before picking it up; Rachel kept an eye on him as he took the call. She could see his brow line curl a bit, though the news wasn't of the outright horror kind, not like it had been the prior Friday when he'd been told of the unxpected elements of the battle for Pendleton.

When he hung up, Stephen stood and headed back to the room. "I will need to call upon the King tonight, don't wait up," he told her.

"What's wrong, Steve?", Rachel asked.

"The French Emperor has passed away this night," he revealed. "Condolences will have to be made, arrangements for funeral attendance, that sort of thing. And His Majesty will have to be informed immediately. He will want to know; Emperor Jean-Baptiste and his family were there for him and the Queen after the Hyperspace Accident."

"I'll see you in the morning then," she answered.


Westminster Palace


Others had not relayed the news to the King before Stephen's arrival by aircar. He found the King and Queen in night-clothes, awaiting him in the den. Being youthful they liked to stay up nights often, enjoying each other's company and programs that appealed to their scientific interests (or pursuing other things in the bedroom, as couples of their age and mutual passion were wont to do). "Mister Prime Minister, I have been told something has occurred?", Edward XVI asked.

"Yes, Your Majesty. I regret to inform you that the French Emperor Jean-Baptiste has passed away," Stephen answered.

The Royal Couple exchanged looks. "I knew he was not well," Larissa said, "and that he was not expected to last much longer. But to hear he passed on so early..."

"I shall have the Foreign Office arrange the appropriate official response, Lord Prestwick has already been informed," Stephen continued. "I imagine funeral arrangements will begin soon and invitations sent."

"Yes. And if invited, we shall attend the Emperor's funeral. And we'll spend the night preparing personal correspondence to the family." Edward lowered his eyes. "Jean-Baptiste was very courteous and noble toward me after my father died, and also toward my father when grandfather passed on. I will do no less toward his family."

"I know, Your Majesty. I intend to draw up my own, beyond the official note." Stephen nodded toward them. "Jean-Baptiste was a force for peace and stability in our region. Even in relative isolation, the French Empire has played a crucial role in maintaining peace in the sectors around us. His wisdom, compassion, and magnanimity will be missed." As head of the Government, Stephen sat down near them and they began to discuss the public announcement and message to the French Empire in response to this sad event.

[Simon_Jester]

Recommended listening: Old Gray Brown Coat. A few suitable lyrics changes made this one of the most popular soldiers’ songs of the Independent Spinward Republic, and it’s a very good statement of Captain Tamrin’s character.

---

Glowworm-class Transport Tranquility, passing through the Great Barrier, Sector X-5
January 17, 3400,
0830 Hours, Eavesdown Mean Time

John's mind was reeling. Last night, it had seemed so simple: catch the mole, find the hidden transmitter, disappear into the Badlands, sell the goods. They'd shuffle a few bits of the exterior to change their look and the whole mess would be behind them. The job would be done, they'd get their money, and they could go on. Then Lakatos' "transmitter" had turned out to be a bunch of irrelevant junk. Sammie was still going over the electronics he'd found in there, but she couldn't find anything that looked like a hyperwave broadcast unit, even a tiny one.

The captain hadn't been able to sleep worth a damn, stirring his troubles over in his head. Why can’t things go smooth for a change? Everything he’d expected to happen for the past couple weeks hadn’t. Were his passengers spies or honest men? Would he be able to unload the cargo? Even if they were honest, even if he did make the sale, he could be tagged, tagged firm enough to make avoiding the Techies impossible.

It was almost enough to make a man turn to Samantha’s moonshine, but he wasn’t quite that desperate, and he’d needed a clear head in the morning. Now the morning had come, and he hunted up Olivia. He led her aside into the infirmary and closed the door, then sat down on tabletop. For a long minute he just stared into space; then Livvy interrupted his train of thought.

“Sir, that bulletin might just’ve been a coincidence…”

“Can’t be sure, though.”

“Don’t matter now; they can’t catch us until we get to the Stairway in any case…” She smiled, as much as she ever did. “… and even there, we’ll dodge them.”

“For this run.”

“Got to take them one at a time.”


“Reckon I was too quick to slug that techie boy?”

She blinked. “…Reckon you were, sir. Going to be hard to explain that one.”

“Yeah.”

“You had your reasons.” Her tone carried the unspoken I trust you better than words could. Captain Tamrin rubbed his forehead for a second, then nodded. “Livvy, reckon I’d better stay away from the boy for the rest of the trip.”

“Shouldn’t be too hard. After that, I think he’s going to stay away from you.”

He shrugged. “If he’s out of my hair till day after tomorrow, suits me fine. Gav’s on the bridge, right?”

“You going to try to raise Nazdreg?”

“If we can get a ‘wave through.” That could be tricky. Tranquility’s transmitter wasn’t what it used to be. Hyperwave conditions in the Badlands were pure garbage, especially in the Barrier. The shoals on the coreward Umerian border were among the roughest patches of shoals in known space; they made conditions in other shoal sectors like the Outback seem tame by comparison. Even on a tight beam at maximum power, broadcasting straight down the whisker lane that led to Nguyen’s World, John had no idea whether they’d be able to get through a signal, even if they tapped it out in Morse with big damn square pulses.

But Nazdreg dealt with smugglers a lot; he had pretty good equipment, on bands that avoided most of the static. It was worth a try.

He rounded up Sammie and had her check out the transmitter. That took them down to the engine room to look at the power leads. She pulled the maintenance cover off the distribution banks and hunted through an ocean of cryptic penciled labels. When she found what she was looking for, she clucked her tongue. “I’m not sure how much longer this Kimmerling will hold out, Cap’n.” She pointed to the clear cover over the unit. “See the black near the base? That’s coming straight off the disperser. Sooner or later the emission coating wears off and it’ll short.”

“What happens then?”

“Well, I think I’ve got the circuit breakers back together; it should be OK. Should. We really ought to replace it, though.”

That was a song he’d heard many times before, but while he often didn’t do what Sammie wanted, he wasn’t fool enough to ignore her. “You figure this is more important than the pinch coil?”

She looked troubled. “I don’t know.” She looked at the switching unit, then sighed. “If this breaks we probably just lose hyperwave, but we might lose power. Pinch coil goes, we’re in the dark for sure... you sure we can’t replace both, cap’n?”

“Not saying yes, not saying no, Sammie. But pick one, just in case.”

“To get on Praha?”

“If we can.”

She bit her lip. “Probably has to be the Kimmerling, then. But if we can, reckon we oughta look the new coils coming out of Tianguo; those last forever.”

“All right, the Kimmerling it is. No promises, but I think we can cover it. Now, how’s the rest of the system?”

“It’ll run at point eight five and stay there. No promises about whether they’ll hear the old girl, but at least she’ll be talkin’.” She patted the distribution bank, then started replacing the cover.

John turned and headed back to the bridge. Gav lit up the transmitter and they tapped out the message, hoping it would get through. If not... well, they’d just have to keep sending. Nazdreg wasn’t a guy you wanted to drop in on unannounced.

---

0930 Hours

Konrad rolled out of bed groaning when the knock on the door came. His head ached; his jaw made the rest of his head feel like nothing. I’m lucky that maniac didn’t break it; he’s got a punch like a power hammer. Whoever was knocking waited- probably not the crew, then. He shouted “One moment!” and tried to will his mind to wakefulness while grabbing a pair of pants and yanking them up over the shorts he’d slept in.

That didn’t take long, and it made him feel more confident as he approached the door. He slid it open; the preacher greeted him. “Good morning. I brought down some breakfast for you; figured you might not want to come up to the galley, considering.”

The doctor motioned his guest to take a seat in the chair by the passenger room’s desk, then sat down on the bed. “Thank you, ah, reverend.”
The old man smiled warmly. “Oh, I’m not quite so much the preacher as some might think, young man. More... monastic.”

“So, you’d prefer not to be called ‘reverend’ then? I mean, I’m not quite sure I know what to...”

“Why don’t you just call me Andre?”

Konrad felt like his mental balance was coming back to him. The world seemed more in focus than it had a few minutes earlier; the- priest? monk?- had a strong, reassuring presence. “Well, in that case feel free to call me Konrad.”

“Thanks. I like to stay on friendly terms with those I travel with. Makes things easier.”

“Ha. Wish I had the knack for it myself.”

“It’s not as hard as it seems.” Andre rubbed his chin. “If I can ask, what made you pick this ship?”

“Well, for one it’s headed near where I’m going. For another it looked... disreputable.”

He’d meant that to be cryptic, but Glazer seemed to get the unspoken hint. “Since that was what you were looking for, I can see you’re not without critical judgement. Did you happen to look at the name?”

“What, Tranquility? That has to be a joke...”

“I believe it’s not.”

“How so?”

“Well, my boy, if you want to get the lay of the land here, it might be what you lack isn’t critical judgement. Might be it’s history.”


Fifteen minutes later, he was seated on the bed, tapping his way through links on the encyclopedia on his minicomp. He ran a quick search for “tranquility” in the Recent History section; the first search result was video footage. The holographic display went live, with a soft female voice narrating.

“The Battle of Tranquility Valley was among the most devastating and decisive ground actions fought during the Spinward Revolt. Located on Hera, the valley was considered a key position by both sides, as it was the only viable ground approach to the rebels’ space defense batteries in the Mountains of Dawn. Thus, when the suppression campaign turned its attention to Hera, the valley was bitterly fought over.

“The rebels, with a force of sixteen infantry and two armored divisions, held the valley against Ground Security Force assault troops for almost two months, until superior numbers and a brilliant deep-flanking strategy by Lieutenant Marshal Richard Wil-”

He glanced up as a shadow fell across the display. The woman officer from last night... Olivia? Her face was drawn tight as she interrupted him. “What does it say under ‘bloodbath’?”

He switched off the book and looked up. He hadn’t heard her come in.

“I was just trying to-” she cut him off.

“We’re not in there. We’re not generals or diplomats. We didn’t turn the tide of glorious history or whatever that thing’s supposed to spew.” Words flashed into his head: History is programmed by the winners. He didn’t say it, not with this quite frightening woman standing right in front of him. Not when she was already carrying on:

“Nearly four hundred thousand people lay dead on that field at war’s end, about three fifths of them ours. Can you imagine the smell? Can you imagine piling up the bodies of soldiers- of friends- to build a wall ‘cause you got no cover? Blood just kept pouring out, you’d slip in it half the time, find out bloodbath ain’t just a figure of speech.” Her eyes were distant, focused on something a thousand kilometers away.

He was starting to get frightened now. “Captain Tamrin, he... he was there with you...?”

She sat down at the chair by the desk. “He was my commanding officer. In charge of fifty men. Five days in, there were so many officers dead he was in charge of two thousand. Kept us together, kept us fighting, kept us... kept us sane. By the time the fighting was over, he had maybe four hundred still in one piece.”

“That must have been horrible.”

“That was just the start. The fighting was over. But you see... they left us in there. Wounded, sick, those as weren’t either as near to mad as could still walk and talk. Both sides, the Techies and our own “Republic” left us there while they “negotiated the peace.” For a week. And we... we just kept dying. They finally sent in medships; he had about two hundred left. Of the old vets, his original company, just me...

“Why are you telling-”

“Forgiveness, trust... those are things he left back there. What he has now is the ship, the ship and us on it. He got confused, thought you were a threat to the ship last night, acted on it. But I think he’ll try to do right by you from now on.”

“That’s good to hear, ma’am... it... I can’t imagine, but-”

“Yes?” She wasn’t looking quite so distant now.

“If that battle was so horrible, why’d he name the ship after it?”

She paused, thinking that over. “Once you’ve been in Tranquility, you never leave. You just learn to live there.” Then she left, sliding the door shut behind her.

Konrad shuddered. That explained a lot about last night- an old veteran of the rebellion, half cracked up and still flying. Why hasn’t he gone for treatment? There are ways to handle this kind of thing... He wasn’t sure what to make of it.

---

January 18,
1050 Hours

John was cleaning his gun when Gav called him up to the bridge. Livvy and Brecht were already there.

“We’re being hailed. It’s Nazdreg.” The range was close; he wasn’t surprised to see a face come up. Nazdreg was a ferociously scarred ork with beady little red ocular implants.

“I talkin’ to John Tamrin?”

“Hello, Nazdreg. Long time”

“Hear you got sumfin’ good for me.”

“Best stills you’ve ever seen, make liquor from anything, three boxes, two hundred Terran credits for the lot. In coin.” The credit was a trade currency supported by the UN; it was one hell of a lot more valuable than the Umerian starbuck, and respected nearly anywhere that did business at all.

“Hmph.” The ork snorted. “Not even sure I got dat much paper. You can do better than dat.”

“Paper’s no good to us. Coin. Cargo’s worth it.”

“I might maybe scrounge up... five hundred.”

“I might maybe fly on to Palatine.”

Now Nazdreg grimaced. “All right. You got da good stuff, keep da boyz happy. But I not forget this, you trying to jack up da rates. I meet you at high noon. One of da Oddboyz give you da coordinates.”

John nodded. “See you in the world.” He cut the transmission and talked, more to himself than anyone else.

“Tough bastard, that one. Landed on that rock with about a dozen of his boys, now he owns a damn army- his own little city, more or less.”

Livvy, ever the tactician, made the smart guess. “It’s a trap?”

“Bet on it. He’s gonna kill us, not a doubt.”

Brecht, again, showed that he knew to look for some things even if he was oblivious to most. “He did give in awful easy.”

“Yeah. I’m sure of it. Ork bosses don’t back down ‘less they’ve got a plan to get back at you. They’d lose face.”

Gav cocked an eyebrow. “So, what, we fly on?”

He thought about that for a minute. It was tempting- walking into that kind of a trap was a hell of a risk. And yet, and yet... Damned if he would keep running scared forever, one complication after another, always hoping that just this once things would break his way. The cruiser, Fox cutting him off, this mess with his passengers, Nazdreg... things weren’t going to go smooth for him on this run, no matter how long he kept waiting. If he was going to get any luck for his crew, he’d have to make it.

“No. We do not. We’re gonna finish this. There’s obstacles in our path, yeah, but we’re gonna deal with them. One by one.” Now he just had to figure out how...

[Steve]

Galt
Hanson, The Outback
24 January 3400


When Ashe woke up, she found herself latched into a chair, her arms held elbow down. IV needles had been placed into her wrists and arms above the elbow; her clothes replaced with a one-piece sleeveless gown. These details came to her with a slowness she wasn't used to. Her mind felt hazed and quiet, slow...

It took a moment, but she realized she was blind. Not in her eyes, but in her mind. She sensed nothing around her, nothing at all. Even the feeling of Yuna's mind was a distant whisper, full of pain and fear and terror unlike any she had known. Ashe called out to her lover but received no answer; their connection was so weak only the briefest of feelings could be exchanged.

Ashe couldn't tell how much time passed after waking up, but she had a visitor come. A well-dressed man, with faintly Asian features and tan complexion, entered the room with a folding metal chair. He folded the seat out, placed it before her, and sat in front of her. Ashe focused on him and could read nothing. Her mind sight was gone, indeed, her mind could do nothing.

"Don't be too alarmed. It's the drugs, you see," the man said. "I'm Doctor Moon."

"Why have you taken us?", Ashe asked plainly.

"Because you are ESPers, part of an ESPer organization, and nobody can know about the work we do here," Moon answered plainly. "Now, I will ask you a question. Where is the material that your Sister Ezria left for you to find?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Ashe answered. "What are you doing to us?"

"Ah, you haven't answered my question," Moon countered. He gave a small smile. "But, since you will anyway, I might as well tell you. You and your Sister - Yuna I believe - are having a new cocktail of drugs delivered to your body through the IV. They suppress brain function. Specifically, the functions of the brain linked to ESP. Because of these drugs, none of your abilities work. You're just a normal Human, like you were meant to be."

"You have no right to take our Gift," Asha protested, her mind woozy.

"Oh, we have every right in the cosmos. It's survival. With the galactic population of ESPers slowly creeping upward, we normal Humans have to fight back somehow. The technology developed to counter you isn't enough; drugs, however, provide the possibility of suppressing your abilities easily, perhaps even preventing ESP from developing at all."

"Why?"

"Because we don't want our species to turn into a dictatorship of the mind. We want to let people maintain privacy of thought. You and your kind are a threat to that," Moon continued. "Anyway, we want the material your Sister Ezria hid in the Central Station locker. And the location of your laity assistant who's in hiding would be nice too."

"Never," Ashe answered defiantly.

"You don't have long, young lady. Unlike your Sister, we're putting you on the high dosage testing track," Moon said. "I doubt you'll get more than a few hours of sleep tonight as our drug, sadly, has the side-effect of inducing sleep deprivation. Within 48 hours you won't be getting more than 3 to 5 minutes of micro-sleep every hour or so; within a week you'll have irreversible brain damage and will be dead about 48 to 96 hours afterward. And, I'm happy to say, as you progress further, you won't be able to summon the defiance to say 'never'. You'll tell me what I want to know." Moon shifted in his chair, bringing up a control. "Now, your brain will be so muddled it'll hard for you to, but let me show you how we fix that. It's a counter-agent which reverses the drug partially, enough to let you think... just not to let you use your unfair advantage against us."

When the device was pressed, the counter-agent began flowing through one of the IVs. About thirty seconds afterward Ashe gasped, feeling a fire in her brain. The sensation spread across her body, every nerve feeling like it was being set aflame.

"The pain is a nasty side-effect." Moon put his hands together in front of her. "Now, I'm not some Outback pirate who will flay the flesh from your body with a razor-whip for kicks. I'm a professional. I frankly don't care, either way, on whether you die peacefully and quietly as your brain slowly atrophies from sleep deprivation or if you die in considerable agony as the drug interaction fries your nervous system." He watched tears form in Ashe's eyes. "Now, which locker is it?"

When Ashe didn't speak for several minutes, Moon turned off the counter-agent. "I'll be back to speak with you tomorrow," he informed Ashe calmly. "I'd say get a good rest, but honestly, you won't. So there's no point." He took his chair and walked out, leaving Ashe alone as the suppression drugs sent her into a hazy stupor again.



From a central room, Moon and Carmichael watched all three of their captives. "Williams is concerned with what the Trill girl has in that locker. The security leak from the Watch side hasn't been found yet. If we had that information we could find the leak.

"I'll have it in time," Moon answered.

"Time isn't something we always have," Carmichael pointed out irritably. "That you can't get the information out of the Trill..."

"She was too far along by the time I knew about it. It's one thing to have her identify faces and persons, but even showing her images of the lockers hasn't helped us find the actual one," Moon protested. "It'll only take a few days, I promise. The girls are trained to resist brute force torture, not drugged interrogation. Especially not with their ESPer abilities suppressed."

"They'd better not. Anyway, we need to consider new locations for our operation. Hanson's become too hot; we've learned that Hiigaran intelligence has begun making noises with the local constabulary about the Watch." Carmichael nodded to the screens. "As soon as we get the data we want from them, we liquidate everything here."

"Understood." Moon tried to hide his glee. After months on this backwards mudball, he was looking forward to spending some of his hard-earned money on Solaris Major, or maybe some other world where money bought the finest luxuries in the galaxy.



25 January 3400


The complex where Doctor Moon was slowly killing three Sisters of the Sister Moon was going into another nightly routine of tight security. Along the outside the guards were locals, hired members of the Watch with nice spiffy security uniforms that helped keep the facility looking "normal" to the people of Galt. In truth they were simply decoys and window dressing; the real security was inside the facility, with a fully active sensor system and mercenaries in light powered infantry armor.

Even such security wasn't impervious, of course, and certain kinds of security couldn't be enabled without shedding the facade deemed important to hiding in plain sight. As such, they lacked the outward measures to prevent an assault from above.

A lone figure glided down over the structure by glider, black as night against the moon-lit sky. It landed on the east wing and moved across the roof, stepping here and there to place objects that shimmered a little after they were set, taking on coloration and shading equivalent to their surroundings. The figure in question moved toward the center of the structure, the most important spot; the holding facility.

Simply moving on the roof had caused security alerts, so hiding was essential as armed men climbed up from the building's upper floor. Pressed low against the surface of the roof it slipped along and found a roof access hatch. For a nervous second the figure watched, seeing if the guards had found the items left behind, but they were oblivious. With the guards moving toward the center the figure went to the edge of the roof; entering through the roof hatch would cause noise and thus attention.

The combat suit the figure was in was capable of rappelling with a line, the hooks pre-attached to the left wrist. With an eye toward the guards looking outward the figure moved down from the roof, avoiding the lights along the side of the building until it got to a window. The windows were not cheap glass like most on Hanson, but reinforced synthglass; even diamond glass cutters could only scratch them. The suited figure reached into a belt and found a tool for the job; a focused microlaser cutter. The microlaser, too thin for the human eye to see, nevertheless proved capable of cutting through the reinforced synthglass, creating a small portal that allowed the dangling figure to reach an armored hand through and pull the lock.

As the window slid open, a searchlight began to rotate toward the window. With increased urgency the figure slid open the window. With a foot in a wrist movement caused the rappel line hook to retract its talons, letting it fall free and slide back into the left arm container it was held in. Rays of light played over the figure's fingers as they closed the window. From the distance, the guards would not notice the cut in the window. But it would not take long for them to notice it if someone looked closely or inspected windows following the roof alert.

The dark room was an office, some paper pusher obviously, but the figure still had use there. A microdrive pulled out of the suit belt permitted access to insecure parts of the network, and all files within. With a touch of a button, a burst transmission system came into play, using a nanocycle data burst that would avoid standard detection. It would be a short time before it was discovered, and by then...

The icons on the figure's internal HUD told where the beacons it had planted were. The infiltrator followed a 3D model of the building in one corner of the HUD, first finding the appropriate spot to plant more devices, then using the stairs (of course) to go down to the necessary floor.

Given the security chamber ahead it was clearly a holding area. A man in a gray uniform, unpowered armor above it and a full helmet with a clear visor, was standing at the checkpoint, looking away at the moment, his body language a clear indicator of the chronic boredom he was now suffering from. Beyond him were doors on both sides to the end of the corridor, where a set of double doors waited - going by schematics, a security room was there, with storage closets and such, and an internal wall beyond that.

At this point, stealth ceased being an option. A close-range attack was impossible - the approach was too long and reliant upon getting through the security chamber's inner doors. All that was left was a long range attack, which would set off internal sensors, or to approach openly, smash through the doors, and go on from there. The infiltrator stopped and set more devices along the corridors leading to the holding area; all would be ready.

The checkpoint guard turned back to see a figure in a dark skin-suit, with armor coverings, stomping toward him. As his hand reached for the alarm control the left arm came up and his life ended in a flash of energy fire.

Either way, the stealth mission was over. The internal security systems registered the weapons fire and began blaring an alert. The infiltrator got to the checkpoint and slammed the security doors closed. As this occurred, other armed men stormed out of the far door and to their doom. The weapon built into the left arm, an automatic-fire pulse gun, sent a barrage of blue bolts at the file of men coming out. Return fire was wild and sporadic, none of it hitting the infiltrator, while the security men (and woman) were mowed down. A couple more devices were set at the checkpoint and the infiltrator began inspecting the doors.

The first door found was of an occupied room, within Yuna was half-conscious, the drugs that suppressed her ESP denying her tired body sleep. Her eyes stared toward the ceiling, not really paying the infiltrator any attention as the black-armored figure entered. The infiltrator pulled the IVs out carefully and gave Yuna a slap across the cheek to get her attention, after which Yuna's wrist and ankle restraints were pulled free. Slowly the drugs filtered out of her brain, lifting the haze there. By the time Yuna felt cognizant the infiltrator was already gone.

Woozy and not entirely sure of her footing, Yuna stumbled out into the hall. Alarm klaxons were going off, worsening the headache she felt. She felt her ESP begin to return before it suddenly went blind again, this time the feeling of an anti-ESP field snapping into place, a powerful Blitzschlag Field that gave her a dull headache. She looked into the room across her's to find it empty, as was the next room down. The room across it, and beside her's, had Ashe in it, freed as she was and still very woozy. "Ashe!" She ran up to her and helped her to her feet.

"Yuunnna..." Ashe's mind was still hazy as she looked into her lover's eyes. They couldn't feel each other, not with the Blitzschlag Field, but being together still helped. "What's going... on?"

"Someone is breaking us out," Yuna answered.

They returned to the hall and found one more open door, near the end. Walking up to it, they found Sister Ezria being freed by their benefactor. Ezria stared at the armored face and moaned, "Who are you?"

"What did they to you?", a mechanically distorted voice mused. "Never mind." She looked back to Yuna and Ashe. "Help her up!" Not about to argue with someone in a combat stealth suit who looked armed to the teeth, Yuna and Ashe did so, each taking one of Ezria's arms and following the infiltrator into the security room.

The monitors there were for each room in the holding area, now showing the empty chairs the three women had been in. An open storage room showed more IV bags filled with drug cocktails while another drew their attention. Ashe let Yuna shift Ezria's weight onto her, allowing Yuna to retrieve their weapons and holster belts from a tray. She tossed Ashe's belt and beamsabers to her before putting on her own and clipping her guns and saber to it.

The infiltrator, watching the cameras, saw armored figures coming up. Even light powered armor had weapons that would shred them to pieces. "We can't hold them off, not with the field around us," Yuna said to their rescuer.

"Even without it, I'm still bleery-headed," Ashe said, bags under her eyes now. "And exhausted. I could fall asleep...."

Without speaking the infiltrator reached for the combat suit's left arm. A display built into it popped up, showing a series of small screens with more powered armor infantry there. The infiltrator looked back down the hall, seeing the first powered armor soldiers coming past the checkpoint; under orders to recapture if possible, undoubtedly. A thick armored finger stabbed down on a control.

Twin explosions ripped the checkpoint, and the soldiers traversing it, apart. The entire building rocked from the force of the blasts as they blasted the entire corridor apart. A plume of flame coming down the corridor blasted the security room door off the hinges, shattering its synthglass viewing port in the process; Yuna and Ashe took cover in one of the storage rooms with Ezria between them to avoid the blast.

The infiltrator wasn't done; another button was pressed and an even stronger rocking knocked them all off their feet. A powerful explosion in the near-distance blasted the interior structure of the building's central area apart, eradicating the responding force to the security area and blasting holes through several floors, straight through to the roof, courtesy of the detonation packs left on the upper floor.

With a third command sent from the left arm panel, the infiltrator turned attention to the three Sisters. Motioning to be followed, the unknown figure put a small pack against the wall and joined them in a storage area. A touch of a button produced a powerful blast that knocked out the interior wall, clear to the opposite rooms. They were now in a lab of some sort, containers everywhere. The infiltrator looked around the beakers and picked one up, securing it in a belt pouch, while Yuna and Ashe followed with an unconscious Ezria between them. As they went into the corridor, the infiltrator triggered another command.

The largest explosives of all, on the roof of the east wing, went off. The entire ceiling collapsed on the upper floor, causing it to buckle in some spaces. Already the security forces within and without were going crazy from the massive hole in the central structure of the complex; now they watched an entire wing get vaporized, coalescing on it even as the infiltrator led the rescued Sisters toward the northwest. A flight of emergency stairs straight to the roof was found right where the floor plans indicated. Both Yuna and Ashe felt exhausted; neither had slept well in two nights, first from being attacked and knocked out and then from being drugged. But they maintained their energy, knowing they had to keep going, following their unknown savior up the stairs.

Once on the roof it seemed they had nowhere to go. There were no figures on the roof now, but there would be as security responded and put people on the roof to examine the east wing and look for the attackers. "What do we do now?", Yuna asked weakly.

The answer came soon enough. There was a hard rush of air around them, a sound almost deafening. Suddenly a single form rippled into existence, a black assault shuttle with pulse guns on the front and entrance port in the rear. It irised open for them. Yuna and Ashe took the first steps, getting Ezria into the confined space, with the infiltrator going to the cockpit and manipulating the controls. They found seats to take, watching the city of Galt disappear below them as they banked away. Due to exhaustion neither kept their eyes open. Being outside the Blitzschlag Field their minds reasserted their bond; but all this did was tell them how much one another was tired and in need of sleep.

A powerful clang made them open their eyes. Outside the cockpit was a bay of some sort. They could feel another thud through the craft as it was locked into place. A light in front of them flashed from red to yellow to green. The infiltrator stood up and looked at them; Yuna and Ashe barely awake, Ezria still unconscious (or asleep, really) and oblivious to the world. "You're safe now," the infiltrator said.

Ashe managed to ask, "Who are you?" as she felt sleep begin to take her again.

The infiltrator reached to the base of the suit helmet and gripped release clamps. There was a slight hiss, of an emergency internal atmosphere system equalizing to outside pressure, and then the helmet came off. Brown hair fell around the face and eyes of the figure before being brushed away. There was no mistaking the face that looked at them, smirking, mischief in the pair of gray eyes looking down on them.

"Sister Yuna, Sister Ashe, the name's Hecate. Hecate Maxwell." An armored hand was extended to them. "Pleased to meet you."

"You..." Ashe remembered the name. Hecate was a mercenary ESPer, a self-proclaimed "ronin" who sold her services to the highest bidder... if that bidder was someone she could work for, anyway. "You're the reason Sister Ezria was sent to Hanson in the first place." It would have been an exclamation if not for her drowsiness - the accusative tone still came through loud and clear.

"Well, kinda. It was my fault that all happened. Anyway, let me show you two to a cabin, and get Ezria to mine. We have a lot to talk about after you get some sleep."



Back on the planet, an irate Carmichael and a displeased Dr. Moon were looking at the wreckage of their facility from afar, the fires only now put out due to the primitive technology on this planet. The east wing was nearly a loss; all of the upper floor fabrication facilities for their equipment had been destroyed. The central structure's damage left the entire building at jeopardy and would require a fair amount of money to fix, if they were going to do that. The casualties to their security forces, who didn't come cheap and had fairly pricey "death payout" terms in their contracts (their employers and family would get money, the remainder of their contract pay plus 50%, a standard term in this region if not to that extent of restitution), would be another stretch on their financial resources.

"Mister Williams will be furious," Carmichael said. "It's going to take much of our remaining available assets simply to bribe the authorities to stay out of the investigation."

"I shall recover what I can from the wreckage and get it to our ship. We have to presume our entire operation here is compromised," Moon said. "Do we know yet if the women were freed or killed in the blasts?"

"Not yet. But we have to presume they were freed. I'll have agents head straight to the Central Station. If anyone shows up for the package there, we'll take them out. No games this time." Carmichael frowned. "We're cutting our losses here anyway, so I don't care if we have to blast that Station apart."

[Shroom Man 777]

Now, back on...
BATTLESTAR ANNAPOLIS, In Transit



On the way to Pendleton, the mood aboard the warship had been of palpable excitement and genocidal anticipation. Now, after that ordeal of a space battle, where the whole fleet had a close call with death no thanks to the Collectors, and then the much-awaited nukage of Pendleton, they were finally on their way home. Sure, the Anglians' firm rebuke of the Shepistanis was a bit of a bummer, but everyone on board the Shepistani ships knew that they were only there to nuke the Pendletonians from orbit. Just to be sure.

Now on their way out of Pendleton, the men and women of Battlestar Annapolis had run out of shabu (the methamphetamines mixed with caffeine) and brown-brown (cocaine mixed with gunpowder) and the mood had changed, from the previous high to an all-time low. For an entire day crews did nothing but sleep dreamlessly in their bunks, inside emptied ammunition cabinets and magazines, under parked starfighters, and in torpedo tubes. Their officers would've charged them with dereliction of duty, had they themselves been not busy nursing themselves with the liquors and brewskis that the Bragulans had so generously gifted them, namely Tsvagna, do-it-yourself distilled alcohol laced with rocket fuel and battery acid to add more kick.

Officers and enlisted men alike succumbed to their poisons. But by the next day they had rejuvenated, and in contrast to the prior mood of barely-restrained bloodthirst and the previous day's zombification, now was a time of catharsis and relief. More, but milder, military-grade pharmaceuticals were used to block out the epic hangovers. With the job of utterly decimating Astaria done, and with no further combat in the horizon, the Shepistanis did what was next on their itinerary. It was nearly the eve of The Running of the Astarians, though thanks to Lord Fisher's early dismissal of Shepistani forces, they might end up making it on time for the first rock-chucking. In light of this, Commander Hushy relented and gave in to the calls and demands for celebration.

What the hell, let the boys and girls have their fun.



The first thing Lee Shroomadama, FAPOLLO, did upon waking up to a horrible heroin hangover was to get himself a nice cold shower. As in, frigid. Warm showers were commonplace in Shepistani ships, their water was nuclear-heated, but cold showers? FAPOLLO loved cold showers, the sheer impact of frigid water seemingly piercing his flesh like icicles rammed through his eyesockets, the shock was refreshing, jolting him awake from his morning-cycle grogginess. The cold water also made his nipples hard.

He hummed a tune to himself as he went out, towel draped over his manhood like a veil over a to-be-unveiled masterpiece. His dick was his masterpiece. When some of the men whistled at him, he decided to oblige them and he ripped off his towel, only to have the men burst out in fits of laughter while pointing at his.

"FUCK YOU GUYS!" FAPOLLO screamed before running away from their ridicule.



Instead of the usual disgusting carnival-grade meat or reprocessed gruel, the Feelipeeni Chief Steward was feeling generous and heated up a huge serving of Koprulu Fried Chicken - the kind of cloned chickenmeat centipede featured in Freedom Beef commercials. He tried to make balut, but hadn't any fresh eggs around, so instead he used leftover chicken stem cells from the growing-vat to make an embryonic soup to serve together with the heavy breakfast. The crews were very enthusiastic with their meals, chewing the chicken up and savoring the perfectly roasted skin, while slurping the embryonic soups off their bowls and licking the bowls clean afterwards.

It was an excellent way to start the morning. After the successful nuclear genocide they had committed on Pendleton, and the outraged Anglian comms traffic everyone had tuned into afterwards, it seemed as though everyone was having a ball.

There were losses mourned though, brave men and women taken away in the din of combat. But Shepistanis tended to not dwell on the costs of human casualties, so after dumping the corpsebags out of the airlock, business resumed as usual.



Guys like Balltar smoked their cigars and gambled away. They were playing strip poker. Balltar was still fully clothed, but to his pleasure his opponents in front of him were practically naked, down to their underwear, a testament to his skills in Dominion hold'em... and their burly well-built muscular physiques as well. They were ripped enough to be one of those oiled up demi-god men in those ancient ISCA calendars.



Even Chief Tylenol, who normally had a stick up his ass, joined in on the extracurricular activities. Today the females of the crew had decided to organize a boxing match, to motivate the men into beating the shit out of each other in mortal kombat. Their incentive? The winner gets to choose who he gets to fuck - girl or boy!

His opponent's punch threw him to the mat, but Chief Tylenol got back up. He had one advantage his opponent didn't. Tylenol had placed lugnuts in his goddamn boxing gloves. Tylenol repaid his opponent and gave him one mighty swing, biffing him right in the face with a huge hook. The guy went down on the mat, along with the broken teeth he spat out.

"Yeah! Yeah! Who's da mang!" he shouted. The other guy would totally need some Tylenol after this. "Haha!"

STARFUCK had awoken in the afternoon cycle. She missed all her meals and had to scrounge up leftover chicken embryo soup from half-finished bowls. She was mighty pissed. This was compounded in her fellow fighter jockeys leering at her, now that she and FAPOLLO were getting promoted to TOP SHEP. Her posse of like-minded bitches were partying with her, celebrating their last deployment and all the good memories of shooting defenseless targets they shared. Her detractors, the ones who couldn't stand the fact that her superior performance meant that she got more meth then them, also celebrated since they'd be rid over her, hopefully forever. They were talking shit, hoping she'd get killed in some TOP SHEP training accident, or some other shit like boasting that they actually had higher kill counts and it was only her relation with Admiral 'Bitch Banging' Bill Pavlik that got her to her spot. All lies. Filthy lies.

One of the bitches had the balls to come up to her and say:

"You only killed five thousand? Pfah! We shot up no less than five SHROOMLYMPIC CARRIERS"

"Yeah, we blew up the Exxon SHROOMVEZ and contaminated a whole solar system with delicious dark matter crude!" one of the other fuckheads boasted. Then he shoved STARFUCK and called her "Slut."



STARFUCK's eyes lit up. Nobody called Thara "STARFUCK" Krace slut. Her mother was a slut, yeah, but she hated her mother. The only man to have called her a slut was FAPOLLO, then he went limp and she had to inject crystal meth into his cock to help him finish the job. Too bad he didn't have any crystal meth this morning. Aside from that, nobody called her slut. Nobody.

"You wanna go, bitch?!" STARFUCK grabbed the two hundred pounder, six foot tall man by the tip of his foreskin, twisted him hard, and dragged him off to the boxing ring where Chief Tylenol was fucking around. The recipient of her death grip blubbered and moaned as she pulled and twisted his member's sheath. He couldn't do shit, cause if he tried to pull off, he'd rip it off too. "Cause if you wanna go, then we're going, bitch!"



"Holy shit! Go STARFUCK! Go!" bystanders shrieked. "Punch him in his ovaries!"

"Will do!" STARFUCK acknowledged.

"Just try it, whoreslut!" her opponent called out. "Your mother -"

"I'M GONNA FUCK YOU UP!" STARFUCK screamed as she punched the man in his undescended testicles, using her fist to crush them against his now-bleeding prostate. She had detailed files on human anatomy. Made her a more efficient killer. "I'M GONNA HIT SO HARD YOUR FACE'LL TURN INTO A NEW VAGINA AND I'LL STICK MY COCK IN IT! HAHAHAHAHAHA!"





Later that day...

Major Skittles paced around the ward. After he discharged the Bragulan, there seemed to have been an uptake of in-patient cases. Two of them were related to that goddamn boxing match those lesbians from maintenance had cooked up. One of them had blunt-force trauma to his face and was missing some teeth, no thanks to Chief Tylenol. Skittles prescribed that man some Tylenol too, terribly enough.

The other patient had an undiagnosed undescended testicle. Since one of his balls had failed to pop out of his groin and go into the nutsack, it stayed inside the body and all the sperms in it died because they couldn't tolerate the body heat. Undescended testicles had an increased risk of turning cancerous, and now that he had found it, Skittles did the medically sound thing to do and snipped it off. He placed it in a tiny little jar, just in case if the guy who owned it wanted to keep it.



"Jesus Christ," Skittles muttered. Even though the man's undescended testicle was undiagnosed, it seemed as though STARFUCK knew just where to hit it. How on Earth could she have known?

Another problem was that his remaining testicle, which DID descend into its proper nutsack, was severely bruised by even more blunt-force trauma courtesy of STARFUCK. It was swelling, and the internal bleeding accumulated into the nutsack, so now the thing was turning into the bloody testicular version of a fucking water balloon. Holy hell.

Skittles took a syringe, stabbed it into the nut, and began draining the fluid. Like pus from a bigass pimple, except it was blood from a swollen-ass testicle. After this, he'd have to repair the guy's lacerated foreskin...



Meanwhile...



STARFUCK slept with her eyes wide open. She did so to make people think that she never slept, to deceive her enemies so they wouldn't attack her when she did. Truth be told, she couldn't sleep like a normal human anyway, for she was no longer human. In her state, she could hardly be called a member of the human race.

She used copious amounts of morphine and other sedatives and downers to counteract the crystal meth she took during missions. That was the only way she could ever find peace. She, STARFUCK, defender of the fleet and ultimate warrior, could only rest when all of her enemies had been vanquished and rend asunder by repleted uranium rounds. This included orphans, widows, innocent men, women and children, defenseless civilians, and even enemies who surrendered and laid down their arms. Only when she had finished killing them all could she find respite.

Now she slumbered in a chemically-induced coma. Alone in her bunk, for no one wished to share a room with her. Her supposed bunkmates preferred sleeping in a torpedo tube than staying with her. No one could blame them.

A shadow fell over Thara Krace's sleeping form. A creature crawled on to her bed.

"Daddy is that you..." she mumbled in her opioid dream-trance.

No, it wasn't.



Bragga had been discharged and, with Doctor Skittles' approval, had gotten himself an illicit prescription for XO Tight's hair regrowth formula. But he wasn't here for that.

He had seen firsthand the sheer murderosity of this Thara "STARFUCK" Krace, a ferocity and willingness to commit singlehanded atrocities that would put other starfighter pilots to shame, even Bragulan ones. He had examined the guncamera footage confiscated by the Shepistani Fleet Special Ops, though even without having to do so, based from what he saw on the ground he could attest to her efficiency as a human killing machine. She would make a good Bragulan.

That was why he had a syringe with him. He affixed the large-bore 12-gauge needle and inserted it into STARFUCK's jugular vein. He began drawing blood. Copious amounts of blood. Enough of her drug-contaminated blood to match the amounts of blood she had shed from the innocent.

Despite his furless form, Bragga was still an ever loyal agent of the Bragulan Star Empire. He knew that through analysis of STARFUCK's superior dominant genes, Bragulan scientists could discover the secrets of an entirely new form of killing machine yet unseen in the galaxy. That genetic predisposition to slaughter merged into a Bragulan body would make a terrifying weapon.

Bragga withdraw the syringe for it was full, and as quietly as he appeared he disappeared from sight.

STARFUCK continued on sleeping like a baby while she bled blood from her throat.

[Master_Baerne]

Ascendant Tower
Firmament, Firmament Sector
Federated Ascendancy

A titanic tower on the outskirts of the capital city of Thuranni, Ascendant Tower housed a vast portion of the nation's government, from the Lady Ascendant's offices at the top down to the National Union Coordination Office in the sub-basement. Generally speaking, the functionaries and bureaucrats who inhabited the twisting warren of passages, additions, and corridors went about their duties in a fairly efficient manner, calm and collected in the face of adversity.

Not today.

An institutional terror of the French Empire existed amongst the Ascendancy's upper echelons, built out of equal parts stories of the violent suppression of Firmament Sector during the French Civil War that resulted in the Ascendancy's existence and deliberate overstatement by naval architects seeking a bigger budget. The French Empire posed no particular threat, and hadn't for at least a century and a half. The Ascendany bureaucrats knew that on an intellectual level, but in their hearts they knew that the French could not be trusted.

Therefore, responses to the announcement of the French Emperor's death were... mixed, to say the least. They ranged from smug pleasure quickly squashed when less-irrational superiors walked past to panic at the thought of France turning outward again to, on the part of Lady Sikala II and her closest advisors, cautious optimism tempered by sympathy towards the new Emperor. It was this last that was the official stance of the Ascendancy, and a governmental communique delivered by warp-gate courier made this clear to the French the next morning.

[Lonestar]

P.N.S. Hellbender
In orbit of Hungry Mother, Fauquier Sector(Z-3)


Captain Greene of the battleship Hellbender, essentially a smaller version of the GDN’s Star Dreadnoughts, paced the bridge of his warship, oozing frustration. The Hellbender had been peremptorily ordered to Hungry Mother, where the Foreign Ministry Xeno Relations compound planetside had sent up a “special needs” trailer to be set up in the ship’s port landing bay. Along with the trailer was a man who allegedly was from FIS, but really was a Spectre loaned out from the Psi Corps. A pysker(and one jacked up on Terrazine, at that!) and Xenos on his vessel. Unbelievable. He’d protested, and the commodore extended an invitation that he could resign if he felt that he would not be able to carry out his duty of…of…being a goddamn courier for pyskers and Xenos. Apperently some Bragulan had yearling had disappeared, and an older patriarchal sloop-of-war had something to do with it.

So fucking what? If the Bragulans were really Xenos, he’d eat his hat. A bunch of Goddamn Furries if there ever were one…

“They ain’t Furries brother, leastways they don’t think so.”

Greene jumped and turn, the man from FIS was standing there. Making me as nervous as a kay-det. A flicker of a smile came across the Spectre’s face, which made Greene worry that Benjamin Bessières could read his mind and emotions even with the Blitzschlag fields active on his ship.



“So jumpy brother! They be just a buncha Xenos, like any other. Once we find their yearling we can pat them on the head and send them on their ways.” He idly fiddled with the totem hanging around his neck.

“And if we can’t find their yearling? How do we know the thing is even in Dominion Space?”

Bessières shrugged. “According to my brief they have ‘irrefutable evidence’ that a Dominion organization kidnapped it.”

Before Greene could respond the OOD spoke up. “Sir, DRADIS is picking up a hyperjump footstep. Correlates with a Bragulan courier.”

Greene nodded his head jerkily. “Alright, greet them and instruct them to come aboard the port landing bay. Also tell get the...the sideboys ready.” Greene choked out the last sentence. The idea of a honor guard for Xenos filled him with rage. “Agent Bessières, are you going to change before going down there to meet them?”

“Why?”

Greene looked him over, he was wearing a combat suit that flickered red every so often, smelled funny, and had a little doll filled with what he suspected was hashish hanging from his neck. “No reason, I guess.”

The two headed down to the landing bay, riding the lift down in uneasy silence(although the Agent didn’t seem to mind). By the time they had stepped off the Bragulan courier had landed. The cramped vessel was not much bigger than the special needs trailer that the Foreign Ministry had brought up. The door to the Bragulan vessel opened, and an uneasy feeling of bile rose in Greene’s gullet.



“Comrade Captain Greene? Do we have permission to come aboard?”

No. God no. “Permission granted. You are…?”

“I am Special Commissar Vikim Vikimsivik of the Commissariat. I have been assigned to this case. Your ship's vessel is Hellbender? Strong name. Mythical demon?”

"It's named after a large species of salamander."

"Ah! Tasty?" Before Greene could respond Vikim stretched up and looked around, and then angled his head to Bessières. “Are you the Dominionoid Judicial officer?”

Greene’s face started to turn purple at the term, but Bessières simply nodded.

“Indeed brother. But I had thought there would be more members of your party?”

“I didn’t know the Commissariat indicated one way or the other.” Said Vikim, sounding vaguely surprised. “But yes. Comrades! Come out!”

Another Bragulan stepped out.

“This is Arbitrator Fiyor Byordyng, the local judicial officer from Spevik Ansils. We have also brought our star witness which lends credence to our belief that a Dominonoid organization was behind the kidnapping. Shagfellow! Come out!”

Oh God no. Greene thought.

[Steve]

Vessel Sorceress, Over Galt
Hanson, The Outback
25 January 3400


When Yuna awoke she was on top of Ashe, the two squeezed into a bunk that could barely fit one person. Shifting to raise her head caused her to bump it on a fairly hard surface, making her grimace and rub her head irritably. The noise seemed to stir Ashe as well, which only complicated things as they became a mess of limbs trying to untangle and get out of the bunk. The cabin around them was so small as to be more of a closet, with one side being a wall containing a flatscreen monitor and the spaces above and below the bunk being drawers and cabinets.

Once sufficiently disentangled they had to worm out of the cabin single-file. As they came out to a common room they saw a single jumpsuited figure there, staring out at the planet below. The curves were unmistakeably female, as was the face; it was their rescuer from last night. Her garment was olive green, a skin-tight jumpsuit with utility pockets built into the waist, as well as a holster that was currently occupied by a blaster gun. A steaming cup of something was in her hands. Looking right at them, she smirked. "Ah, manage to get yourselves disentangled? I tried to tell you last night to each take a cabin, but you both saundered off together."

"I don't remember," Yuna answered, looking over to Ashe who had a similar issue. Scraps of memory were returning to them; they'd been strapped in chairs, subjected to drugs of some form, then there were memories of heat and flame and busted drywall and.... nothing, beyond the face of Hecate Maxwell. "Where are we?"

"My ship," Hecate answered before taking another ship. "You should probably have some coffee, get your brains kick-started. I have some still in the pot."

"Where is Sister Ezria?" Ashe sat down across from Hecate, her thoughts still garbled as well. "I... remember holding her."

"She's in my room, asleep. She's been asleep since we got back." Some worry was evident with that last line. "Whatever they were giving you three, it's really gotten to her. I couldn't even feel her mind through sleep. And while I'm not as telepathic as you people I do have some sensitivity to it."

"Do you know what they were doing to us?", Yuna asked, sitting by Ashe and taking her hand.

"Not much." Hecate put her cup down and looked back to the planet. "I'd made a few stops here over the past year. So Ezria and I could have some playtime together, if you know what I mean." The thoughts in her head, rather open, gave them all the mental images they needed of that. "But I had a contract in the Outlander Commissions, it kept me away for a few months. I was just on my way back when I got a message from Ezria, saying she was going tin be in major trouble. That the Order could never get her help on time. I raced back at high speed, but..." Hecate lowered her eyes. "By the time I got here, the attack had happened. And I feared the worst. It took me the better part of a week to confirm she survived. Then I had to locate them. Thankfully you two came along."

"What do you mean?"

"I, well, planted nano-trackers in you," Hecate answered, blushing a little. "I figured whomever it was would come for you as well. And I was right. With the trackers I could find them. Then..." Hecate stopped as she saw the looks on their faces. "Yes, I used you both as bait," she admitted under the two glowering stares. "I wanted to get Ezria back and find out what those bastards were up to. My computer systems are running samples of the drugs now and comparing them to known drug databases."

"Yes, and it is quite exhaustive and boring work, I assure you," a feminine voice added, echoing through the room. Yuna and Ashe reached out with their minds and glanced about, but there was nobody there.

"Sisters Yuna and Ashe, meet Bob," Hecate said, sipping at coffee again. "Bob, these are Sisters Yuna and Ashe from Chapter Sunelis."

Ashe raised an eyebrow. "Bob? But your CompInt sounds..."

"I am female, yes," Bob answered. "But sure you have heard of the feminine 'Bobbie', have you not?"

"I have," Yuna said. "It's more common on Hansom's Planet, for what that's worth."

"Anyway, so far my analysis is turning up nothing. This specific chemical combination exists on no patent I can find on any interstellar medical database. The components do show up in other medications, primarily relating to brain function, but this alone seems to be a unique formula. And there are variances between the samples taken from the IVs you were placed on, as well as the sample recovered in the lab."

"We were guinea pigs." Yuna rubbed at her forehead. "They said the drugs were to suppress our ESP."

"Unsurprisingly, it does, but only because it suppresses most brain functions, including sleep routines. Sleep deprivation is an unavoidable side-effect of the chemical combination."

"Lots of companies would be looking to develop a non-technology, cheap to manufacture ESP-suppressing agent," Hecate noted. "Not to mention governments."

"So we were being experimented on like lab rats."

"You and every other ESPer brought there." Hecate downed another gulp. "You're just the first to survive. As for Ezria..."

"Your 'girltoy' has no permanent damage as can be detected," Bob noted wryly, drawing a glare directed upwards from Hecate and curious looks from the other two.

"'Girltoy'?" Ashe leveled a look at Hecate. "Just what did she mean by that?"

"She meant...."

Before Hecate could answer, Bob chimed in. "I meant that your Sister Ezria often spends her time aboard in the second cabin, where she and Cate indulge in what passes for common sexual contact between them. It's something we CompInts can never quite understand about you organics."

"Ezria and I have a very special relationship," Hecate continued, her jaw slightly clenched from irritation.

"One based on orgasms, from what I've seen," Bob added. That drew another glare and a couple bewildered looks.

"You'd know give how often you watch," was the retort. Given the expressions on their guest's face, Hecate leaned back. "But enough about my sex life. We have business to talk I guess?"

There was a semi-gratified nod from Yuna. "The people who took us are after material Ezria put together. It's in a locker at the Galt Central Station."

"And they're probably going to be watching like hawks for you two to come in and claim it." Hecate smiled widely. "But I doubt they know me."

"We also have a layman member of the Order who needs evacuation."

"Another?" Hecate's brow furrowed. "This is a courier ship, not a transport. Five people is about the max I permit."

"Good thing we don't need to bring anyone else," Ashe pointed out. "So, we go get our layman, you get the package?"

"If you can avoid being spotted, that is," Yuna added.

"Oh, don't worry about me," Hecate remarked. "I've done these kinds of things before."


Galt Central Station


Hecate entered the station with a combat jumpsuit under a normal-looking sleeved blouse and ankle-length dress. She was carrying a case, armored and sealed, to put the materials in, while her dress pocket contained distraction devices she would activate if needed.

The terminal was experiencing its usual mid-day traffic as she came up to the C-lockers. She was glancing around nonchalantly as she came up to C-49. She tapped in the keycode, the Anglicization for the term Elenea, a Dorei term for heavenly-inspired courage. A chirp told her it had worked, permitting her to open the locker. Within were full datadrives, containing terabytes of information capacity each, that were in their own clear protective containers to guard against EMP or remote magnetic erasure. Good choice, Ezri, Hecate thought to herself as she collected the drives into her case.

As she snapped it shut, she sensed the eyes on her. No less than four men were eyeing her closely; she had gotten the suspicion of the surveillance team by the Watch and their unknown benefactors. Hecate, however, had expected such. She led them to the opposite side of the Station from where she ultimately planned to exit and meet with Yuna and Ashe, who had gone to pick up their layman. Another set of eyes had picked her up, but it was a stationary figure - likely a second-wave surveillance operator should she evade the initial ones.

Reaching into her pocket, Hecate led them back around toward where she entered the Station from. As she rounded a corner her hand tightened around a control and her finger pressed an activation key.

All around her, and behind her, smoke bombs went off - all noise and smoke, no actual explosions, but it was enough to send people scrambling for cover. She moved as if to do the same, beginning to run. Her pursuers, for several key moments, lost her, but she sensed they had guessed her direction.

She set off her second group of smoke bombs as she approached her desired exit. The chaos in the Station was magnified yet again; trains were ordered to stop, security began to mobilize. With a crowd of dozens of milling, frightened "Galters" to meld into, and a fairly short form to make it easy to do, Hecate made her way to the exit without being followed.

She walked down three sets of streets, eyes and mind open for a pursuer. There were none. She did, however, sense the attacking coming in her front.

Such was the price of arranging their meet in the nastier areas of Galt, near the Station. A couple of young men looking for a quick buck, assuming they were ambushing some poor helpless woman with a case undoubtedly filled with valuables. They had outflanked her; one in front, one behind, both armed. "Give us the case!", one shouted, bringing a gun up toward her. The gun, now, that required special attention.

Hecate was not the normal ESPer people were accustomed to. In these spaces, at least, it seemed most ESPers were either the basic mind-reading/sensing type or the ones like Yuna or Ashe, who could also move and react faster than baseline normal and give a bit of a TK shove. Hecate could do TK - but TK alone wouldn't get her out of this.

First was the opponent in front of her. With a movement of her arm, as a focusing mechanism, she pulled his firearm away. She ducked low and, turning in place, faced the rear attacker as he worked up the nerve to pull the trigger. Hecate focused her mind on her left arm and hand, envisioned the energy of her very being flowing into the air around the limb, the heat of that power expanding. A plume of flame was her reward, erupting from her outstretched hand and enveloping the firearm. The kid cried out in pain at the flames licking his fingers and dropped the weapon, running.

Smirking, Hecate continued on through the alley to the next street. She found Yuna and Ashe waiting for her with a sedan, a young Dorei male in the back seat. "I call shotgun," Hecate remarked, lifting the case. Now let's get back to the Sorceress, I want to check on Ezri."

Exchanging looks, Yuna accepted the back seat with young Kaga, while Ashe took the wheel. Hecate settled beside her, holding onto the case. "We didn't know you were a pyrokinetic," Ashe finally said as she pulled out onto the road.

"Not all of us get the same capabilities, you know," Hecate remarked. "Though your Order does stifle things. You know I taught Ezri to make flames, right?"

"Pyrokinesis is not considered a... desirable trait in the service,' Yuna said delicately. "We consider it...."

"...an untrustworthy and corruptive form of the Gift," Hecate finished for her. "Ezria gave me the song and dance already."

"It's why she was sent here in the first place."

"Really, Sister Yuna? I thought it was because she called me in on that mission and I cleaned house for the lot of you," Hecate retorted.

That earned her a glower through the rearview mirror. "You mean you seduced her, insinuated yourself into her trust, and exploited that to make a buck and cause the destruction of several city blocks on Lankin."

Hecate returned the glower. "No, what I did do is prevent those pirates from intercepting a civilian liner, ensured their stolen items would get recovered, and saved Ezria from getting shot or blown away. That we both had to use pyro in getting away was a regrettable necessity. And maybe if your Order wasn't so hidebound about these things, you could access further and better abilities..."

"I hate to interrupt this amusing conversation," Ashe said, "but I think we're going to have a problem."

Ahead of them, with the wall of the only spaceport on the entire planet in the distance (not a big one either - people preferred the space elevator for a reason), were a number of vehicles arrayed alongside the wall, with very angry looking suited men holding very big guns.

"I'm going to die, aren't I?", Kaga asked, his serenity rather false and the terror underneath it evident.

"Don't worry about it," Hecate answered, smirking. "We're going to have some real fun now."

[Shroom Man 777]

Furthermore, in...
BATTLESTAR ANNAPOLIS, In Transit

It was night-cycle now. Some of the men and women who got prematurely wasted were now asleep in their bunks, or dozing in bathroom stalls, while the rowdier ones got thrown into the brig or crammed into footlockers. Most of the ship's crew were better behaved though, and after the MPs were forced to crack some skulls, they eventually settled down for the next feature on Battlestar Annapolis.



A puppet show.

STARFUCK loved puppet shows, ever since her daddy took her out to one on the night before mom killed him, but she was too busy sleeping in the nude and getting her blood drained by vampiric furless Bragulians to care. Thara Krace aside, everyone else enjoyed the show. Dinner was had at 2000 hours, with dessert served afterwards. Somehow their wily Feelipeeni Chief Steward had managed to make fruit salad, reconfiguring their prefabricated stem cell packets to mutate and make damn oranges and pineapples grow out of the meat. The fact that the pineapples had eyeballs was a mite disconcerting, but the Shepistanis on the ship had long since grown accustomed to the Steward's renowned Feelipeeni cuisine. They were in fact proud, for he was ranked best cook in the whole Shepistani fleet, earning him the right to go to the culinary equivalent of TOP SHEP, known as TOP CHEF. He was even kind enough to give off-duty crewmembers cooking classes.



Elsewhere on board the ship, those of high rank gathered in the officers' lounge, where they kept the high-grade A stuff. They say never to get high on your supply, but in times like these, the officers started sprinkling lines of coke and heroin on the tactical tablemaps, rolled papers up or stuck straws in their nostrils, and began snorting rocks. The officers were the ones who had access to the ship's crack reserves, and while the enlisted men were high and dry and crashing and burning like Space Maverick missiles, the officers kept on going - priding themselves on their habit, far from the addiction suffered by the lower ranks, as they instead practiced recreational drug use befitting their pay-grade. They also had access to the ship's meager hydroponics bay, where they grew cannabis. Compared to this, the enlisted men had to resort to scraping off the lichens and fungi growing under various leaking pipes and trying them one by one, in vain hopes of stumbling into hallucinogenic shrooms. One man had already suffered from inadvertently eating a death cap mushroom.

One of the officers' lounge rooms was exclusive to the Commander and those of the highest ranking officers, as well as those they brought with them. Commander Hushy, XO Tight, and Colonel Velkro were now in the room.

"Tight, turn up the music, will you?" Commander Hushy asked politely.



"Yeah..." Tight placed his half-finished bottle of Tsvagna down and turned the radio's dial up. It was a Nova Terra classic, Bruce Shroomsteen's Devils and Dust.

I got my finger on the trigger
But I don't know who to trust
When I look into your eyes
There's just devils and dust
We're a long, long way from home, Bobbie
Home's a long, long way from us
I feel a dirty wind blowing
Devils and dust

"I must say, Commander..." Colonel Velkro began, before Hushy interrupted him.

"Louie, please." Hushy wondered if he was that drunk to consider a Bragulian his friend, but after everything they've been through together, why not? He had far worse. The bear looked at him with something resembling surprise, Hushy just shrugged. "Yeah."

"In that case, call me Zupyr." Velkro replied just as amiably. "Louie."

"Zupyr." Hushy finished his glass of Tsvagna and refilled it with Tight's bottle, taking it from his wasted XO's hands before the cyclops could down it.

"A toast," Velkro raised his glass. "To a successful mission."

"And a job well done!" Hushy clanged his glass on the Bragulian's. They both got what they wanted, the Brags got their bear out and Hushy got to nuke Pendleton from orbit. Just to be sure. "Collectors, Anglians and Astarians be damned."

"I will give my superior's most favorable reviews of the Shepistani Navy's performance, and yours specifically." Velkro said. "There may be commendations, though I'm not making promises."

"Well, even if that's the case, I feel like I've got my own fair share of commendations to co-llect when we get home," Hushy laughed.

"Either way, it's been a most auspicious cooperation between both our great nations," Velkro finished his drink. "And I can't thank you enough for your cooperation."

"Anytime," Hushy didn't mean it. "If it gives us an excuse to nuke Astarians, hah. Maybe you might want to tag along if the fleet goes with FREEDOM DROP."

"Maybe," Velkro laughed. He had read some of the graphs Zhyvel had sent him, along with the Shepistani pornos. "But after this mission, I think I'll try to go home and see my children. How about you Louie, do you have a family?"

"No." Hushy said quietly. "I've always wanted kids... but it's complicated."

"I see," Velkro nodded. "It is nice to have a family to come home to."

"Yeah, I suppose so." Hushy finished his drink and poured himself a new one. "I suppose so, Zupyr."


Well I dreamed of you last night
In a field of blood and stone
The blood began to dry
The smell began to rise
Well I dreamed of you last night, Bobbie
In a field of mud and bone
Your blood began to dry
And the smell began to rise



After Zupyr went off, Hushy likewise headed to his room. Someone was waiting for him though.

"Fenix," Hushy was expecting him, yet the sight still brought up unexpected feelings in him.

"Louie," Gayeta smiled devilishly. "I've been waiting for you."

"Sorry for keeping you waiting," Hushy placed his hand on Gayeta's cheek, caressed it with his fingertips. Smooth skin on smooth skin. "I've been thinking."

"About what, Louie?" Gayeta began helping him undress.

"I want to ask you a question."



Well I've got God on my side
And I'm just trying to survive
What if what you do to survive
Kills the things you love
Fear's a DANGEROUS thing
It can turn your heart black you can trust
It'll take your God filled soul
Fill it with devils and dust
Yeah it'll take your God filled soul
Fill it with devils and dust

[Shroom Man 777]

Battle of Janus Colony



Capital City

Snow was falling over the city. Wasn't really snow, but the incinerated ashes of Karlack bioforms killed in orbit by the Imperium's massive battle barge. The retreating bioforms were shot as they tried to leave the planet, and their twitching space-corpses eventually reentered the atmosphere where the sheer friction of reentry gave them a summary cremation. Their remains were now like snowflakes, powdery white flecks raining down from the blue skies above.

The ships in orbit had the luxury of overwhelming firepower and impregnable void shielding, a luxury shared by the Titans on the ground and the superheavy tanks as well. Even those in mechanized infantry had the advantage of being relatively well-armed and well-armored in comparison to their foe. However, the Recon Guardsmen of the 9867th Farbanti's First had none of these luxuries or advantages, tasked with infiltrating behind enemy lines in advance of the main push of the ground force, their mission was to designate targets up close and personal for precision strikes by orbital, aerospace and ground-based firesupport. Their only luxuries were the lasguns they shouldered in their arms, and the carapace armor on their backs. Their only advantage, sheer human grit in the face of superhuman and superinhuman adversaries, and off-kilter humor befitting Farbanti's descendants. This was enough, had to be enough, in the face of their enemy.

The Karlacks. Though hammered unendingly by orbital bombardment, aerospacestrikes and landbound artillery, those few that remained in holdouts and enclaves still numbered in the countless millions. They were the unstoppable horde of horror, an interstellar plague of locusts, a wave of chitinous claw and fang. They were the Swarm. They had consumed a significant portion of the world's human populace, a sin unforgivable in the eyes of the Byzantine Imperium's God-Emperor, and moreover this consumed biomass only further added to their numerosity as the digested biomass was used to spawn more monstrosities. Though wounded from all-encompassing attacks, the Karlacks still healed from their injuries.

That was why the forces of the Imperium were here, not merely injure or damage, but to kill. To end. And at this task, they were warp-damned good at it, as the near-extinct Tau species could attest.

The beasts would not go down quietly. No, it would go down shrieking and screaming while striking with its venomous claws and fangs, to drag its enemies down with it. To the death. No negotiations, no ceasefires or armistices, or surrenders. No mercy. Both knew better. Honor among murderers, "those who are about to die." The men and monstrosities in both forces knew how this would end: in pain and suffering.

"God-Emperor damn General High Militant Aquila Crotch!" spat Recon Guardsman Balm Barbec. "Sending us out to this fething fraghole."

"Mind your blasphemous tongue, Barbec." Commissar Abraham Jaunt admonished as he drew his laspistol. Barbec gave him an incredulous look, not believing that the commissar would execute him for blasphemy in the middle of a fething battlefield. Jaunt wasn't looking at Barbec though as he brought his pistol up. "We got incoming. Karlacks at nine o'clock, half a klom away."

"Sir," Barbec saw them too and shouldered his lasgun. One of the great things about the lasgun was that its sheer multi-purposity. He pointed his rifle at the center of the horde and squeezed the trigger, but instead of a lethal lasblast that would give away their position and alert the Karlacks of an attack, the lasgun instead sent an invisible laser beam that would paint targets for bombardment. "Relaying coordinates for danger-close fire mission."

Above them, they could hear the whine of incoming artillery rounds. The Basilisks were raining down Earthshakers, and the shells landed dead center of the horde in front of them. The airbursts were like Daisy Cutters and tore the creatures to pieces, sending bits of chitin and organs flying for miles. The main mass of the horde were all pulped, but there were survivors, stragglers with bits and pieces and entire limbs missing, carapace riddled with shrapnel or burns. They were recovering, healing with unnatural speed, and most were scattering to avoid any more barrages.

"Nice," Barbec commented. "Let's move, find another group to target."

"Wait, sirs, I think... I think we've been spotted!" said their heavy weapons specialist, Trooper "Kry Again" Kragg.

"Feth. How?" Barbec looked around and noticed that the surviving Karlacks were heading their way. Then he saw it. There, on a desolated building, was a clothesline with drying clothes hanging on laundry pins. The clothes' owners would never get to wear them again. But, more importantly, Barbec saw the direction the wind was blowing the hanging clothes at. While they were previously downwind, the currents had somehow changed (probably no thanks to the fething multi-megaton orbital bombardments messing with the planetary weather) and now they were upwind. "The Karlacks fething smelled us!"

"Men, prepare yourselves to do the greatest task the God-Emperor asks of us. Killing xenos!" Commissar Jaunt already had his laspistol ready, and now he drew his powersword and ignited it. "You will fight, and they will die!"

"Oh man, oh man! They're coming for us!" exclaimed Kragg. "Man, the Karlacks are gonna throw everything at us! They've got Hormogaunts, Termagaunts, Spinogaunts and Hemogaunts and Homogaunts and Heterogaunts and Hemogaunts and Bi-gaunts and Polygaunts and Monogaunts and Pseudogaunts and Decagaunts and Paleogaunts and Pregaunts and Postgaunts..."

"Don't fire until I give the word," Balm Barbec calmly ordered. There in the distance, the rallying Karlacks were gathering. While previously they had numbered in the thousands, now they were cut down to a hundred or so, and even then they outnumbered the Recon Guardsmen who only amounted to a dozen Troopers. With gnarled hooves and clawed feet, the Karlack gauntlinglisks drew closer and closer. "Wait till they're closer..."

"They've even got Astrogaunts and Octogaunts, Hexagaunts and Nanogaunts and Milligaunts and Macrogaunts and Microgaunts and Metagaunts and Pterogaunts and Supergaunts and Transformigaunts and Gigantogaunts!" Kragg went on as he hugged his heavy lascannon tightly. "... and Aquagaunts and Aerogaunts and Geogaunts and Dopplegangergaunts and Repligaunts and Multigaunts and Allogaunts and Deinonygaunts and Velocigaunts and Tyrannogaunts and Gilagaunts and Gigagaunts and Megagaunts and Kilogaunts and Centigaunts and Charcharagaunts..."

"Emperor's sake, quit it!" a Trooper shouted. The Karlacks were close enough that individual features could be discerned within the oncoming sea of carnivorous chitinous creeplings. With their combat optics, the Guardsmen could see an individual Karlack creature's snarling drooling fanged face. "Kragg!"

"Deimetrogaunts and Carnogaunts and Herbigaunts and Insectigaunts and Arachnogaunts and Reptiliogaunts and Amphibiogaunts and Biogaunts and Psigaunts and Digaunts and Pikagaunts and Digigaunts and Analogaunts and Ghostgaunts and Glowgaunts and Redgaunts and Tallgaunts and Fastgaunts and Slowgaunts and Big-gaunts and Smartgaunts and Strong-gaunts!"

Cutting Kragg off, Commissar Jaunt scoffed and assumed his dramatic fighting stance. Then he simply said:

"And lots and lots of dead gaunts."

"Everyone, fire at will!" Barbec shouted. The squad's lasweapons opened up like a dozen-man fusillade of fatal flashlights firing ferociously at full power.

[Shroom Man 777]

Weakly Bryzvitz crawled to his feet. Around him he saw the rubble and ruins of what had been his forward operating base. Two of its four walls had collapsed, the remaining two were studded with scorch marks. Entire rows of vehicles had been transformed into ruins of smoldering metal. Where rows of proud brag-crete prefab structures had stood now only were heaps of concrete rubble. His superiors, he realized, would have his head for this. He'd lost an entire base against a single attacker. It didn't matter how ridiculously overpowered that one attacker had been, it looked bad on paper and that's why he would be lucky if he'd got away from this with ten years of de-education on some shitworld rock out in the middle of nowhere. Unless... Bryzvitz roared in frustration. “You!” he bellowed to the conscript who'd pulled him clear. “Assemble all the survivors and everyone who could still walk! And all the vehicles that will still run! We're going after the shitpiece that did this!”

The conscript looked around, uncertain of himself. “Oh.” Bryzvitz only now noticed the big bandage wrapped around the conscript's head. “We're not falling back?”

“No,” the colonel-commissar growled. “We're going after it. This is not over yet!”

The Imperator's Glourious Boot Stomping on the Face of Humanity, High Orbit Over Majella-3



Captain Grydon Feindflug looked out of his viewscreen, deep in thought and with his pipe in his mouth. Though the initial victory had been clean cut, he knew that it wasn't over yet. This close to the Sovereignty, a mere rock's toss away from the Celeste sector, the Solarians could easily marshal a counterattack large enough to drive him out and defeat his glourious Bragulanization of Majella. This was why Colonel Weathers' forces were still in the system, though at its edges, careful to stay away from the Bragulan forces firmly entrenched in the inner area. The damned Marine Colonel was waiting for reinforcements. And so was Feindflug.

He turned to his XO, Ozelov Vechtshtein.

"Have we received word of reinforcements?" Feindflug asked. The orders from Vanagradheim had simply told him to take and hold Majella-3, and to expunge the puny Sovereignty humans from that world. It did not make any mention of reinforcements, and at that time Feindflug was not in any position to ask questions. An order from Vanagradheim was an order from Bragule. An order from Bragule was an order from the Imperator himself. No questions, no second-doublethoughts, where the Imperator pointed, you leaped. Feindflug had diverted his whole battlegroup from its Wilder Space patrol and immediately set it on the Majella system without hesitation, without any question asked, without any thought.

"No, no word of reinforcements." Ozelov sneered at him. The bald-headed Bragulan was eying for a promotion, and in the case of such ambitious snivelers such as he, often it involved deposing their superior officers by reporting him for incompetence. That was a common way of ascending the ranks in the Space Fleet.

Fuck you, Feindflug thought.

"Send another transmission," Feindflug commanded sternly, blowing out smoke from his nostrils as he did so. "If we are to hold off the Sovereignty's counter-attack, if we are to Bragulanize this world for the Imperator, then we need to be reinforced. We only have days at best before the closest Sovereignty battle group arrives."

"Having doubts, Captain?" a third voice entered the conversation. Somewhere, someway, somehow, they were joined by a third person garbed not in military uniforms but in a black leather overcoat. His jackboots stomped on the floor plating as he strode towards them. Before Feindflug could pull out his sidearm, he flashed the seven-pointed star badge of the IBGV. "Intelligencer Kropek Kolzitz. There are no reinforcements coming, Captain."

"Why?" Feindflug was flabbergasted. Without reinforcements, they could not hold off the Sovereignty forces that were inevitably incoming. "How can we Bragulanize Majella if we won't be augmented by more ships to repulse the humans and their depravities? What about our liberation from subjugation...?"

The IBGV man laughed, and so did XO Ozelov. They were laughing at him, Feindflug realized, as if he was the subject of an elaborate joke.

"That was all part of the Bragskirovka," a lie, or strategic deception, Intelligencer Kolzitz explained. "You were never here to Bragulanize Majella, that's just what we wanted the Sovereignty to think, Feindflug."

"But I thought we were going to claim this world for the Imperator!" Feindflug responded, indignant that his great effort was all for nothing. That the lives lost in taking this world, the Bragulan lives and maybe even the human ones, were for nothing.

"This world? A miserable rock that nobody wants? There was no way we could claim this world, so close to the Sovereignty, without risking major war - something nobody wants, something the Imperator doesn't want, I might add." Kolzitz scoffed.

"You presume to speak for the Imperator?" Feindflug was shocked at the IBGV man's irreverent flippancy. "Why I..."

"Please," Kolzitz snorted. "The only reason we've sent you here, hell, the only reason the Sovereignty bothered sending its Marines to take this world in the first place, was because there's something in Majella that's more valuable than the whole world it's on."

"Then what would this something be, Intelligencer?" Feindflug addressed the Kolzitz by his rank.

"Captain, that something is something that is way over your head." Kolzitz sneered, a sneer that looked just like that of Ozelov's. "You simply lack the authorization to know what it is."

"In that case, then I am hardly in any position to be of use to you, Intelligencer." Feindflug spat. "So, while you look for somethings, I'll be content in performing to the best of my abilities the mission given to me by Vanagradheim, the mission relayed from Bragule, from the Imperator who I do not presume to speak for."

"Oh, Captain my captain. There's no need to be like that." Kolzitz' sneer turned into a vicious smile. He walked over to Feindflug and clapped his shoulder. "Tell me, how goes our operations in the planet's southern continent? They are, ah, of most interest to me."

"We have lost one of the IFOBs, #47." Feindflug said flatly. "A Sovereign Marine unit was spotted nearby, their transport crashed while trying to vacate the premises. We are vectoring in backup units to support and salvage whatever remains of IFOB-47 and..."

"Hmmm..." Kolziz scratched his chin. "Marines? Crash survivors attacking an entire IFOB? Unlikely. Perhaps you're dealing with something from CEID. This is certainly their purview. Maybe FORCE Marines, even. Unfortunately, your little patrol fleet doesn't have any Emerald Guard supercommandos on it, and I neglected to bring some as well. Nevertheless, Captain my captain, I want you to redeploy an entire Shock Army to the southern continent. That's our priority, the rest of the world can be damned for all I care, the southern continent is the only thing that matters on that shitworld. I will take operational command of said Shock Army and lead it myself. You can keep your ships, Captain. Ready that moon cannon for when the Sovereignty comes, that gun will be our insurance policy."


Meanwhile, Majella's Moon



The final preparations were complete. The weapons platform was in position, anchored on to the surface of Majella's moon. The strategic warheads were in place, locked and loaded, ready to wreak destruction on an untold scale. The targetteers had readied their guidance systems, in preparation for the oncoming storm. The Bragulans had set up their mighty moon cannon. Now, it was a fully armed and operational strategic weapons platform... waiting for the enemies of the Bragulan Star Empire to happen upon it. Bragulans loved surprises, and this would be a big one.

[Steve]

Galt
Hanson, The Outback


Yuna grabbed Kaga by the arm and pulled him out with her, going in the same direction as Ashe. The four escaped the car just in time, a barrage of energy bolts blasting it to molten scrap. Ashe did a sideways shoulder roll along the asphalt and took out her weapons, her twin purple beamsabers flashing to life as she completed the roll. The energy fire that converged on her was impressive, testing the very limit of her abilities.

Crouched in an alley, Yuna directed a Stay here message into Kaga's brain. The young Dorei nodded in answer and watched her pull a gun out of her belt, accuracy being favored over volume of fire. Yuna slipped around the corner and squeezed off a couple shots; one singed an attacker's shoulder, the other impacted on his lower neck. Two down.

Hecate had her own worries. She was unarmed - something she disliked being immensely - and while she could easily fight with TK, she had to worry about the case. She continued to grip it with one hand, giving it paramount importance, while pulling out her direct commlink phone in the other. "Bob, think you can pull off a hot pickup?"

"Why, of course I can, Cate. I'm just wondering if you can ever pull off a job without needing one."

"Save the sarcasm for later." Hecate slipped closer to the end of the alley. There was a noise behind her, the sound of a boot crunching a loose piece of paper. She turned in time to avoid getting shot by a simpler chemical-propellant gun, something that looked to be about 1500 years old at least. The figures approaching from her end weren't the heavily-armed ones shooting up the street; they were locals, vigilantes of the Watch undoubtedly called in to provide raw manpower. Hecate ducked behind a dumpster to avoid being shot.

Yuna was setting up to squeeze off another flurry of shots when she heard Kaga cry out. She looked down the alley and saw the flanking force on her end approach. She raised her gun toward them and squeezed off a warning shot. It hit none of them, though it did force them to stop advancing and take cover. Return fire consisting of bullets whizzed by her and Kaga. Realizing Ashe was in danger of being hit by the shots or outflanked herself, Yuna whirled around and focused her will forward. An invisible force slammed into Ashe, sending her flying into the alley across, where Hecate was in cover - their connection enabled Ashe to know why she'd heen struck immediately.

There was a roar from above - Hecate's shuttle descended, the rear port already open. The volume of fire enhanced, hits scorching the shuttle's exterior and dissipating against the reinforced transluminum cockpit. There's no way we get to the shuttle without getting hit, Yuna communicated to the others, squeezing off another shot at the attackers coming down the alley while her other hand reached out and grabbed Kaga by the wrist.

Hecate made her move then. The dumpster beside her flew forward, hitting one of the figures moving down the alleyway. She re-directed her attention to the other two, sending flames from her open palms to their legs. Their clothes caught fire and a pair of frantic screams were heard, both dropping to the ground. She turned back toward the street, facing her shuttle, and picked her case back up. She focused energy into her arm and swung, throwing the case out into the street toward their attackers. Fire slacked off for a crucial moment, the attackers under orders to recover the materials if at all possible, and they each had a moment to dash to the shuttle. There was no immediate questioning toward her actions; everyone focused on getting on the shuttle. Fire picked up again as Yuna got to it with Kaga behind her, pulled along by mental prodding and an iron grip on his wrist. "You threw it away!", Yuna protested as she forced Kaga into the shuttle.

Hecate, now moving to the seat, answered, "The case is worth nothing if we don't get the hell out of here." Seeing everyone was aboard she triggered the rear door to iris close "Everyone sit in and buckle up!" With energy fire still striking the shuttle, it lifted off the ground and accelerated forward, heading upward against the silhouette of the space elevator.

Once it was clear the shuttle was immune to their shots, the Watch and Carmichael's men ignored it. Killing the ESPer women had been a secondary objective; the case, with the leaked material, was their primary one. "Carmichael will be damned happy to see this," the lead man said as he picked the armored case up. "Let's get it to the safehouse before the authorities show up."

They filed back into their vehicles and left, the other Watch members summoned to their aid taking up their wounded to be brought to a hospital.



The safehouse for Carmichael and Dr. Moon was in an apartment complex, two nice first floor apartments. The two men were waiting for them. "Did you get the Silver Moon women?", Moon asked.

"No, they got away." The lead man picked up the case. "But we got this. The new woman, a short brunette, picked up the materials from the locker and put them in here. It was observed."

"Well well, at least the leak is covered then." Carmichael gestured toward his subordinate. The case was handed over to him and Moon to have its contents examined.

Having succeeded in his main job, the lead fellow - with the name Mark, by the way - obviously expected some kind of further thanks.

That is why he was greatly surprised when, having opened the case, Carmichael suddenly tossed it forward with an angry shout, smashing Mark's nose in with it. He staggered backward, thick red blood oozing from the broken blood vessels in his nose, and looked down.

The case was empty.


Vessel Sorceress, Approaching the Hyperlimit
Hanson System, The Outback


Peals of laughter and giggling continued to fill the common room on the Sorceress. Hecate was leaning forward, clinking a bottle of beer against those held by Yuna and Ashe. The latter two had become more relaxed around Hecate after their escape and the revelation she had hidden away the drives they had worked to recover, using the empty case to give them cover. Auto-fitting jumpsuits provided by Hecate had replaced the white gowns they'd been earlier, Hecate's own jumpsuit unzipped from the neck to the navel in a fairly open display of personal comfort.

"Well well, I see there's at least two Sisters of the Silver Moon who know good beer", Hecate said at seeing the two take deep gulps. "It took me forever to get Ezria to try."

"Trill tend to be the finer drinking types," Yuna noted. "Growing up on Hansom's Planet, beer is everywhere. And it was one of our few luxuries in the Tasker Cloister as Acolytes."

"Even with the extra calories?"

"Under Rector Ann, extra calories were just there to be burned," was the amused answer from Ashe.

Hecate laughed at that. “Well, that’s fun to know. So, Ezria tells me stories about the Knight whot rained her. What about you two?”

“We didn’t get Apprenticed.” Yuna put the bottle down. “We spent our entire education in the Cloister, then volunteered for duty in the Outback upon becoming Sentinels.”

“Really? Wow, you two seemed the types to have been picked up by someone.”

“Separating us has usually proven difficult. Yuna and I have been a couple since we were Initiates.” Ashe blushed a little. “Though we only let everyone know we were together after becoming Acolytes.”

Yuna reached over and put an arm over Ashe’s shoulder. “We click very well. It was love at first sight.”

“Sounds fun.” Hecate sipped and noticed movement behind the other two. She sat up at the sight of Ezria leaning groggily against the door to her cabin. Hecate had dressed her in a blouse and thigh-length shorts she had laying around. “Ah, Ezri, you’re awake!”

Yuna and Ashe turned to face her. Ezria’s eyes still had bags under them and her expression gave the impression she needed a bit more sleep. “So loud out here,” she muttered. “I could hear all your thoughts from the room.”

“Really?” Hecate walked over to Ezria and helped her up. A mere skin-on-skin touch made Ezria jerk a little, as if shocked. “Didn’t think you were that sensitive.”

“It would appear that part of the drug withdrawal is a sudden spike in sensitivity,” Bob noted.

A sly grin crossed Hecate’s face, which basically said the thoughts about “taking advantage” of that crossing her mind, but externally she helped Ezria to a seat at the table. “We’re drinking beer. Your Sisters have better taste than you.”

“Sister Ezria, I am happy to see you are well,” Yuna said to her. “We were sent to assist you.”

Ezria nodded. She didn’t look particularly up to speaking. “I can’t remember much of anything past the attack on our office...” Ezria looked up and toward them. “What about the others? Did they?”

“Kaga got out. Vendri and Samuel did not, though.” Yuna gestured toward the door leading to the two minicabins. “Kaga is getting some needed sleep. He looks like he’s been high-strung for days.”

“He’s a very sweet guy,” Ezria pointed out, cracking the slightest of grins. Looking to Hecate, Ezria asked, “So, Cate, did you hook up with my fellow Sentinel-Sisters in rescuing me?”

“Sorta,” Hecate admitted, blushing a tad.

“She used us as bait,” Yuna said, clarifying what had happened, before taking another drink. “Then rescued us all.”

“The locker? Did you get the materials from the locker?” There was still obvious fatigue in Ezria, otherwise her question would have been laced with far more urgency.

Hecate gestured toward a box in the common room. “Got them all. I wanted to wait until you were up to go looking, in case you had security on them.”

There was visible relief on her features. “There is, yes, though the security features are such that any Initiate in the Order could get by them. I wanted to ensure you could read them, after all.” She looked to Yuna and Ashe. “So the Knight-Captain sent you? I guess I didn’t warrant a Knight?”

“I’ll pretend to be hurt,” Ashe retorted. “She sent Yuna and I because she needs all the personnel she can get for Lochley and the area, given the Pendleton suppression. And because she likes to keep couples together too.”

“Which I’m happy with.” Yuna leaned over and planted a kiss on Ashe’s cheek. Not to be outdone, Ashe rotated her head and put her hands on Yuna’s head, pulling it closer to plant a fuller kiss on her lips, a fairly gratuitious display of affection.

A beep filled the room. “We are at the Hyperlimit,” Bob said. “Hecate?”

“I’m comin’, I’m comin’”, she mumbled. “I’ll set us on a hyperspace course for Hiigaran space. That way I can take you back to Lochley.” She was answered by disinterested nods. Walking forward part of the common room, Hecate stepped down into the space leading to the cockpit. There wasn’t room for a proper ramp or stairs; it was a simple ladder sided with poles (should she be coming through quickly or under zero-G), beyond which was the one man cockpit. Hecate slipped into her chair and brought up her astrogation data. The hyperlanes here were narrow and thin, all connecting to tertiary lanes in the adjacent Hiigaran sectors. Hanson could only lead to one lane that went straight to Hiigaran - from there they could take the Hiigara Junction to either Ji’Doreia Junction in New Anglia or Burleywood Junction in The Outback, and from there Lochley’s Retreat was just a few hours hyperflight for Sorceress.

The appropriate calculations were completed by the astrogation computer - a non-sentient AI not part of Bob’s wider systemm - and the controls set. While some ships had a hand-pad to press for hyperdrive activation, Hecate preferred a more ancient-looking, but just as functional, throttle lever. Her thumb pressed the lock in, permitting her to press the throttle to standby. Energy within the small ship began to shunt into the drive coils, spooling them up. When a yellow light beside the throttle went green, she pressed in the lock again and pushed the throttle to full. The moment her thumb came off the lock the device activated the Sorceress’ hyperdrive, shifting the ship into hyperspace.

After a few more minutes, to make necessary early flight checks herself, Hecate turned the system over to Bob and returned up the ladder to the common area. Ezria still looked like she was half asleep while Yuna and Ashe had visibly scooted closer, permitting easier access to the kinds of handholds lovers would exchange seated by each other. Hecate picked up a packet of coffee, placed it in the high-speed brewing pot, and waited the necessary thirty seconds before taking it out, completely ready for drinking (though the quality of rapid-brewing coffee was considered questionable at best, it still had the “wake up now” kick). She put a mug of it in front of Ezria. “There, Ezri. Have some coffee.” She gestured out the window at the view of hyperspace around them. “We’re on our way out of here for good, now.”

Ezria brought the mug up and took a drink. Too tired to protest the quality, she let the caffeine work its way into her system. “I guess you want to look at the materials.”

Hecate gestured to the portable computer unit she’d brought over, tied into the ship computer and ready to have the data drives plugged in. They were, conveniently, placed right beside the computer, not far from Yuna’s empty beer bottle. “Would be nie to see what caused so much trouble. Unless you want to tell us?”

“I honestly don’t know what most of it is,” Ezria explained. “I mean, one of the drives has some of my reports on the Watch, but I’d only had the material about 18 hours before I knew the Watch was on to me. I put the drives in the locker, then the next day our office was attacked.”

“Well, we’ll find out together then,” Hecate said cheerfully. She attached both drives to the wires out of the portable unit’s access ports and flipped it on. A holographic image popped over it, showing a display as the system finished its booting up process and began to load the drives. A string of characters in Lushan Dorei popped up.

“The answer is ‘Pali Suma’,” Ezri said, sipping coffee.

The audio-input on the computer automatically heard her answer and the security program confirmed it. The drives’ security locks opened and the data came out, divisions and subdivisions of files in each. Hecate operated the keyboard and ran a search system for anything interesting. “Let’s see what you got on the Watch.”

The files that came up started with Ezria’s reports on them. After clearing those came the material she’d been given. Financial records and personnel histories. “The Watch is well on its way to taking control of Hanson,” Yuna observed. “Look, they’re front-running a leading candidate in the next planetary presidential elections. They’ve got the current Secretary of Planetary Security in their pocket....”

“And several police leaders and government officials. It looks like Hanson’s internal security and policing agencies have been completely undermined and subordinated to the Watch. Would explain how they put together a facility like that.” Hecate looked over everything again. “And it looks like they intend to seize power one way or another. Weapons stockpiles. Modified Bragulan small arms, Dominionite battle armor, even some Shepistani tacnukes.”

“Where does a grass-roots group on a planet like Hanson afford all that?”, Ezria asked rhetorically. “And have the funds to bribe or otherwise suborn much of the planetary and major municipal governments as well?”

“Their financial records indicate a lot of transactions going through banks on Iberia and Lankin and in the Republic of Rand.” The Sisters recognized the names of the former two planets, neutral worlds with loose regulations and tight lips on their banks. “The Republic of Rand... oh, yeah. Sector CC-14. The planet New Haven, resettled after the Dilgrud wiped the planet’s Human settlements in 2952 during the First Anglo-Dilgrud War. The Randites are one of about a dozen states there. Really just a settlement city, a bunch of towns around it, and the independence to let the black market types and government intelligence agencies do covert and black ops funding through their banks.” Hecate chuckled. “Hell, if I remember right they say that Anglian SIS backed the Republic’s founding just to use it as a conduit for funding covert ops.”

“You sound like you’ve been there,” Ashe remarked.

“Was there, briefly, with my merc outfit.” Hecate’s smile seemed fairly cold. “Wasn’t the nicest mission I went on. One of the reasons I got out. Anyway, to move on...” Changing the subject a bit too quickly - at least for the purpose of trying to hide her feelings on it - Hecate went on. “This funding is definitely external.”

“What’s their most common currency?”, Yuna asked. “I mean, all states technically have their own, but a Randian... whatever isn’t going to buy you as much as an Altacaran or Anglian pound or, best of all, a UN credit. The currency they use might tell us more of who’s behind this.”

“From what I can tell, they use a basket of currencies. Solarian, Altacaran, Shepistani, even some transactions in Imperium solidi.” Hecate furled her brow. “Whoever is moving this much money, and bothering to put it into different currencies for different transactions, is really going out of his or her way to not be found.”

“Or it could be some form of megacorp,” Ashe observed. “An interstellar corporation with holdings in multiple states, access to liquid funds in each.”

Ezria took another drink of coffee. “Then you’re looking at someone who has excellent book-keeping to keep it all straight and avoid attention from the governments of the states they’re in.”

“Either way, I don’t think we’re going to solve this puzzle here. Let’s move on...” Hecate continued looking through the files. From financial transactions to timetables, mostly relating to shipments of necessary materials and hard currency, and then schematics.

Hecate glared intently. “Well, that confirms we were right about that,” she sighed. “Whoever is running that complex is looking for a drug to suppress ESPer abilities.”

Everyone was reading the text displayed on the holoimage of the chemical makeup illustration. “They’ve been experimenting on people this entire time,” Ezria whispered, horrified. “All the disappeared ESPers on Hanson...”

“Dead,” Ashe gasped. “They murdered them all.”

“The lab notes entries are by some guy named Dr. Moon,” Hecate said, reading on. “Sleep deprivation seems to have been their main issue, though in at least one case an overdose caused a fatal heremorraghic stroke. Apparently the mixture they were experimenting on caused the blood vessels in the brain to contract, stiffen, and eventually break.” She stopped to rub her eyes. “I knew I should have had Bob strafe that place.”

“They were using people, using us, as experiments, all for this!” Yuna slammed an open fist on the table, her other hand gripping Ashe’s. Their memories of captivity were still faint. But to know the fate that had been intended for them, that such evil was even now still working out here... “We should go back and hunt them down like the animals they are...”

“The four of us, no matter how awesome we are, can’t fight an organization like the Watch and whomever is backing them,” Hecate pointed out coldly. “And that’s not all. Look.” She brought up more files. These displayed schematics. “Blitzschlag Field Generators, purpose built for body armor. Stun gas that uses some of their test drug to knock out ESP in people who inhale it. Probably what they used on all of you. and they’re designing battle kits specifically for fighting ESPers of all kinds.”

“Anything more?” Yuna stood and went up to the holo display. “What’s that?”

“’Contingency Omega’,” Hecate murmured. She tapped the keyboard. “No, nothing there. It looks like the files inside were secured when this data was copied over, only the directory name was actually copied. Doesn’t exactly give me a good feeling, though...”

They continued looking through the data until all were tired of it. Hecate turned the portable system off and put it and the drives back into a safe spot. “Once we get out of this straight run someone has to be on the helm, just in case Bob is too busy with maintenance when we come up on the hyperlane curves,” Hecate told them. While not a trouble outside of the Shoal regions, inside them hyperlanes had a tendency to shift direction and size; someone not prepared for it could run a ship into shoals at full speed with unprepared fields and cause some rather nasty effects on the drive. “I’ll stand first watch, then one of you can come in. You’re all trained in starship piloting, right?”

“Well, a little, but not very much,” Ashe admitted.

“Just need your eyes on things to remind the astrogation computer where it’s supposed to make turns,” Hecate pointed out. “It’s not bad, really.”

“Well, while you’re on your watch, can we go get some rest?’, Yuna asked. “In your medium cabin, I mean. I know this model has one.”

“It does.” A rather amused grin crossed Hecate’s face. “Go ahead and do whatever you wish. Have fun, even.” She winked at them and returned to the cockpit.

Ezria was also grinning, widely, and hiding it with her coffee mug. Sensing her mirth and curious at it, Yuna and Ashe walked up to the cabin together and hit the door key, causing the doors to slide open. They looked inside at a normally furnished cabin, with a small bathroom (no shower though), Hecate’s medical kit, a bed, and....

“Um, well, the bed looks comfortable at least,” Ashe offered. “And that’s really all we need, right?”

There was no mistaking the grin starting to cross Yuna’s face, however, as she took Ashe’s hand. “I don’t know. I’m getting some ideas now. Let’s go sleep on them.”

They stepped inside and closed the door behind them. Ezria barely got her coffee mug back on the table before erupting in giggles and laughter, such that even Hecate could hear it from the cockpit and fairly guess what it was about. “Bob, if they do actually... decide not to sleep, you won’t do anything horrid, will you?’, Ezria asked.

“Who, me? When have I done ‘horrible’ things?”, Bob asked in a tone of blatant faux innocence.

“I still dread my superiors in the Order finding out about that video you passed around of me and Cate,” Ezria remarked. “And then there was the time...”