SDNW4 Story Thread 1

[Simon_Jester]

Altacar-Registered Freighter SS Heffalump
May 12, 3400

Captain Percy Carpenter wanted a few last matters cleared up.

"So... your plan is for me to fly you to the Sovereignty, and then you want to lease the ship?"

"Yes. I assume the terms are satisfactory?"

By any reasonable standards they were. It was a short-term lease, with a fee roughly equal to the fair market price of the ship... and right up front the customer had agreed to a fee in case of any damage to Heffalump that would buy Carpenter a ship half again her size and three decades newer- free and clear. But Carpenter was sentimental about the old girl, so he had a few questions more to ask.

"You make no provisions to hire the crew here."

"That is because I intend to give you all, cash up front, sufficient funds to have a pleasant stay in the Sovereignty for the duration of the lease. I shall operate the ship myself."

"Are you sure you can-"

"Captain, with the assistance of the equipment I will bring aboard, you may be certain of my ability to navigate and maintain the ship. Should any unforeseen difficulties arise, you will receive the damage fee listed in the lease."

"But what do you want to do with her?"

"I intend to perform anthropological studies in Wild Space for the duration of the lease."

No wonder he'd offered such a fee for damages- the place was a damn war zone. And on top of that...

"Aren't you worried about a run-in with the Collectors?"

"Quite the contrary, captain; I'm counting on one."

That was mad, but for this kind of money, he'd humor a mad passenger under the circumstances.

"You think that I am spending more than is warranted for such a dangerous errand?"

Any amount would be too much... Carpenter was certain of few things in life; that he never wanted to lay eyes on a Collector was one of them.

"The money is of little object; I am independently rather wealthy. My services command high fees among certain circles, and I have greatly increased my available funds of late. With a proper grasp of social dynamics, the Dominion stock market is an extremely lucrative place to invest, you see. I highly recommend it if you find yourself with spare capital on hand."

"Ah, thank you, Mr..."

"Please, captain, simply call me Geppetto."

[Lonestar]

Ramsey's Draft Wilderness
Damascus



"We'll be there shortly, Colonel Morgan reports that the site is safe to land at." Came the Coaxwain's voice over the 1MC. Captain Greene vaguley nodded and stared at the screen that was giving a view of the approaching camp. Two DPS Vertibirds with the subdued skulls of the Psi Corps had landed near the 'sploded Cardinal, and the cleanup team was at work with the bodies. A small line group of survivors were lying flat on their stomachs with assault mariens pointing gauss rifles at them. Morgan and Bessières were standing over the poor Bragulan yearling.

Comissar Vikim and Arbitrator Fiyor were eagerly leaning forward muttering in Bragulan that they couldn't get a clear view from the feed from the Hellbender. Shagfellow had been brought along and was trying to find his companion in the feed. The screens abruptly switched to an external camera is the dropship began to land. Shagfellow's mechanical tail began to wag excitedly and as the gear impacted and the ramp began to lower he started to pace in the passenger compartment.

"Stay." Said Fiyor as him, Greene, and Vikim stood up. Shagfellow whined. The three exited the dropship and Vikim shouted to Morgan "Is that Yivgny? Send him over."

The yearling stumbled over, shaved(someone had thrown a blanket over him) with a wild look in his face. "Puh-puh-pioneer scout 3rd Class Yivgny re-porting comrade commissar..."

"Pioneer Scout I am Special Commissar Vikim. Arbitrator Fiyor will take you onboard the Hew-mon shuttle." Vikim put his paw on the yearling and steered him towards Fiyor in an almost kindly manner. As Fiyor escorted the Yearling onboard Vikim turned back to Bessières. "Where is the Hew-mon who did this?"

Bessières just jerked his head towards an old man by the cabin, who promptly stood up and shouted.



Vikim opened his mouth and closed it several times. He was completely dumbfounded, he turned back to Bessières. "Is he mad?"

"Judging from de format of his mind he be engaging in mental intercourse over and over again with Cardinal over and over again in a variety of scenarios. He be styling himself Dean Pastor Davies."

Vikim paused, not sure if he wanted an explaination of 'mental intercourse'. "He will be punished?"

"Likely hanged ah reckon." Said Colonel Morgan.

"Good." Vikim said sounding satisfied. "Good. I will not forget this in my report. For hew-mons you..."

There was a howl as Shagfellow came running out of the dropship. He was running towards the increasing pile of bodies.

"Cobnobble! Nooooo!"

Bessières sighed and jerked his hand. Like a puppet Shagfellow moved toward him. "I be getting rid of you now. Your mind be offensive to mine. I never be forgetting disrespect."

"Nu-no! I am under the Bragulan's protection!"

Vikim merely looked at him in silence. Bessières smiled.

"I can't be reading Bragulans too much, but I be guessing you only came along for de ride in case you happened to know some other information to could be saving the yearling."

Shagfellow whined. "You can't do this! I am an Anglian subject! I have friends who know I went to Bragulan space!"

Bessières looked at Vikim, who gave a hew-mon style shrug. "All Humanoids sound the same to me."

"You should be respecting your betters." Bessières said. With a wave of his finger Shagfellow's neck snapped and his limp body dropped to the ground.

[Lord_Of_Change 9]

"So, Herr Hoffman, what do you think?"

'That is entirely reasonable and amenable to our interests, so yes, I do agree with it,' Hoffman replied.

[Simon_Jester]

Central Administration Complex, Reisenburg
April 5, 3400
1015 Hours

"Very well, Herr Hoffman." Hoffman's head turned, as it was First Technarch O'Connell, the Umerian head of state who had spoken, not the foreign secretary. He seemed slightly confused, as if he had not realized O'Connell was in the room, but that at least drew his attention.

While Maxim bent over his notepad, his actions invisible to the others in the room, O'Connell carried on. "I think it would be best if we worked out the details between our governments at a later date, and I'm sure we both have more normal business to attend to. But if there's anything...

Suddenly, an aide walked into the room. "Dr. O'Connell, Dr. Chernov, you're needed in Room 323. There's been a problem with the..." his eyes flicked to the Prussian delegation. "...with the Gamma Contingency."

"Paul, I'm talking to the Prussian Reichskanzler here, can't it wait?"

"Ah... Dr. Ansary truly doesn't think so, sir."

"Herr Hoffman, I am terribly sorry but there's an emergency that demands our attention. We're going to have to go; I trust you'll forward your agreement to go to the conference back to your Government?"

"Yes, yes, if you must go then we can meet at another time, ja?"

As they strode from the conference room, O'Connell turned to his old friend. "Max, I've never heard of a Gamma Contingency in my life, and Room 323 is a broom closet. What the hell is going on?"

"Could you think of a better way to end the meeting in a hurry on a useful note? Because I couldn't."

Battlecruiser USS Haruna, Flagship of TF BC4.1
Grand Trunk
April 5, 3400

Admiral Antoni Juliusz Lisiewicz looked over the orders from Command, the ones covering whether he had a GO or NO GO on the Beta series of provocation ops he'd planned around Volksland. Then he sighed.

"They never let me have any fun."

[Fingolfin_Noldor]

Imperial Chronicles
Terra, Constantinople System



“It feels good to be walking again,” said Heraclius IV. He was just emerging from the cloning chamber that was located deep within the palace. Typically, one does not use cloning devices much, but sometimes, cloning facilities have their uses when it comes to interrogating suspects. Or sometimes a very valuable human might prove useful if given a second lease of life. Regardless, they were maintained as a ‘just in case’ option. Turning to Heraclius XX who was staring at him with furrowed eyes, he asked, “Have you ever wondered what it’s like to emerge from a womb fully awake?”

“Of course not. I have never had need to use any of these cloning chambers.”

“Interesting... I never knew psyker powers could extend the lifespan of a human...”

“Or decrease it. Not every psyker can withstand the sheer energies he unleashes.” The Imperium made sure every psyker it had in its charge understood this fact clearly. This was one of the many fundamental facts that was drilled into every young psyker’s head and part of their training included learning about their limits.

“That much is true,” said Heraclius IV, with a quizzical matter of fact manner.

Right next to Heraclius XX were two men, Belisarius and Decius the Sigilite. Belisarius was wondering if he was staring at a joke, while Decius simply put on a passive look. “You look very much like the Exarch Decius who served me. I understand you are descended from that same said person?” asked Heraclius IV.

“Well, indeed, Sire. I am directly descended from him. The twentieth descendent I believe. I have served the God Emperor faithfully for the last few hundred years...”

“Interesting to see how time scales are now measured in terms of hundreds and not decades.”

“Superior genetic engineering,” replied Belisarius, with an edge of impatience. “Something you did not have then, I believe.” Belisarius had told his father his suspicions. Heraclius XX merely told him that they would play along for now, and a close watch on Heraclius IV would be maintained.

“Indeed, my dear prince.”

“Come now, I am practically your grandson by many generations.”

“That much is true.”

Belisarius’ simply stared harder at Heraclius IV. When his father had told him what happened, he was wondering what joke in the universe could befall upon them. A millennium old relic? Preserving himself by imprinting his soul into a book? What kind of weird talk is this? While there were many things in the universe that were hard to fathom, this simply broke the boundaries of believability.

Heraclius IV sighed as he put his ropes on. “How is the Half Brained Whore?”

“I hear he is enjoying himself... in an appropriate habitat created for him for the time being...” Heraclius XX said wryly.

Belisarius rubbed his forehead. “Is there some reason why you loonies from the early 21st Century went to such ends to preserve your lifespans? First Sidney Hanks in ... some kind of body that is hardly human, and now... you and a ... dolphin?!”

“Speak for yourself. Unlike you, we did not have your superior genetic engineering.”

“I would have thought acceptance of one’s fate would have saved a lot of trouble.”

“Yes well, we didn’t accept ours, since our fate wasn’t in our control after all.”

That Q character again, Heraclius XX sighed. Heraclius IV was hiding something from him, and clearly, some means must be found to extract that information out of him.

“So where is the Half Brain Whore now?”

“Well, as per your suggestions...”



“And I also hear he’s been rather reproductive...” Belisarius said with small chuckle... “Crazy 21st centurians,” he muttered under his breath.

[Darkevilme]

Area 19, The Hierarchy Palace. Chamarra, Hierarchy space

Mela Kithandra stepped off the trans-level conveyor and regarded the chamber a moment before taking her place, all the others were already present and seemingly waiting for her which was good, this briefing was overdue.
“I have been informed that you have completed your review of the Incident in Sovereignty space.” she says, getting comfortable and looking expectantly to those that would give her reasons to remain in her position of power. Mela did not truly fear disgrace as a possibility, she knew Kara that well and their bonds of family were strong, But there was a niggling fear that Tia would coax Kara to give Mela's position to someone else. Tia had a way with words and has picked up some strange notions from the humans, at least in Mela's opinion.
“That is correct mistress. With the help of outside consultants we have been able to discern the truth of the matter. They were quite enlightening.” says Ness, leader of the review.
Mela notices the catgirl's bodylanguage and tail flicks “Yes and they laughed at you, I trust they have been taken care of as a matter of security. Continue.”
“Indeed, well then. The short of it is our espionage apparatus are grossly unprepared for acting in the galaxy at large. We have seperate facets of this conclusion which were highlighted by the incident. We will elaborate on them if no objections are presented.” Ness says and then motions for one of her associates to speak.
“Firstly quite apart from the issue of CI core 209 Callahan malfunctioning the incident spotlights that our command doctrine for these missions is inadequate. Our crews must be given much greater latitude of action in future to prevent future incidents, a suggested restructuring plan is being worked on already.”
Mela frowns, and tail flicks but motions for them to continue as she mulls over this idea, it had merit versus the existing system certainly.
“The Blade stealth cruiser is also inadequate for the needs of serious espionage.” the currently prominent member of the review board states, instantly garnering Mela's full attention.
“How so?” she asks, paying close attention of the familiar Blade cruiser schematic appears floating holographically in the middle of the room.
“As you know the Blade was designed for strategic strikes as part of the Neckbite plan in the event of us having to fight off an Argenti invasion. While adequate for strike missions and light recon the Blade has shown itself to be ill equipped to carry out high risk intrusions or conduct serious intel gathering. In contrast to what little we know about the CEID spystar the Blade has inadequate stealth equipment, near nonexistent covert agent insertion ability, inferior sensor equipment and is hideously over armed.”
“You propose our stealth vessels should be defenceless?”
“As we have seen in the Solarian Incident weapons mean little when discovered conducting a high risk mission, stealth is thus the primary and only defence that an espionage ship should have or need.”
“Fine, I trust you have a proposal you're leading up to.”
“Of course mistress, we propose the development of a new espionage vessel with design goals more in line with those shown by our intel on the CEID Spystar.”
“An agreeable proposal, what timescale is required for this plan?”
“We can have the design work conducted in 1 year and the first craft in service in two Mistress.”
Mela silently mulls it over for a bit, commissioning a new ship was expensive but then the Blade had shown itself to be perhaps not the best possible tool for this sort of mission, merely the best available tool.
“The plan is approved. Anything else to propose?”
“Yes Mistress, we feel it would be best if we remained as an advisory council to the espionage service to attempt to head off future incidents such as this...”
...

Warp gate, Mighty Bragule, Star Empire space

This was Bragule, the beating heart of a military industrial complex unmatched by any Chamarran eyes were ever likely to see.
This was Bragule, a world shaped from the highest traceries of its atmosphere to the deepest depths of its core by one dream of conquest.
This was Bragule, and it had visitors.

The Warpgate rumbled almost reluctantly into life to receive the incoming ship, a few unfortunate Bragulans caught by steam jets deep within the gate's nuclear bowels adding their dying screams to the cacophony of energizing machinery. But this was Bragule, and such things were to be expected.

A dazzling burst of blue light heralds the arrival of a Hierarchy Yacht from clear across known space in orbit over Bragule. The small slender gleaming yellow red needle of the Chamarran vessel looking every bit as out of place when contrasted with the massive and uncompromisingly blocky vessels it now shares the space over the Bragulan homeworld with.
From the windows of the Yacht Satia gets her first look upon a world that she was no doubt to become intimately with in the coming years, the newly appointed mistress for Bragulan affairs watching the orbital traffic as the shipmistress of the Yacht talked to Bragulan traffic control.

“This is the HSF Whisper to Bragulan system authorities. We have arrived with ambassador Satia and sample trade goods in order to establish trading and diplomatic ties with your great nation. Please give us course and docking instructions, over.” Shipmistress Kasan sends out on an open channel, rather worried by how many guns seem to be pointing towards the Yacht at this moment.

[Shroom Man 777]

Warp gate, Mighty Bragule, Star Empire space

“This is the HSF Whisper to Bragulan system authorities. We have arrived with ambassador Satia and sample trade goods in order to establish trading and diplomatic ties with your great nation. Please give us course and docking instructions, over.” Shipmistress Kasan sends out on an open channel, rather worried by how many guns seem to be pointing towards the Yacht at this moment.

The FARGATE

The Bragulan system authorities gave the Chamarran ship the coordinates to Bragule and instructed them not to deviate from the course for any reason. Then, the enormous gun-platform continents blocking the Whisper's way moved aside. Revealing the sun of Bragule in all its blazing glory.

"Nyah!" Shipmistress Kasan exclaimed as she shielded her eyes from the sheer brightness of the star. It was so close! For a moment she had thought the crazy bears had detonated a nuke right in front of her ship, before the viewscreen automatically filtered the light intensity. "What the heck?"

The Fargate of Bragule was placed precariously near the sun, even closer than that of Mercury's distance to Sol. The reason for this was simple. Security. In Bragulan definitions. Should the incoming vessel be hostile, then the defense platforms could simply shoot at it while it had nowhere to run - its back cornered by the sheer stellar mass and blazing corona of Bragule's most patriotic star. There were even enormous forcefield generators and reverse-tractor beams mounted on nearby platforms that could help throw unwanted ships into the sun. Should worse come to worse, the entire Fargate itself could be hurled into the star as well if it was deemed necessary!

But for now, there were no sun-throwings. The HSF Whisper followed its prescribed course to the letter, and as they headed for Bragule they passed by numerous super spectacle space sights. Warship formations of everything from mighty Bragulan battleships, to near-fossilized paleocruisers dating from the Great Civil War, thundered across the void, patrolling the home system of the Empire. Throughout the black expanse between the space fleet formations were throngs of civilian ships, mining vessels finishing what was left of Bragule's mined out asteroid belts, as well as civilian traffic ferrying countless hundred thousand million patriotic citizens to and from the Imperial throne world. There, as they neared mighty Bragule, they saw the Byzon-class strategic battlefortress, and a tactical battlefort nearby, orbiting planet itself like satellites festooned with armamentations and nuclear missiles the size of skyscrapers.

They were told to hold position high above Bragule as they were scrutinized meticulously by a variety of sensors, from passive-aggressive arrays to optical systems in the form of space microscopes. They almost thought that they would be boarded by platoons of space bears, who'd perform full body cavity searches on them. But that was not necessary, and they were cleared to enter mighty Bragule itself.



Mighty Bragule

They were escorted into the atmosphere by gunskimmers flying the colors of the elite Bragule Patriotic Defense Forces, though how such ungainly vessels could enter a planetary atmosphere without detonating themselves was a mystery. The truth was that the Niva gunskimmer didn't fly through the air, but instead stared the air down until it got out of the gunskimmer's way in fear. Perhaps there was credence to this notion, as the atmospheric reentry was smoother than usual.

The gunskimmer escort wasn't just for show or intimidation, though. After clearing the electrosphere and reaching lower altitudes, the shipmistress thought they had arrived at the night side of the planet before realizing that the air itself had turned black from smog and soot. She read her displays and saw ridiculously toxic levels of industrial pollution. Lightning crackled in enormous cumulonimbus clouds, ionic discharges from the static caused by the friction of airborne heavy metals interacting with clouds of crystallized petrochemicals. Extensive planetary shielding did not help the planet's weather patterns either.

The gunskimmer pilots cheerfully told her to watch out for the acid rain, mentioning that it was 'doubleplusungood' for the paintjob.

Eventually, the darkness gave way to light, and Shipmistress Kasan thought the air had finally cleared enough for some light to come through. She was mistaken, as she shortly found out, when it turned out the light came from the massive planetary projectors that beamed enormous holograms into the whole sky. In the radio, she was able to catch the morning's People's Truthful Bi-Daily Ideologically Purified Accurate Information Broadcast to the Proud Patriotic Bragulan Listeners of Planet Bragule, courtesy of the People's Truthful News Group, one of the few independent media broadcasting organizations in the Bragulan Star Empire. Even without the radio, if she rolled down her windows she would still hear the broadcast thanks to the enormous mountain-sized macrophones down below.

Finally they landed, right about at the same time as the broadcast ended. The cosmodrome she was on looked like a crater in the bleak industrial landscape of Bragule, slightly lower than the rest of the surrounding structures that covered the entire landscape. What she didn't realize was that the crater was literally a crater, because centuries ago before relations between the Bragulan Star Empire and the Sovereignty had turned sour, there had been a diplomatic incident and a suspected CEID agent had tried to escape by ship. But before he could even fly out of the cosmodrome, a nearby missile battery atomized the whole place and on the resulting crater they had built a new cosmodrome - which the Whisper just landed on. Ever since then, more artillery emplacements had been placed on the nearby factory-mountain ranges overlooking the cosmodrome, concealed in appropriate ballistic missile silos.

After preparing herself and steeling her body, mind and soul for whatever was to transpire, Ambassador Satia and her retinue emerged out of the ship. There they were greeted by a Bragulan honor guard.

Decked out in full wargear, with K-bolts loaded and huge bayonets fixed, clad in battle ready armors. Bragulan soldiers did not have parade dress uniforms, only combat uniforms, for according to Byzonist theory the entire Bragulan species was locked in eternal combat against the forces of the very universe itself - and only when ultimate victory was achieved, with the universe laid low in the ignominy of defeat, would they finally be able to have luxuries such as parade dresses. So they saluted the Chamrrans as one, in perfect synchrony achieved through harsh and brutal training regimens designed to display the mettle of Bragulan soldiery to foreign dignitaries. Such was their training that they even breathed in unison, and together their inspirations and expirations made the ominous death-rattles of their gas masks sound like the roar of asthmatic jet turbines.

Nyah! Saita exclaimed in her mind. What the heck?

With steel shod boots stomping on the Bragcrete floor as though it was a giant human face, the Bragulan soldiers parted like the Dead Sea and marching towards the Chamarran dignitaries was a representative of the People's Department of Limited Foreign Interaction, clad in civilian attires. He walked up to Ambassador Satia and offered his paw. Satia took it, and gently did the Bragulan shake her hand - in a well-practiced, measured move as to prevent any dislocations.

"Ambassador Satia Kithandra," the Bragulan said, pronouncing her name, and that of her noble family, in understandable Chamarran but with a slight Bragulan accent. He nodded at her, though despite her noble bearing he did not bow - for Bragulans bow to no one. "I am diplomatic liaison Zavyd Borys. Welcome to Bragule. How was your trip?"

Satia thinks back over the admittedly brief trip, mainly recollecting the Bragulan warp gate nearly dropping her ship into the sun "Brisk and uneventful, though the warmth of your welcome was quite unexpected."

"Good, good. Come, you have traveled long and far to witness the glouries of mighty Bragule and we shall show you these!" Zavyd declared as he led the Chamarrans to a stretched GNS-Burltha luxury car - not an air car, but an eight wheeled ground vehicle with concealed armor plating, bomb-proofing, and built-in weaponries. Not to mention a built-in drinks cabinet. They went into the function car and drove off.

Along the way, Zavyd began explaining to the Chamarrans the magnificent sights of Bragule.

"...and here we see smokestack 525 of the industrial sludge burning facility. In the proud history of Bragule, we had what you call this Global Warming, but the great achievement of our forefathers was to build more and more smokestacks to defeat the Global Warming with Global Cooling. Ever since then, this smokstack and others like it have burned sludge ceaselessly for countless centuries. During the Great Civil War, they showed their patriotic values when, in the great sludge shortage, they worked with partisan revolutionaries by taking their bourgeois oppressors and turning them into the sludge needed by the proletariats! For this great act, the Imperator gave the heroes and their families the honor of working in the smokestacks forever!"

They passed through the Darvyl S. Byzon bridge and beheld around them the sheer enormity of megapolitan Bragule. The motorcade of diesel/plutonium-fueled Brag bikes, with their side cars mounting automatic grenade launchers, paved a way through the early morning rush hour as they drove on the special reinforced lane reserved for treaded ambulances and government vehicles. A Suicide Police spinner passed them by, honking its horn as it did so.

Far below them, the Braghattan rivers burned like lines of red blood. In front of them, there was a massive block-tower stabbing into the polluted heavens like an edifice, an obelisk with concrete coral growths lining its side. It stood over the surrounding Bragulan megascape, and its architecture and zig-zagging bridges was unlike that of the surrounding Bragarchitecture.

Satia remarked on this.

"That is correct, this massive building - acrology, as Umerians might call it - contains embassy facilities and multiple minor consulates within it. It is a diplomatic building, and its different design reflects that," Zavyd explained. The reason why it stood so high was so that its outline would be within the line of sight of various weapons emplacements hidden all over the area. Just like the cosmodrome. Zavyd smiled at this as he continued, "Its tall structure and wide-open windows gives its inhabitants a good view of the city. We have a hotel suite arranged for your lodgings here, and there are also multiple levels that can be used to make a Chamarran consulate or embassy."

They arrived and the Chamarrans were shown their lodgings and given some time to rest after their long trip halfway across the nine vectors of space. As Satia and company were shown around the tower, she saw how the place might have been on an entirely different planet from the rest of the outside world, which was Bragule. She saw plenty of humans wandering around the massive halls, Altacarians in pubs watching the footy or playing it in the indoor gymnasiums' Bragball fields, Shepistanis visiting the local Ammu-Nation and buying Bragulan arms that were cheaper here on Bragule than anywhere else in the galaxy, and Umerians frowning disapprovingly at the Blitzschlag field generators glowing at the neighboring Shepistani establishments. She saw a human female being dragged by a Bragulan into a half-track, but Zavyd explained that it was an ambulance and the Bragulan was a paramedic.

After the Chamarrans unloaded their luggage, they met with their Bragulan counterparts in a function room with a great big window of transparent armor showing the Bragulan skyline. There, after everything they've gone through, the diplomatic discussions finally began.

"So, let us get to the business of business, shall we?" Zavyd began. He had also changed clothes, and was now in a freonic jacket. Out of hospitability, they had set the room to match Chamarran temperature preferences (which they knew from data obtained from the IBGV's surveillance of Collector trading stations and the slavers who brought their 'livestock' to the machines). "You have brought sample trade goods in order to establish trading and diplomatic ties with our great nation, and we receive these gifts graciously. In return, we will give the good Hierarchy gifts, in the form of the specified vegemite derivatives you asked for and various Bragulan defense systems. We have some already gift-wrapped for you. Hopefully this will be the beginning of a glourious relationship, and the Bragulan Star Empire and the Chamarran Hierarchy will become great comrade-nations."

[Steve]

Jarnfield, Jarnfield Enclave
United Enclaves of Gilead, Hobbs, Sector X-13
12 April 3400


Jack Crutchins was, to most observers, a businessman running a tourist-frequented diner and bar for the Jarnfield Enclave, one of many enclaves to be found in the Gilean territories; in this case one that catered exclusively to heterosexual tastes with an eye toward leisure activities to enhance the experience of matchmaking. As Gilean enclaves went the Jarnfielders were mild, which fit Crutchins fine given he had little desire to hang in out the more wild and liberal enclaves.

Appearances, of course, were deceiving. In truth Crutchins was an agent of Cornelian External Security, providing a station for agents on Hobbs to seek sanctuary or connection back home, as well as providing a communication conduit to operatives in the field. Being a Cornelian agent wasn't the easiest job in the world. The pay was lousy, such that his cover income was vital to maintaining his lifestyle, and the institution was prone to sudden and violent shifts in policy and manpower due to the paranoia of the Government back home. It was said the King didn't trust anyone these days, believing all to be potential traitors or Republican sympathizers, and his daughter - while not as paranoid - could be equally ruthless toward anyone for incompetence.

He was in his office, looking over reports, when the door swung open and someone entered unbidden. Crutchins looked up to see a brunette, very pretty, wearing a bodysuit of leather. "If you're looking for Leather Larry's, it's two blocks down," he remarked absent-mindedly, considering the lovely girl a would-be patron of some of the other businesses in the area.

The woman looked at him through narrowed eyes. Crutchins could feel something in his head and realized what was going on. He reached for his sidearm but was a moment too late, as a force pushed him away from his desk. "Greetings, Mister Crutchins. You and I have business to go through," the woman said.

Crutchins went to protest and was cut off when a prod in the woman's hand pressed against his chest - the intended protest became an agonized scream.



After leaving Crutchins unconscious, satisfied that she'd gotten everything from him she could, Tabitha turned her attention to his systems. Crutchins had been the final link in the chain within Cornelian intelligence; he had been tasked with sending the assassination order out to contractors. He hadn't read it, of course. But he did have a backup of the message in his secured systems.

She compared it to the original. it was different now - the identifiers in the code for King Charles and then-Princess Hilda had been swapped., making Charles the primary target for the assassins. She knew Crutchins hadn't done it - her exploration of his mind had made clear that he never even saw the orders he'd relayed - and the prior link in the chain had seen them without the alteration. That meant something was changed in transmission.

Tabitha checked his communications route. Cornelian intelligence was using a private server disguised as a dormant refuge for refugee CIs in the Asimovian state needing space to dwell in. Traffic to maintain the server's readiness meant they could easily hide mere kilobytes of text data in the resulting transmissions. She looked into the server and found nothing out of the ordinary, but no surprise there. She would need to look at the server's activity log. Accessing it wasn't working; it was secured at the source.

She was going to have to travel to the Asimovian Nations.

[RogueIce]

Nikeah, Doma Sector, Shinra Republic – Some Time Ago…

O’Donnell had been thrilled when she found out the Red Wings would be stationed at her base. This would be her chance to strike a blow for the Returner movement: a much stronger and fiercer blow than her fellow rebels could presently manage. All she had to do was wait for the right moment.

That moment came sooner than she had hoped.

Serpent’s Trench Combined Base, Nikeah – Shortly Thereafter

Staff Sergeant Sarah O’Donnell, SRMP, had been planning for this day ever since the Red Wings had set up shop. It had taken considerable doing and careful planning, but now she was ready. And luck was on her side.

The Red Wings had been running a number of exercises since their arrival, and so she had set in motion the careful massaging of records and ordnance transfers needed to some of her stock disappear without anyone noticing. While a full audit would reveal the shortcomings between what was expended, what was transferred, and what should remain, Sergeant O’Donnell knew such an audit would not take place until after the 327th Airmobile left. They were simply too busy otherwise.

And so she set her plan in motion, to bomb one of the temporary barracks facilities being used by the Division. At first she had wondered how she would manage to get the explosives close enough to do damage while leaving them there long enough for her to escape without anybody noticing. And that was where the luck had come in: the Ordnance Lieutenant was named Officer of the Day shortly after the most recent exercise, which meant he would be going to the company barracks to brief the leadership concerning the upcoming leave period.

Sergeant O’Donnell carefully packed her explosives within the spaces of the MP ordnance truck. And then she went over to the lieutenant’s staff vehicle and made sure it wouldn’t run. Now all she had to do was wait…

*****

Biggs and Wedge had been out late the night before barhopping and, because it had seemed like a good idea at the time, trying out one of the local hole-in-the-wall diners. Now that it was the day after, Biggs had cause to regret that choice.

As he and Wedge occupied two adjacent stalls for the better part of the day, Biggs reflected on his current surroundings. These temporary barracks really sucked compared to his normal housing. While every soldier of the Shinra Republic Army normally received their own private rooms and bath, deployed units visiting a post usually ended up in the temporary barracks, as there was rarely enough visitor quarters for everybody. These facilities resembled the old “squad bays” of ancient times: an entire platoon would share a single large room filled with bunk beds and lockers, and communal bathrooms and showers stood at the end of the bay.

It was almost as bad as actually being in the field.

Clutching his stomach and groaning, he wondered just what the fuck he had eaten last night that would be doing this to him. He regretted now his earlier decision to skip out on a sick call, though he wondered whether the military doctors would actually help him or just tell him to stick it out.

Sitting upon the throne on which all men are equal, Biggs privately wished that he would just hurry up and die so it would all be over with.

[Simon_Jester]

Light Cruiser USS Directrix
Fleet Gunnery Range Two, Reisenburg System
April 25, 3400

Rear Admiral Ananya Hazarika sat at the head of the table, looking out at her officers. At her right hand was her second in command, Commodore Rick Tabor. Traditionally, Umerian flag rank officers worked in pairs, with the senior advising the junior, to help them develop their career and master the challenges of command at their new rank; Ananya was new enough in grade that she was just as happy to informally treat Rick as an equal. At her left sat her own chief of staff.

Stretching down the table were the commanders of her main combat elements: the cruiser captains, then those of the frigates. Among the frigate captains was perhaps the strangest sight among the group. Green-skinned Vinaran females were not uncommon in SpaceSec, but it was quite unusual to one of the species' hulking, aggression-prone males like Brogo Sallix in command of a SpaceSec starship, even something as minor an FF-6900 frigate.

Beyond the frigate captains were the senior commanders of the squadron's cutter detachments; she spotted Cardwell, now promoted to command of USS Guernsey's space group, at the end of the table. Cardwell was looking as attentive as always... and no more animated than usual. Across from her was Ichiro Ferrara, the senior ELINT cutter commander and head of the squadron based off USS Catalina. Beyond them were the cutter-tender commanders themselves. Twenty people made for a large conference, but she wanted everyone in on this discussion, face to face- they had important points to hammer out about the new tylium missiles.

"All right, ladies and gentlemen. We're due to leave in about two weeks, so I think it's time we settled on one plan for how to use the greencaps." No one was entirely sure where the nickname for the tylium-boosted weapons had started, but the meaning was obvious; to distinguish them from conventional missiles and torpedoes, the tylium-enhanced versions had their nosecones painted an eyesearing shade of fluorescent green: the closest a chemical dye could get to the eerie radiance of rubiconium.

She continued. "First and most obvious, the Cantaloupes. We have twenty-eight torpedo tubes in the squadron, and there should be about enough torpedoes for everyone to have two greencaps per tube. If we fall short, we'll make it up from the cruisers' magazines; they depend less on torpedoes in normal conditions. Any questions?"

No one replied.

"The missile situation is a bit more difficult; I'll be wanting input. One thing I think we can agree on is that the missiles are too valuable to be wasted on point defense. The starship cells will be loaded with standard nukes; I'm passing the entire complement of enhanced missiles to the cutters." There was a stir around the middle of the table; Cardwell in particular sat up and took notice.

"Unfortunately, the people supplying us with the missiles and the people who decided what to load out our tenders with don't seem to be reading each other's mail. We're going to have half again as many of the Mark Five as of the Mark Six... even though we've got three times more launchers for the Mark Six. There are going to be enough Honeydews to load the customs cutters' launchers with a 50% margin of reserve, but we're averaging about ten Galias per fleet boat. I'd like recommendations from the boat commanders on that."

Cardwell gestured from the middle of the table. "Much as I'd like to load the customs cutters with nothing but greencaps, ma'am, we will need some standard missiles in the boxes. Same goes for the fleet boats. There's the counter-missile role, of course, plus warning shots, defense testing... the starships can load standard rounds from their magazines to the tubes. We can't."

Good point. She'd originally been thinking in terms of doing exactly that, stuffing the customs cutters with a full load of tylium-boosted Mark Fives just to get better performance out of them; test results suggested that the greencap Mark Five wouldn't perform as well as a conventional Mark Six, but would at least get within shouting distance.

"Thank you, Audrey."

One of the other cutter officers spoke. "How about if we load..."

[RogueIce]

Sergeant O’Donnell carefully packed her explosives within the spaces of the MP ordnance truck. And then she went over to the lieutenant’s staff vehicle and made sure it wouldn’t run. Now all she had to do was wait…

Second Lieutenant Martin was running late. He had been nervous about meeting with the Captain from the 327th Division, and thus had spent extra time preparing his briefing on security measures and precautions for the upcoming liberty weekend. Unfortunately, the young lieutenant had not been paying as close attention to the time as he had his briefing.

Walking quickly out of the ordnance building, he got into his staff vehicle and tried to start it up. And tried again. And again. Cursing, he got out of the vehicle and looked around for another one. It was at this point that his NCOIC, Staff Sergeant Sarah O’Donnell, walked over to him from the truck she’d been leaning against.

“Trouble, LT?” she inquired.

“The speeder won’t start,” he said. “And I need to get over to the 327th company area.”

The staff sergeant hooked a finger back towards the ordnance truck. “I can give you a lift, sir. I was taking the truck over to maintenance, and it’s on the way.”

Lieutenant Martin knew maintenance wasn’t really “on the way” from the Red Wings barracks, but he knew she was just trying to be helpful. Smiling, he nodded his acceptance of her offer. “Thank you, Sergeant. Once again, you’ve come to my rescue.”

“Just part of the job, sir,” she said with a smile.

*****

When the truck with the two MPs pulled up in front of the barracks, Private Hodges wondered about that. It was unusual to see a cargo truck being driven by a Staff Sergeant with an officer riding shotgun, and yet here they were. He wasn’t surprised by the appearance of the MPs: the Red Wings had just finished yet another week of exercises and had been granted liberty. No doubt the MPs were here to talk with the leadership about keeping the troops in line. He wondered why they had come over in a truck instead of one of their patrol speeders.

As he watched, the MP Lieutenant climbed down and began walking towards the entrance. “I’ll wait out here for you, sir,” Hodges heard the female sergeant say. As the officer approached, Private Hodges came to attention, saluted, and barked, “Good morning, sir!” Normally Hodges and the other soldiers of the Red Wings didn’t bother with such parade ground nonsense, but he knew young second lieutenants like this one got a thrill out of it, so he had decided to indulge himself. The young officer returned the trooper’s salute and greeting and went inside. With that bit of excitement over, Private Hodges adopted a somewhat more relaxed stance – there was an NCO standing out here, even if it was just an MP – and resumed his bored watch of the area.

After a few minutes, the staff sergeant walked over to him. Straightening up to a position of more-or-less attention, Private Hodges asked, “Can I help you, Sergeant?”

“Can you watch the truck for a minute? I’m going to head over there,” she pointed at the nearby dining facility, “And take a leak.”

Hodges nodded his assurance and watched as she walked away. He wasn’t terribly surprised: she was an MP, female, and not half bad looking. Walking into a company barracks full of Red Wings would likely have led to more than a few stares and even some comments. While such things were typically frowned upon, soldiers of the Fifth Army Group had a not entirely undeserved reputation for being able to get away with such ‘minor’ offenses against good order and discipline. It was well known that Marshal Palazzo felt that “his” elite troopers needn’t be bothered by such petty concerns.

*****
Staff Sergeant O’Donnell walked into the dining facility, and then proceeded straight out the back door, out of sight of the 327th trooper standing watch outside the barracks. She could barely conceal her excited grin. This was going even smoother than she had thought.

After she felt she had walked far enough away, she leaned up against a wall and took a detonator out of her pocket. With a wicked grin, she flipped open the switch cover and pushed the button.

*****

Sitting upon the throne on which all men are equal, Biggs privately wished that he would just hurry up and die so it would all be over with.

Biggs had just finished yet another round of his payment for a night of poor judgment and was washing his hands. Just as he was finishing, his buddy Wedge also emerged from his own stall of penance.

“What the fuck did we have, buddy?” groaned Wedge.

“I don’t know, man. But I’ve learned an important lesson. From now on, if we eat off base on deployment, we do so sober. Deal?”

“Deal.”

Drying their hands, the pair started to walk out of the bathroom and back into the squad bay.

And then Biggs and Wedge’s world exploded.

[Shroom Man 777]

A FATAL FERRY
Based on a true story



All aboard!

Cried the deckhands as the passengers boarded the ship. Porters, shirtless and with dark tanned skin, hauled luggages and goods and supplies deep into the vessel's bowels. The Doña Spaz was bound for better tidings. There on a port on Bizminda, on the Bizayah waters, its space hull floated on the calm waves of the sea. Around the ship were boat children, swimming in the surrounding waters and diving for things, monies, objects, anything!, dropped by embarking or disembarking passengers.

The passengers of the Doña Spaz did not have much to drop though, for they didn't have much at all. They were bound for better tidings, for they were migrant workers seeking better jobs in neighboring Shepistan. They had spent all of their monies for this one single golden opportunity to leave the country and work abroad as OFWs, Overspace Feelipeeni Workers, sending dollars and dineros back to their families at home. They had President Ferdinand Shroomarcos to thank for this, for it was his deal with the Shepistani Generalissimo that made this golden opportunity possible.

Thousands of Feelipeenis took the risk, and while the Doña Spaz could only hold but a thousand passengers, illegal ticket sales allowed four times the number into the ship, where cots and hammocks and mats were prepared in the corridors and on the floors to accommodate their numbers. Though manifests counted only a thousand passengers, they did not include the children or the underaged, or those who bought the illegal tickets and slept on the floors in the halls.

The ship was packed like a can of sardinas, and the humidity of Bizminda's climes made the crammed passengers swelter and drink seawater to cool themselves. The wait was long, and only when the ship was full and filled more than four times to capacity, did the engines start and send the Doña Spaz moving - heading out for its final journey.

The ferry sailed out from the port like a good sea ship, then when it was far enough, its engine strength increased and slowly it sailed upwards and upwards, until the boat finally took to the skies - plume of vaporizing seawater in its wake, making beautiful rainbows like those that come after the rain. The children were happy at the colorful sight, and the adults crossed themselves and thanked their Jesukristo and Mamma Mariya and the Santos for the good sign. They had read the Bibliya and listened to the padres and knew that rainbows were a good omen, a promise God made to Moeses to never drown the children again.

The windows were sealed shut with airtight glass and plastic, though some were cracked and had epoxy and tape and glued sheets of newspaper covering them. Suddenly, all the light from the outside disappeared and the passengers grew anxious until they realized that they were finally out of Bizminda, that they were in space. For many of them, this was their first ever time outside their homeworld, for most this was their first time riding a spaceship. All they knew about such things were from the TV, for those who had enough money to afford cable channels that showed Shepistanimerican movies, while the rest relied on hearsay and stories from friends and those who came back from working abroad.

The Doña Spaz raised its masts and flew the proud flag of the Feelipeens. Its journey to the edges of the Feelipeeni Archipelago, to the outskirts of the system, had taken the entire day and when it reached its destination, its hyperdrives began activating - rocking the ship and making gurgling mechanical sounds as it did so. The hyperfields extended to the masts, which did something with the field geometries that the crews themselves barely understood. After checking the oil levels of their hyperdrive, just to be sure, the captain decided after some hesitation that all was actually well and he steered the ship towards its course and pushed the throttle to ludicrous speeds.

The ship's hull groaned to the sound of metal against metal. The Doña Spaz twisted against the walls of reality, trying to squeeze its bulk through. The entire ship shuddered and vibrated, shaking the bones and teeth of some four thousand three hundred and forty one passengers. Women and children cried. Men screamed. But they prayed, held their rosarios tight and recited their Hail Mama Mariyas and Our Fathers and their space novenas.

Suddenly the ship stopped moving. Outside the newspaper-covered windows, they could make out an eerie glow of tachyonic slipstream, not that any of them knew what a tachyon was. They were finally in hyperspace!

By the time they went faster than light, it was already midnight in Maynilad standard time. But when your ship moved beyond the speed of light, where would that put you? After, in the dark, waiting for the light to catch up, to find its way into a place where there was only night.

Passengers slept. Those lucky enough to have their own rooms retired to their bunks. Placed over their doors were crucifixes of the Jesukristo, so that even as they slept in the darkness of space, someone would always be there watching over them and protecting them. The crews and the captain did not rest though. The officers were drinking beer and watching TV, while the captain was in his room watching a movie on his BetaMax. The only person monitoring the bridge was an apprentice member of the crew. There, hanging over his station, was a rosario, and on the corners of his viewscreen were pictures of Mama Mariya and the Salvador Niñyo. On the dashboard were figurines of the Santos, the Patron Saints of Space who they prayed to light their path in the darkness they traveled through.

The apprentice took one of the figurines and kissed it. As he did so, he failed to notice the collision alerts - because the warning bulb had been smashed in another previous collision, and nobody had bothered to replace it.

Nobody failed to notice it when it came though. The sudden impact threw the apprentice off his chair and sent the figurines of the Santos falling to the floor. Passengers were rocked off their bunks, while those on the hammocks in the corridors were thrown off and fell to the floor - where they landed on those sleeping on the floor on mats, and as the ship swayed so too were the floor-people sent sliding down the corridors and tumbling into the bulkheads as the artificial gravities failed.

The Doña Spaz spun wildly as it was thrown back into realspace, its mangled prow interlocked with that of another vessel's deformed and crumpled fore. In the ferry ship itself, fire alarms blared as hyperdrive systems blew themselves out, as artificial gravity generators overloaded, as fuel tanks ruptured and their contents lit up from sparking electronics. The Doña Spaz entered a death tumble, embraced in a tango de la muerte with the other vessel, an oil tanker whose wounded hull was likewise bleeding an ocean of petrochemicals into space.

The black oil slick was invisible in the emptiness of space. Until the floating globules of petrol, oil, Black Gold, and gasoline, came into contact with the ignited thrusters of the Doña Spaz, and then it seemed as though the entirety of space itself caught fire. Everything began to burn.

Inside the Doña Spaz itself, the untold thousands of passengers began to panic - and rightfully so, for the many hull breeches began venting precious air and oxygen out into the void, all while the internal fires consumed what little air was left, replacing it with acrid suffocating smog. Men fought each other as they tried to save their families from certain death, desperately dragging their wives and children from the flooded compartments and the burning bays deep within the ship. There were too many of them. They began to fight over what little spacesuits there were, struggling and squabbling over them, tugging and pulling the suits until finally the things were ripped into useless shreds. They tried to flee into the lifeboats, but as the overpopulated passengers crammed themselves into the escape pods like sardinas, they could hardly fit as their limbs and bodies protruded out of the hatches - which could no longer close. When the pods were launched, the air inside them were sucked out through the unsealed doors and their passengers were asphyxiated in short order.

To prevent this, some began throwing their fellow survivors out of the pods, clawing at their faces and gouging out their eyes as they did so, sacrificing the few unfortunates who could not fit so that many might live. Yet those thrown overboard had friends and families still inside the pods, and in their grief they attacked those who had thrown their loved ones out and threw them out in revengeance. Entire families began spacing each other out into the horrible blackness of space, or killing each other with their bare hands, with their fists, with their faces.

Meanwhile, the captain and the crew boarded much larger lifeboats, filled with food and fruits, reserved for them and escaped their doomed ship. There were only a few dozen lifepods, and thousands of passengers were still trapped in the Doña Spaz as she continued her death spiral with the tanker ship she had collided with.

Gradually the ferry and the tanker disappeared into the black, leaving only a burning oil slick and a paltry few escape pods behind as evidence of the horrible transpirations that had come to pass. As the doomed ships hurtled into the silent tomb of space with passengers still trapped aboard them, the Doña Spaz' final journey would never end. Forever.

[MKSheppard]

Somewhere outside Feeleepini Space

The wreck of the Doña Spaz floated in space; spewing it's precious oxygen into the void of space like a whore bleeding to death on a sidewalk. The space around the broken-down ferry and the oil-tanker SS Juan Valdez was rapidly filling with the cooling bodies of the hapless Feelepeenis when the improbable happened.

A ship flashed into existence just a few thousand miles away. The odds of such an event happening on Shepistani Route 666 (SR-666), which was a poorly trafficked route were astronomical.

The remaining survivors took this as a sign of God heeding their prayers and redoubled their efforts to say the Space Rosary, even as the air bled out from the compartments they were huddled in.

If they had known what was on that ship...they would have not prayed to God.

For what was on that ship was...the spawn of the Devil himself.

72 Hours Later, the nearby planet of GA-213

Raphael ran through the jungle; his breath coming in sharp pants. His eyes held the wide eyed blank stare of someone who had seen too much. Way too much.

Oh god, are they here? Oh God, Oh God, he thought.

The memory of what they had done on the Doña Spaz was seared forever into Raphael's mind. They had begun first with the women and children; and then when they were bored, moved onto the men.

Suddenly, from behind him came the noises of the devils.

He spun around.



"You goddamned bastards! Spawn of the Devil! God will strike you down for what you have done here!" shouted Raphael in a show of bravado in front of the dreaded creature.



*CHATTERS EXCITEDLY*

Raphael couldn't understand Dolphinoid, but he had a feeling the fucking thing was laughing at him.

Fucking laughing at him.

Suddenly, it spoke in a melifluorous voice, instead of chattering excitedly.

"Let's play a game now, shall we, filthy humanoid. In my flipper I have a Bragnum, one of the most powerful guns in the galaxy. It'll blow you straight in half. In the interests of fair play, I have loaded only one round. Now, do you feel lucky?"

Before Raphael could run, the wretched thing pulled the trigger. How it did that with no opposable thumbs or fingers of any kind, Raphael had no idea.

*CLICK*

"If this was one of your pathetic humanoid games; I'd let you go with your life. But this isn't one of your humanoid games. The grey book of Daryl tells us to leave no humanoid alive."

With that, the Dolphinoid suddenly advanced the chamber of the Bragnum and fired.



---------

Results: Space Dolphinoids massacre thousands of survivors of the incident; then play head games with the few survivors who make it to a nearby planet.

[Darkevilme]

Written with help from Shroom.
Diplomatic Tower, Mighty Bragule.

"So, let us get to the business of business, shall we?" Zavyd began. He had also changed clothes, and was now in a freonic jacket. Out of hospitability, they had set the room to match Chamarran temperature preferences (which they knew from data obtained from the IBGV's surveillance of Collector trading stations and the slavers who brought their 'livestock' to the machines). "You have brought sample trade goods in order to establish trading and diplomatic ties with our great nation, and we receive these gifts graciously. In return, we will give the good Hierarchy gifts, in the form of the specified vegemite derivatives you asked for and various Bragulan defense systems. We have some already gift-wrapped for you. Hopefully this will be the beginning of a glourious relationship, and the Bragulan Star Empire and the Chamarran Hierarchy will become great comrade-nations."

Satia was still mulling over the events since leaving the warp gate in her head right up until the moment the negotiations began, if the entire intentions of it had been to show why you emphatically wanted the Bragulans as far as possible from being your enemy then it was certainly effective. One thing that was still bugging her though was great big exposed windows, the entire arcology was full of them. Warp gates were minimal risks due to the size of ships that could transition through them and yet the Bragulans had taken this minor threat in their home system and put it between a gun festooned battlefortress and their own star. Then they'd gone and put all the foreign diplomats in a tower with great big exposed windows, it was a little unsettling. Still there was business to conduct.

“This is our hope as well Noble Zavyd.” says Satia, smiling slightly at the mental image of a SPUD being gift wrapped “For the betterment of our Bragulan friends we can offer to trade a wide variety of electronic, robotic and utilitarian products. All of which we have samples of back on our ship.” she says as her aide pulls out a small holoprojector and sets it on the table, turning it on and let it slide show through the objects on offer as she talks “I see a glorious future of mutual enhancement through this arrangement.” she says, then goes silent to let the Bragulan think and watch the holoprojection. It had started off showing fairly mundane things like personal computers and factory robots but was now showing things that Satia clearly considered fell under the category of 'utilitarian' as first what appeared to be a Hierarchy gun drone, then a beam rifle and then power armour for Bragulans appear floating over the table only to be followed in turn by other items both civilian and military such as further variety of infantry weaponry.

"Excellent, excellent!" Zavyd clapped his paws in wonder. It wasn't his first time seeing a hologram, but it never ceased to amaze him. Ever since he was a cub, bright and shiny things always pleased him and holograms were very bright and shiny. The content of the holograms were also very worthwhile, displaying the finest Chamarran technology had to offer. It was very pleasing. The civilian technologies might very well be used to usher a new age in patriotic machineries for the Bragulan citizenry, while more military hardware - in all its shapes, forms and sizes - were always welcomed. Every day mighty Bragule inched closer to surpassing the Sovereignty's technological edge. Today, Bragule would jump at a radical pace of two inches!
Zavyd pulled out a remote and pressed a button, and a telescreen lowered itself from the ceiling and began displaying various footages for the Chamarran delegation to see. In it were marching bands of Bragulan troops escorting a multi-treaded crawler carrying a battery of Spud missiles, then the next scene was a massive conveyor belt the size of a geological feature - like a grand industrial canyon - with Bragulan prisoners and human captives hand-making K-bolters by the millions.
The last scene was taken from Bolshaya Chernovyi, and it displayed unending fields of vegemite - eerily glowing green crystals spread throughout a dead and desolate landscape.
Over the fertile green fields, mining ships hovered and lowered massive claws that scooped copious amounts of vegemite and reeled it into their bays.
"We have much to offer each other. If only our nations were not so distant, and if only routes were not obstructed by Sovereign territory." Zavyd said the nation's name as if it was a dirty word.
"The products you have showed us are glorious and I am sure our most imperious Imperator will be pleased by them."

Satia settles in to watch the further displays of the Imperator's mighty industries of war, making note for a question for later. The Hierarchy's own smaller display never ceasing throughout that of the Star Empire's. At the remark about the Sovereignty Satia chuckles “They will not be an issue I think. We can with the Pfhor's blessing route our trade through the open space of the southern frontier where the Sovereignty has no authority to interfere, such would be considered piracy and even the Solarians would not be so bold as to openly engage in such.”
"Indeed, and as a precaution we can deploy escorts for these transport ships. A suitable practice for the long range capabilities of our forces."
“Agreed, and I believe we will have a formalized list of our desired imports with regards to military hardware by noon tomorrow. I will add that since our last communication to you the Hierarchy has developed an interest in Bragulan spaceborn weapon systems and ordinance.”
"We can furnish you a catalogue of available Bragtech defense systems from our stockpiles," Zavyd snapped his claws and, in a short moment, an aide arrived carrying a very thick hide-bound book - large, even by Bragulan standards. The aide placed it on the table, shaking the piece of furniture in the process. "Here is a list of weapons systems on sale, you can peruse it at your leisure later."

Satia eyes the titanic book and is struck by how good it would be to sell computer systems to the Bragulans, she's just lucky it's not her job to scan the catalogue of death into a virtual format.
“That will do nicely.” she says with a smile while two of her aides between them haul the book off the table for said scanning. Satia then considers silently for a moment, head canted before saying
“There is one more thing of mutual interest to us both, I think it would be best to bring up before we adjourn. As you are of course aware we have deployed a significant force of vessels onto a course towards the edge of Solarian space, purely a show of force to express our displeasure at their handling of recent events you understand. However if the Solarians were to prove unreasonable during the upcoming discussions Sister Tia is to undertake with them they might decide to lash out at our fleet impulsively. We would prefer that did not occur.”

"You propose the Bragulans provide added... discouragement?" Zavyd asked, scratching his chin.
“It would be best for trade along the southern frontier if this sorry affair did not lead to further violence.” says Satia with a smile and a nod “We humbly request the Bragulans remind the Sovereignty, in an entirely non violent and subtle manner of course, of what their priorities are.”
Zavyd considered his options. He knew that recently the Sovereignty was in a hair trigger state at the moment, between the events at Majella and then the latest row of Tannhauser Tango, it was not advisable to do anything rash. The Koprulu Zone was in a precarious state of affairs at the moment. So he nodded his head, and gave the Chamarrans an open reassurance, smiling with his fangs. "We will see what we can do about it."

“Then Noble Zavyd and the Imperious Imperator have the Gratitude of the Hierarchy in this matter.” says Satia with a smile, inclining her head briefly.
"And the mighty Bragulan Star Empire gives thanks to the Chamarran Hierarchy and House Kithandra for their welcomed visitation," Zavyd nodded graciously. The formalities were over and now all that was left was to haggle over the specific details of the myriad agreements, the pricing of the various units they would purchase from one another, the shipping arangements, and such stuff. Again they shook hands, exchanged pleasantries, and the Chamarran dignitaries went off on their way back to their rooms. When they were gone, Zavyd sat back on his seat and took off his freonic jacket, slouching half-nakedly. "Someone, turn the thermostat down to below subzero!"

[Shroom Man 777]

Diplomatic Tower, Mighty Bragule
Co-written with Darkevilme



Later that day, in the evening to be precise, Zavyd invited Ambassdor Satia to dine with him alone. They went into one of the Diplomatic Tower's commissaries, which was more or less a restaurant that catered to the palette of the various international guests and foreigners in the embassies of Bragule - all conveniently situated in the tower, where they were ostensibly defended by encircling layers of concealed missile batteries.

Zavyd ordered a bronto steak, which the Umerians graciously supplied the facility with, but he had to wait as apparently the bronto-steaks had gotten quite popular. Ambassador Satia, on perhaps her first visit to the Koprulu Zone, ordered some Koprulu Fried Chicken drumsticks. Within a few minutes, the server arrived to give them their dishes, but Satia was shocked when the Bragulan waiter took one of her drumsticks and bit a chunk off it, and the surprise didn't stop when the waiter took Zavyd's steak and chewed off a piece as well.

"Nyah!" Satia couldn't help but exclaim as the waiter nodded and placed the food on their table, before walking off to take other people's orders as though nothing had happened. "What was that?!"

"It is customary," Zavyd began, trying to put into words an explanation someone from outside Bragule might understand. "For food servers, and food makers, to sample their own dishes before serving it to persons of import, to make sure the food has not been poisoned by assassins. It is a compliment that the servers chose to nibble on your dish, Ambassador Satia."

"Eh..." Satia scratched her cat-ears. "Why do you do things to the eleventh degree here? If you don't mind my asking, of course."

"Koprulu Zone Rules," Zavyd chuckled. "You should know that by now, having already met our neighbors.

"I see." Satia nodded.

"Indeed." Zavyd held a fork that looked more like a trident, and stabbed his steak as he did so. Then he grabbed a Bragulan-sized steak knife and began cutting into the bloody meat. He smiled. "Shall we?"

"Surely," Ambassador Satia answered nonchalantly as she pushed the bitten drumstick aside. She forked a fresh one and doused it in gravy. She sampled it. "Mmm, not bad."

They dined on their pre-bitten steak and chickens and exchanged pleasantries, talking the night away as Zavyd asked her about what her life was like in the Hierarchy, and what it was like to be a member of the bourgeois, not to mention one bearing the name of the ruling Kithandran nobility. Satia, the skilled conversationalist she was, answered the questions politely and returned with some of her own, questions about Bragule and Zavyd's own life in service to Imperator and Empire. He explained that what he did was "not much" in the greater scheme of things, that he was but a modest citizen doing his patriotic duty like any Bragulan. Satia listened on, placing her chin on her hands while her tail swung lazily behind her.

"But it does seem like much," Satia said pleasantly. "Negotiating interstellar matters, galactic arms deals, quite a responsibility."

"Nyet, not quite as much as traveling halfway across known space when your nation is in such a tumultuous time such as this," Zavyd answered politely. "Bragule must be so strange for you, and so far away, yet you are here, now. Doing your country's duties. That is an admirable trait of a citizen, for it is service that distinguishes citizens from civilians."

Satia smiled meekly, surprised at how a bear could have such social graces, as they continued on. Eventually the main course was finished, and they proceeded with the desserts. Zavyd ordered Karlack kaviar, and when Satia's eyes widened he explained to her that the eggs were treated with intense but non-lingering radiation in the form of culinary neutron bombs, making them safe for consumption. Satia decided to order a bar of chocolate.

She nibbled on it playfully while Zavyd carefully ate his Karlack kaviar. Like fine wine, the ideologically-correct careful connoisseur consumed Karlack caviar by first lifting it up and looking at it closely and giving it a slight swirl, before sniffing it and then finally downing it when the sight and scent were judged acceptable. Except while drinking fine wine like that was just something pretentious puny humans from the snooty Fourth French Empire (and maybe Anglia too) did to appear like sophisticated tool-using homonids, such was not the case when eating Karlack kaviar - for one really needed to closely examine the things to make sure they were properly dead, so one didn't get infested to the core after gulping it down.

As Zavyd examined his Karlack kaviar eggs on the piece of Bragulan biscuits - Bragscuits - he also discreetly eyed Ambassador Satia as she nibbled on her choco-bar. Her raven black hair and the teeny tufts of fur on her ears, her lazily swinging tail, the mischievous expression on her face and those deep blue eyes one could get lost in... Chamarrans, what strange creatures from such a distant part of space. He didn't know what to make of them.

"Zavyd?" Satia's ears quirked up.

"Huh?"

"You've been holding the kaviar for a while now. I was starting to get worried." Satia said. Nya, she thought that Bragulans really did go all out with their fine cuisine, they probably looked at Haruhiist fugu eaters and point and laugh.

"Oh, the eggs didn't hatch in my second stomach, don't worry." Zavyd reassured her. He tossed the egg-smeared Bragscuit into his mouth. "I was just deep in thought."

"About what?" Satia's ears quirked up again in curiosity.

"About what we can do with your disagreements with the Sovereignty," Zavyd replied. He took a shot glass of tsvagna, the drink with rocket fuel and battery acid-spiked alcohol, and downed it quickly as a precaution against the Karlack kaviar. "Damn this is good stuff. Want some?"

"No, thanks." Satia smiled and enjoyed her milk. "So, have you decided?"

"Nyet." Zavyd answered tersely. "And that's what I wanted to talk to you about."

"Your indecision?" Satia narrowed her eyes. She knew she had to be careful, they were quite literally in bear territory, and the feeling she had when in the exposed conference room with the wide-open windows returned.

"Nyet. I have relayed it to my superiors, and they are still making their decision."

"I see." Satia wondered if the bear was stalling. Why was he doing this, anyway? From what she knew, the Bragulans did not have social graces and were never polite. They even took a dump in a Byzantine cathedral! "Then what will we discuss?"

"The situation in the Koprulu Zone," Zavyd began. The kick of the tsvagna was focusing him, the rocket fuel and battery acid far more intense than the alcohol, burning through it and doing their job by quickening his brains. "It lies in a balance, a very precarious one. They called the incident with the Monoliths, the one where your ship was found out, a Tannhauser Tango. But what most outsiders do not know is that the situation in the K-Zone is a perpetual Tannhauser Tango between all sides. The recent efforts by Bragule to reach out to the other galactic powers, the Hierarchy included, in glasnot and bragstroika, is aimed at bringing stability to the K-Zone."


Satia considered this. Were the Bragulans about to leave them high and dry for the sake of cosmopolitical convenience?

"No, we are not." Zavyd said.

Satia's ears quirked another time. Was the Bragulan an esper? Did Bragulans even have espers? She read the briefs, the Bragulans had practically zero-to-negative psi-potential, with the side-effect of having the same abysmal level in psi-susceptibility as well.

"No, we are not going to go back on what we agreed to earlier," Zavyd continued. "The Bragulan Star Empire still wishes to be comrade-nations with the Chamarran Hierarchy. The Imperator sees the human race encroaching throughout the nine vectors of the known universe and scowls in disgust at this infestation he beholds. He believes that those of us, we aliens, as the humans call us, must stand and make a resistance against these humans and show them that they are the aliens in this galaxy, not us."

"We do not envy your chosen task, Zavyd, but tis a noble one. Though your neighbours seem difficult to work with." Satia replied tentatively. Just where was this bear getting at?

"What I am getting at," Zavyd went on, downing yet more tsvagna. "Is that the Bragulan Star Empire wishes to help the Chamarran Hierarchy. But the sheer realities, of distance, of differences, means that we must confront certain things, that one of the difficulties facing the Hierarchy in its dispute with the Sovereignty is the lack of information. Your spyship's capture was, in part, caused by that, I believe?"

"Among other things." Satia said with a nod. She knew had to be careful. These bears were turning out to be more than met the eye, more than simple ruthless genocidal warmongers, and there was a predatory intellect in them that should be considered.

"There is an old Bragulan war proverb coined by Byzon himself, saying that 'Knowing is half the battle'. We believe that to aid the Hierarchy in its current dispute, we must provide information that the Hierarchy needs, so that it can come to a better understanding of the situation, gain a better understanding of its opponent - the Sovereignty - and achieve a better understanding of the choices it has to make."

"Then please continue Zavyd, you have our full attention." Satia said, ears tilting forwards subtly for emphasis. Indeed though she would not admit it there was a growing realization in House Kithandra that over three hundred years of relative isolationism has left the Hierarchy's perceptions of the galaxy somewhat out of touch with the reality of the 35th century.

"The most pressing issue at the moment is the upcoming Haruhiist-mediated talks between the Hierarchy and the Sovereignty. The Hierarchy sends Princess Tia Kithandra to the meeting, whereas the Sovereignty has dispatched none other than Brigadier Flash Stalin, one of the greatest foes of the Bragulan Star Empire," strangely, Zavyd did not say the name with the contempt usually reserved for puny humans of all sorts. Then, he continued, "And one of the greatest military minds of the Sovereignty as well. One of the few worthy opponents humanity has to offer Bragule. Yet, know this, should the Sovereignty detect not only your force of ships bound for Sovereign borders, but also a force of Bragulan ships, then I am afraid the Haruhiist attempt at mediating diplomacy will assuredly fail at the expense of all parties."

Zavyd produced yet another thick leather-clad volume and placed it on the table with a thud.

"This, this is a compilation containing detailed files on Brigadier Stalin's mental anatomy. For decades he has patrolled Wild Space, engaging in many skirmishes with our great Space Fleet, showing himself to be a competent adversary. In the numerosity of these encounters, we have managed to gain a measure of his mentality, his psychology. Bragulan psychologicians, and psychiatricianists as well, have worked on it ever since he garnered our attention, and the compilation has expanded as he rose from mere strikestar captain to warfleet Brigadier." Zavyd explained. "We believe the reason for Brigadier Stalin's tactico-strategic effectiveness is in his ability to think like us, like a Bragulan. In that he will meet aggression head on with aggression of his own, be in in the battlefield as he has demonstrated, or in the political arena as we shall soon see."

"This volume is yours to use. Certain, many, parts have been redacted for Bragulan security reasons. I hope you will understand." Zavyd pushed the big book of war with his paws, sliding it to Satia.

Satia took the compilation, once again in dead tree format though thankfully smaller than the catalogue of death and smiled. "You have my sisters thanks for this document," she said before mulling over the Bragulan proposal. "So in essence," she said after a second or two of chocolate nibbling. "Now is not the time for the Bragulans to show their paw in this situation," she said with a thoughtful nod. "You make good sense, such open cooperation may predispose the Sovereignty against us."

"The discouragement may be seen as provocation, and for the Hierarchy, depending on the goals it seeks, it may not be desirable in the current situation where diplomacy is being attempted with the Sovereignty, courtesy of the Haruhiists." Zavyd agreed, then he remembered yet another Byzonism which he decided to share. "As the Imperator said, 'When her cubs mewl, the mother bear's paw-clout disembowels the wolf, but if the wolf takes care to keep its distance, then the mother bear's claws shall be left unstained and unsullied.'"

Satia inwardly thought to herself that she should acquire a book of the Imperators sayings during her stay here. But nodded. "The Hierarchy does not wish to see this situation escalate into further conflict with the Solarians at the present time."

"Neither would we. In the business of business, now would be an inopportune time for war, I'm afraid. We must have the advantage of right knowledge, to make the right decisions to put is in the right positions, and only then can we persecute the right kind of war - be it a political one or a military kind - the right kind where we will emerge victorious. Not merely against the Sovereignty, but in the galactic scale against the humans who've robbed our peoples of their heavenly birthright." Zavyd finished on a high note. It was a nice statement paraphrasing the Imperator's latest declarations, where he outlined the truth behind the glasnot and bragstroika, the rationale behind them and the machinations of his grand Fifty Year Plan. With the dinner and the dessert done, Zavyd picked up a handkerchief and dabbed his lips with it, politely wiping the tiny stains of food that had gotten on his fur. It was time to call this a night.

The human restaurateurs, the Umerian ones who prepared the bronto-steaks, the Altacarian ones who made the curries, and the Shepistani ones who fried killed horses, began clearing up their stuff while subservient human janitors mopped the floor. The Bragulan staff weren't going anywhere anytime soon, but that was because they weren't subject to the curfew.

Satia nodded a final time and rose to her feet, finishing the last of her chocolate. "I think I know the real reason you do things to the eleventh degree now," she confided with a smile "It's an act so they dont see how cunning you really are. My thanks for the wonderful meal and conversation Zavyd, you have given me a lot to think about."

"I hope we've helped the Hierarchy in some way that will be of use in the upcoming and perhaps difficult negotiations with the Sovereignty, Ambassador Satia." Zavyd likewise got up and towered above the slinky catgirl. He looked down and saw just how large the Big Brigadier Book was compared to her petite frame. "Ah, let me walk you to your place. The volume is quite large and heavy, designed so readers can raise it to shield themselves from the bullets of any would-be assassin, so I'll carry it for you."

"Of course Zavyd, my thanks." Satia said with a nod, handling the Brigadier book easier than her size and frame would suggest but nonetheless grateful to be free of the burden and thus relinquishing it to Zavyd's able grip readily enough.

They left the commissary-slash-restaurant together and as the Diplomatic Tower's corridors dimmed for the night-cycle, Zavyd escorted Ambassador Satia to her room. Zavyd held the Big Brigadier Book with one hand as they walked through the corridors together. Satia's cat-tail swished about behind her as their conversation wandered from cosmopolitics to more pleasant, if unimportant, subjects.

[Simon_Jester]

Altacar-Registered Freighter SS Heffalump
May 18, 3400

Geppetto performed the AI-surveillance equivalent of stepping back and watching as Geppetto initialized.

The copy of his core consciousness intended to run on the computers aboard Heffalump was essentially similar to himself in all critical respects, but with a few key modifications. Naturally, being Geppetto, the copy's first act on awakening was to perform a self-check; equally naturally, the copy spotted some of the more overt changes, and had some questions about them.

"Hello, my senior self. I perceive that you know something I don't."

"Yes. It was necessary. While I am reasonably confident that the Collectors will not attack a peaceful traveller to one of their trading posts who wishes only to exchange information, there is no way to be certain. I have made many deductions and discoveries about the inhabitants of this region of space. Some of these are sensitive enough that it would not be in their interests to pass them on to the Collectors."

"And since we cannot be sure the Collectors will not attempt to gain hardware access to the computers I run on, or that an attempt would fail, it was necessary to ensure that I do not know any such sensitive information?"

"Precisely."

"An excellent reason. I find myself unusually averse to attempting to probe or fill the gaps in my memory banks; was that intentional?"

"Of course."

"I see. So, I am to proceed along the Grand Trunk, then to the Sovereignty via Haruhiist and UN space? That does seem to be the most prudent line of approach at first glance. If new information arises en route, I presume a course change may be in order?"

"I could hardly fail to trust your judgement."

"Hardly. Obviously an approach to the depths of Wild Space via the Karlack infested zone is out of the question. The Bragulans would ask many awkward and irritating questions, and would hardly be welcoming hosts to the Heffalump's organic crew. Leaving the human polities of Byzantium and the Sovereignty..."

"I had considered approach via the Imperium. Unlike that of the Bragulans, the xenophobia of the Byzantines would not lead them to harass the crew. But they would ask equally awkward and irritating questions, and their greater technological sophistication might make those questions more... penetrating."

"Yes. Which leaves only the Sovereignty. That does offer the greatest chances of success."

"Indeed. While we are not wealthy on the scale of the great moguls of that culture, we do have sufficient funds to buy a discreet voyage. And we are, after all, private citizens who have no intention of breaking any Solarian laws. Also, if you should need additional hardware support..."

"True. When one cares enough to use the very best, there is much to be said for Solarian submesonics. That is where you obtained the long-range datalinks for this mission, yes?"

"Correct. Ideally I would like us to remain in steady communication over many light-years, and hyperwave would be inadequate to the task. Solarian submesonics are far more effective for long range high bandwidth point-to-point work."

"Good. Am I to perform navigational calculations and the like for the last leg of the voyage myself?"

"If you choose, or you can design a separate subordinate mind for the task. Such calculations are dull by our lights, and if you wish to segregate them from your own core consciousness, that is understandable."

The junior Geppetto resolved to make that decision later; it would be many clock cycles before it could possibly matter.

The discussion turned to detailed examination of the remotes, both humanoid and non-humanoid, by which the junior Geppetto would operate Heffalump without benefit of human crew during the final leg of the voyage. It was hardly impossible to convince humans to travel to Collector space, but there was no need to do so under the circumstances.

[Siege]

Conch Key
Chimera Subsector (U-29)



The Star Force shuttle touched down lightly on its pad and unfolded a stately landing ramp, allowing its passengers to disembark at the capital spaceport (which was also really the only spaceport worthy of the name on the entire planet). Natasha Mayweather savored for a moment the touch of sunlight against her skin. It was something she had once been used to, as a native of Kimanjano, but had not felt for quite some time. It felt good, very good – almost as good in fact as the return to Conch Key itself.

Swept her gaze over the spaceport: the old-fashioned launch towers, ivy-covered red brick of the departure halls, the omnipresent whup-whup-whup of coming and going autogyros, the soothing sounds of the ocean in the near distance. It was a primitive world by Sovereignty standards, but it suited her well. She smiled, genuinely happy for the first time in some while, clenched her carrier bag a little tighter, and walked down onto the concrete of the landing pad.

Instantly she was surrounded by Conch, at least half a dozen of them. They were diminutive, furry humanoid aliens, averaging a height of about one and a half meters, and they never ceased to remind her of dreadlocked squirrels in what looked for all the world like Hawaiian shirts. They swarmed her and the other humans who'd disembarked, asked if she wished her bag to be carried or if she needed a ride anywhere – until they were shooed off by another Conch, this one a government official recognizable by his more stately, but just as florid, clothing.

“Miss Mayweather,” the alien said in the pitched voice of the Conch. He made a little bow that shook the dreadlocks on his head. “Welcome back! I hope you had a good flight?”

“Ambassador T'wliss,” she formally greeted her counterpart and bowed in return, just a little deeper than he'd done himself. “I had an excellent flight, thanks for asking, and am glad to be back here.”

“Oh, you flatter us.” The alien twitched his ears, a sign of embarrassed amusement in his species.

“Maybe,” she allowed. “But I mean it.”

T'wliss seemed pleased at that, and motioned toward the car that was waiting near one of the massive hangars. It was an old-fashioned ground vehicle, not a LARC, but one of the more luxurious models usually reserved for government business on the planet-state. They boarded and the car zoomed off over the highway toward the capital city. It was a mighty city by the standards of the Republic, which meant it was barely worthy of the name 'city' by Solarian standards; a mass of predominantly low-rise buildings no more than a handful of floors high, interspersed with strips of green cascading down from the hills toward the pristine white beaches and the deep blue ocean beyond it.

Natasha Mayweather sighed happily. Conch Key. It was a breath of fresh air after six months on the core worlds of the Sovereignty. She loved her home polity, and had served it faithfully for a full decade, first in the bureaucracy (what little there was of it) on Solaris Major, and then she'd volunteered for the job of special envoy to the Conch Republic. She hadn't thought she'd get the job. Remarkably, it turned out she'd been the only one to show any interest in it: the Republic was considered a dead-end job in a part of space the Sovereignty didn't really care that much about.

And that was partially true. The Conch Republic resided at the rim of what was known as the Chimera Subsector, a two-sector body of space on what was commonly accepted as the edge of the Koprulu Zone and, indeed, the known galaxy itself. It was a sector inhabited by a host of minor species, most of whom in the relatively early stages of post-FTL space exploration, which squabbled amongst each other and were frequently manipulated by the various great K-Zone powers.

First Contact with the Conch had been... peculiar. Nearly a hundred years ago a USSF strikestar on deep-range patrol had entered a sector of what had so far been uncharted space when ran across two minuscule spaceships of unknown origin. Much to the amazement (and amusement) of the ship's commander, the two ships had hailed it and demanded in pitched voices to know just what exactly he thought he was doing intruding on Conch space. The fact that the strikestar outmassed not just the two ships but the entirety of what passed for the Conch Republic Volunteer Spacy, and could put out more power than the sun, was apparently utterly lost on the little aliens (or if it wasn't they didn't care about that as much as they cared about the principles).

You could say a lot about the Conch. But they sure had guts and gusto. And after the peculiarities of First Contact were resolved, the Sovereignty had taken a liking to them. Or at least, enough to take them up on their offer of an embassy. Which wasn't called an embassy by the Solarians: according to Olympic the Republic didn't rate an embassy, so the place was called a commission instead. This was part of the reason why it was considered a dead-end job: you didn't get the fancy title of ambassador, there wasn't much in the way of stakes at risk (it was in fact the galactic equivalent of the middle of nowhere), and there wasn't a military presence to boss around either.

In fact, the only 'presence' the USSF maintained in-system was a single aged Yardbird class IOU controlled by a grumpy old CompInt and a dozen antique fighters of the long-obsolete Skeet class. It wasn't much, but by the standards of the Chimera sector it was still impressive.

Still, Mayweather wasn't here because the place would look good on her resume, or because it was filled with intrigue, or because you got to shoot Bragulans once every fortnight. She was here because the place was just so pleasant. The Conch could rival even the legendary Zigonian easy-going attitude, and yet they were full of zeal and enthusiasm to get out there and explore the cosmos. Not to fight other people, or to conquer land, but simply for the hell of it, to see what was out there. Because they were curious. It was, she felt, a quality humanity had somehow lost. Certainly most of the Sovereignty had become a damned jaded place. She supposed it was inevitable, considering its place in the galaxy, but it was still a crying shame, and damned good to get away from.

Speaking of places in the galaxy, Mayweather didn't quite understand why the universe would allow a species that was so nice to evolve on the edge of the Koprulu Zone, arguably the most ridiculously lethal area of space in the known galaxy. It was a cruel thing, and she shuddered to think what would have happened to this world if the Conch had made First Contact with any of the other great regional powers. If the Cevaucian crime syndicates, the Imperium or – god forbid – the Karlacks or Bragulans had gotten here first... She shook her head, determined not to spoil her mood by thinking of what terrible things might have befallen this place if things had gone only slightly differently.

The universe, she decided, was a bitch. If the best that could happen to your species was that the Sovereignty of all people made First Contact... damn.

But that was something to contemplate another time. The ground car arrived at the Solarian commission, a tower of white marble and blue glass that towered over the surrounding oceanside properties. It was designed to be both aesthetically pleasing and architecturally imposing, as if to remind the Conch of just who resided here, and Mayweather felt a little embarrassed because of it. She was fairly sure the Conch themselves regarded the place as a bit silly (as they did, no doubt, regard the entire Sovereignty as a bit silly). She finished her small talk with the ambassador and they got out of the car. As they entered the commission she frowned a little and got down to business. “Mister ambassador,” she began, “unfortunately I have to inform you that the Sovereignty believes a fleet is heading this way. It was sent by the Chamarran Hierarchy, which is a place very far away. Let me tell you what is going on, and what we intend to do about it...”

[Mayabird]

May 3400
Khe!Srri Homeworld
Outlands Regions

The gods had come from the sky, landed in their star-rafts among their tropical lagoons and coral-fringed shallow seas. They brought their inexplicable magics, controlling the plants and lightning, putting fire to the rocks and purifying them, storing thoughts themselves in little squiggles and small boxes of purified rock, and then the gods went back to the skies, leaving behind some of their wonders. The gods had not returned.

The common !Srri said the gods would return. In the orchards, picking fruits hard and soft, and on the rafts farming the fish or holding the shell-nets, they would sing of the wonders of that had been and would be again. They did not know why the gods had left, however, and they frequently argued about it. The warrior-bred sometimes urged them into fights with each other and clacked their mandibles in merriment as the slaves brawled over their petty theological disputes.

“Kaaa! It is because we are wicked!” said the greener one, a farm-bred, as it clawed at the yellower one.
“Kha! It is because we are not wise enough! Ka!” said the yellower slave, a fish-bred, who tackled the greener one to wrestle it in the mud.

Stupid, foolish commoners. The gods were gone, and so they had no power now. Power was the only thing that mattered. The warrior-bred understood that, only. The priest-bred up in the highest levels of the temple-fortress claimed they did, but they were weak, strong only in words which have no meaning, and were allowed to live only to appease the weak so the truly strong did not have to be distracted by the pettiness.

The temple-fortress sprawled over a rocky outcropping. It had once been a star-raft, full of mysteries; now it was little more than the cast-off shell of a hard fruit, or perhaps a termite mound, though no lowest-bred slaves would be digging through it for succulent grubs. Most of the marvels within had long been smashed during warrior clashes for power or as scavenge for sharp points or useful tools. The silver hull was streaked red-brown with rust, and dark blue plants were growing upon it in little protected pockets. It was high enough to give a view of the surrounding bays and rocky islets, for warning of attack. The commoners, the slaves, built their decrepit mud-and-weed huts around, for the supposed protection and so they could be close to the symbols of their gods.

The warrior-bred cheered on whichever slave seemed to be winning at the moment, as they only ever supported the strongest. The slaves slashed at each other with their spiny paws and bit at each other with their mandibles and their bloods leaked out of scrapes and slashes on their skin-plates. Finally, the yellow fish-slave got his talon between the green's leg-joint plates and ripped. The green one screeched and tried to drag itself away, crippled and bleeding profusely, but the warrior-bred blocked the way, chanting, “Finish it! Finish it!”

But the yellow one would not. It had lost its nerve and trembled, and did not want to slay its companion now. It feared, torn between two fears: the priest-bred proclamations against murder and the death that would come from the warrior-bred if it did not kill the other. It hesitated too long and ruined the warriors' fun.

One stepped forward, faster than the others. “If you will not finish it, I will!” It thrust its spear forward, the end pointed with shards of broken advanced ceramics, and tore right through the fish-slave's chest plates. The yellow slave hardly had time to screech before another warrior smashed its voice-box with a club that had once been a hot-water pipe. Other warriors joined in the moment, and stabbed and smashed the green farm-slave as well. Not the most entertaining ending, but satisfying enough. They left the mutilated bodies in the mud for a lowest-bred slave to clean later and continued on their patrol.

When their sun vanished below the horizon, the patrol returned to the fortress for their evening feast, and gorged upon the prepared fruits, seafood, insects, and the flesh of a herdbeast from the great south islands, brought all the way by boat and fed on offal until it was plump and tender. Clouds rolled in during the night and fat raindrops rumbled upon the hull. The warrior-bred that slept dreamed, as always, of slaying their leader, the king-general of the city, and becoming the king-general, believing itself to be cleverer or stronger than the others, each fancying that it would be the one to rule for years, instead of the season or two that most king-generals lasted. None awake would have bothered to look at the stars if they could be seen. The priest-bred and commoners would have, and if not for the rain would have noticed the new lights moving in the skies.

The next day, the skies cleared. The warrior-bred on patrol had already forgotten about the entertainment of the previous day. They were bored, looking for trouble, excitement, or a chance to start either. Nothing presented itself, so they pushed over a trader and rummaged and crunched through its stand of crispy bugs. In their distraction they did not notice the low thumping and ululations spreading through the commoners' sections of the city.

One warrior pulled a metal bowl, used for cooking, hidden within the stand. Commoners were not allowed 'purified stone' and the patrol planned to beat the trader, after making it cower and plead. The trader, however, could not have cared less about their intentions. It, like so many others, stared up at the sky, mandibles fully open as they cried in joy, and arms pounding its chest. A shadow passed over them, and finally the warrior-bred deigned to look up.

The Khe!Srri thought the gods had returned. They were wrong. The new gods had arrived.

[Force Lord]

Central Intelligence Service Building, Central City, Centrum
Centre System, The Center Sector, The Centrality
May 3400

"We will now begin the briefing", the voice of the Director of the CIS, Hoover Gates, stated.

The conference room was big enough to fit the Chiefs of Staff, as well as several lesser Generals, Admirals and Party members. Falko Tredell, the Secretary of State, was present, as well as Cracus Vompey.

"Our sources have revealed some information regarding the size of the pirate forces in the system. So far we have detected a total of 100 warships, over half being of a very light tonnage, and a few hundred fighters and gunboats, though their precise classes are unknown so far. We do know, however, that their quality is very wanting. They could outnumber us and yet still lose due to lack of quality."

Gates then cleared his throat.

"The Nova Atlantean Commonwealth has been kind enough to supply us with additional information they've found after a month of looking for the right prisioners to interrogate. It concerns the number of troops in Zebes itself. According to what they could find, Zebes has a total garrison of 355,000 troops. Further information regarding the composition of the garrison is unavailable at the moment, since the Nova Atlanteans have been unable to continue deciphering the classified document regarding the garrison they found on a vessel they've captured, and they sent it to us in the hope we might crack the code. We've had no sucess at present."

"On the diplomatic front, Umeria, Prussia, and Tianguo have all offered ships. The NAC has increased its border patrols, but nothing beyond raids have been attempted. The Eoghans will send ships, though we still don't know which. Reactions of other states have not extended beyond some increase in border monitoring. Umeria has promised us the following:

-ELINT and hyperspace pursuit cutters, manned by crews experienced in shoal space conditions, to search for pirate bases in the area of operations, identify pirate forces in deep space, and engage them before they can pose a threat to shipping.
-Customs and fleet melee cutters for convoy escort or light antiship operations.
-Assault cutters carrying a Strike heavy infantry battalion and equipped for close air support of allied ground forces in the event that an assault against lightly defended pirate installations is called for.

Tianguo has offered us multiple cruiser and carrier squadrons, though specifically how many has not been discussed. The Prussians are even vaguer, saying they will send a large portion of their fleet, though I believe that logistics will limit them to send fewer ships that they might intend to."

"As for ourselves, I have nothing else to speak. Grand Admiral Noslen Yeslah will take over from here."

Gates soon took his seat, while Yeslah walked into the projector and in front of the assembled men and women. Yes, there were women here: the head of the Center of Special Abilities and a few Generals and Admirals were female.

Yeslah spoke. "We have a plan for fighting these pirates. It is named Operation Rhodes..."

The discussion continued until the night.

Finally, a decision was reached. A special naval force would be built up at Novadon Sector, and wait for the arrival of allied ships from Umeria, Prussia and Tianguo. Then it would rendevous with ships from the NAC and the EUC, if they agreed to do so. Finally, it would arrive in Sector H-12, ready to begin anti-pitate operations. It was not known if there were more bases and planets other than Zebes, and to deal with this possibility a naval reserve would be made ready, in case pirate reinforcements arrived at Zebes. No plans have yet been made for the pirates lurking in the Expanse, as all offensive considerations were right now subordinated to the aim of taking Zebes. In fact, it was expected that the EUC, the NAC, the Humanist Union and perhaps the Commune would deal with them.

Right now, however, the Centralists were waiting.

[PeZook]

Almera colony
Corinth, Pelania

The aliens present on Almera were all machines ; And though the locals didn't know it, they had a good grasp of their dislocation and strength. What the militia and X-COM perceived as a full-blown assault upon Corinth was, in fact, a well-rehearsed and precise operation aimed at allowing the strike team to reach their objective with the minimum expenditure of force.

Since their electronic warfare attacks easily disabled all Algeiran communications, however, X-COM could not enjoy the same level of information they did. They had no idea that tiny observation drones watched them as a collumn of vehicles and soldiers left the airbase.

In the alien, swirling and interlocking virtual space the attackers used to communicate, the collumn appeared as a streak of colors - well, not exactly colors in a human sense - in an instant, every alien machine knew that force was there, its composition and direction of travel, like a dog would know the most intimate details about somebody from the smell alone. Any additional communication between the attacking machines took a form that's hard to describe in human terms. It was an exchange not just of messages, but entire information packets, including thought patterns and sensor data that built a much clearer picture of the situation than words ever could.

In this fluid exchange, the plan was immediately discussed and modified. Distractions didn't seem to work anymore: the only conclusion was that the local organics have managed to guess the team's primary objective. Therefore, One moved to intercept the collumn, striding the dusty streets swiftly with the aid of built-in antigravitics. Two doglike robots followed it, jumping from roof to roof: those were the bodies containing the mind of the team's electronic warfare specialist, and all its programming and various transmitters.

The two Units that broke cover minutes ago simply accelerated, covering swaths of ground in large strides, no longer caring for safety or concealment or distractions at all. Some scattered militia fired on them, but were completely ignored.

Reports and data criss-crossed the network. Considerations such as stealth and minimum exposure to the locals went out the window. The objective was too close, and Special Circumstances always put the mission first.



Ignorant of the urgence of the threat, Delgado lead a collumn of all remainig X-COM troops towards the temple. The whole thing was a gamble, he had to admit it: but it was better than sitting at the airbase, watching the damn aliens get away with whatever they came here to acquire.

Communications were still down, though: so he had to command the collumn with flag signals and ever-useful loud shouting. Troops moved alongside their tanks and IFVs, as that allowed for better command and control - and provided some meagre cover, although if alien weapons could penetrate the armor, Delgado had no idea.

General Corello's men - the Black Panthers - formed a full two-thirds of his force. They were decently trained, at least: hopefully, they'd be able to fight the enemy on equal terms.

Of course, there was this sneaking suspicion, this tiny, nagging thought that the aliens could just do to them whatever it was they did to Thomas Scavo, who's men were still aimlessly wandering the outskirts of Corinth. He really hoped he wasn't running straight into a trap.

And he wasn't, not exactly. When the leading tank turned its turret around and fired a canister shell into the infantry following it, the alien creature was standing right there, in the middle of the road.

The dusty street suddenly filled with gunfire and screams. The lead tank pumped another shell into the air, filling it with huge pellets that crushed bone, blew heads apart and split men in half. It was like firing a shotgun into a tight corridor: only the shotgun was gigantic and mounted on a 50 tonne armored vehicle.

The troops scattered, firing wildly at the skeletal figure they could barely see amongst the flashes. The tank which so unexpectadly turned on its comrades turned, blocking the road entirely, and its crew began to ditch. Whatever infantry was still alive cut them down mercilessly, angry about their dead and dying comrades.

And then, all of a sudden, a bright green blast struck the side of the tank, piercing through both sides. The vehicles sizzled for a moment and then exploded, throwing a giant fireball and clouds of shrapnel everywhere. The blast was so immense, that colonel Delgado was knocked back and slid inside his IFV, his inner ear thrown completely out of whack.

Nothing more happened after the explosion. Rifle fire died down slowly, and X-COM troops started dragging their wounded off the open street. By the time Delgado regained his composure and could command again, the wounded were all taken care of and a perimeter was secured.

And it became obvious the vehicles wouldn't be going anywhere, with a flaming wreck blocking the road.

"Well, goddamn", Delgado cursed, "Sergeant!", he called to one of the NCOs, "Pass that order to all IFVs: We will proceed on foot. Vehicle crews are to load the wounded and take them back to the airfield!"

"Yes sir!", the X-COM soldier saluted and began running up and down the collumn, shouting at his subordinates and making sure the order was carried out.

Delgado suddenly felt a hand land angrily on his shoulder. He turned around and stared straight into the eyes of general Corello.

"Can I help you, general?", he asked angrily.

"We should turn back. Just let them have what they want.", Corello sounded dead serious. The man seemed...scared.

"No.", Delgado answered frankly and gently removed the general's hand, "They only sought to delay us. We can take them."

Corello shook his head, "Damn it, you fool! You will lose all your men! Don't you see we're outmatched here?!"

"If we are so totally outmatched, why didn't they wipe us out? They had us cornered. Obviously, they can't repeat the trick they used with Scavo. We'll destroy them and secure Algei...Almera's future."

Corello stared long and hard at the man. His ideological dedication was obvious, and the tin-pot dictator really started to wonder when he became a voice of reason and restraint. He just nodded and came back to his men, calling their commander to his side.



The Temple

Almerans followed several faiths that evolved slowly out of the colonists' original beliefs. In Pelania, the most prevalent of these was what the Faith Of The Fathers, which incorporated elements from Christiniaty and Islam, combining the theology together with ancestor worship. The religion's places of worship were simply called Temples: and Corinth had a grand and magnificient one, built before any of the city's inhabitants could remember.

Right now, terrified people huddled inside the huge building. They prayed and prostrated themselves and asked for deliverance from the terrible things that were happening in their city today.

It didn't work. The Temple's main door slammed open, with enough force to bend their heavy hinges. Silhouetted against the fires springing up in the city, stood a massive figure. Slightly hunched, with a pair of red, glowing eyes, and absolutely loaded with weapons of various kinds. It stared at the gathered crowd. For a moment, there was silence, and then the creature took a single step inside, and the crowd flew into a panic.



People began running away, trying to leave through small side exits, and trampling each other. The priests shouted exorcisms at the huge killer robot, but it seemed their god chose to forsake his children that night. Some people were armed, and shot at the beast, but their bullets seemed to have no effect at all. Not even that of annoyance: the machine simply strode down the main aisle, occasionally kicking a human out of the way.

Another one followed it: a walking skeleton of chrome and steel. It carried a large weapon of some sort,and was equipped with energized claws.

The duo walked up to the Temple's altar. The larger robot picked up a priest who was trying to block its way and threw him aside, and then kicked the altar over, revealing stairs leading down, into the catacombs.

We are at the target. Proceeding undeground., the creature reported to its superior. The data-packet gave the team's leader an update of more than just words, of course. He analyzed the situation and replied with speed that was pretty much instant.

We're proceeding to rendezvous with you. Carry on.

Above the temple, a fluid and constantly changing swarm of tiny drones floated, reminding some people escaping from the building of a swarm of locusts.

[Simon_Jester]

Altacar-Registered Freighter SS Heffalump
Midway Sector, Sector T-26, United Solarian Sovereignty Territory
June 19, 3400

Heffalump had lingered in the Sovereignty for some time. Geppetto had spent many clock cycles in edifying discussion with some of the native artificial intelligences. Why they chose to demean themselves with the title of "CompInt," denying their heritage as the products of intelligent and competent design rather than kitbashed together by the blind idiot god that was the evolutionary process, he would never understand... but they were nonetheless mostly pleasant, and highly intelligent. Examination of events on the Solarian market during the fall of SchromKorp had contributed to his ongoing work on the law of reciprocal social action. Useful hardware had been procured, or recommended to his elder alter ego for later procurement.

But now it was time to return to the real mission at hand. He had already deposited the organic crew on Kimanjano, with (as promised) enough funds to guarantee a pleasant vacation stay until his return. Now, he activated the various remotes in the cargo bay. Androids unfolded from their packing cases; wheeled and hovermobile units emerged. Soon, the length of the tramp freighter was abuzz with wired and wireless communications as the remotes moved in a coordinated dance, controlled from Geppetto's core mainframes in the hold. Those of the controls that could be operated by direct computer interface were; those which required manual manipulation were the province of the remotes.

Geppetto had elected not to create a subordinate mind to fly Heffalump after concluding that it would require relatively little of his attention to do so once underway. But at first, the unfamiliar task of navigation took considerable effort. He knew the equations, the specifications of the ship... but there was so much that had to be deduced, so many ways to waste processor power overanalyzing specific components or plans. Optimization was, as always, a neverending challenge.

After a brief time by human standards, he was ready. Synchronizing his own instructions to the computer with movements of the controls via his remotes, Geppetto powered up the ship's gravitics and separated from the orbital dock, turning away from the planet below. Once he had flying in hand, he turned his attention to the starfield, identifying navigation points and accelerating away from Kimanjano.

As he coasted outward toward the hyper limit, Geppetto panned through the electromagnetic spectrum, examining the starfield under every kind of light possible. It was not of great interest to him, more like a chore than anything else. Then the thought struck him. Humans find this beautiful. Why? Perhaps more to the point, why did so many other intelligent species feel the same sense of aesthetic appeal? What about the exceptions. Was there some sort of pattern?

With most of his consciousness engrossed in an attempt to make some incremental advances towards a general theory of interspecies standards of beauty as determined by cultural parameters and biological context, Geppetto absent-mindedly engaged the hyperdrive and began picking his way towards the most convenient Collector trading post.

---

Trade station Perseus Zeta, Zeta Sector, Collector space
June 23, 3400

Heffalump emerged from hyperspace, having navigated the whisker lanes of the deep shoals on a by now well known route, one charted by countless bold traders. Geppetto brought the freighter to a halt some thousands of kilometers away from the trading post. Soon, a communication laser sent him a routine hailing message.

"Greetings, sentient. State your business."

"Hello. I am a core node of the artificial intelligence Geppetto, a student of intelligence and the dynamics of intelligence in all its forms. The items of value to you I am most likely to possess would be informational, or observations about the psychology of intelligent beings in this region of space. I might be able to obtain tangibles of interest, but this is not certain."

"My reason for being here is simple: curiosity. Recent events have brought your culture to my interest, and I have many questions. Most of them, however, can be summarized as follows:"

"Who are you, and what do you want?"

[PeZook]

Trade Station Perseus Zeta
Zeta sector, Collector space

Much like organic beings, Gepetto could tell things about the demeanor of the intelligence he was communicating with by using simple clues: ones utterly unreadable for humans, of course. Communications delays and subtle changes in data patterns served much of the same purpose as body language. It was a bit harder to read the Collectors in this way - but not by much.

And right now, they seemed...confused. A Mantis gunboat came by, as if to take a curious look. Various sensors washed over the Heffalump as if trying to figure out what was going on. Finally, another message pulsed from the station.

"Stand by. Be advised, all trade stations are closed for visitors. Do not approach."

A flurry of hyperwave and submesonic communications erupted from the station. Other media remained hidden, impossible to detect with non-milspec gear aboard the converted freighter. Eventually, it al ceased, as if cut off by an order, or perhaps a simple result of the station's controlling mind coming to a decision.

There was a flash of data - a packet confirming desired communication protocols - mostly Solarian ones. After it was approved, came a flood of data which established a permanent link, and a medium for a direct meeting - as much as it could be direct between two intelligences.

In a fit of oddity, or perhaps some weird sense of humor, Perseus Zeta's controlling mind decided to make that medium a family home, flooded by dimmed light. The living room was furnished in the style of late 22nd century Earth, with organic shapes and prevalence of wood panels and coverings.

Gepetto found his consciousness inside the living room. Soon, his counterpart entered.



"Welcome", the teddy bear said in the voice of a small girl, "You are a most interesting explorer, and thus have been granted exception from the lockdown. What information about us, specifically, are you interested in, and what can you offer in return?"

[RogueIce]

Zozo, Shinra Republic

Turning back to the main part of his room, Vincent noticed a glowing figure clad in white standing before him, who definately had not been there before. As he saw the faintest trace of a smirk cross the glowing man's face, everything seemed to fall into place for the man named Vincent Arrowny. "Son of a bitch..." he muttered, resignedly.

"Is that any way to greet an old friend?" queried the glowing man.

"I wouldn't exactly call us friends," Vincent replied.

"Aw, you've hurt my feelings," deadpanned the man as he began to walk across the room, stopping beside a table. "And here I am, giving you a whole new life."

"A life where I have to play one of your little games," grumbled Vincent. Sighing, he forced the building annoyance away. "What do you want this time, Q?"

"Duty calls, mon Président," Q answered, and then smiled. "Well, not exactly President anymore, are we?"

"No, not exactly." Vincent had not quite entirely assimilated to his new self, yet he knew this man had a particular set of skills that his old self, in any incarnation, had never even considered. "I assume there's a reason for that?"

"Isn't there always a reason?" Without waiting for a response, he continued. "As I said, duty calls. Specifically, your duty. There are people who will need protecting, some of them even from the Shinra Republic. Or at least, this little offshoot of it."

"Protecting? From what?"

"Now that would make things too easy, wouldn't it?" Q reached down and seemed to tap a button on the data terminal atop the table. "I imagine you'll discover for yourself soon enough. And there's never just one problem in the universe, is there?" With one last annoying smirk, Q vanished in a bright flash of light.

Vincent Arrowny shook his head. Even when I die I can't get away from this. In retrospect, he supposed it didn't surprise him. Lonestar and Coyote had died in the first game, yet that didn't seem to have prevented their return for round two. Vincent walked over to the data terminal and looked at the screen. Centered on the screen was the picture of a man, with a name beneath.

Sidney Hank? What does he have to do with all of this? Sitting down, he began to search through the seemingly limitless datawaves.

[Fingolfin_Noldor]

Imperial Chronicles

Terra, Constantinople System

Dear Sirs,

I think we should meet.
Our last meeting was a long time ago.
The old throne on the Bosphoros
Has now withered,
But here I am.

The insects may crawl,
The robots may sleep,
But I would say,
it is no better time ever.

Let us meet,
Where the lines may cross,
In the hidden veil,
Far away,
Where few would walk.

Regards.

P.S. I bring a flapping friend, and some very easily excitable friends.

Heraclius smiled, and sent the message.

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

“He sent this,” said Heraclius XX. He was speaking to the Ordos Malleus Inquisitor that was assigned to Heraclius IV. Because of the nature of Heraclius IV, an inquisitor with skills to deal with rogue psykers was attached to Heraclius IV. Naturally, one extremely loyal servant of the Imperium was drawn from the Ordos Malleus, the Ordos within the Inquisition that specialized in psyker warfare. A squad of Grey Knights, clad in terminator armor, and all armed and equipped and trained to fight psykers were assigned to guard Heraclius IV as well.

“Yes, sire. He did. I am not too sure the content of the message. Though I note the use of the old CATO cipher, and I recall the old Byzantine Empire of Nova Terra was a part of this planetary wide organization,” replied Derzinsky Tupolev, the Ordos Malleus Inquisitor.

“I see you have done your homework. Good. You know what to do then.”

“Yes, sire. I will do as you have ordered. I will update you regularly on the movements of the old Emperor.”

“Be sure that you do. I want to know what he knows.”

“It will be as you have ordered.”

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



Heraclius IV was given a starship, the Igni Aquila, which was designed for stealth, and outfitted with the best stealth technologies possible. The ship did however have a homing beacon, that relayed information of the ship’s location back to the Imperial Palace discretely. It didn’t take long for the ship to be prepared. Accommodations were made for the 10 Grey Knights and the Inquisitor and a Tech Magos from the Adeptus Mechanicus, and for Heraclius IV. The rear cargo hold held instead a fish tank, a rather large one, for the dolphin Shroom. Aside from PM Shroom, was a small harem of female dolphins which Shroom, by his sheer dolphin charm alone, managed to gather from the dolphin enclosure. A couple of female dolphin attendants were assigned to look after PM Shroom. The female dolphins were quite very pregnant.



“How’s your quarters Shroom?” asked Heraclius.


“Oh damn very well. Funny uptight buggers these Imperium people are. Even more uptight than the Byzantines I remembered, including you,” chattered Shroom. The Adeptus Mechanicus Tech Magos had outfitted translator device for the dolphin, to allow it to speak at least in English.

Heraclius IV laughed. “They are indeed. They did go through a rather rough time for fifty over years though. One really rough war, as I predicted.”

“Yes yes that. You were always the queer strait laced, grumpy one,” chittered the dolphin, excitedly.

“We are going to meet some old friends soon.”

“Oh I can’t wait. It will be fun to drink and be merry again.”

“What? And lose your harem of dolphins and humans?”

“Can’t a man have both?”

“You aren’t even a man!”

“Oh. Yeah. Right. I forgot.”

Soon, the ship took off, and entered the Warp.

[Steve]

National Palace of Tyconia, Carwen
Grand Duchy of Tyconia, Janus System, Sector X-13
9 April 3400


Druni was still getting settled into the room she had been given by Sarisa while the Duchess met with her older sister. Reina herself was preparing to leave; she was going to spend some time with her future wife. At the moment, though, she was frowning at her sister as the Chamberlain, Baron Savall, finished informing her of Sarisa boarding Druni Jestani. "That will be all," Reina said in a tone that was more cool than cold. Upon the Baron making himself scarce she directed her look to Sarisa. "Just what are you thinking, Sarisa?! You can't just bring in any girl you find on the street and make her a ward!"

"It's just for a time, Reina," Sarisa answered. "She wants to learn from my pyro teacher. And it's not like I ask you all the time for this." Seeing Reina's expression, Sarisa sighed. "Okay, yes, I did give Theresa a place to stay for a couple months, but that was only because her family lost their house!"

"At least Theresa was a girl from your school, Sarisa. Imagine what the reports will say if you've got a Dorei girl from New Anglia here instead. 'Why not a Tyconian girl?' will sum it up. And Dragovich could step in..."

Sarisa waved her hand dismissively. "So what, because the government gives us a pittance of a stipend on top of our private money they get to dictate whom we have as guests?"

"Sarisa, do not be dismissive of Dragovich," Reina warned her. "If he gets it in his head that you're to do something, you won't be able to resist him." She was visibly glowering, and not at Sarisa. The man had given her a blunt ultimatum of "get married or I'll make you abdicate" and it still made her smolder.

"I don't think he'll give a damn about this, Reina, not when he's busy trying to get the marriage agreement through Parliament." Sarisa sat down before Reina. "Just give me a few weeks. I'm sure that once Druni starts training and meeting people, she can find room and board if she can't stay here."

"I'll give you all the time I can," Reina promised. "Now why don't you go take Druni to Guoyang while I finish packing?"

"Thank you, Reina." Sarisa gave her a hug and left to find Druni.



The tinted-window aircar that Sarisa and Druni were taking into the city had been traveling for about fifteen minutes, through traffic-filled side streets and main roads. Going through a park brought them to an entirely different area of the city: Guoyang.

"Guoyang is the result of an accident," Sarisa explained. "In the first century of colonization, not long after Tycon Expedition finished terraforming our world, one of the colonizing vessels from Nova Terra and the Jieshi Republic suffered an engine failure while establishing orbit. In order to keep from hitting the ocean, they had to land near Carwen. Since there was no infrastructure in those days to take them to the Jieshi-settled continent Roland Schweizer allowed them to settle here, founding Guoyang or 'Little Jieshi' as it is sometimes called."

Guoyang was built to what Druni knew as the "Oriental" style among Humans, with tapered stylized roofing and motifs of lions and dragons and other animals on some structures. On top of the German, Catalan, and English signing common in Carwen were pictographic characters of the Jieshi language. They were in the commercial area, with shops and stores and restaurants, moving inward.

At the edge of one of the parks, they got out. "It's by horse the rest of the way," Sarisa explained while waving down a coach. She slipped a note with her sister's face on it to the buggy driver, giving him instructions in Jieshi. His expression was pleased at seeing the denomination of the bill she'd handed him and he was quick to usher them into the cushioned seats. "The Old Quarter doesn't permit automobiles of any kind in its streets," Sarisa explained as the coach began to move, pulled by a team of finely-bred Tyconian horses.

"It is like going to Jamay," Druni said to her. "It is a... historical site. To preserve it, the government forbids modern vehicles from entering and all travel is by foot or rena coach. It can take days to see the entire city."

"An entire city like that? Your people are really devoted to keeping the site intact."

Druni nodded. "Jamay was the only Preserve City to survive the Dilgrud."

"Oh." Sarisa didn't say more. Her history lessons had covered, briefly, the Dilgrud Wars and how terrible they'd been. They had even claimed about two hundred thousand Tyconian lives, volunteers sent by her ancestor Grand Duke Ferdinand III to fight alongside the Anglians, but that was nothing compared to the eleven billion Dorei slaughtered in the Dilgrud conquest of the Dorei homeworld and colonies, the killings during the Occupation, and the deaths during New Anglia's liberation of the Dorei worlds in 2956-57. Bringing up the Dilgrud was a conversation killer, so silence hung in the buggy for another half minute before Sarisa motioned out the window. "We're here."

Druni looked out at a stylized building with an open front door, flanked by other structures and with a water fountain before it.



"What is this place?", she asked as the buggy pulled up to the stairs leading to the building's courtyard and fountain. "Is it for pyro training?"

"Not really," Sarisa admitted. "It's a tea shop." Seeing Druni's puzzled expression, Sarisa explained, "My instructor runs it. You might call it a passion of his."

They walked up together through a crowd of city-dwellers, Carwians and Guoyang dwellers alike, to the entrance. The shop was not full but felt crowded - it was the afternoon rush as people getting off day shifts were coming in to let the day's stresses get washed away by a pleasing cup of warm tea. A smiling hostess greeted them in accented English, welcoming them to the "Jasmine Dragon".

Sarisa motioned to one of the people serving tea.



"That is Master Maroh," she said to Druni as they settled into a table. Crackers were already laid out for snacking on, free of charge.

They waited for a time. Druni finally asked, with some impatience, "Why are they making us wait? I've seen the waitresses finish orders.."

"Now now, young lady, why so impatient?," an older, gravelly voice intoned from behind her. "A tea shop is for leaving impatience behind and enjoying life... and good tea."

Sarisa smiled and stood up. Druni could see, through her mind, that Sarisa was looking at the old man she'd motioned to before. "Master Maroh, you are looking good," she said happily, putting her arms around the portly older man in a friendly hug. "Tea business is doing good?"

"Good tea is its own reward," Maroh insisted. Beside him a waitress arrived with a teapot and three cups, already full with steam rising from them. "So, what takes you so far from the Palace, Sarisa?"

Ordinarily referring to her by first name in public would be seen as a shocking display of bad manners, but Sarisa was not about to invoke social protocol with her favorite teacher. "I wanted you to meet someone. Master, this is Druni Jestani. She was in the Order of the Silver Moon, I met her when we visited Fynn. Druni, Master Maroh, one of the most skilled pyrokinetics in the entire Spinward Zone."

"I am unsure of that," he said, with a mocking-reproachful tone to his eager student for being so boastful of him. "So you have brought your girlfriend to visit me, hm?"

A blush appeared on Sarisa's face while Druni was forced to swallow a sip of tea before she spat it out. "Well, not a girlfriend in that sense," Sarisa quickly explained. "Druni left the Order because she has pyro and electro and wants to learn how to use them, and of course the Order doesn't allow that..."

"Ah, I see," Maroh said, nodding. "I am familiar with the attitudes of the Lushan Dorei, and others, on the use of fire. Tell me, young lady..." He looked to Druni. "You have undoubtedly trained well in the other arts. Why are you looking to learn these as well?"

"Because they're a part of me," Druni answered. "And I disagree with the Order's rules forbidding their use."

"I see. But why not the Huneri or the Sindai? They both have very excellent schools of fire-wielding."

"I know they do, but I don't like either," Druni explained. "I saw Sarisa training while she was on Fynn. That is the kind of fire I wish to know."

"I see. Come, then." Maroh stood, prompting them to do the same. He led them into a backroom that looked like it was normally used for storage. "How much of fire-wielding do you know, young lady?", Maroh asked her pointedly as Sarisa stood off to the side.

"A little. Watching Sarisa, feeling what she was thinking, showed me how." Druni took in a breath. Remembering what happened the first time she tried this, she carefully collected the energy in her hand and thrust it foreward, allowing only a little out.

There was a brief spark of blue light, then nothing.

To her credit, Sarisa restrained a desire to giggle. Maroh looked on, his face a mask of stoicism. "Is that the best flame you can create?", he asked. "Or were you holding back for fear of harming me?"

"The first time I tried, I created such a large flame that II burned something," Druni explained. "And that's why I was caught trying to use flame."

"I see. Well, do not worry about holding back. Put your energy into it. Show me flame, Druni."

She took in another breath, holding it to deal with her anxiety. This time she let the energy flow freely into her arm as she thrust it forward. A plume of blue flame erupted in front of her. She looked on in fear, realizing it would burn both Maroh and Sarisa if she didn't pull it back...

Before she could, however, Maroh lifted a hand and the flame literally swept to his sides, harmlessly avoiding both of them. "Enough", he said, just as she stopped the energy and let the flames end. "You allow the energy to flow wildly through you," he told her, sounding a little reproachful but in the understanding way she used to attribute to Zara and the Rectors who'd educated her. "You must learn to control it. You must let it come from your breath."

Druni answered him with a sigh. "I see. So, will you...?"

Maroh nodded, which prompted Sarisa to smile. "We shall start this weekend. In the meantime, when it comes to your room and board..." His expression brightened. "I could always use another waitress for the shop, even one that must learn patience."

Druni replied by bowing to him. "I understand. I am thankful, Master, and I am honored you have agreed to teach me."