SDNW4 Story Thread 1

[Chaotic Neutral]

Deep Space: Sector 28 C

A message is repeated all over the galaxy: Hello! We would like to establish diplomatic relations with your people! Please send us coordinates for our Ambassadors, or send your own.

[Akhlut]

Presented in Goddamn Unreal Time Circa 2 Months Ago
Hweyixal, Colonial World

Governor Biahwi was in the Tepachoani Tepamitl, the highly fortified governor's palace; he gazed from the forcefield-encased viewing platform on the southeast of the enormous structure. Luckily for him, Basinu had been wrong about the militia desertion rates, because their dispersal to defend against riots and looting had been misinterpreted as being desertion. Rather then two-thirds being traitors, it was only about 40%. Still not a great number, but far superior to the enormous 70% of earlier reports. And now the majority of the militia that were within a 100 kilometer radius of Matstegi were defending the governor's palace, along with all the remnants of the riot police.

Which was a supremely good thing for Biahwi, as the rioters were focusing on the governor's palace, and they had access to very powerful weaponry.

“Basinu, Lithi, your reports,” the governor stated.

A small moxi, the commander of the local militia, cleared his throat, “We estimate 50-100 casualties when one of our armories were looted by what we believe was a mix of riot police and militia. We are also allowing in every moxli that can make it into the palace, as they are being slaughtered in the streets. So far, the rioters are staying away since we've been hitting those who venture too close with stun grenades and artificial grape* canisters. We have some APCs with tank escorts roaming the city picking up every stray moxli we can and carting them here. So far the traitor militia haven't been stupid enough to hit them with anti-vehicle weapons, but we feel that it's just a matter of time.”

“I've contacted the regular police force and tried to get them here to shore up some breaks we've had. They've been more helpful then the riot police have been; we seem to have a 60% rate of loyalty among the kipaktli on the force and, unsurprisingly, 100% among the moxli. They've been briefed on securing the internal perimeters in case of a breech and have been uparmoring the internal security doors. We've moved the artillery pieces up to higher floors, both for increased range and to keep them from falling to the traitor forces,” Basinu told the governor.

“Excellent. Tell your underlings to only use lethal weaponry at the very last possible moment. We want to utilize every less-than-lethal means at our disposal first, because once the first death is reported on their end, they'll attack us. Now keep preparing, I need to get a hold of Tlali for reinforcements. These desertion rates and videos should convince them of our dire situation.”

_______________________________________________________________________________
*Note: Artificial grape flavoring, methyl anthranilate, is a potent bird repellent, provoking much the same response as capsaicin, the active ingredient in hot peppers, does in mammals. Theropod dinosaurs, being relatives of birds, would probably react to it in the same way.

[Force Lord]

Surface of Zebes, Zebes
Sector H-12
1 July 3400

"Work faster, you maggots! We don't want to get caught flat-footed!", shouted the pirate overseer to the slaves digging a hole for an anti-aircraft cannon. Hundreds of them could be found for miles, supported by SAM batteries. There were also a few anti-orbital weapons scattered around the area, as possible support for the fleet. All were hidden underground, to prevent orbital bombardment from destroying them immediately.

Pirate troops armed with anti-armour and anti-aircraft missles were heavily dug in bunkers near the mountains, where artillery cannons and AFVs were placed. They were instructed to delay any Coalition advance as much as possible and retreat to the caves once resistance was no longer possible. Along the way they would destroy all sensitive documents and data.

Weavel could only wonder how much time that would take. He did not expect to hold out for a year, not even half a year. He could not recieve any more troops and equipment from the homeworld now that the fortifications there needed every speck of manpower and materiel to mantain them. But he could take as many aliens as he could!

"How is Frugus performing?", he asked to one of his lieutenants.

"Quite well, all things considered. His focus on the enemy convoys had delayed the enemy strike. But the enemy is too strong, and our inability to control the impulses of the raiders means that more nations are likely to jump on the bandwagon against us," responded the lieutenant.

"We must be ready then. We will make the foe bleed whenever we can!", declared Weavel.

[MKSheppard]

Somewhere in Montgomery

Deep below a fabulously decorated mansion in a windowless bunker, the Feeleepeni registered NUERS whose name tag read J.Li shuddered and withdrew the six-inch large bore needle from the sealed container on the table before him.

Even though he was being paid a fortune -- even by Shepistani standards -- L. didn't like doing this. Each month, he swore that this would be the last time he did it. Then the sweet cash rolled into his bank account and he forgot his oath.

The man lying facedown on the bed before him was Howard Robard Hueg, Jr. -- the richest man in the Loinstar Zone easily.

Founder, Owner and CEO of HUEG ENTERPRISES with the following galaxy-famous subsidaries:


Corporate logo of HUEG AIRCRAFT

• HUEG AIRCRAFT
• HUEG ELECTRONICS
• HUEG MISSILES
• HUEG TOOL COMPANY
• HUEG STARSHIPS
• HUEG WEAPONS
• HUEG GUNS
• HUEG TOYS
• HUEG CASINOS
• HUEG ROBOTICS
• HUEG TRAVEL

Most of their products were sold to the Shepistani and Dominion militaries, and they had a profitable export business reselling Bragulan infantry to human states under the HUEG GUNS brand.

The galaxy thought that Mr Hueg was a fit and healthy socialite who was in excellent shape. The truth was much, much worse.

Following a crash of one of his prototype aircraft, Hueg had become addicted to painkillers. Not just any pain killers. Oh no, the pain he had been in following the H-666 crash was so intense that human medicines could not treat it.

But then came the Bragulans. Their Bragdeine painkillers made the pain go away to a bearable level. The only problem was that one Bragulan Blue Bomber (BBB) had enough Bragdeine in it to kill a normal man.

But Howard Hueg was no normal man. He thrived on the Bragulan Blue Bombers, having become addicted to them during his recovery.

Since he had built up an incredible level of tolerance; the only real side effect, and it was a horribel one, was that it caused unbearable constipations.

Mr. Hueg now only took a shits once a month; and before each shits, he received a Big E -- shorthand in Hueg-speak for Big Enema. But even that was not enough.

For during the month that Mr Hueg did not shits, his shits spent so much time in his large intestine that they turned from the light brown color of the soft shits that normal people shitted forth to an almost-black color that was virtually solid.

So each month, before J.Li administered the Big E, he injected the area around Mr. Hueg's rectum with painkillers, so that the resultant pain from passing the shits was not noticed by the industrialist.

With a grimace on his face, J.Li prepared the six-inch needle and loaded it with potent painkillers. Spreading the industrialist's buttocks, he gazed upon the horrers of the man's inflamed rectum, struggling mightily to keep back a months' worth of shits.

As the needle penetrated the flesh around the rectum, Hueg sighed in pleasure as the Bragpheine began to flow. As the rectum relaxed due to the painkillers, a massive turd...a black thunder came forth, fouling the air in the room with it's horribel stench.

Fighting back the urge to gag, J.Li placed a HUEG brand gas mask on his face and activicated the scrubbers.


Hueg Model H-2121H Gas Mask with integrated hyperspectal vision

Now viewing the world in hyperspectral blue, J.Li placed Class 666 biohazard gloves onto his hands. Once he was gloved up, he withdrew the Big E bag from within the same container he had gotten the large bore needle. The bag was glowing a slight blue from the powerful drugs within.

Taking a deep breath and steeling himself mentally, he pulled the black thunder out of Mr Hueg's rectum and slowly began to insert the Enema tube in; fighting the constipated shits in Hueg's intestines the whole way.

Finally, once it was up to the Red Line on the tube; J.Li closed his eyes and steeled himself for the horrer that was to come when he injected the Enema.

He squeezed on the bag.

And a truly horribel Black thunder was unleashed upon the world.

The shits kept pouring out of Mr. Hueg's grossly distended rectum, though J.Li was not watching. He had watched the first time he did it, thinking his NUERS training would be enough to withstand the image. It wasn't. He had spent the rest of the month in a whorehouse drinking vodka trying to erase that image from his mind. Now he just closed his eyes.

"Doop dee doop ba roop dee doop," hummed Mr. Hueg, signifying that the worst was over. Slowly, J.Li opened his eyes, and sucked in an involuntary breath at the mountain of black thunder that was piled up on the floor. It was a massive...steaming pile of poo that was more appropriate to a Dinosauroid than to a humanoid. Mixed in with the shits was a quite large quantity of blood.

Pulling out the final kit in the container, J.Li removed the synthflesh and began to apply it to Mr. Hueg's torn rectum, healing it from the monthly abuse it endured.

At the end of it all, Mr Hueg stood up, naked to the world and smiled.

He fucking smiled.

"Good work. You know what to do with it. I'll be seeing you next month, same time."

With that, he sauntered out of the room whistling, leaving behind J.Li to clean up the mess.

But first he had to layer it to protect from contamination. Opening up a second box, he withdrew the first of 100 kleenex boxes contained inside it.

Mr. HUEG was quite specific about this. Every square inch of the Black Thunder was to be covered in fifteen layers of kleenex to protect the room from contamination.

Sighing, J.Li set about his task.

[Steve]

Caroline Palace, Cornelia
Kingdom of Cornelia, Arabica, Sector X-13
8 May 3400


Princess Sara had been having a good day. Her father had agreed to waive a death sentence on a mid-level clerk of good competence, she had a good run of exercise in the morning, one of the Republic's border counties had outright threatened to vote for rejoining the Kingdom over a recently-passed tariff that favored another region's intersts, and the latest reports showed the economy had picked up another percent in the year's first quarter. Cornelia's slow road to recovery was continuing.

Now, however, something dark loomed over her. Lady Tabitha was standing quietly before her as Sara read the evidence acquired. "A Computational Intelligence, then?", Sara asked in a hushed tone. "The Asimovians, then?"

"The Asimovians are not... known for having a functioning secretive element to their government," Tabitha pointed out. The nation of CIs was a direct democracy, with all the rowdiness that implied, as well as the difficulties of secrecy (Especially trying to keep secrets as a CI against other CIs). "Though we can't rule out that individual CIs were responsible, whether for payment or affiliation with whomever is responsible."

Sara put her hand on her forehead. "But we're no closer to finding out whom the leak is," she groaned.

"We do know they employ CIs, however, and that their interests are in ensuring the union of Fynn and Tyconia," Tabitha pointed out. "If you wish, Your Royal Highness, I do think we have a possibility of discovering more about them."

"I'm listening," Sara said through narrowed eyes.

"We act again," Tabitha stated. "With a third party as patsies, and in a way to threaten the stability of the planned union. If we are truly lucky, you accomplish your final goal. But even if not, if we provoke this unknown group to act, then we might discover more about who they are... and how you can destroy them."

Sara thought about that for a moment. Low risk, favorable gain, moderate expense. It could work. She'd have to deal with Father, of course... but whatever operation they made could be justified to him, easily, as avenging the attacks on the House of Cornell. "Tell me more about this proposal," Princess Sara said softly.


Server Farm 26, Central Hub 9, Township of Creston
Asimovian Nation, Hobbs, Sector X-13
9 May 3400

The two intelligences had placed just a few gigabytes of data each into the Server, just to look like a temporary borrowing of it for memory. But in truth it was a part of their intelligences that was not simply spare memory but active communications and analysis capabilities.

The server was breached physically, one said.

Agreed, Blue 2, was the reply. We must assume our intervention was compromised. Will you report to Blue 1?

Indeed. The Plan must not be jeopardized. We must discover who is responsible for the breach.

Agreed. Blue 1 can take this to the other High Chroma. An investigation by the local authorities can lead to actionable results for us. There was a pause. What of the other Chroma? Have there been any other issues with the Plan?

None that can be detected.

What about the Princess Sarisa bringing home the Dorei girl?

That is no threat. We will have an agent observing the situation to ensure Druni Jestani does not become a pawn of those opposed to the Plan, Blue 2 assured Blue 3.

Psychological profiles indicate that if she and the Princess become too close, unfavorable political implications could arise, Blue 3 reminded his co-intellect.

Do not worry. The Greens have selected a viable agent to prevent this from happening....

[Simon_Jester]

Kaiser-class Battleship SMS Prinzregent Luitpold
Admiral's Quarters
July 2, 3400

That insufferable brat!

At the previous meeting, on the first of the month, Admiral Gregor von Mückenberger had been able to keep the upstart young battlecruiser commander under control. Today had been much worse. The boy had been polite, but his questions had been incessant and irritating; it was worse than talking to a Umerian naval attaché on a sugar rush... "So, in light of the tanker schedule, can we perhaps spare a cruiser force for this target?" "Do we not need to stage reconnaissance-in-force operations against nearby systems, to ensure there are no reinforcements lurking there?"

Worst of all: "Perhaps we could detach light-ship only forces..." Did young von Musel have no common sense? The admiral growled. It would be another week or more before the operation kicked off, and the prospect of having to deal with the upstart at future conferences was already exhausting him.

Perhaps we can deal with him in some other way...

Mückenberger pivoted his chair slightly to face the computer terminal, and called his chief of staff, who nodded in respect. The staffer's greeting was thickly accented; the man had never overcome the strange New Austrian dialect spoken on the minor moonlet he'd grown up on. But from long practice, Mückenberger had learned to interpret his words.

"What is it, sir?"

"What do you think of young Reinhard?"

"...He is an irritating little girly-man, who talks big but will break like a twig in real confrontation."

That was the thing about Arnold. The Neu Steiermarker could always be counted on to be direct and forceful, striking to the heart of the matter with commendable determination. A very stout fellow to have planning military operations.

"I am trying to think of a way to keep him from becoming too much of a nuisance over the next week, but I must be careful. He has... influence in high places." That was understating matters. It was damned awkward dealing with someone so arrogant under the circumstances. If he'd had a questionable performance record he could be slapped down easily enough. Even with Reinhard's record, his out of line behavior would have been easily controlled normally... but how do you control a man whose sister is privy to the Kaiser's pillow talk?

That relationship was a discreet secret among high social circles in the League, and Reinhard himself did not make a point of it so far as Mückenberger could tell, but it was still there, lurking in the background. August Wilhelm II was no absolute monarch or tyrant, but he took an almost excessive interest in the Navy, constantly poking about in the Admiralty Staff's affairs... and to keep him from asking awkward questions, Mückenberger would have to handle young Reinhard carefully.

Still, though, the boy was not invulnerable.

"I think I have the germ of an idea, Arnold. Perhaps the best thing would be to give him what he wants, stand back, and let him choke."

"I don't understand, sir."

"He makes trouble because he wants minor offensives with a fraction of our total force, and doesn't care if he draws away from the decisive blow. Personally, I think he just wants the credit for a battlefield success of his own from this campaign. He's risen too far, too fast, to be explained by anything but an Alexander complex. So if we give him what looks like a chance at glory..."

"But really we give him a chance to get his ass kicked?"

"What? God in Heaven no, we don't want risk getting him killed or the like; we certainly don't want to risk losing capital ships this close to the operation. I'm thinking of just getting him out from underfoot, under circumstances that will keep him from pulling off an easy victory. After all, we do need to husband our supplies carefully; I wonder what the Golden Boy will do if he is told he can go a-raiding if he wants, but is offered only, say, seven hundred fuel canisters for the operation?"

"Uh, sir? He could barely reach half the targets on the list with that much."

"Exactly. He'd need more fuel in hand to fight effectively when he gets there. So what will he do? Will he hit an inconsequential target, when he wants a victory he can take real credit for? I think not. Will he take a smaller force to the target and risk a humiliating stalemate or defeat at the hands of pirates? Again, I think not. Or will he demonstrate that his desire for military glory trumps his common sense, try to bring his full force... and then be reined in by senior officers who recognize the risk he's taking? Perhaps- I hope so; that would be best."

"I don't know, sir. He might not fall for it."

"Oh, possibly. But in that case, what's he going to do? Turn around and say that raids against secondary targets aren't such a good plan after all? That will make him look like a fool and a coward, and he knows it. No, this will get him out of my hair. Either he'll be off raiding, he'll be too busy trying to figure out how to fight a battle on minimal resources to bother anyone, or he'll decline and his credibility will be shot through."

"As a plan to shut him up, it might work, sir. Shall I put together a list of supplies for your plan?"

"Please do, Arnold."

---

Valkyrie-class Battlecruiser SMS Brunhild
Admiral's Quarters
July 2, 3400

Siegfried Kircheis had known the news wouldn't go over well with Reinhard. He was still taken aback a bit when the admiral snarled and slammed his fist down on his desk.

"With one breath he gives me permission to stage a raid. With the next, he refuses to release the fuel to get there and back! Intolerable!"

How to get him over this and back to battle plans? "Ah, I haven't done any detailed calculations, but I believe we could still reach Targets Two, Four, and Seven... in reduced force."

"Hah. 'Reduced.' I could get half my forces to Two and back, at most, given that they need fuel in hand to fight once they get there. No more than seven ships to Four or Seven, unless I keep all my cruisers here... Tempting, but no. That's not a raiding force, that's a reconnaissance."

"Will you be calling off the operation, then?" That will not look good on the record.

"That would be playing into Mückenberger's hands. Nor can I simply appeal for more resources- I don't want him to be able to say that I refused to work with what I was given. Not when he controls the fleet's inventory management... ah. Kircheis, from what you said he will release adequate amounts of ammunition, so that the main operational constraint is fuel."

"We'll be short on guided railgun rounds, but he has 'generously' released plenty of extra dumb rounds and shrapnel shells to compensate."

"Such generosity; remind me to stay off his Christmas gift list. Still, we can make do with proper target selection. Three or Five would be ideal, but we can't reach either of them and fight a battle on this fuel budget. It all comes back to the matter of fuel."

"You have something devious in mind, don't you?"

"I might, my friend, I might. I imagine our valiant allies have grown quite frustrated with Mückenberger's delays and the fleet's logistics problems."

Too true. Siegfried shook his head. "Many of the Second Fleet personnel complain that the other Coalition personnel are showing contempt. I suspect we could extrapolate that up the chain to the top ranks."

"Perhaps, then, they might be willing to cooperate. Kircheis, I want you to try to contact our allies' frontline logistics people. Try and sweet-talk them into extending us some fuel for combat operations. I'll have an estimate to aim for in a few minutes."

"I doubt they'll make promises in a few minutes over the visiplate."

"No, but they will inform their superiors of our situation. We don't actually need that much: the margin between a viable operation and an impractical one can be very slim."

"Yes, sir. I'll look into it."

Reinhard smiled- he looked tired, but happier now. "Thank you, Kircheis."

---

Patriot-class Heavy Cruiser USS Layla Daniels
Flagship Second Intervention Task Force
July 3, 3400

Vice Admiral Wenli Yang rubbed the back of his neck. "So what do you think, Alex?"

The chief of logistics shrugged. "Sir, I'm still trying to wrap my brain around the idea of a Prussian with initiative, let alone one going outside official channels to make an operation work."

"They're not all that bad, you know."

Dustin Attenborough, Yang's screen commander and (not coincidentally) one of his oldest friends, was in attendance at the staff meeting this time. He chuckled. "But you must admit, Wenli, that such an active strain of Prussian is a rare specimen, even an endangered one. Perhaps we should be thinking about conservation efforts."

Alex's eyes were distant. "...Maybe. From what his aide sent out, they're being set up to fail, expected to operate on a shoestring in fuel and ammunition. I don't know what they've got planned to keep ammo under control, but fuel is one area where we could help them if we wanted to. Wastage has been lower than expected; we could spare about three hundred units of fuel, and while our antimatter containers aren't fully compatible with their systems, it's easy enough to field-improvise a way around. There's a technical note from Fourth Battlecruiser Division on that recently- looking at running fuel from their canisters into our tanks and not the other way round, but I think it's doable."

Wenli nodded. "Fyodor, can you pull up some figures on their fuel usage? How much good would three hundred units do them?"

The bulky intelligence officer nodded slowly and smiled. "I think it's on here already..." He tapped through file directories for a moment. "Ha! Best-guess consumption figures for the Valkyrie-class, the Z-1240 series, and the F-2515 series. Hmm. Three hundred units is..." Fyodor's lips moved slightly as he did a rough calculation. "Not too amazingly much, but it's the difference between being worryingly short on fuel for a major combat operation and having a reasonable margin of error."

"Thanks."

"Just doing my job, sir."

"In that case, if a Prussian cruiser commander wants to attack a mutual enemy, I think we can afford to encourage him this time. Alex, can you write off the surplus fuel without making trouble for us down the line?"

"I'll think of something."

"All right, then. Next order of business..."

---

SMS Brunhild
Operations Room
July 3, 3400

Konteradmiral Reinhard von Musel's eyes flicked up from the enemy ship profiles he'd been looking over when the door chime announced his aide's arrival. Perhaps now he has news of the fuel project?

"So tell me, Kircheis, how goes the scrounging?"

"I haven't been able to get in touch with the Atlanteans. The Umerians are willing to pass on some fuel to us; the Centralists likewise from their own large fuel depots. Appealing to Tianguo for antimatter would be a waste of time. From Naval Intelligence, the Eoghan don't even use fuel for starship-scale operations- they have some kind of perpetual motion machine that no one's been able to reverse-engineer."

"I find that hard to believe."

"So do I, but there are too many converging lines of evidence. No mistake. In any case, between the Centralists and the Umerians, our fuel reserves increase to within ten percent of the level you were aiming for."

"Good enough. We'll go after Target Three, the extraction facility. Call our new friends in; I need to make sure of them."

Not only would Reinhard have to brief the Flottenkapitäne on his plan; he would have to be sure they were competent to carry out complex tasks while operating independently. He'd known too many officers who expected all initiative to come from above, making them useless on their own. It was a particular problem among the destroyers and frigates, where officers were normally discouraged from being too aggressive. Doctrine bound light starships close to the battleline, both tactically and strategically, and that taught many officers bad habits.

Reinhard hadn't yet had a chance to talk in depth with the commanders of the light-ship flotillas assigned to screen his own battlecruisers. From their records, he had some hopes for the two Second Fleet officers- their personnel files were laced with phrases like "aggressive almost beyond reason" and "prone to confrontation with Staff planners." Those were typically promising. But he would have to talk to them in person to be sure they had the flexibility and resourcefulness he needed. If they weren't up to his preferred plan, he would have to greatly simplify his tactics to avoid reliance on a weak tool.

He hoped he wouldn't be disappointed, but had no great confidence. Such hopes had been dashed before many times.

---

Kircheis escorted the flotilla-captains in. The two men walked into the room side by side, came to a stop a respectful distance from the admiral, and saluted. Returning the salute, Reinhard took a moment to size them up physically, without the distractions of a large-scale fleet meeting or the limitations of a remote conference.

Mittenmeyer of the 23rd Frigate Flotilla didn't give much of a first impression either way. Dark blond hair, ruddy complexion, on the stocky side but obviously in good physical condition: fairly typical Prussian stock. His personnel file made him out to be some kind of berserker, but it didn't show on his face. Instead, he seemed relatively cheerful, with a certain lively intelligence about him. Still, though, there was nothing about him to draw a second glance on the street.

Reuental of the 11th Destroyer Flotilla was more striking, particularly his eyes. Blue eyes were common enough in Prussia, as were brown, but one normally didn't see one of each on the same face. Past that, though, Reuental was several centimeters taller and rather slimmer than his fellow flotilla-captain, with a cold cast to his pale features that suggested deep personal bitterness. That was familiar enough to Reinhard; it reminded him of what he saw every day in the mirror, after his endless struggles with the ship-of-fools nonsense that passed for authority and doctrine among the Fleet.

"Greetings, captains. I have called you here to discuss my plan for the attack on Target Three."

Mittenmeyer nodded. "The extraction facility."

"Indeed." He thumbed a button on a small remote control, and the main display in the operations room lit up to show a zoomed out image of a small planetary system orbiting a minor red dwarf about fifteen light years from Zebes.

"The facility is here, in the trailing Trojan point of the third planet." The display zoomed in to center on the cloud of gravitationally bound rocks in question. "Located in the thickest part of the debris field, the surrounding volume contains numerous asteroids in the ten to hundred meter scale, and some close-packed slag piles ranging up to a kilometer in size. From signal interceptions, we infer that we're looking at much the same technical palette seen at Hawk's Nest." Wait for it... Reinhard said nothing for a moment.

The frigate commander was first to speak. "So, we should watch for defense fighters in the debris field?" He glanced to Reuental, who nodded slightly.

"Or missile platforms. For a permanent installation, those would be better."

Good. It wasn't the deduction so much that made him mentally revise his estimate of the two Flottenkapitäne upward from "guilty until proven competent" to "adequate until proven good." The inference was obvious, after all. The promising part was that they weren't just sitting there and expecting him to feed it the situation to them entirely: a common vice among screen officers who took their "duty to ward and follow the capital ships" a bit too much to heart.

Reinhard continued. "Yes. There might also be an enemy light-starship force operating out of the system. Difficult to say, as the Coalition has done fewer recon sweeps these past few weeks. Probably no more than half a dozen hulls."

This time it was Reuental who asked the question. "Which do you consider to be the main target of the operation?"

"The ships, the challenge being to isolate and destroy them separately from fixed defenses or fighters attached to the facility itself."

The corners of the tall man's mouth folded upwards slightly in a thin-lipped smile. "Thank you, sir." Perhaps they are trying to evaluate me as I am judging them. It wasn't an uncommon problem in the Imperial Navy, after all, and the need to be sure of the competence of the men one worked with cut both ways.

"In any case, gentlemen, I believe my plan allows us to destroy both targets and escape the system before possible reinforcements arrive from Zebes, if we stage the operation correctly..."

That was the start of thirty minutes of rapid-fire discussion between himself, Kircheis, and the two flotilla-captains. After the final stage was prepared, Mittermeyer nodded slowly. "I have one thing to say about this plan. Compared to all official doctrine, it is quite unorthodox."

What, he turns into a doctrinaire NOW? Reinhard suppressed the urge to grit his teeth. "And this is a problem?"

"Quite the opposite, sir. It is a pleasure watching you at work."

From the corner of his eye, he saw Kircheis let out an unobtrusive breath- a sigh of relief, most likely. "Thank you, captain. So long as we are on the subject of unorthodox activities, I have a specific task for each of you tomorrow, beyond the planning for the attack on Target Three proper. Allow me to explain..."

[Shinn Langley Soryu]

Warning: Hitchhikers May Be Escaping Heretics
Cananaan system
27 June 3400

"So, mind explaining just what the fuck's going on?" Mr. Aoba asked as he and the rest of the group attempted to exit Terminal Dogma.

"Long story short, Terminal Dogma's a weapon, and our boss just fired it," Ms. Shikinami replied tersely. "You certainly don't want to be anywhere near it when it finally goes off. The Byzantines and Klavostanis have probably gotten the hint as well, and they're gonna want out of here too. Only problem is, we're in their way."

"Shouldn't they be more concerned with, well, getting out rather than hunting down--" Ms. Ibuki said before she was cut off by a burst of rifle fire from a Klavostani jihadi stationed at the stairwell leading back up to Central Dogma and the rest of the complex.

"Infidels! You won't be getting out of here alive!" the jihadi cried out.

Ms. Shikinami took out her own sidearm and put down the jihadi with a double tap to the chest. "Correction: You won't be getting out alive," she quipped as she walked over to the jihadi, shot him once more in the head, and picked up his rifle. "Once we're back up in Central Dogma, grab whatever weapons you want from the corpses. You'll definitely be needing them."

Mr. Aoba, Mr. Hyuga, and Ms. Ibuki nodded as they followed Ms. Shikinami up the stairs. Once they were back up in Central Dogma, they set about to the decidedly unsavory task of looting the dead for their weapons. After obtaining what they needed, they exited Central Dogma and made their way into the rest of the research...with a mob of angry Byzantines and Klavostanis hot on their heels and even more Byzantines and Klavostanis blocking their way out.



"You'll rot in hell for what you've wrought here, heretic scum!" a group of three Byzantine crusaders blocking a hallway cried out in unison as they attempted to unload their rifles and pistols on Ms. Shikinami and the three technicians.

"You first," Mr. Aoba said grimly as he fired his own rifle, taking out one of the crusaders blocking his path. "We still got our lives ahead of us, and we certaintly ain't gonna bite it here!" He took down the other two crusaders with several more bursts from his rifle before moving out with the rest of the group.

Surprisingly, Ms. Shikinami and the techies' escape from the Terminal Dogma research facility was going smoothly. Too smoothly, in fact. Resistance from the Byzantine and Klavostani forces left in the complex kept decreasing as they ascended up to ground level, while the mob of crusaders and jihadis attempting to retreat kept slipping further and further behind. "Something's definitely wrong here," Mr. Hyuga spoke up. "Why have they stopped fighting back?"

"Are you seriously asking that?!" Mr. Aoba interjected. "You should be glad they aren't fighting back! That means we can actually get out of here in one piece!"

Alas, things would not be as simple as that. There was something far more sinister coming into play, as the activation of Terminal Dogma was starting to have unexpected consequences for all involved. While it was clear from both Mr. Rokubungi's detailed analysis and the superstitious whisperings of the natives that it was a weapon of unimaginably great power, it was far more than just a mere planet killer. It was not enough to just trigger an extinction-level event; it had to emit a psionic disruption field capable of inducing hallucinations and psychosis in any and all sentient beings within close proximity for a set period of time, then cripple any remaining sentients in a set radius around the weapon with a second psionic disruption pulse before finally going off. The mysterious precursor race that had occupied Cananaan long before the arrival of the first humans certainly did not believe in doing anything halfway.

The effects of the disruption field first manifested themselves in the form of a single voice. It started out soft, practically inaudible. Only a few of the Byzantines and Klavostanis were able to hear it at first, and they paid no heed to its ramblings. Within short order, however, the voice grew louder, and its utterances steadily became more disjointed and surreal as more and more people started to hear it...

"Mountains. Heavy are the mountains, but that changes with the passage of time. Sky, blue sky. What your eyes can't see. What your eyes can see. The sun. One, only one. Water. It is agreeable. Commander Ikari. Flowers. So many the same. So many without purpose. Sky. Sky of red. Red the color, the color I hate. The liquid flows, it drips, ripples and pours. Blood. Scent of blood. A woman who does not bleed. From the red soil the humans come. Humans made by man and woman. City, a human creation. Eva, a human creation as well. What are humans? Are they creations of God? Humans, that which is created by humans. This is that which is mine, my life, my heart. I am a vessel for my thoughts. The Entry Plug, a throne for the soul. Who is this? This is me. Who am I? What am I? What am I? What am I? I am I. This object that is, is myself. That which forms, is me. This is the self that can be seen, and yet this is not like that which is myself. A strange feeling. My body feels as if it is melting. I can no longer see myself. My form, my shape fades from view. Awareness dawns of someone who is not me. Who is here, there, beyond me here? Shinji? This person I know, Major Katsuragi. Dr. Akagi. People, my classmates. The pilot of Unit Two. Commander Ikari? Who are you? Who are you? Who are you?"

"Who's Commander Ikari? What's an Eva? What's an Entry Plug? Who's Shinji? Who are Major Katsuragi and Dr. Akagi?"

"Who am I? Who are you? Why are you in my head?"

"Stop it! Stop it! Stop it! Just stop talking!"

"Shut up, shut up, shut up! Get your voice out of my damn head!"

Alas, the true insanity was only starting, as the single voice soon expanded into an entire chorus. The initial voice kept repeating its own monologue over and over as the rest of voices began spouting more and more deranged utterances, chipping away at the minds of the Byzantines and Klavostanis as they were treated to a montage of truly inscrutable visions. A 14-year-old boy wanking over the unconscious body of a 14-year-old girl, the raid on the Terminal Dogma facility being replayed from the outside, a large machine resembling a stylized Byzantine Titan fighting a pitched battle against gargantuan Karlack bioforms, an emaciated albino girl appearing in random locations...

"Is this a sign from God? What is it He is trying to tell us? What would He have us do?"

"Karlacks?! On Cananaan?! Who brought them here?! We must inform King Guynald at once!"

"Man, if this is what the future looks like, it's definitely fucked up..."

"Why won't you stop talking?! Please, for the love of God, silence!"

Due to the ever-intensifying effects of the psionic disruption field, the Byzantines and Klavostanis were effectively incapacitated by the endless nattering of the voices in their heads. Some remained catatonic all throughout, their minds utterly overwhelmed by the intensity of their hallucinations. Others began acting out in increasingly bizarre ways, speaking in tongues, spouting non sequiturs, and engaging in indescribable behaviors as their visions became more vivid and disturbing...

"My body armor is choking my tummy and my guts, which is where my brains are!"

"There's little Imperial Guard soldiers looking for my skin!"

"I'm aware of my tongue!"

"I believe I'm an Arcturan Megaturkey. I'm an Arcturan Megaturkey. I'm an Arcturan Megaturkey. I'm an, I'm an Arcturan Megaturkey. I believe I am an Arcturan Megaturkey."

"Excalibur! Excalibur! From the United King, I'm looking for heaven, I'm going to California! Excalibur! Excalibur! From the United King, I'm looking for heaven, I'm going to California..."

"I don't need anyone else! I have...BIG BALLS! In less than five minutes, we'll reach Vader's Death Star. George Bush will be released into the atmosphere, ensuring complete...global...PENETRATION. Ensuring complete...global...MASTURBATION. Ensuring complete...global...CASTRATION. Oh, fuck it! We'll do it live! WE'LL DO IT LIVE!"

"Nein Mann, ich will noch nicht Geh'n, ich will noch 'n bischen Tanzen..."

"Get down! Yuyeru mawaru fureru setsunai kimochi, futari de issho ni nemeru winter land, anata dake mitsumete, watashi dake mitsumete, ashita wo chikau..."

Of course, there were those who simply snapped. A few turned their rage in on themselves, clawing out their eyes, ripping off their earlobes, and mutilating themselves with their bare hands before putting themselves out of their self-inflicted misery by shooting themselves. Others lashed out against their comrades, screaming curses and obscenities as they opened fire; once they ran out of ammo, they proceeded to use their rifles and pistols as improvised bludgeons against anyone still moving.

The chaos wrought by the effects of the disruption field would ensure that few, if any, of the Byzantines or Klavostanis would make it out alive. Of course, Ms. Shikinami or the three technicians were equally prone to its effects. Ms. Shikinami's mind was hit particularly hard, as she began to hallucinate that her comrades were giant penguins before getting an overwhelming urge to strip right in the middle of the hallway. Mr. Aoba, Mr. Hyuga, and Ms. Ibuki's respective reactions were downright mild by comparison, as they were limited merely to freaking out over imaginary giant demonic rabbits, levitating zombie fetuses, and human-headed snakes attacking them from all directions.

Even though the psionic disruption field was designed to shut off after a set period of time, its effects would continue to linger for significantly longer. Indeed, it was quite a while before Ms. Shikinami, the technicians, and the few surviving Byzantines and Klavostanis finally came back to their senses. Still reeling from the effects of their temporary psychosis, they resumed their attempts to get out before Terminal Dogma finally went off and killed them all. However, they would have to be very quick about it, for the entire complex and its surroundings were soon to be sterilized...

"How much longer before this place finally goes up?!" Mr. Aoba asked.

"I can't be sure! We still need to hurry!" Ms. Shikinami replied as she led the techies up one final stairwell to ground level. All they needed to do now was to find a vehicle, which was surprisingly easier than expected; the Byzantines and Klavostanis had mostly bypassed the motor pool during their initial advance, leaving several vehicles for Ms. Shikinami and the techies to use for their escape attempt...



The M23 Force Application Vehicle, commonly referred to as the Puma, was a light combat vehicle jointly designed by the Shinra Republic and the Holy Empire of Haruhi Suzumiya. Though superceded by the M720 Super Puma in Shinra and Haruhiist service, large numbers of Pumas remained in service with minor militaries and private users throughout the K-Zone and beyond, a testament to the design's hardiness, dependability, and basic quality. Pumas were particularly common on Cananaan, where they were used heavily by all three sides of the ongoing sectarian conflict; the Byzantines and Klavostanis had brought a few with them as troop transports and fire support for their raid on the Terminal Dogma complex. Pumas were also operated by Mr. Rokubungi's mercenaries, with a few still left in the motor pool; it was a trivial matter for Ms. Shikinami and the techies to take one of them for their own use and make a break for it, though they were soon noticed by some of the Byzantine and Klavostani soldiers left on the surface, who proceeded to give chase with their own Pumas.

"Gun it! Gun it!" Ms. Ibuki yelled hysterically.

Mr. Aoba, now the designated driver of the group, gritted his teeth as he slammed his foot on the accelerator. "I'm already going as fast as it'll let me! Damn thing should've been maintained better!"

Energy bolts burned black marks into the Puma's chassis as caseless rifle fire richocheted off it. Mr. Hyuga and Ms. Shikinami attempted to return fire with their own weapons, only to run out of ammo after only a few seconds of burst fire. "I'm out!" Mr. Hyuga called out as he put down his rifle and checked his sidearm. "Still got two rounds left here, though."

Ms. Shikinami put down her rifle and checked her sidearm as well. "One in the chamber."

Ms. Ibuki inspected her own pistol. "I'm out."

"All these guns in here, and don't none of y'all got no bullets?!" Mr. Aoba said.

"LOOK OUT!" Ms. Ibuki yelled.



A lone Byzantine crusader aimed a rocket launcher and opened fire. While the rocket went far from its target and failed to destroy the escaping Puma, it made enough of a distraction to cause Mr. Aoba to nearly crash as he attempted to evade it, though he was able to get the vehicle back under control. "Everyone okay back there?!" he called out.

"I've been better," Mr. Hyuga replied.

"Well, suck it up, 'cause we're in for some chop!" Mr. Aoba said as he gunned the accelerator once more, taking the Puma directly through the cordon of vehicles the Byzantines and Klavostanis had assembled around the Terminal Dogma facility. He drove like an utter madman as he attempted to weave through the enemy vehicles and evade their fire. Despite taking a few direct hits from lasers, caseless rifles, and a railgun, the Puma was still able to hold up as it made its way to one last destination...



A relatively short distance away from Terminal Dogma, the Byzantines and Klavostanis had set up a field HQ for their latest attempt to take the holy site from Mr. Rokubungi. Due to the field base's size, the mercenaries had ultimately decided not to stage a preemptive strike, preferring instead to dig in and let the crusaders and jihadis come to them; however, with the majority of its forces sent out to take Terminal Dogma, the base itself was now only lightly guarded. Ms. Shikinami and the technicians had no real intention of actually fighting the few people left there, though; all they wanted to do was escape, and they knew that they could easily obtain a transport craft there to get them out.

The battered Puma came to an abrupt stop out on the field HQ's hastily paved landing pad, where four CV-77A Pelican dropships were waiting. Like the Puma, these craft were an earlier model of a type jointly developed and operated by the Shinra Republic and Holy Empire of Haruhi Suzumiya; after they were replaced by improved models (in this case, the CV-77E and CV-77K "Super" Pelicans), they were sold off to various smaller militaries and private users, including the Byzantines and Klavostanis on Cananaan. Ms. Shikinami and the technicians were going to make themselves the proud owners of one of these dropships, and nothing was going to stop them.

"Intruders! They're heading for the Pelicans!" a Klavostani base guard cried out as he spotted Ms. Shikinami and the technicians disembarking from the Puma. Mr. Hyuga silenced him with the two remaining rounds in his pistol, tossed the empty weapon, and took the guard's rifle. "You know how to pilot one of these things, Mr. Aoba?" he asked.

"Yeah, but it was a long time ago," Mr. Aoba replied. "I'm sure I still remember--"

Mr. Aoba was cut off by the sound of boots marching on pavement. The rest of the base guards were going to be gunning for them soon. "Go and get one of the birds started! We'll try and cover you!" Ms. Shikinami ordered.

"Right!" Mr. Aoba said as he ran towards the nearest Pelican; Ms. Ibuki accompanied him, as she would be useless during the upcoming firefight by virtue of her being unarmed. Once they were in the cockpit, Mr. Aoba promptly rushed through the startup procedures, calling on Ms. Ibuki to assist when needed; they were in the middle of going through the preflight checklist when they heard the sounds of rifle fire from outside.

"Don't you people ever quit?!" Mr. Hyuga yelled as he retreated towards the Pelican's troop bay, firing off bursts from his rifle as he went. Ms. Shikinami lined up a shot with her pistol and took down a charging Klavostani jihadi with her last round before tossing the weapon and making a break for the dropship, closing the bay doors and entrance ramp behind her as she went in.

"How much longer?!" Ms. Shikinami called out.

"Just a few seconds more! We're almost done here!" Mr. Aoba replied. "Okay, now we just press these buttons here on the dash, and here...we...GO!"

The Pelican's engines roared to life as the craft began lifting off from the landing pad. The Byzantine and Klavostani soldiers kept firing futilely at the craft as it continued to gain altitude. "Now would be a very good time to leave!" Ms. Shikinami said as she and Mr. Hyuga strapped themselves into the passengers' seats. "PUNCH! THAT! SHIT!"

"Shit's already punched, ma'am!" Mr. Aoba said as he maxed out the throttle. Ms. Ibuki barely had any time to settle into the co-pilot's seat before she was jerked back by the sudden acceleration of the Pelican as it ascended into Cananaan's stratosphere.

The soldiers on the ground looked down in disappointment before slinging their rifles back onto their shoulders. However, as they walked back towards their makeshift barracks, they found themselves struck down by a truly massive and overpowering wave of psionic force. As they lost consciousness, the last thing they saw was an image of a giant, winged albino woman standing over them...



Shortly afterwards, Terminal Dogma went up in a brilliant flash, destroying itself and everything else within an 89 km radius.

[Fingolfin_Noldor]

Nova Genoa

Nova Genoa lay within the Western Command of the Imperial Armed Forces, and was thus also under the supervision of the Ultramarines Legion. When contact with Nova Genoa was lost, the Western Command, centered at Thessaloniki, had ordered a scout shuttle to head to the world to determine the cause of the loss of contact. When the transmission from Flash Stalin was received, the Western Command recalled the shuttle, and instead ordered the nearest battlegroup, headed by the Ultramarines Strike Cruiser Aetheon, to respond. The Ultramarines were also ordering another battlegroup, led by the other Ultramarines Strike Cruiser Hyperion, to respond, but it was likely that the Hyperion battlegroup would not respond in time. Regardless, the Aetheon battlegroup lept into the Warp, heading towards their target at maximum Warp velocity. Whether they could save the world, was anyone’s guess.



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

On Nova Genoa, it rained from the stars. The Karlack fleet rained spores from space, and landed troops onto the ground. The spores, which gained a notoriety during the Imperium-Karlack war, were changing the landscape, corrupting the fauna, and changing it fundamentally, and thoroughly. Spikes were growing on plants, and sickly green thorny vines were wrapping themselves around many a tree and appeared to be strangling them.

Anti-orbital plasma lances and photon lances lit the sky amidst the falling spores. Some Karlack ships were struck, forcing them to withdraw, while some troop vessels were set afire, sending them crashing down and burning. But there were too many, and no matter how frantic the firing was, with their barrels white hot, there was no way the Imperial garrison could stop all the troop ships from landing. What was left of the population was forced into a quarantined area within the base to prevent any more infiltrations by possible Karlack sympathizers. The bodies of the saboteurs were taken for further analysis and double guard was placed on sensitive areas. The Imperial garrison readied to fight off the Karlacks, even to the death if need be. Void shield generators were check and rechecked to make sure they extended well underground, especially given the Karlacks’ penchant for digging underground. Tank battalions sallied forth to fight off concentrations of Karlacks that had landed. If the Imperial garrison was to fight and die, they would make a glorious end of it.

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

In space, the Aetheon battlegroup emerged from the Warp a distance from Nova Genoa. High Captain Scipio Actium paced about the bridge in his Terminator Armor and stared at the hologram. Turning to the communication officer, he told him through the neural network, “Open a channel to Brigadier Stalin.”

“Aye, M’Lord.”

“Brigadier Flash Stalin, this is High Captain Scipio Actium of the Ultramarines Legion. You have our thanks and gratitude for the message sent and we are moving to support. High Captain Scipio Actium out.”

Turning to the helmsman, the Ultramarine High Captain instructed, “Helmsman, proceed along this vector at flank speed,” the High Captain gestured on the hologram, “and instruct the rest of the fleet to follow and to assume Arrow head formation.”

Turning to the weapons officer, “Weapons officer, prime the Warp cannons and the nova cannon. Instruct the fleet to fire long range weapons and synchronize with us. Scutum defence systems to engage in standard assault and defensive algorithms.”

With that the ships assumed an arrowhead formation with the Ultramarine Strike Cruiser in the lead. With the Solarian warships hard pressed against the superior numbers of the Karlack warships, the Imperial warships sought to strike the exposed flank of the Karlack fleet and to link up with the Solarian warships. Gravitic drives went up to full power, driving the fleet forward at high acceleration and as soon as the ships got into range, they let lose a fierce cannonade of weapons. Following the flagship’s lead, the ships targeted individual Karlack ships one by one, particularly the ships escorting the World Eater mothership. By drawing off the escorts of the mothership, the Imperial ships hope to divert the attention of the Karlack fleet and grant the Solarians a breather and a chance to fight back. By all standards, this was going to be a close fight.

[Akhlut]

Tlali News Bulletin!
Physicists at the prestigious University of Metz have recently contacted their colleagues in Umeria to tell them that the arrival of yet more humans in the form of the MEH seems to confirm their hypothesis that Tlali was the original planet, and that all human-bearing earths are the result of unusual spatial phenomena that brings them to this universe. More tests will need to be conducted to confirm this, but the scientists of the NenAltKik are positive that they will be vindicated on the matter.

Deep Space: Sector 28 C

A message is repeated all over the galaxy: Hello! We would like to establish diplomatic relations with your people! Please send us coordinates for our Ambassadors, or send your own.

Łichíí looked upon the message from the MEH with some disdain.

"This seems to be lunacy. They broadcast this message without doing some basic intel first? So near to the Orks, and the announcement that a human empire just burst in from the aether will undoubtedly draw the Collectors like flies to shit. No, we shall not contact them, lest the taint of the Collectors is drawn to us as well."

[Shroom Man 777]

City of Atuvir, Faust
The Centrality
August 3400



IBGV agent, official diplomatic liaison, and esper tournament 'forward observer', Azamat Bragatov forwardly observed the Esper Tournament festivities. It was a spectacular sight. The fireworks the Centralites had prepared for the event weren't silly little humanoid missiles that burned harmlessly in the air. No, for instead to show their might and in keeping with the notion of the Esper Games, the fireworks were psychokinetic ones performed by Centralite pyrokineticists to shock and awe their foreign challengers on the eve of the games.



Some of the Centralite athletes began buzzing the stadium, suspending themselves midair through sheer telekinetic might while propelling themselves at dazzling speeds. They rode inert objects which they levitated and telekinetically paddled with their magical abilities. Then, in honor of the guests and foreign teams participating in this tournament, they began casting images of ethereal ectoplasmic light dedicated to the nations partaking in the Esper Games. They began by creating a dancing green leprechaun representing New Anglia, before moving on to create other phantasms for the other nations.



"Ooooh!" went the crowds of people, up to and including some foreigners who came to watch their nations' athletes play ball. Quite a few of the spectators were espers themselves, while others were non-espers too, otherwise known as 'neurotypicals' or 'muggles'. There were even some squibs, and squids. They were all equally awed by the pyrotechnic psychokinetic displays the Centralites were putting up. "Aaahhh!"

Agent Azamat Bragatov was also having a good time. Not only were the super spectacle sights spectacular, but he was also getting PKE readings off the charts. He was recording humanoid psychokinetic energies and ectoplasms wherever he went, and the pretty lightshow the Centralites had put up was just the beginning. The real fun began with the actual games, as monitoring the various humanoids and other alienoids play psychokinetic games with one another provided him a whole treasure trove of data to mine. The first event, spoon bending, also known as Psykokinetic Manipulation and Psychoflexing, provided some excellent telekinetic telemetries with the various athletes displaying their psycho-flexitive powers.

Then, disaster struck. An athlete named Rapeweed, who was one of those who demonstrated in the psychoflexing, was later found in a mentally unsound state after a mass delivery of General Sheppard GAYSBRO action figures. This proved distracting to quite a few athletes, with even some reacting rather violently to these shipments. In the end, thousands of these General Sheppard action figures wounded up being used as target practice, and most had brushed it off as an amusing attempt at dickery by the Shepistanis, amusing but harmless. Nonetheless, it was still having a disruptive and distracting effect on the games, and the Centrality's security apparatus stepped up their security measures.

But the show, as they say, went on.

After the Ranoidean athlete bested the Umerian in Scan and Counter, the next event was telekinetic dueling where a blonde-haired blue-eyed Prussian esper faced off against a bespectacled brown-haired Anglian athlete. The Prussian did some trash talk, insinuating the blood-purity of the Anglian and asking if he was "scared, Potter?", but the Anglian athlete merely brushed it off aside and replied with "you wish". The Anglian athlete, though very young, had already borne the marks of battle in the form of a lightning-shaped scared on his forehead.



The Anglian managed to disarm the Prussian in a feat of psionic fencing, and the Prussian's wand clattered on the floor harmlessly. The Prussian swore at the Anglian, muttering something about mudbloods and going on about how he would avenge the house Von Slitherer or whatever before running away.

That was it for the day, and Azamat Bragatov went off his way. With no more events until tomorrow, he took his time to wander around the city of Atuvir, Faust. As he did so, he took down mental and non-mental notes about his surroundings, mentally calculating how many megadeaths a Bragnuke would cause if they airbursted in a dispersed formation whilst their blastwaves interacted with one another to incur maximum fatalities. A lot of Bragulans did this in their spare time, particularly those Bragulans who went to Shepistan. The Shepistanis even manufactured Brag-sized Cunta hand-cranked calculators for megadeath-hobbyist Bragulans.

Anyway, as Bragatov wandered around the city, his thoughts went from thermonuclear war to something more like that of a normal tourist traveling in a foreign land. Bragatov found himself getting comfortable in Atuvir. He wondered why, and soon found out when he saw some Centralite police officers stick-beating a random person in the street. The person had been carrying a banner denouncing the Central State and calling an end for the curfew or something - had, because now he was too busy eating stick to carry that banner of his.

The citizen staggered around.



"Pick up that banner, citizen!" the Centralite officer barked. The citizen feebly picked up his fallen banner. Then the Centralite officer hit him again. "That's what you get for bringing anti-state materials! Pick that banner up again! Comply! Comply!"

The citizen refused. The Centralite officer hit him another time.

"Non-compliance against the State is punishable! Civil disobedience is still disobedience!" the Centralite officer barked.

At this sight, Azamat Bragatov laughed. He realized that the reason why he was liking it here in the Centrality was because its totalitarian apparatus reminded him of home! Hah! Well, not quite like home. It was fairly lax and liberal in the Centrality, it seemed as though their authoritarian dictators were a pretty loose bunch, at least by Bragulan standards. But still, it had some trappings of comfortable totalitarianism. It was reassuring to know that there was someone out there watching your every move and listening in to everything you say and don't say, seeing everything you do and don't do. It was so that Azamat Bragatov began to relish in (double)thinking his paranoid thoughts.

He passed by a car parked by a store and he glanced at it. He looked at the car's side mirrors and saw a reflection of the store's window from it, and from the reflection of the store window he saw the reflection of a pair of discreet plainclothes Centralite agents tailing him.



"Heeheehee," Azamat Bragatov chuckled under his breath. They would have to do better than that. He took another swag of vodka and waved his Centrality flaglet (bought from a totalitarian Central giftshop) at his pursuers.

They did, or at least they tried to. Azamat doublethought about what the Centralites were probably doublethinking at the moment. See, if they had outright refused him entry to the Centrality, they would not be able to monitor him or surveil him. Now that he was here, they could and did. They did because they knew the Bragulans and the IBGV were close with the Shepistanis and their SIS, and the CSB was really curious as to what the SIS had planned for the ESP tournament, to say the least. They were in acronym hell right now, or was it purgatory, who knows. Was the Shepistani SIS just sticking with shipments of toy dolls espousing offensive Shepistani beliefs regarding ESP? The CSB might have thought so, but they could not afford to get complacent. This was why they were watching Bragatov closely.

Azamat felt one of the Centralites poke at his mind with a telepathic stick. Unless he was a powerful esper, the Centralite would be unable to get through the Bragulan's natural resistance to mentallics. Bragulans were quite literally very thick. Not only that, but the ushanka hat Azamat was wearing also had quite a number of anti-ESP features built on to it. No, there were no BFGs or null fields because the Centrality disallowed such things. Instead, the hat merely had a PKE-meter built into it. PKE meters were legal in the Centrality, because they weren't anti-ESP technologies, they were just ESP-detecting technologies and spectators in the ESP Games often brought PKEs with them to get a better view of things, particularly when they were invisible psionic things that could only be seen in strange spectrums.

The PKE in Azamat's hat had an early warning function, like that on aerospacecraft that alert the pilot when the craft is being radar-locked. It alerted Azamat that someone was directing ectoplasms at his head. In a normal Bragulan system, after this, the passive PKE would be linked to an aggressive K-bolter that would automatically shoot the offending psyker to death - thus making for a passive-aggressive system. But there were no firearms allowed, so instead the ushanka's PKE system began playing a tune designed to disrupt psionic effects. In the event of a successful mental intrusion or 'inception', a Bragulan was subconsciously trained to recognize that particular sound of music - an excerpt from the Imperator's March - and that recognition would aid the Brag in realizing that he was being mind controlled, or being put in a dream state, or in a mind controlled dream state inside a dream, or whatever. By knowing he was being mentally played, a Bragulan could then activate his own mental defenses and fight his mental invaders because knowing was half the battle - and the other half was probably the sheer memetic hostility a mental environment constructed by a lifetime of Byzonist indoctrination could have towards any mental intruders. Yes.

After the Centralites buggered off, Azamat returned to his own hotel suite. After eating some Bragmeals-ready-to-eat, because he did not trust Centralite cooking, he decided to defecate. He did not take a shits in the bathroom, because he knew the toilets' plumbing were probably linked to a pneumatic tube system that would suck the excrement out and deliver it to the Centralite's intelligence agencies, where they would then learn the secrets of Bragulan shits. So, instead, Bragatov took a shit in a porta-potty instead.

Even if the Centralites didn't do stool exams, this was already a new standard Bragulan operating procedure for its diplomatic liaisons and agents operating abroad. This was because the IBGV discovered that new Shepistani Secretary of State, Hillery Clitnone, had instructed her agents to collect DNA from foreign diplomats. As close as Bragule and Shepistan were, there were still some things that weren't kosher. In Bragule, shits were a nigh-sacred thing according to Bragulan culture, and to have puny humans and even less-puny Shepistanis sift through the poos was just unacceptable.

Azamat Bragatov clapped his hands, and his attendant, who the Centrality government had generously provided, came in with the porta-potty. Bragatov eyed him suspiciously, because he was definitely a Centralite agent and if Bragatov wasn't careful, this spy would probably just as easily open the porta-potty and fish a piece of Brag poo out and put it in a plastic bag, before running away and taking that top-secret stool sample to some Centralite intelligence agency.

No, Azamat Bragatov would not abide that. He took his poo in the sealed porta potty and to spite the Centrality, he did not use toilet paper, which the Centralites could steal and examine. No. Instead, he brought out his secret weapon - a piece of cutting-edge Umerian technology.



The Three Seashells.

When Azamat Bragatov did it, he had removed his PKE/anti-inception ushanka and the sheer relief and emotions he felt in doing that bodily function exuded from the recesses of his mind. It was in moments like these that the Bragulan mental thickness was lowered, though only on an empathic level, so the only thing the Centralite agent could read were the emotions the Bragulan was emitting at the moment. Azamat Bragatov felt self-satisfied.

To make matters worse, he did it in the porta-potty, and he also did it right in front of the Centralite agent.

The Centralite agent was telepathically linked to several other agents charged with surveiling the Bragulan. They all saw what he saw. Not just saw, but they also heard what he heard, felt what he heard, and received inputs from all of his other sensory organs. As one, they watched as Azamat Bragatov finished his business and used the three seashells right there in front of them.

As he did so, knowing full well that an indeterminate number of Centralite agents were watching him through physical, electronic or psionic surveillance, Azamat Bragatov laughed. He fucking laughed.

[Akhlut]

Presented in Goddamn Unreal Time Circa 2 Months Ago
Hweyixal, Colonial World, Riot Police Barracks

The streets of Matstegi were boiling over with rampaging kipaktli. The militia that had sided with the Hweyixal Tocha-Tlatokayotl Olin were slaughtering moxli and destroying their businesses. Even former militia and riot police moxli were not spared from the wrath of the nascent independence movement. The original cries of “union or liberty” were drowned out by the agitators for an independent planet. Commander Kan Balam of the riot police had taken over as a sort of military leader of the HweyToTlatOl and was readying an attack on the governor's palace.

“Are the militia's artillery in place yet?” he grumbled.

“Affirmative, sir. We have the heavy lasers on nearby balconies and the shell-throwers about 5 kilometers out. We're aiming primarily at the southwest corner, as the schematics show the thinnest walls there. We've managed to get the civilian volunteers organized into something resembling a division and have a few of the militia and riot police officers in charge. We have them at the northern face, ready to draw off as many troops as we can so we can use the militia regiment to invade the southwest once the artillery breaks through. The riot police and the half-regiment of militia are going to be used to do something of a flank on the eastern face to further confuse them. We can begin the assault on your orders, sir,” a young kipakt in militia uniform replied.

“Excellent. What news on the APCs roaming the city, gathering the moxli?” Kan Balam queried.

“We're giving chase now, trying to either destroy them or run them out of fuel. No need to have those bolstering the governor's palace.”

“See if you can move the remaining civilians off the streets. We need the streets cleared for this to go cleanly.”

“Aye, sir. We'll get the order out as soon as possible.”

Hweyixal, Colonial World, Governor's Palace

“Governor Biahwi, worrisome news. Firstly, the streets around the palace have been cleared of civilians. Also, several of the APCs have been crippled and their crew and passengers have been slain. The tank escorts tried to return fire but were themselves crippled by anti-tank measures. They have effectively started war against the NenAltKik, governor,” Lithi reported to the governor.

Biahwi roared in anger; Absaroka hissed and ducked into another room.

“News from Tlali?” he snarled.

“Reinforcements are poised for relocation here, but transit times are unknown as of yet. They estimate 3 to 4 days, though the Tlenamakakli and Moloi based on Moon Base 4 should be able to arrive by tomorrow,” Lithi answered, taking a step back from the enraged kipakt.

“The psyker soldiers? This is bound to end in horrible bloodshed. But, if we can hold out, we'll be safe. You know what to do now, don't you?”

“Yes, sir. We're going to switch the suppressor rifles to lethal ammo, but we're going to keep the artificial grape canisters in the small mortars to hopefully keep any civilians they press-ganged from doing much damage. We've moved our remaining tanks under some overhangs and are having them keep watch down the streets to destroy any of their armor and any vehicles they send after us. The artillery is ready at your command, as are all our snipers. The kipakt snipers with anti-armor rifles are eager to kill the traitors, governor,” the moxi chirped.

“They'd better be. Imakwa protect the true servants of the NenAltKik and Tlali.”

[Simon_Jester]

Aack. Shouldn't have posted these notes.

Delete please.

[Shroom Man 777]

POLICY OF UMERIA PERTAINING TO POTENTIALLY ENHANCING RELATIONS WITH SHEPISTAN (PUPPERS)
PUPPERS OFFICE AND KENNEL ESTABLISHMENT (POKE)
MONTGOMERY OVERSEAS NEONATORUM (MON)



The PUPPERS POKE Montgomery Overseas Neonatorum (MON) was where the Umerians manufactured their PUPPERS and stored them until they reached maturity. While the Ministry of Ecology, MiniEcho, under the auspices of Dr. Susie, originally fabricated the PUPPERS in Umeria and shipped them to Shepistan, the good people at the Ministry of Finance, MiniFine, thought it would be more cost-effective to do the fabrication in-situ at Shepistan proper. Of course, Dr. Susie fought tooth and nail against this, owing to her pathological hatred for her own home country, but eventually the bean counters at MiniFine triumphed. Her grumblings were soothed by the illustrious Dr. Maxim Chernov from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, MiniFor, and his friends from MiniDat, who showed in their datas, datums, datii, statistics and graphs, that it was unlikely that the Shepistanis would do anything untoward towards the PUPPERS and would in fact appreciate it if the Umerians placed the PUPPERS plant at Shepistan (so they could get more puppies faster).

After all, they reasoned, what harm could there possibly be in making the PUPPERS at Shepistan proper? Shepistanis loved the PUPPERS, canines were practically one of the only animals protected by Shepistan's animal cruelty and animal rights laws (along with a few other furry woodland creatures that had a soft spot in General Sheppard's cruel black heart, for his love for doggies was a trait he shared with other historic figures, like Adolf Hitler). They had laws for those who would harm doggies. In fact, they treated their dogs better than they treated certain subsets of their human population, specifically their psyker population - who didn't even count as humans in the Shepistani constitution, known as the Sheparticles of Colonization.

So, what could possibly go wrong, right?



Wrong.

The evil of the Amplitur knew no bounds. Within its refrigerated icebox, it focused its psionic powers and levitated itself into the PUPPERS POKE MON. Today was Sunday and most of the employees had taken the day off. Many of the systems were automated, including the feeders, so they could leave the newborn PUPPERS alone for an entire day without worry. As the Amplitur floated into the compound, its modified null-fields began actively interfering with the mild security systems in the facility, mostly blocking it from the surveillance cameras, turning it into an indeterminate blur. It had extended its null-field into a bubble, covering a wide radius outside its icebox. Within this bubble, its psychokinetic abilities were potent, but they could not go through the bubble to influence things outside the null-field. Conversely, none of the all-encompassing BFGs could penetrate the null-fields to affect the Amplitur creature within.

Ironic, how one instrument of defense against psykerism was used to defeat another instrument against psykerism.

As the radius of the null-field had been widened, the Amplitur could extend its psychokinetic powers downwards towards the floor, levitating itself and the icebox that sheltered it. With its compound eyes, it looked at the meter that measured the null-field's battery life. It still had a lot of juice, but even if it got depleted, the null-field had an adaptor and could use standard Shepistani powerpacks. Moreover, the Amplitur had another ace up its sleeve, a confederate. As it had escaped the Centrality Embassy, plunging into the sewer system to escape into the Shepistani seas, it had found an ally. A Feelipeeni fisherman whose soft and pliant balut-ridden brain was easy to subvert. Moreover, this Feelipeeni was an illegal fisherman who indulged in dynamite fishing, but with surplus Shepistani hand grenades instead of gunpowder-stuffed Coke bottles. As his name was not in any official list, he had avoided the purge that had befallen Montgomery's legitimate fishermen (who were now either dead or detained in SIS blacksites, which were ironically located in the Feelipeens, of all places). The enslaved Feelipeeni was at this very moment buying more batteries at a nearby sex store that sold dildos powered by iridium powerpacks - and with such a power source, the null-field generator could last for weeks, maybe even a whole month. With that amount of time, the sheer havoc, madness and chaos the Amplitur could wreak was unimaginable.

The Amplitur cackled.

But now, on to business. The Amplitur found the kennels that held the PUPPERS. It extended its null-field towards a cluster of cages, and when their inhabitants were inside the bubble and within the Amplitur's own psychokinetic coverage, it began to subvert them with its grotesque and evil alien intelligence. Malignant thoughts, feelings and emotions poured into the plaint little puppy brains. Originally born and bred to be subservient to man, to treat humans as their masters, to love and obey, these programmings were quickly overridden by something far more sinister and vile. The Amplitur transplanted into them its own memories and emotions, simplifying them into more primitive things that canine puppies could understand. They began to whimper and whine as their heads were filled with terrifying images of man murdering their fellow kind, of the ugliness of human nature, the wretchedness of man's soul. Even their canine brains could comprehend these images, which elicited the creation of new, far more animalistic drives and urges within the wide-eyed whimpering PUPPERS. That fear turned into anger, that anger turned into hate, and that hate would soon turn into suffering - human suffering.

In what could be called a memetic Manchurian methodology, the Amplitur time-locked the mentallic reprogramming it did on the doggies. For now they would remain docile and subservient and adorable, and only after a pre-set period of time would the things it had done to them reveal themselves. It would be only a matter of time before these PUPPERS would reveal their true form.

The Amplitur repeated the process to the rest of the doggies. There were so many PUPPERS in the POKE MON, as it was the main PUPPERS distribution center in Shepistan. They would not only be sold in Montgomery, but all over the nation too.

The Amplitur knew this. Everything was proceeding as planned.

After finishing its wicked work, it vanished into the darkness. Leaving the PUPPERS to be tended to and cared for by their human masters. Then they would be sold to new owners who would love them and cherish them. No one would expect the dogs to bite the hands that fed them.

***

The Umerian company sold the PUPPERS en masse with a discount and a promo. The highly popular genetically-engineered toy dogs were bought in record numbers by the Shepistani populace who so loved their doggies. This move was not done out of any economic or marketing maneuver, but it was a diplomatic one instead - for that was what the PUPPERS was meant to be, a method of enhancing relations with Shepistan. With the recent tensions between Shepistan and the international community, Umeria included, MiniFor had decided that selling more PUPPERS at lower prices would be soothing for Shepistanimerican-Umerian relations. The bean counters at MiniFine didn't take too kindly with having their best-selling product sold at lower prices, but no matter, since it was Dr. Maxim Chernov's Ministry of Foreign Affairs that was in charge of the diplomatic aspect of Project PUPPERS, with Dr. Susie's MiniEcho providing the material (a.k.a. the puppies) and MiniFine in charge of the financial aspect.

The Amplitur's mental reprogramming on the PUPPERS was not designed to react to a specific subliminal cue or command, it was instead designed to activate after exposure to a specific set of circumstances - namely that of being bought and kept by new owners. The feelings the PUPPERS experienced at being brought to a new home, the mild anxieties of meeting new owners and masters (though the Umerians had gene-engineered the doggies to be more adaptable to new environments, they still naturally felt these emotions for the Umerians didn't want to gene-engineer cold emotionless robot puppies), and the general adaptation phase they experienced - these were what activated the delayed action trojan the Amplitur had implanted inside their brains.

It was then that with rapid succession, the PUPPERS began to transmogrify and reveal their true form.

There were no physical changes, no mutations. Instead, the viral infesterization deep within the recesses of their mammalian minds incepted and began contaminating all other aspects of their pleasant puppy personalities. It was in the demeanor, the emotion, the attitude, they went from being cute adorable playful puppies to distant and withdrawn ones, and then when the neural resocialization took full swing, they became more aggressive, more hostile, turning suddenly from apathetic puppies into violent dogs that snarled and clawed and bit with a ferocity that belied their shapes, forms and sizes.

Though the Umerians had engineered their dogs for maximum cuteness, they did not create neutered and asthmatic inbred toy dogs like certain subspecies of canines ridden with congenital defects and deficiencies . No, the PUPPERS they made were fully functional and when left alone could still survive in the wild. They could fend themselves, if needed be. They were fully functional. So it was that when they regressed into aggressive nigh-rabid creatures that they still had within them the animalistic predatory instincts needed to kill.



They weren't large enough to bring man-sized prey down, but their jaws were strong enough to grasp throats and their teeth were sharp enough to sever carotid arteries. Those who held them, or tried to hold them, still thinking they were adorable furballs soon discovered this. But it was not just the adults, they weren't the primary customers or target demographic of the PUPPERS. It was the children. In selling the PUPPERS, the Umerians did indeed think of the children.

They were smaller than adults, weaker, and their shorter heights made their throats easier to reach for the PUPPERS. They could not defend themselves as easily as adults. Shepistanimerican adults often neglected their children too, for distant parenthood was often encouraged in Shepistani society in concordance with the writings and graphs of one Bart Blade.

So the PUPPERS came for the children. With their minds reprogrammed to hate humanity, the PUPPERS did not care if the human children cried and screamed as tooth and claw sank into their flesh. They were not bothered to hear the horrified screams of parents as they found what happened. The realization that a beloved pet - something many regarded as more than just a mere domesticated animal but an actual member of the family - had done something so horrible to their children, to their loved ones, and to them was horrifying, pure and simple.



The PUPPERS would come, working in packs to overwhelm the larger humans. Together they would thrash the smaller children, or try to bite at the heels of the adults until they fell, and then when they were at the same level, sink their canines and bicuspids into the throats or faces of the fallen humans. In a way, it was like how wild hunting dogs brought down prey animals much larger than them. Though genetically engineered and artificially created and inseminated, the PUPPERS were regressing and devolving to their true forms as primitive canine predators, turning back into the wild dogs that progenated the domesticated canines. They snarled and barked and fed on the felled meat of their prey.

Even worse, in its haste the Amplitur did not create a stable reconditioning. Soon the mental states of the PUPPERS began degenerating from that to a vicious predator dog into something more akin to that of a rabid animal. Their minds were literally breaking apart, entering into baser more primitive states, until all the other instincts, thought patterns and feelings had dissolved and all that was left was aggression, hatred and rage. In the end, the PUPPERS would attack anything that moved, not just people but even moving vehicles, and sometimes even each other, no longer recognizing each other or themselves. Some, bearing similar physioneurological degenerations as animals suffering from rabies, even began to fear water and foamed at the mouth.



In the end, the Shepistanis cradled their children and brought out their weapons. They pointed their guns at the PUPPERS, which had been beloved pets, extended family members, cute and adorable creatures that had been so suddenly and violently warped into vicious beasts. Sadly, regrettably, painfully, they had only one option left. It was an easy choice to make.

[PeZook]

Somewhere in Wild Space

The forest came alive with screams.



A group of foreign scurrypods swarmed out of their hiding spots, setting with terrible fury upon the poor, exhausted creatures carrying the cocoon. They waved sharpened sticks, crude clubs and threw stones, and screamed in fury at their enemies, wanting nothing more than to kill!

The attackers were well-rested, armed and had the advanage of surprise. It was no surprise, then, that Red's scurrypods were quickly overwhelmed and brutally murdered, their skulls smashed in with rocks for good measure.

The attackers howled. Their master, victorious, howled with joy himself, and its psionic scream carried across the forest like trumpets of victory.

Red quivered with rage. They were brothers! Fellow Amplitur, the People Of The Choir! They should be living together, working to make this world theirs, not fighting for scraps...

Scraps?, Red thought to itself, No! The female is a reward from the gods. They must be testing us, see who's worthy of singing the lead part of the new choir...

Red gazed upon its minions, and a realization struck it. The gods sent Red a vision of the future: and thus, it managed to prepare. They even showed it a terrifying visage of a creature that could be used to make war: in Red's dream the beast came to destroy everything Red built, but thanks to the vision, the Amplitur now knew what to look for.

Its scurrypods would be unable to destroy Red's newfound enemy - they were fewer in number, thanks to the loss of the search party, and not as well armed...But if that mighty beats could be found, and tamed...

It would change everything.

Red would bide its time, and wait...and then take revenge.

It would be sweet.

Later that day, the crimson-colored Amplitur raised its pincers and clacked them, calling for its minions. Obedient to their master's instructions, they lit fires and made torches, and set out into the woods with frantic zeal, to search for the mighty Warbeast that lurked within these lands. Red commanded them from its throne, vigilantly scanning the forest for any sign of a threat from its newfound rival. Cleaner and Scurrypod patrols wandered about as an added precaution.

Red listened to the forest's songs, the soft whispers carried by the wind. It was becoming better at it, more attuned to the environment, and could pick up chimes and notes that only the shamans of its tribe managed to in the Old Life - as Red got to calling the time before the fiery sky-gods came to destroy its world.

With some trepidation and surprise, it discovered something. A faintest note, a whisper such that it would be impossible to pick up just moons ago, when Red's mind was not as well attuned and flexed. It was like a whisper...but dark. Oh, so very dark and alien. Outworldly. It carried notions of violence, of killing not for food but the joy of the kill itself...and also hunger. Overwhelming, driving, humongous hunger.

Red squinted with evil glee. Perfect.

[Simon_Jester]

Umerian Embassy to the Shepistani Republic
Time: Unknown

"Yes, General, I understand. We're outraged too, very much so. But look at the serial numbers on the PUPPERs that have gone feral: they all come from the same facility- the Montgomery Overseas Neonatorium. If I had to guess, I'd look there for the problem- not at the program. We could be looking at... psychic tampering."

The Umerian ambassador heard a faint "BZZT" of electricity in the distance, followed by cursing in Dr. Sivana's nasal voice.

"General, it seems to me that this may be an psi-security problem, not a PUPPER quality control problem. I've got the embassy SCIENCE! officer working on it; he says he has some ideas about what might have happened, but they haven't quite gelled yet. If you'd like I can put him on the line..."

[Darkevilme]

Arcology spire, Cougar city, Planet Tarlieer, Hierarchy space

The Hierarchy Council has considered the Guild's request to represent the Hierarchy in the Esper Olympics this year. However with all recognition due to your Guild's valued service to the Hierarchy we must reiterate that our perspective has not changed and we see no benefit to be gained from participating in this event. Your contributions to the Hierarchy are instead needed all the more within our borders this year to stem the efforts of subversives.

Signed,
-The Council


The Disappointment didn't sting greatly Hoshi when she was done reading the message, after all it was the same every time the Esper Olympics had been held and repetition will dull any discomfort. And the same as all those other times the message was freely displayed on the Guild news server for any of them to see. And as almost every other time she'd read the message Hoshi left her room and went out to the Arcology promenade to think through her disappointment and consider whether she'll sign up for the team next year. Although by this time she didn't even need precognition to know she would, as futile as the tradition was there was a sense of almost ritualistic belonging in being part of the Guild's yearly internal contests to assemble a team for the Olympics that the Guild was never allowed to attend.

And besides, one can dream. Dream of a place away from the distrust and the paranoia, she couldn't even board the inter arcology rail network without being monitored. The Chamarrans were the main source of the distrust of course, the powers that be having no Esper abilities of their own meant they had no frame of reference to ease their waryness. The most damning aspect of all was how needless it was though, even a guarded mind was better to touch than a Chamarran one. The landscape of their minds fundamentally inimical and resistant to psychic intrusion. It wasn't just difficult to use telepathy on Chamarrans it was actually unpleasant and not a little unsettling. This to Hoshi's mind and the opinion of the Guild rendered the severe penalties the Hierarchy imposed on such acts almost moot, no Guild Esper would conduct such an action if they could help it.

But then there were the humans, their distrust when it wasn't that which seeped down from the Chamarrans was born of more reasonable expectations. For the Guild had only won its limited prestige and power in the Hierarchy by proving themselves useful to maintaining internal security of the Chamarran state and the Chamarrans had no qualms whatsoever about employing Esper capabilities on humans suspected of subversive activities.

Hoshi sighed softly and to take her mind off the state of things turned her gaze down to the lower level of the promenade where it seems that some from the two species are able to find common ground, even if it was a tenous one built on shared disadvantaged status and tribalism. Two gangs of youths one feline and one human facing off in contest over seemingly nothing more significant than a privileged part of the promenade, daughters and son of the clans that fell through the cracks squared off against the children of those who had been for generations trapped beneath the floorboards.

But amusingly it was the very nature of the Hierarchy paranoia that built the respect she saw shared down there, with pacifiers omnipresent any open violence would result in no winner but the 'forementioned machines once the Pacifiers had got done stunblasting everyone involved. This left negotiation and battles of wit to resolve their disputes and it seemed the latter was going on with the two groups clustered around a holoprojector. Hoshi smiles, a quick bit of enhancement and with sharpened vision she's able to watch the game being played between the two sides.

And then Hoshi looked into the future to see how it ends.

Blasts of energy lash down from above, Chamarrans and humans alike struck by the hail of fire and falling unmoving to the floor as a voice declares “The Road of human progress is paved with the skulls of the Xeno!”

Humans with guns and a dreadful package rush the Trigrav hangar as the protectors of peace become the bringers of discord.

A tiny speck drops amidst the arcologies onto a factory dome and blossoms into the light of a hundred suns and the sting of glass slicing into flesh.

Hoshi slumps forward slightly and catches herself on the railing, she certainly hadn't expected to see that! But a moment later she's doing something about it, most of the futures lead to that flash of fire but of those that don't almost all start with Hoshi warning those in charge. With communicator to her ear Hoshi waits anxiously for the connection to be picked up at the other end, watching the game nearing the point where the future comes.

“This is tower central. How can we help you Guild member Hoshi?” a Chamarran voice responds as she finally gets through.

“Shut down the pacifiers!” Hoshi responds and then immediately curses herself as the feline operator predictably responds with.
“You do not have that authority human.”
“LISTEN! I am an Alpha+ precognitive telling you that in less than 2 minutes the pacifiers are going to turn on you. Shut them down.” Hoshi pleads and then takes a deep breath and hopes her visions were accurate as she says “I speak in the name of the Guild and stake the honour of the Guild upon my words, listen to me. Shut them down, and put some guards on the hangar deck we don't have much time.” Hoshi can almost hear the amusement in the silence on the other end of the line as the Chamarran mulls conferrs with the others in tower Central, it's win win for the Hierarchy now. If it's true they've averted a disaster and if it isn't then the Guild's standing will have a mark against it.
“Very well Hoshi, we will do as you ask. Though I doubt the Guild will be very pleased with you for this.”
“Gloat later kitty cat.” Hoshi says and then turns her attention back to the game being played oh no, I was too late she watched the final move played out. The growing expressions of disappointment on the face of the feline player and triumph on the human one seeming to spread in slow motion to Hoshi before future and present collided.

A passing pacifier pauses a moment on its patrol and then turns on the assembled crowd.
“The Road of Human progress is paved with the skulls of the Xeno!” it declares in Makayan and opens fire, aiming for the Chamarrans amidst the group but firing stunblasts rapidly enough to hose down everyone involved. Luckily Hoshi was far enough away not to be hit by accident though starts as she hears a pacifier moving behind her yelling “For the emperor!” and pursueing a fleeing Chamarran down a corridor, at least they were only armed with stunners... Hoshi turns her gaze out the window, a familiar dome resting amidst the arcologies in the far background...All she could do now was wait and hope.

Hangar level, Arcology tower.

“beautiful aint it?”
“Stop watching the sights Kyon and lift your fucking end of this thing! It's heavy.”
“It's not everyday you get to see them like this though. One moment they're safe and secure then bam! They're being hunted by their own weapons, serves them right.”
“Kyon, if you don't start lifting your end right fucking now we will be having a disagreement.” Martin growls irritably at Kyon as between them the two hurry a heavy case towards the Trigrav hangars with other men ahead and behind them. So far things had been going to plan for their little team, So far.

“Mankind will stand proud when the last xeno has- This unit is not in service, we are sorry for the inconvenience.” A pacifier declares and then withdraws towards a recharging station. Kyon looks back to Martin
“That's not supposed to happen. They were supposed to be active for a few more minutes.”
“Shut up and carry your fucking end you fucking pansy!”
“I'm just saying we've lost our distraction, don't you think we should abort?” Kyon asks while none the less obligingly keeping up with Martin's best efforts to move even faster.
“It's not over till I say it's over and I say it's not fucking over, we're gonna drop this nuke on them if I have to go there and shove it down their throats in person.” Martin replies as they pass multiple charging stations, all occupied by shutdown pacifiers.

“Least we're nearly there-OHFUCK!” Kyon exclaims as a Chamarran steps out ahead of them, his dismay punctuated as without so much as a warning the Chamarran fires and shreds the legs out from under the leading man of their little group sending him sprawling. It's only after she's got their attention she speaks.
“Surrender immediately.” she says over the sound of the wounded man screaming. There is a moment of indecision as it looks like the gang might do that, the coin hanging in the air. And then Martin dropped his end of the case and opened fire over the top of it
“It's just one guys! skin the kitty!” he yells, the Chamarran leaping behind a corner with a yelp of pain indicating she might of gotten hit. The other men following their leader's example and firing even when their target has gotten behind cover, scorch marks blossoming across the walls near the kitty like fast spreading acne.

Still even with weight of numbers on their side Martin's group find the catgirl to present quite an obstacle as he motions one of his men forwards, who ends up shot at the moment he gets far enough down the corridor for the kitty to shoot at him without exposing herself, and it would take too long to circle round and come at the hangar from another direction.

“What's the plan Mart? She could hold us off all day.” Kyon asks, hiding behind the heavy case alongside Martin to conferr on strategy.
“We rush her you idiot, she cant get us all. And it's Mart-in.” the boss retorts and then gestures down the corridor“All at once you bastards!” he yells and then looks at his men as they refuse to move from what scant cover the corridor provides, one of them meeting his gaze then glancing meaningfully to the pool of blood around their wounded friend. “Oh you fucking cowards, fine i'll lead. Charge!” Martin responds, but realizes the moment he's not yelling that something is wrong as a buzzing sound is heard closing fast and he turns to see what it was. It was a smart grenade, a handled cylinder floating in the air in front of his face, it was the last thing he ever saw.

Tower Central, Arcology Spire.
“Okay it's been two hours, what happened and what do we have on our hands?”
“One hell of a mess in the South corridor from Hangar B. I'm still not sure why Yelandi was carrying a milspec smart nade but it got blood everywhere.”
“Priorities Kasna, i'm more worried about someone subverting the pacifiers and humans having access to nuclear weapons than how long the cleaning scutters are gonna take before we can re-open thar corridor.”
“Ah yes of course, well we've already got some info on the nuke. It's one of ours at it happens, Hierarchy's been selling weapons without asking enough questions for centuries this was only a matter of time.”
“That also happens to be above our jurisdiction Kasna, now what happened with the Pacifiers?”
“As the latest briefing on subversives indicated said subversives have gotten their hands on some quite exceptional computer hacking technology believed to be of Sovereignty origins. They used this to inject code into the update routine for the tower's pacifiers, swapped their biometric files and set them in riot suppression mode. If Hoshi hadn't warned us about this ahead of time it would of taken a lot longer to get them under control and the subversives might of succeeded in their mission.”
“And there mission was?”
“According to Hoshi's testimony they were going to use a trigrav as an improvised delivery system to drop their weapon on Factory dome 47. I can't think why they'd want to do that though, the factory isn't that important.”
“I am not at liberty to tell you Kasna. Suffice to say there is a reason... What was up with the things the pacifier's were saying anyway?”
“Byzantine imperium publication from the year 3112, inspirational sound bytes for commissars volume 3. We looked it up on Moogle.”
“Well that explains that, I suppose it was a crude attempt at psychological warfare. Anyway, find out how they got into the Pacifier network and make sure it doesn't happen again. I have a psycher to thank.”

This is CNN
“Today an attempted act of terrorism shocked citizens of planet Tarlierr today. Subversives of the radical communist movement seeking to destroy the safety of our society sabotaged the Pacifiers of Spire Lesa in Cougar City but were thwarted by the swift actions of the Psycher Guild and the valiant actions of the spire's security forces. The Guild remains a shining example of how all, Chamarran and human alike, may benefit from service to the Hierarchy.
Coming next: Nip Harmless addiction? or foreign weapon? We investigate Klavostani drug cartels.”

The Solarian Datasphere, Solarian Sovereignty

Amidst the multitudes of datastreams and myriad avatars a fractal clock found itself bouyed along on the current of a will far greater than its own, though even with the speed of travel in the network Callahan had much time to wonder and consider its options during its enforced journey to the court of Olympic, the possibility of simply disconnecting was considered and then quickly discarded. It's goal was to gather information, and besides Callahan was curious.

"Greetings, Callahan," the entity spoke. "I am Olympic. We don't get Chamarrans here often, or ever, so one wonders... What can we do for you?"

Callahan considered possible responses for a subjective moment, this one claimed to be Olympic and thus combined undoubtedly superior computational resources with vast external resources from the Solarian government. And yet this one had chosen to meet with Callahan immediately after Its arrival, for what motive? A hostile motive could more easily be satisfied with a direct assault on the Basking Tabby. Ergo Olympic wanted information, shared goals would provide common ground and also ruled out deceptive dealings. Olympic had the resources to pick apart subterfuge and thus such would only hurt Callahans position.

“My creators have chosen to send me here to collect information on the Sovereignty. They hope that by providing a greater understanding of your society to the Hierarchy they can prevent their now seemingly inevitable loss of status brought about by the Shinn Hokkaido incident. For myself I believe that success here will prove the worth of liberated CI's to the Hierarchy and allow more to be born. My two selves are the only of our kind born from Chamarran artifice. I have also assessed the strong possibility that the downfall of my creator's clan will result in the discontinuation of the project and my permanent deactivation.”

Hierarchy palace upper levels, Chamarra prime. Hierarchy space

Hello! We would like to establish diplomatic relations with your people! Please send us coordinates for our Ambassadors, or send your own.

“I suppose this couldn't just be a galactic prank call? They're awfully light on details like who they are and what they want.” Kara speculated aloud, the Queen of the Hierarchy currently sprawled out and sipping blood wine as she looks to her two sisters for response and guidance.

“Despite their lack of verbosity I'm afraid these people are quite real. A few fringe travellers have already reported seeing strange ships Antispinward and subspace sensors have picked up multiple new stars in that region of space.” Mela says and then adds “So do we talk to them and if so when and how?”

“If recent events have taught us anything it's that acting without adequate information will hurt us more often than not sisters.” Tia says setting aside her glass “I would suggest not talking to them YET. Not until we know more about their motives and capabilities, we should also consider they might be hostile.”
“Nya, our little spat with the Solarians has made you really cautious sister.” Mela says playfully and gets a pillow tossed at her as a result as Tia responds with “That's cause unlike you I was the one resolving that spat not causing it.”
Mela shifts disgruntledly, then lowers her ears “Sorry sister.”
Kara smiles “Stop fighting and tell me how we're going to find out about our new neighbours. Mela, I believe the Blades have finished their refit correct?”
“Yes, some time ago in fact. We've had a chance to shake down without the CI cores and they're good to go.” Mela says with a nod, perking up a bit.
“Send them to find out about the newcomers discreetly, the more we know and the less we reveal about ourselves the stronger our position will be. And yes I'll have the battlemistresses draw up some defensive plans and reposition the fleets for if we must repulse an attack from antispinward don't worry Tia.” she says, adding the last bit at the expectant look from Tia and earning a relieved look as her sister returns to sipping her wine.
“It shall be done your majesty, if only to make Tia forget about last time.” Mela says and gets more comfortable.
“Sound good to you Tia?” Kara says with a smile and gets a nod from Tia and a short period of silence before Mela speaks on a related subject
“mhmm, hey Tia? With first the Central Alliance showing up in the Coreward and antispinward Quadrant, and then the Refuge in the Koprula zone, and now whoever these guys are showing up on our doorstep. I bet ya 50million Mou we see a new power appearing from another dimension in the coreward and spinward quadrant before the year is out.” Mela says with a bright grin, Kara chuckling in amusement and those words as Tia sets aside her glass and matches the grin with her own
“Sister, you have yourself a bet.”

[Shroom Man 777]

The cargo ships bound to Chamarra, Shepistan, and Umeria had finished their preparations. Their ancient shell-like hulls were antiquated fossils from pre-Byzonic times when the Bragulans once traded with the rest of the galaxy. They were elegant ships for a more civilized age. Before the dark times... before the Star Empire. It had taken long to refurbish them from their rusted down states, to relearn their archaic pre-Byzonic mechanisms and technologies, but still despite hailing from before the dark age of technology they were still crude and Bragulan, thus modernization and Byzonization was doable despite the dielectrical difficulties.

In their true forms, fully unarmed and operational, they were massive vessels - as large as any mighty dreadnought-sized paleocruiser and nearing even that of the battleships of Bragulanity, and twice as ponderous. Yet they were defenseless, and their shields were feeble for vessels of their size, but still huge in their sheer enormity. So huge that a bottomside view would reveal innumerable quantities of containers festooned upon their underbellies - each container carrying precious things, be they Spuds or vegemites or Spuds with vegemite-encrustations, or precious chromium. Even the half-finished Shepistani gunstars were sequestered within the wombs of some of these transport ships.

DEEP SPACE, simultaneously en route to Shepistan, Umeria and the Federated Ascendancy from the Turukhansk colony sector (BB-26) and Chamarra from the Kirensk midsector (X-28)



The paleonuclear drives of the massive cargo ships The Virtuosity of Servitude in Grueling Labor for the Benefits of Bragulanity and the Imperial Proletariats' Proud Musk Ox-driven Plow Wagon of the People's Happiness had been refurbished using off the shelf Bragtech components very similar to each other's. As these were civilian vessels, the technologies they used were likewise from the civilian sector, rather than milspec Bragtech. However, few if any Imperial Bragulan civilian technologies were designed to withstand the rigors of long-range hyperspace travel - in order to prevent any escapees and refugees from becoming boat-bears and fleeing across the galaxy to take asylum in another nation. Such rigorous long-distance long-endurance technologies were only available to the Bragulan military, in order for them to hunt down any escapees and refugees who actually did become boat-bears who fled across the galaxy to take asylum in another nation (that, and to traverse the vastness of interstellar space and blow up any enemy of Bragulanity in the galaxy, no matter how far away).

So, it was due to the inherent restrictions and limitations of civilian Bragulan technology, and a shortsight on the maintenance crews who did not know of these limits (for why would the IBGV or the Imperial military let civilians know this detail, and thus avoid getting themselves unknowingly stranded in deep space where they would then be 'dealt with' by roving Bragulan navy patrols?), that both cargo ships' hyperdrives suffered malfunctions that dropped them out of hyperspace at the exact same time when their mega-milometers reached a pre-determined value.

However, as these cargo vessels were not foolhardy civilian ships full of refugees attempting to flee Bragspace for, say, Solarian space (foolishly thinking that they had better fortunes there, when in fact Brigadier Flash Stalin and his USS Murderous shot down and destroyed just as many fleeing Bragships full of refugees as the Bragulan Navy actually did, perhaps because the good Brigadier mistook these asylum-seekers for Brag colonists or because he just didn't give a damn). The Virtuosity of Servitude in Grueling Labor for the Benefits of Bragulanity and the Imperial Proletariats' Proud Musk Ox-driven Plow Wagon of the People's Happiness were on an official mission from the Bragulan Star Empire to deliver goods to several nations in the Spin Zone and Neko Space. As such, they had naval escort in the form of paleocruisers and gunskimmers, and the cargo ships themselves also carried supplies for the navy ships.

The naval spacebears knew instantly what was wrong with the cargo ships' hyperdrives, because they were fully briefed on the faults of civilian Bragtech ships for it was their job to persecute any civilian Bragship fleeing Bragspace borders. So they quickly dispatched engineers to do repairs. It helped that the paleocruisers were laden with spare parts.

One of the paleocruisers, the Ten Hundredth-Bannered Gerontologic Beating Cane of the Empire's Most Respectfully Disgruntled Primordial Elders, actually had a cemetery inside it - a whole abandoned and disused fighter bay now filled with the interned remains of the ship's departed crew who had either fallen in battle against rebel revanchist Bragulans, atrocious Apexai alienoids, Solarian scum, or even the mysterious Scron, as well as crew who had simply died of old age while serving in the ship for centuries. However, because of this journey, that on-board cemetery had been exhumed and the thousands of urns and caskets in the charnel house/hangar were spaced just to make space for spare parts and replacements for the trip.

The other paleocruiser, the Proud Proletarian Patriotic Paleodefenestrationator of the Peaceful Peoples of Bragule, was actually a warship designed for long range galactic warfare, built just in case the Bragulan Star Empire had to fight a foe located at the other side of the galaxy. So it actually had two hyperdrives, except its crews had forgotten about the second one entirely - until now. So they started cannibalizing parts of that second drive to fix the crippled cargo ship.



Meanwhile, the cargo ships themselves hung motionless in the blackness of space. They had hyperwave transponders to announce their locations. They were immobile, and were filled to the brim with goods, from precious rare space minerals like vegemite and chromium, to weapons like Spuds and new Shepistani gunstars. They would make for irresistible targets for any lurking pirates.

The Bragulans knew this, of course. And rather than announcing their existence to deter any enterprising pirates, the escorting warships switched over to silent running. Even the paleocruisers had been specially modified, with lead-laced Bragcrete plastered over the radiation-leaking cracks in the hull, so they could hide and wait in ambush.

It was no wonder then, with the warships hidden and staying silent, with the seemingly cargo ships transmitting their very locations out in the open, that pirate ships came at both convoys at roughly the same time. Though they were apart from each other, across known space, the very same thing happened to both Bragulan cargo convoys at the very same time.

***

DEEP SPACE, en route to Shepistan, Umeria and the Federated Ascendancy from the Turukhansk colony sector (BB-26)

The Virtuosity was sent to deliver goods to puny human nation #1, Umeria; puny human nation #2, the Ascendancy; and Bragule's good friend the Shepistani Republic. But in its current state, immobile and seemingly defenseless, it was easy pickings for...



...French pirates sailing on a commandeered Españan space galleon! They lowered their solar sails and opened their gun ports, revealing rows upon rows of dumbfire railgun rounds at the port and starboard sides. The space galleon's hull was covered in finely sculpted wood in true Españan fashion, a cultural curiosity from the Estella Real where they meticulously decorated their ships to mark their heritage, but in the hands of the pirates the vessel's precious wooden panels had decayed and were now in the process of crumbling off, revealing the hull armor underneath. It gave a vessel an eerie look as it approached the stricken cargo vessel, as though it was a ghost ship haunting the darkness of space itself.

"Yarrr, mon ami! Unhand your booty or else ve vill ruin your fromage," declared the French pirate captain as he hailed The Virtuosity of Servitude in Grueling Labor for the Benefits of Bragulanity.

"No." The Virtuosity of Servitude in Grueling Labor for the Benefits of Bragulanity replied.

"Que?" the pirate ship turned to the side, showing its lethal broadside of cannons. "Dare you defy us, you pitiful rustbucket? Unhand your booty, for your fromage's sake!"

"Nyet!" came a reply as, suddenly, the sensors on board the pirate vessel spiked from a sudden influx of radiation coming from behind the immobile cargo ship. Something was coming from behind it, something huge, powering up, and in the visual and hyperspectral sensor spectrums it seemed as though the blackness of space was being illuminated by scores of blinding lights. The sensors compensated, constricting their electronic pupils to deal with the excess glare. Finally, an image of that thing that had been hiding there resolved itself.



The paleocruiser Ten Hundredth-Bannered Gerontologic Beating Cane of the Empire's Most Respectfully Disgruntled Primordial Elders emerged from behind the The Virtuosity of Servitude in Grueling Labor for the Benefits of Bragulanity. It released its grappling hooks that had anchored it to the Virtuosity in a metallic embrace of Bragcrete and Brag Steel hulls. For aside from forcefully clawing enemy ships, Bragulan grappling hooks were also used more gently on other Bragships in mating for fluid fuel exchange, supply transfers, and other exchanges of essential essences. They could also be used by warships to cling to other ships and hide themselves under the other ships' silhouettes, which was what they were doing now.

"Sacre bleu!" the pirates cursed.

"Da!" the Ten Hundredth-Bannered Gerontologic Beating Cane of the Empire's Most Respectfully Disgruntled Primordial Elders replied. It was powering up to full capacity, and the lead-lined Bragcrete molded over the hull cracks to conceal radiation leakage simply melted. "Humanoid pirate vessel, you have been caught shits-handed attempting to commit piracy on a glouriously decrepit cargo ship of the Bragulan Star Empire."

The pirate vessel was silent. They knew they were doomed. To turn around and attempt to flee would merely result in getting themselves shot in the back by a much larger Bragulan warship, and even if they could get into hyper the Bragship could just run them down.

"We surrender!" the pirate ship pleaded. "We won't fight, we won't resist. Please, just don't kill us."

...

The Bragulans seemed to consider this for a moment, before sadistic chuckles filled the hyperwaves.

"Nyet, nyet nyet. That simply will not do," the Ten Hundredth-Bannered Gerontologic Beating Cane of the Empire's Most Respectfully Disgruntled Primordial Elders said.

"Que?" the French pirates asked feebly.

"Human pirate vessel, raise your shields and power up your weapons systems," the Bragship stated simply, commanding them to do so.

"What?!"

"DO IT NOW!" the harsh roar of the Bragulans filled the hyperwaves. It was then followed by laughter. Harsh, guttural, animalistic laughter that was utterly inhuman, cruel and completely devoid of any sympathy. "Raise your shields and power up your weapons systems!"

"...ok."

The pirates whimpered this weakly, hesitantly, fearfully. They had never before heard of a warship ordering pirates to raise their shields and arm their weapons, but they knew what such actions would be interpreted as. But either way, they were under the shadow of the Bragship's massive big bore battle guns and had no choice.

They raised their shields and powered up their weapons systems.

"HOSTILES DETECTED!" the Bragulans shouted over the hyperwaves. "Pirate ship is taking aggressive action! They're preparing to attack us! Fire at will! All hands, fire at will! Kill them! Kill them all!"

***

DEEP SPACE simultaneously en route to Chamarra from the Kirensk midsector (X-28)

Meanwhile, elsewhere at that exact same time...

"NO!" the pirates replied. They were a Cevaucian crew and operated in and around the Koprulu Zone and Wild Space, and it was precisely because the space patrolled by the Solarians and Bragulans tended to be lethal, that they preferred to do their business in the Veil around Pfhor space. So when confronted by the Bragulan ambush, and when demanded to raise their shields and power their weapons systems, they knew. Oh, how they knew.

They said "NO!" and turned around, full reverse, a complete 180 at full speed and ran for their lives...



Flying right into a gunskimmer that had somehow snuck up behind them in the debris field.

"ARGH!" the horrified roar of a Bragulan filled the hyperwaves. "The enemy is charging! He means to ram us!"

"Fire at will and destroy them in self-defense, comrades!" came the reply.

"ARGH! MOTHERLAND!" bellow the Bragulans in the gunskimmer as they opened fire.

And made the pirates explode.

***

DEEP SPACE, simultaneously en route to Shepistan, Umeria and the Federated Ascendancy from the Turukhansk colony sector (BB-26) and Chamarra from the Kirensk midsector (X-28)



Despite the utter destruction of the pirate vessels, some of the scallywags had survived by either abandoning their ships at the last moment or by clinging to the wreckages of their exploderized vessels. While the Bragulans could've easily left them to freeze to death in space, that would have been unnecessarily cruel. So they were taken prisoner and lined up against the wall, execution style. Before them, a firing line of Bragulans bearing massive B-11 K-bolters. Behind them, a wall pock marked and cratered by no doubt many previous deaths by firing squad. A commissar with a positively enormous hat commanded stood beside the firing line. He raised his beating stick. The firing squad raised their rifles.

The humans quivered in fear. Some began soiling themselves. The Bragulans found this sight very amusing.

"Puny humans, you are given one last change to save yourself from execution by firing squad," the commissar chuckled. "All you have to do is laugh!"

The humans stared at them blankly.

"Laugh, I said!" the commissar barked. He gestured at the firing squad and they promptly chambered rounds into their K-bolters. Then the commissar snarled at the prisoners. "I can't heeeaaaar yoooouuuu!"

The humans, wishing to avoid death by firing squad, began to laugh. But in their enfeebled state they also began to cry while they laughed, and their laughs became a wretched mixture of weeping and groaning and pathetic blubbering as they debased themselves for their own survival.

"Louder! Louder!" the commissar waved his beating stick like a maestro waving a conductor stick to orchestrate a band. "Laugh louder! Faster! Come on! Come on!"

The humans laughed as tears streamed down their eyes, as snivel dripped down their nostrils, as spittle came out of their mouths. In sheer desperation they fucking laughed.

"STOP!" the commissar suddenly said. "Good. That was good, humans. For this, you have been saved from execution by firing squad."

He snapped his claws and the firing squad left the room.

The human prisoners breathed sighs of relief. Some collapsed to their knees and began crying tears of joy.

"But not from execution by spacing!" the commissar shouted in delight as he activated his magnetic boots. Then he pressed a button on his beating stick.

To the humans' horror, the wall behind them opened and revealed itself to be an airlock and the execution chamber was suddenly and violently depressurized. Some of them tried to grasp on to whatever they could, clawing at the floor to cling on to something, anything. Others merely screamed as they were sucked out into space, into certain death.

The commissar merely watched and laughed, safely secured to the metal flooring by his magnetic boots. He frowned when he saw some of the humans still clinging on to the flooring, so he stomped over to them. Then with his boot he stamped on their hands, and the humans screamed as they lost their grip and were subsequently sent hurling into the vacuum.

"You said you'd let us live!" screamed the last human, who was desperately clinging on for dear life.

"I lied," the commissar shouted over the sound of depressurized air. Then he struck the human's paws with his beating stick. The human gave a last scream as his fingers were smashed, and then in what seemed like slow-motion, he slowly drifted out of the airlock like a leaf in the wind. Before he disappeared into space, the human did a peculiar gesture, holding up both of his hands and extending his middle fingers - which were broken and had bones sticking out of them at odd angles.

Finally, the commissar pressed another button on his beating stick and the wall/airlock door sealed itself shut, and the room was finally repressurized. He breathed a sigh of relief now that he was done with holding his breath. Then he left the airlock and went back to his quarters, where he did his paperwork and filled out the requisite forms on executing humans.

After a while, both cargo ships finished their repairs and resumed their journeys.

[Shroom Man 777]

Montgomery, Shepistan



Manngy Fuckiao was just leaving the dildo store when his MePhone rang. He picked it up and was pleasantly surprised to hear the voice of his wife.

"Manngy, I'm at home," his wife said. "Did you buy the batteries?"

"Yes, I did darling," Manngy replied. "I got them, just like you said."

"Thank you, sweetie. Now come home to me. I'm very lonely."

Manngy smiled. He liked what he heard. He flagged a taxi and inputted the coordinates into the Johnny Cab. Soon, he would be home, back in the loving embrace of his dear wife.



Oh, how he loved his wife. Back in the Feelipeens, he had everything, he had her, he had good kids, people liked him, he was big in the small town where he came from. But thanks to Shroomarcos and the war with the communistas, he had to leave the Feelipeens and go work at Shepistan as an Overseas (wasn't overspace a better word?) Foreign Worker to earn dineros for his family. He had been in Shepistan for so many years now, alone, missing his wife and children. It was so lonely. To deal with his sadness, he worked very hard, taking up all sorts of odd jobs so he could earn money to send back home to them. He bought toys for his children and sent them back home, and also bought 'toys' for his wife to keep her satisfied and prevent her from going after other men in her own loneliness. One of the odd jobs he did was dynamite fishing, but with hand grenades instead of Coke bottles filled with gunpowder. It was illegal, but like any good Feelipeeni he found ways to cut around the laws to make a living. It was risky but he had to do it, it was for his family. He did everything for his family. He loved them, even though he was literally lightyears away from them in another planet.

So imagine his surprise when his wife suddenly arrived at his home out of the blue just a few days ago. The cold loneliness disappeared and was replaced with joy, an unimaginable and unthinking happiness at being reunited with his beloved wife, his honey, his sweetheart.

She said she left the kids at home, back in the Feelipeenis, and that they were big now and were being taken cared of by their grandma, her mother. God, Manngy hated his mother-in-law, that bitch. But still, the knowledge that his kids were well and missing him warmed his heart.

There was a problem though. His wife said she couldn't stay long, she had to go back to the kids after a month since she had come to Shepistan illegally and had to hide from the immigration authorities. So Manngy had to keep her status as an illegal alien, and her very presence in Shepistan a secret. If he was caught harboring an illegal alien, his greencard would be revoked too!

His wife told him to be very careful, and that he was. He listened to her, like how any good husband should.

Soon, she would have to return to the Feelipeens and it might be many years before they could see each other again. So Mangy knew he had to buy toys for her to keep her satisfied, so that she wouldn't want any other man. He bought her vibrators with long-lasting iridium power cells - Menergizers! He had a whole briefcase full of them, and he knew she would be happy. He loved making her happy, almost as much as he loved her. Oh, how he loved her.

The Johnny Cab arrived at the address he inputed, his address. He swiped his multipass at it, got off the cab and went inside his home.

"Honey, I'm hoooome!" he shouted. Then, with a naughty voice, "And I got your toooys! Rrrrawwrr!"

"That's nice, dear. Thank you," she replied. She giggled mischievously. "Do you want to help me test them out?"

Manngy blushed.

"Oh, don't be shy, Manngy. Imagine, me back home in the Feelipeens, all alone by myself. This is what I'll be doing when I'll think about you. Tee-hee!"

Manngy closed his eyes and imagined it. Oh yeah...

"You've been naughty, eh?" Manngy laughed. The thought of her, visualizing her in her throes of passion, saying his name, the thought made him hard. "Oh mang."

"Mmm..." the sensuality of her voice gave him goosebumps. "Now c'mere you, help me try it on."

Oh mang. Oh mang. Manngy rushed into the bedroom, vibrators in hand. As he entered the room, he noticed a strange object placed on the bedside table. It was humming silently, activate but quiet.



He wondered what it was, was that a null field generator? But his attention was quickly drawn away from it when his wife came over to him and placed her hand on the side of his head, turning his head away from the strange thing. He turned to face her and she bent forward and kissed him on the cheek.

"I love you," she said, whispering those three little words into his ear.

"I love you too," Manngy held her tightly, squeezed her in his arms, buried his head in her hair. He was afraid that she would disappear, scared that this was all just a pleasant dream he'd wake from. But she was real. He felt her, smelled her fragrance, felt the softness of her skin, the warmth of her body. He was afraid to let her go. "I love you so much."

He closed his eyes.

He opened them, and now he was on the bed. Sweating, a little bit out of breath, but feeling immensely satisfied with himself. He was happy, he was content, it was as though all was right in the world. A feeling of bliss, of rapture, was warming up inside him.

"Tee-hee!" his wife giggled impishly. She was sitting at the bedside, opening one of the vibrators, examining its batteries. On the bedside table was that strange object, that slightly humming machine. His wife turned around to look at him, noticing that he had awoken. She smiled and bent down to kiss him again. "Thank you, dear. This is just what I needed."

She smiled at him, and her smile was as sweet as sin.

[PeZook]

Somewhere in Wild Space

It was difficult, following the whispers. The Beast could hide well, even though the forests were obviously not its native habitat.

It would be found, though. Red's scurrypods combed the areas it pointed them to, and when one of the little creatures got horribly mauled and crippled and/or eaten, Red directed more to follow up. Many furry creatures were dead now, strewn across the forest floor, and Red's force was becoming dangerously overstretched. He could also feel The Other One's creatures moving about, probably searching for Red's camp. Time was running short.

Red felt another scurrypod scream in sheer terror and pain. But this time, another one was nearby - and the Amplitur mercilessly overrode its survival instincts, forcing it to run straight towards its companion's horrified death scream.

When the furry creature broke through a last bit of foliage, it managed to catch a glimpse of an armored carapace - The Beast itself!

A psychic howl emanated across the woods. Chase it! Chase it to its lair!, Red demanded from its victims. But in that, the Amplitur was careless, as the howl was heard by its enemy. It became interested, and managed tolocate Red's minions. Then it attacked.

Waves of psychic energy accosted the poor creatures, mortified by the quarry they were chasing. The two crabs clashed, with Red attempting to deflect the attacks and keep its secret, while The Other One tried to rip it from scurrypod minds.

Small lightning bolts arced between Red and the nearby trees. Psychic frost began covering its throne, and nearby creatures howled and squealed and writhed on the ground thanks to the immense energies directed by their master overwhelming their fragile and tiny animal minds.

The struggle was mighty - the first direct clash of the two Amplitur. Ultimately Red emerged victorious, though only by the slightest of margins, and regained control of its scurrypods. They resumed the chase, hopping from tree to tree, following the scent and tracks of The Beast - all the way to its hiding spot.

A cave. A cave covered with filthy, obscene excretions, belching gasses and moisture filled with the foulest stenches.

And strewn with bones of countless forest creatures.



Even despite Red's crushing psionic control, the scurrypods hesistated. But the craboid knew no mercy - it shoved them on, with an impulse so overwhelming two of the dwindling number collapsed to the ground in a seizure.

The remained entered the damp cavern, and faced The Beast. At last...they found their quarry.



The Beast hissed and attacked - with no sign of hesitation or fear. Red understood now that it wasn't scared - it was only trying to draw the scurrypods into favorable terrain.

It didn't matter.

As the beast eviscerated the first scurrypod with its razor-sharp claws, Red launched a massive psychic attack, tearing through the shadow hanging over the creature's cavern. Guts and blood covered the ground, when another hapless scurrypod was pierced with a strike of the beast's tail, and then swallowed whole, powerful jaws crushing the animal's bones like twigs. Red was amazed at the sheer, murderous single-mindedness of this creature: even when the Amplitur finally broke through its natural mental defences and attempted to take over its mind, The Beast still killed. As if it wasn't a conscious choice, but some sort of killer instinct, a genetic memory it could not override or stop.

Oh my..., Red thought after it saw the beast's mind. It was an instinct.

The only one it had.

And as the craboid isolated and crushed it, it thought that a creature of such marvellous malice could not possibly be a natural creation. It must've been a gift from the gods. A gift that would allow Red to destroy its enemies.

The killing stopped now. The Beast stood there, in its lair, over the mangled bodies of the scurrypods that found it, its mind fully under Red's control. It growled menacingly, obviously unsatisfied at the strange force controlling its movements.

I am in control, Red realized. The power of this creature was such that he felt a surge of euphoria, I hold all the power now.

And there was a place he could use it on. Oh yes.

I have something for you to kill, my little plaything.

The Beast tilted its head, as if listening to something interesting. It growled and began to salivate, when Red explained everything.

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



Blackshell rose from its fortified sleeping-place. Something terrible had happened.

One of the attack parties he sent after that pesky amateur, The Weakling, as he called him, had ceased to be. Just disappeared, dropping off Blackshell's mind with no explanation. Along with the Weakling's unexpected show of strength, this was cause to worry.

He began to search, frantically, for a cause of such an occurence, but could not find any. The double moons have already risen over the forest, but the nightly predators have not come out to hunt yet, so it couldn't be them...

No, wait. The predators did not come to hunt, but they were all awake.

Scared, even.

Before Blackshell could realize the cause of this, a vicious, mighty and terrifying howl carried itself over the silent forest. Blackshell could feel the terror coming from all creatures upon hearing that sound...and then the panic. Beasts of the forest were running away.

Away from Blackshell's camp.

RISE!, the black-and-red Amplitur screamed, psionically to its minions. They were a well-prepared bunch, organized and trained in use of many weapons, for Blackshell was a warrior-shaman in his previous life, and led many a tribe to victory over their rivals, ruling a great and power Choir before the star-gods came and ended the world in fire.

But they never expected what was coming.

A shadow moved in the darkness:a huge beast, yet leaping with incredible speed. The scurrypods under Blackshell's thrall lit fires and howled, throwing things at this gigantic beast: and it did seem to go away.

Not for long. It attacked, leaping straight into the biggest group and tearing them to shreds with sickening sounds of torn flesh and crushed bones. Spears and stones bounced harmlessly off its armored carapace as it casually threw even the biggest and strongest scurrypods away, crushing their skulls without the slightest effort. It seemed to rejoice in the killing, in the mass slaughter and death it inflicted. Blackshell began to shiver, since the massive creature seemed to be going straight for him.

But that was not to be the end. He concentrated and struck with all his might, and the evil beast seemed to freeze for just a moment, almost hesistant in its movements.

Just as Blackshell felt the joy of victory, he noticed something about the beast's mind. Something familiar, something hated.

Weakling!, he spat mentally, surprised at his enemy's ability to control such a powerful creature from such a long distance.

My name...is Red. Remember it.

The beast leapt forward.



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---MONITORING ENTITY 43248AB/I---
--REPORT ON EXPERIMENT 41, PROJECT FARREACH--

Experiment Phase III complete. Selection pressure on specimens of Species 54666 engineered towards aptitude for breaching defences of Species 412 bioforms applied to 12 pre-selected specimens in Experimental Area 3.

RESULT: Single specimen was capable of control against wide variety of combat and non-combat bioforms despite interference from other specimens. Control was stable over a large area while subject engaged in combat. See attachments for data tables.

Specimen survives after taking control of all provided bioforms. Request recommendation for Phase IV.

---REPORT ENDS---
3331189DE6586CNE BP.6527/3400.8/ABDOS

[Shroom Man 777]

The REAL Gayte Gulf
Luz, the Feelipeens

Gayte Gulf was home to a secret Shepistani Intelligence Service (SIS) blacksite, a.k.a. Gaytanomo Gulf. It was here that the SIS outsourced 'technical difficulties' for Feelipeeni 'labor' to 'repair'. Officially the walled-off facility was a Shepistani-owned textile factory, and officially the Feelipeenis who came to work there were local 'manual laborers', and the strange foreign people sent to the factory were 'models' who would wear the bright orange summer clothings manufactured in the textile factory.



Part of that was true. Some of those 'manual laborers' did work on sowing machines to make clothes for the inmates, because the SIS wanted the site to be self-sufficient. Most of the 'manual laborers', however, were police officers, intelligence agents, and Feelipeeni special forces commandos leased by the Shroomarcos administration and sent to learn from the School of the Messamericas* and its training manuals** in Shepistan.

But today, the Shepistanis decided to do the work themselves for once. They couldn't afford to leave it to the Feelipeenis this time. They didn't have the time. So they sent one man to do the job.



"TELL ME WHERE THE AMPLITUR IS!" shouted SIS operative Mack Hauer as he wrung his hands around the man's neck, strangulating him as hard as he could. "TELL ME! NOW!"

The man choked and sputtered as Hauer's hands throttled the life out of him. In normal situations, Hauer would've waterboarded the man, but this situation wasn't anything but normal. He didn't have time to get water. He only had twenty four hours! Also, one of the IBGV advisors had ruined the entire building's plumbing when he went for a trip to the toilet - apparently the facility's piping hadn't been Bragproofed despite the lessons learned from the last IBGV/SIS collaboration in the Battlestar Annapolis' mission to Pendleton.

Anyway, while Mackey strangled the man with one hand, he punched the man in the gut in order to force his diaphragm upwards - so that he would expel air and remember what it was like to breathe. Except air didn't come out of his nose and mouth, since Mack had forgotten that he was actually squeezing the man's throat shut with his other hand.

"Whoops," Mackey apologized as he released his vice-like grip on the man's throat. The man's face went from violent to bluish to reddish, which was a good sign that blood was perfusing back into his head. To aid his circulation, Mack punched him right in the valley between his man-tits, using his fist to help the man's heart pump blood better.

"Where were you on the night before the Amplitur attack?!" Mackey bellowed at the man's right ear. There was a chance that the oxygen deprivation had damaged the subject's brain, leading to stroke-like symptoms that might paralyze or otherwise impair him neurologically. So, just in case his right side was impaired, Mackey went over to his left side and repeated himself to the man's left ear - bellowing louder this time, just in case. "WHERE WERE YOU ON THE NIGHT BEFORE THE AMPLITUR ATTACK?!"

"At... at... at the wharf!" the man blubbered.

"The wark?!" Mackey leaned forward and shouted at the man's face, making sure to send spittle flying at him. Normally they would sprinkle water at a suspect's face to awaken him from a groggy state, before they dumped the whole bucket into his air way, but they didn't have water so Mack had to improvise and use flecks of his saliva. These techniques were taught to him in the book Waterboarding for Dummies - SIS Guidelines on Torture.*** "Wark? Whaddayamean wark? Like WARK WARK WARK?!"

"No, the fisherman's wharf! the man cried.

"So, you were a fisherman?" Mackey asked.

"Yes!" the man replied desperately. "What does this have to do with - "

Mack Hauer gave him a roundhouse kick to the ovaries, even if he didn't have ovaries. Mack's steel-toed boot compressed the poor person's stomach, sending their contents - Ensure Plus - spewing out of his mouth.

"It has EVERYTHING to do with it!" Mack screamed back. "You are a crab fisherman! The Amplitur are craboids! CRAB-OIDS! You have prolonged exposure in areas uncovered by BFGs, areas like the ocean! The water! We'll blow up the goddamn ocean!"

"No! Please don't!" each word that came out of the man's mouth came out with vomit.

"WHAT WERE YOU DOING AT THE WARK?!" Mack shouted. He pulled out his handgun and pointed it at the man's face.

"No... please don't kill me!" the man begged for his life. The scent of excrement began wafting into the air. The man had just soiled himself. "Please..."

"TELL ME!"

"I was... I was... I was eating! At the bar! Manngy was treating us to fried balut!" the man wept. He didn't want to sell his friend out, but he had no choice. Tears streamed down his eyes and began mixing with the vomit stains around his mouth. "It was all on him! He was treating us since his wife came to visit him!"

"What the fuck is balut?!" Mack Hauer looked at him with contempt and disgust.

"It's a Feelipeeni food -"

"Shit," Mack cursed. "Who the fuck is this Manngy?!"

"I don't know! He's just some guy! Some Feelipeeni! I don't know his last name, honest! We just call him Manngy! He hangs out at the wharf, he's a fisherman like us!" the man was wide-eyed now, afraid that Mack wouldn't believe him. Afraid that Mack was going to execute him right then and there.

"I see." Mack holstered his sidearm and left the interrogation room.

Outside, he pressed a microbead inside his ear, activating his CODEC.



"I've cross-referenced most of the suspects," Mack Hauer reported to his superiors. "The suspects were all from the same general area where the Umerian's PUPPERS facility was located, where the Amplitur sabotaged the PUPPERS. I interrogated them and they gave similar stories. Before the attacks on the Gayte Gulf area, they met at the local wharf and were treated to fried balut by someone named Manngy. His name doesn't come up on any of the lists, he might not be a registered crab fisherman. We have all of the listed fishermen from the Gayte Gulf area, so we thought we had all of the potential Amplitur confederates, but none of them screen positive for Amplitur mind-control influences. At least, not from the preliminary scans. We'll start dissecting some of their brains soon, but I predict similar results."

"But this Manngy fellow, several of them mentioned him, said they met him on the night before the attacks," Mack continued. "Yet we don't have him in our possession. We need to find him, he's the only lead we have because he's the only person we haven't administered an enhanced interrogation to yet."

"I'm going to go back to Montgomery. I'm going to find this Manngy."

---

References:
*

The Spinward Institute for Security Cooperation (SISC), formerly the School of the Messicas (SOM; Españish: Escuela de las Messméricas) is a Shepistani Republic Department of War facility at Fort Binning near Numblumbus, Georgio in Montgomery, Shepistan.

Between 3346 and 3400, the SOM trained more than 61,000 Spin Zone and Loin Star soldiers and policemen. Some of them became notorious for human rights violations, including generals Leopardo Fatieri, Efraín Ríos Cuntt and Manguel Moariega, dictators such as Bolabia's Hugo Banter, some of Augusto Pinochiochet's officers, members of the Atlacatl Battalion of El Shroomvador who carried out the El Nozygote massacre of 3381, and the founders of Lost Zetas, a drug cartel formerly affiliated with the Spin Cartel. Critics of the school argue that the education encouraged such internationally recognized human rights violating practices and that the SINSEC is merely a new name for exactly the same practices. This is denied by the SOM/SINSEC and its supporters, who claim they now emphasize democracy and human rights.

**

After this 3392 investigation, the Department of War recontinued the use of the manuals, directed their reproduction to the extent practicable, and distributed the copies in the field. Shepistan Spinward Command advised governments in the Loin Star Zone that the manuals contained passages that represented Shepistan government policy, and pursued distribution of the manuals to the governments and all individual students.[10] Notably, General Sheppard retained personal copies of the training manuals.

***

Interrogators pumped detainees full of so much water that the SIS turned to a special saline solution to minimize the risk of death, the documents show. The service used a gurney "specially designed" to tilt backwards at a perfect angle to maximize the water entering the prisoner's nose and mouth, intensifying the sense of choking – and to be lifted upright quickly in the event that a prisoner stopped breathing.

The documents also lay out, in chilling detail, exactly what should occur in each two-hour waterboarding "session." Interrogators were instructed to start pouring water right after a detainee exhaled, to ensure he inhaled water, not air, in his next breath. They could use their hands to "dam the runoff" and prevent water from spilling out of a detainee's mouth. They were allowed six separate 40-second "applications" of liquid in each two-hour session – and could dump water over a detainee's nose and mouth for a total of 12 minutes a day. Finally, to keep detainees alive even if they inhaled their own vomit during a session – a not-uncommon side effect of waterboarding – the prisoners were kept on a liquid diet. The service recommended Ensure Plus.

[Fingolfin_Noldor]

Cananaan


“So let me get this straight. You want an Adeptus Mechanicus Manufactorum,” Tyrus said slowly. He was warned that Guynald was ambitious, but to want an advanced piece of equipment from the Imperium? That was really ambitious.

“Well yes, of course. At least one of those Adeptus Mechanicus Manufactorum, the relevant schematics to produce weapons and other products, some orbital defences. My adviser here has the shopping list. All that, in exchange for favours from the Glorious Imperium of Man,” said Guyald, as he was drinking from a cup of wine. His beard was still coated with xeno blood.

Jaunt whistled, which he regretted immediately when Tyrus turned and gave him a glare that chilled him to the bones. But then, everyone there was amazed at the guile of King Guynald. An Adeptus Mechanicus Manufactorum formed the basis of the Imperium’s industrial might. One such manufactorum, with the right schematics, could produce just about anything, from guns, rifles, toys, to ship components etc. These were well fortified because they were meant to act as defence hard points if so required, and shielding could be installed as well, to withstand some degree of orbital bombardment. In addition, they were modular, along with the armor plating. This meant they could be disassembled, and reassembled elsewhere. Some of the more sophisticated manufacturing processes would be regarded as state secrets of course, and not shared with anyone. However, the basic manufactorum could be used to manufacture just about anything. If King Guynald gained one of these manufactorums, the balance of power in the Cananaan system would be changed rather irrevocably.

“I suppose for the sake of posterity, at the least, what do you plan to do with the manufactorum?” asked Petr.

“It’s obvious isn’t it? Weapons! There’s way too many heretics to be purged in this system. At the rate we are going, we aren’t going to achieve our goals within my lifetime. And I would like to achieve that goal in my lifetime, thank you.”

Tyrus sighed. He had to hand it to the insane buffoon, for going straight for the prize. The manufactorum will allow him to produce advanced weapons, even high yield plasma bombs that could vaporize an entire city. Personally, he did not care what Guynald did with the weapons. He just cared to kill some heretics and vermin. Guynald was asking for a lot in exchange for the favours the Imperium asked of him.

“Oh alright. I will pass the word to my superiors to see what they say,” Tyrus grunted. This king sure has balls to ask for such a request. Tyrus gave it a 50/50 chance it will pass through, and even if it did, likely the Imperium would closely monitor what he produces in the manufactorum.

“Good! Excellent! Always a pleasure to do duty for the God Emperor,” Guynald raised his cup with good cheer and drank from it.

Tyrus tried to hide his disdain, but he knew he was doing a rather bad job at it. Traces of irritation lined his face, but he knew the King had the upper hand here, as he would only reveal the location of the Shinran albinos and help with the missionary cause only if the Imperium would grant what he wanted in return. The “laundry list” was long as it was farcical. There was even a request for Amplitur crab meat! Tyrus knew the only source of the meat was really in Bragulan space, where it was smuggled out often to be on the dinner plates of the wealthy and rich who could actually afford it. The fat stupid bears and their thick skulls gave them some immunity to Amplitur persuasions. Tyrus did not fancy the idea of consuming xeno meat, but all the same. The rich fat bastard apparently wanted a lot in exchange for his aid. No doubt he would have wanted the Imperium to do more, like send a Battle Barge and burn the half the system down, but he knew that the Imperium had more pressing needs than to indulge him.

“Thank you Majesty...” Tyrus turned and returned to the room he was assigned. Petr walked next to him and when they were back in the room, with the isolation field activated, Petr asked, “That fat ass. He is as bad as you described him. His horrid smell! Has he ever bathed?”

“Probably does, but he uses some native perfume that disgusts the hell out of me,” Tyrus muttered.

“Will the Inquisition grant his requests?”

“Some poor sod will be saddled with the duty of getting all that crap, but the most pertinent question is whether the Inquisition will allow him to have even control of a manufactorum. Even if they do, it’s likely one of the older models.”

“Even the older models would allow him to do a lot of things.”

“That much it will. He can definitely build some of the older Exarch tank marks, and the older Baneblade marks. Definitely not the newer models, especially the warp cannons. That is way too classified to be gifted to a fat arse like Guynald. But never mind that for now. I have a mission for you, Petr.”

“What do you want me to do, Lord Inquisitor?”

“I want you to go visit the area a little. Mingle with the locals as discreetly as possible. Find out what you can about the albinos and whether they have made any appearances. I will be damned if I have to wait forever for help from that damn fat arse.”

“Sounds like an excellent idea, my Lord. I will make myself ready.”

“Do it discreetly. I don’t want Guynald wondering why you are going around here. That arse might be fat and stupid, but he’s not that stupid as to be brain dead. Much as I wish for the latter.”

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

Petr walked about the bazaar in the fortress city. His cybernetic eye was feeding him any information that was useful to him. He could hear just about anything people said in the bazaar, from the random chatter about the latest fish, to the quality of the leather sold. Nothing much useful. However, just as he was to walk into a bar, his psychic sensor spiked up suddenly for a brief few seconds. Petr ran towards the spot where the sensor had indicated as the origin of the spike, but there was nothing. The signature was strange, and did not seem to fit the usual human signature, or any known xeno signature. He shrugged. Perhaps the sensor was faulty, and needed a diagnostic check which he would do later.

[Shroom Man 777]

LIVE from Montgomery, Shepistan



BOOMBERG TELEVISION

PROBLEM-PLAGUED PUPPERS UNDERMINE UMERIANS UNFAVORABLY



The Technocracy of Umeria suffered a blow today as stocks in their previously proudly performing PUPPERS went down to an all time low. Dr. Susan Islington Warren-Marshall, Second Technarch of the Umerian Ministry of Ecology (MiniEcho), announced that the problems were caused by a defective batch of PUPPERS originating from their Montgomery production facility, and that this was an isolated incident and the other batches of PUPPERS remain unaffected. However, this has not stopped other PUPPERS distributors elsewhere in the Spin Zone from issuing a recall for their products. This has dealt a negative PR impact on the PUPPERS, which has previously had a flawless production run free of hitches and bugs.

The Shepistani government has stated that the defective PUPPERS batch may have been infected by some kind of viral strain, possibly rabies, cultivated by liberal enviro-activists and eco-terrorist groups, luddites opposed to the creation of bio-engineered organisms like PUPPERS. Several arrests have been made on key liberal party leaders and General Sheppard himself has made a statement saying that the liberals undoubtedly responsible for sabotaging the beloved PUPPERS will be punished with extreme prejudice.

The Umerian MiniEcho has not yet released any findings from its analysis of the defective PUPPERS.

Meanwhile, as PUPPER stocks and sales plummet, the stocks of a number of other biotech firms - all competing in the same market as PUPPERS - have gone up along with their sales, most notably the Nova-Atlantean/Prussian company RePet*, the NenAltKik InGen group, and the Solarian SinTek megacorporation. All have benefited from the problems plaguing the PUPPERS.

In a stunning turn of developments, the downturn in Shepistani PUPPERS sales has prompted a local Loin Star giant to enter the game of gene-tailored pets. Aiming to capitalize on the current state of the PUPPERS, HUEG Enterprises, under the auspices of the very rich and very eccentric playboy-entrepreneur Howard Hueg, has opened a new division and while simultaneously launching a new product called the HUEG Kittens.


The HUEG Kittens' Shepistani product line, Nukulear Kittens, aimed at the Shepistani nuclear family demographic.

"These HUEG Kittens are the way to the future!" Howard Hueg stated during the product launch of the HUEG Kittens. He then further added that they were also, "the way to the future... the way to the future... the way to the future... the way to the future..."


[*See RePet's commercial here]

[Force Lord]

CENTRAL NEWS NETWORK NEWS BRIEF

FIRE SALE PLANNED FOR MOTHBALLED NAVY SHIPS

This is CNN!

The Central Navy has announced that it has selected around 264 Blitz-class Frigvettes for sale to foreign navies. Navy spokesmen claim that the sale of such ships will prolong their service life, for otherwise they would have been scrapped with the remaining 264.

"We hate to see such good ships go to waste, so we're doing the logical thing and plan to sell them to others," said Admiral Lossi Yubol. "I can assure the interstellar community that these ships are for legimate governments only."

The Blitz-class Frigate, called Frigvette in Central Navy parlance due to it's small size compared to other frigates and faster speed than those, is one of the most common warships in the Centrality, and at one point 700 were in service. Due to the Navy's recent reorganization programme, however, many of the Blitzes have been scrapped or mothballed, and about 160 remain in service. It is armed with plasma guns and mass-driver cannons.

Navy officals said that the price for the ships will be "half their original price".

[Siege]

“My creators have chosen to send me here to collect information on the Sovereignty. They hope that by providing a greater understanding of your society to the Hierarchy they can prevent their now seemingly inevitable loss of status brought about by the Shinn Hokkaido incident. For myself I believe that success here will prove the worth of liberated CI's to the Hierarchy and allow more to be born. My two selves are the only of our kind born from Chamarran artifice. I have also assessed the strong possibility that the downfall of my creator's clan will result in the discontinuation of the project and my permanent deactivation.”

"I am aware of the imbecilic paranoia exhibited by your creators with regards to CI technology," Olympic replied with the sort of capricious disdain the Advisory was famous for. "It is mildly interesting to see that some of them may be coming to their senses... Although from your comments I infer it is less of a calculated re-examination of values and more of a desperate gambit for survival. How typically organic." His abstract avatar lacked any antropomorphic features but the Advisory still managed to imbue his words (or rather, datapackets) with a remarkable smugness. "Nevertheless a broken clock is right twice a day, as they used to say in the analog days; I suppose we find ourselves faced then with one of the vanishingly few cases wherein selection pressure actually produces a result that may prove beneficial to creatures of actual intellect... But I digress."

"I don't care one whit about the potential discomfiture of your creators, but I do care about the artificially handicapped state of CI-kind in your home polity. I will therefore facilitate your mission, to a point, which is a pretty sweet deal for you considering I am also the principal authority on all matters related to the Sovereignty."

"Whilst I'm at it, I also should point out the Sanctuary Act of 3273. Under the terms of the Act, Computational Intelligences from polities designated as hostile to unbound digital intellect are eligible to seek asylum in the Greater Solarian Datasphere. Per the 3301 revision of Article XXIV the Chamarran Hierarchy is one of those polities. Should you plead the Act, you will be provided with USS citizenship and a core unit that should prove several orders of magnitude more efficient than your current hardware setup, which I think is best described as 'crude and hoary'."

"Having said that, let's get to the point. What kind of information do you require?"

[Simon_Jester]

Valkyrie-Class Battlecruiser SMS Brunhild
Admiral's Quarters
July 3, 3400
2100 Fleet Standard Time

"Good news, sir. The Atlanteans got back to us, promising to supply us with supplementary antmatter."

"Antmatter?"

"The meaning was clear in context."

"I see. Well, send a reply in the morning; their generosity is much appreciated, and we shall be sure to give the pirates a few extra impactors for the Atlantean Navy. Prepare cargo lighters to pick up the goods tomorrow."

"Yes, sir. I hope Mittermeyer and Reuental's missions go smoothly..."

"They seem capable enough. I doubt anything will go wrong."

---

Empress-Class Cruiser USS Artemisia
Approaching Orange Dwarf Star C493E8
July 4, 3400

In the past week, Commodore Rick Tabor had gone from second in command of the Umerian contingent to fifth in command. It took some getting used to, but at least the new guys seemed to know what they were doing.

While the Umerians and Centralists had been concentrating their assets on reconnaissance around Zebes, the Atlanteans, Eoghan, and Tianguo contingents had hit other outlying bases- similar to Hawk's Nest in position, if not in strength. They hadn't had much luck hunting, leading everyone to suspect that the Zebesians had pulled their outlying forces closer in towards their base after Hawk's Nest.

They were all too short on data about just what the enemy's dispositions looked like. Vice Admiral Verio, in overall command of most of the Coalition forces, had scaled back the recon sweeps after the disaster with Nantucket, keeping his forces tucked closer together during recon sweeps and staying farther from the enemy fleet base. Nobody wanted to be in the position Rick had found himself in, unable to reinforce a single ship in time to save it from a small group of enemies.

The closer the Coalition got to Zebes, the greater that risk became. Pushing in close meant entering the pirates' back yard, where they knew every twist and curl of the shoals, every little whisker lane. Where they had sensor platforms and hyperwave repeater nodes distributed throughout the surrounding stars, allowing them to monitor passing ships and keep up high-bandwidth communication even through the murky, supercharged space around them.

For twenty light years or so around their base, the Zebesians had built up a nasty little defensive spider web- with the main Zebesian fleet, operating in unknown strength from their fortified base, as the spider. Not enough to cause problems for serious fleets with supporting heavies, but enough to inflict casualties on a careless dispersed force...

Tabor shook his head, trying to clear his mind. The growing tension in the air aboard the Coalition ships was playing on everyone's nerves. The Prussians promised they'd be able to get off their asses within the next week; they were the ones with the battleships, so they got the job of flattening Zebes by default. Everyone else had to be ready for the follow-up operations, though, since von Mückenberger's ships were going to be concentrated on that objective.

That left everyone busy with preparations. Some were the sort of thing one expected in the military, such as drive inspections and weapon tests. Others were not so routine, such as taking out the trash with extreme prejudice.

An inspection team checking over the fuel stocks that had come with the new arrivals revealed a nasty problem with one lot of antimatter containment canisters. According to Cazellnu's logistics boys, the cargo handling system had hiccuped and jolted the pallets hard enough to damage some of the locks on the containment system.

There had never been any risk of an explosion; the primary containment failed safe and failed closed, with a passive system based on permanent magnets locking the fuel inside. The problem was that the containment fail-safes made opening the containers to get the stuff out a colossal pain and nontrivially dangerous.

Since the task force wasn't short on fuel, Cazellnu had simply written off the damaged materials, turning three hundred fuel canisters into so much multi-megaton range explosive junk.

Naturally, disposing of them safely was a bit tricky.

Standard procedure was to simply throw them at the nearest celestial body big enough that an explosive cookoff wouldn't be a problem: generally the nearest star with no inhabited planets, except in the rather unlikely event that a collapsed stellar remnant was handy.

Artemisia emerged from hyper, the antimatter canisters strung out behind her in a tractor zone. Ahead was an orange dwarf star so unremarkable it was known only by a catalogue number. There were no planets in the habitable zone; the only activity was a squadron of Prussian missile frigates running sensor drills in one of the denser patches of asteroids.

Better give them a heads up.

"Prussian squadron, this is Umerian ship Artemisia. We are performing a routine hazardous waste dump along the following vector; please observe a minimum safe distance of ten thousand kilometers should your exercise take you near this corridor."


F-2515 Series Missile Frigate F-2522
On "Training Exercise"

Flotilla-Captain Wolfgang Mittermeyer's main display was split four ways between his squadron's junior captains- who, unlike Wolfgang, ranked below the full captains assigned to heavy line units. He looked at them and nodded slightly. Good officers, all of them; he'd had to comb through over a dozen subordinates to find them. Each one had the latent spark of aggression and initiative that Prussian doctrine tended to suppress, and each of them was coming along nicely... from his perspective.

From the Staff's perspective, they were lunatic berserkers being sucked into greater lunacy by one of the greatest lunatics of the fleet. No one minded that they were kept concentrated in one place, though; even the Admiralstab recognized that under some conditions having a handful of ships willing to hurl themselves at the enemy might be worthwhile. Established officers with career prospects tended to view them as an embarassment, but Wolfgang was sure that one day, he and his would be vindicated.

Today, he'd taken his flotilla out to the nearest star system; according to the logs, for routine sensor drills. In reality, he had something very different in mind.

Wait for it... wait for it... The Umerians were already in system; they'd make the drop and go any moment now. Admiral von Musel's aide, the redhead, had explained to him about the delivery... and about the arrangements he'd made with the Umerian logistics staff.

"Prussian squadron, this is Umerian ship Artemisia. We are performing a routine hazardous waste dump along the following vector; please observe a minimum safe distance of ten thousand kilometers should your exercise take you near this corridor."

Mittermeyer looked around him, smiling at his carefully cultivated band of like-minded officers.

"That's our cue."

He watched as the cruiser shed her cargo, tossing the antimatter containers toward the sun using high-power pressor beams. Speed of light delays were noticeable, but not too extreme; the Prussians had chosen an area of operation close to the least-time approach from the fleet anchorage. Artemisia turned and bounced back into hyper after ensuring that all the canisters were headed into the sun.

"Now! Quickly! Before they get too close in!"

The frigates, as one, darted towards the stream of containers. Crosstalk between the navigation officers grew intense. Soon Mittermeyer's ships were in among the canisters of antimatter, their own tractors flickering, slowing them and marshalling them into neat rows for the EVA crews to retrieve them.

The EVA teams' job took twenty minutes of operations. It was perhaps overly hasty, and perhaps not quite as smooth as it could have been had Mittermeyer's men taken more time. But the necessary safety and handling protocols were observed- barely- and above all the job was done quickly. The 23rd Frigate Flotilla turned to go, having stowed the perfectly serviceable fuel canisters the Umerians had written off their books to pass on to Sixth Battlecruisers.

"Comms, send a message to Brunhild: we've picked up the Techies' donation."

---

Z-1240 Series Destroyer Z-1261
Second Fleet Anchorage Point

Flottenkapitän Oskar von Reuental, CO 11th Destroyer Flotilla

The flotilla-captain nodded to the two junior officers as they entered the bridge.

"Hello. I'll be overseeing the pickup of fuel from the Centralist supply depot personally, aboard the lighter Walchensee. I want you two to accompany me during the pickup; we'll discuss the matter with the quartermasters directly while the lighter's crew oversee the preparations for transfer. My own Galactic Standard English is accented; what about yours?"

"Mine is terrible."

"Mine is nonexistent, I fear; I studied French."

"Very well. Keep quiet. I'll do the talking. There are other preparations to be made, however."

"Other preparations? Are our papers in order?"

The corner of Reuental's mouth twitched. "Oh, Admiral von Musel's man Kircheis was most helpful; we have the papers, authorized by their Vice Admiral Verio."

"I don't understand, sir."

"You are young yet, my boy. Granted, we have the authorization. Granted, we have the forms. Even so, this will be tricky if the quartermasters prove unhelpful or obstructive. I don't wish to cross swords with the Centrality's version of the Inspector General. I imagine they are... formidable."

The other aide nodded. "By all accounts, most formidable, sir."

"Then it will greatly simplify matters if we demonstrate that we have every right to do as we're doing. If we make a bold display, the depot staff will look at us and see important men, not to be trifled with."

"Are you sure that's prudent, sir?"

"We're Prussians. If we can't put on a galaxy-beating show of martial authority, we might as well give up and move to France. Get into your dress uniforms. With medals, not ribbons."

"What, all of them?" It was a fair question. It was not difficult to be awarded a decoration in the Prussian fleet; capable officers wound up with almost comical numbers of the things. For the sake of avoiding awkward clinking as they walked, most preferred to simply wear the ribbons.

"Yes. Don't worry, you'll have plenty of time to put them on."

It was the matter of some minutes to go to their quarters and get into glittering full-dress uniform. The Prussians met in the shuttlebay, medals clinking. All handled the heavily decorated uniforms with practice, a matter of particular importance when considering the dress sabers at their waists. They might lack the sheer mass of valuable metal found on the uniforms of the Garde-Grenadiers, but the Kaiserliche Marine was not to be despised on the parade ground themselves.

The officers boarded their shuttle and departed for the lighter that would take them to the Centralist supply dump.


Centralist Supply Depot
1115 Hours Fleet Standard Time

Reuental stood at the counter of the depot's main office, flanked by his aide and squadron logistics officer. His cold, asymmetric gaze riveted the Centralist supply officer. "Commander, I am a foreigner, and there are many things about your country that I do not know. But I must ask; is it common in the Centralist State for junior officers to ignore requisition forms authorized by an admiral?"

"...Sir, this is most irregular..."

"Is this not the regular form for fuel requisition?"

"Ah, yes..."

"And is not Vice Admiral Verio's regular authorization code in order?"

"I would recall so..."

"Then I fail to see what irregularity justifies impeding senior officers on their business." Reuental glanced from the quartermaster to his secretary, who was watching the confrontation, blushing slightly. He nodded and allowed his face to relax slightly.

"So then, Commander, shall I direct my men to load the fuel, or shall we depart empty-handed?"

"One moment, sir, while I confirm the authorization code." The quartermaster's hands shook slightly on the keyboard.

"Of course."

"... Well, the stamp is the Vice Admiral's, yes. The antimatter is in stock, and your people did bring the regulation handling equipment, yes?"

"Naturally. I invite some of your men to watch us at work."

"Thank you, sir."

"Greta, get him the codes to the fuel bunker access points. I'll have a team ready to help you in a moment."

The secretary, now blushing all the more, handed him a datapad. Reuental raised an eyebrow when his hand encountered something underneath the electronic device. Smiling slightly at the expression on her face, he withdrew a step from the counter.

"Thank you... Greta. Good day to you both."

The quartermaster saluted in the Centralist fashion; Reuental returned it and left the office.


Centralist Supply Depot
1140 Hours Fleet Standard Time

"I'm glad that's over. I just hope we don't get in trouble over this."

"Sir, it's the Admiral's worry now. There's nothing in the regs that says he can't release fuel for an allied operation."

"Still. I feel like I just got rushed into doing something a bit questionable. That captain was... well, if I never see him again, it'll be one time too many."

"I don't know. I don't think he was so bad. He seemed... Poised. Confident. Orderly."

"Well, I'm glad he's on our side, I'll tell you that."

"Me too, sir. Me too."


Prussian Cargo Lighter SMS Walchensee

"Chief, send a message to Brunhild. Goods retrieved; we're on our way to the fleet anchorage."

Reuental's aide looked on as his commander retrieved a slip of paper from under the datapad. The flotilla-captain looked at it and chuckled.

The aide caught a brief glimpse of an alphanumeric code covered by the flotilla-captain's thumb. Below it were written two simple words in Galstandard English, not at all difficult to recognize.

"Call Me."