SDNW4 Story Thread 1

[Force Lord]

Centrality Embassy, Mayniland
Planet Luz, The Feelipeens
8 September 3400

The holoprojector beeped and beeped, much to the discomforture of the clerks in charge of ensuring that the Ambassador was informed of all issues. It was late, and it meant that the clerks were sleepy. Nevertheless, they had a job to do, and none wanted to have some CSB overseer report "worker laziness" back to his bosses and theirs.

"Who is it? It's friggin' late here!", one of the clerks exclaimed.

"Hey uh, this is CIS agent Tarich Zozze. We wanted a word with the ambassador."

The clerk sighed. Another spy job. "Wait a sec. I'll get him."

A few minutes later, the Ambassador came up.

"Well, what's the matter, since you called so late."

"Sir, I think that we have something interesting. You ever heard of Shroom Fighter?"

The Ambassador frowned. "Only rumors. Supposedly it's some kind of fighting tournament, illegal in many nations except third-galaxy realms like the Feelipeens, and I've been told that the Bragulans also tolerate it. From what I've heard, in Shroom Fighter, death is allowed," he said. "Now what are you boys planning to do."

"Can you get us Gates first?"

"Well, I can, but-"

"Do it."

A couple of hours later...

"Are you high, Agent Zozze? The Feelipeens can break your moral compass if you're not careful," said Hoover Gates.

"I'm pretty serious about it, sir. Sending a couple of agents to observe Shroom Fighter might benefit us in the long run."

"But it's not safe. I've heard rumors of Bragulan influence on that organization, and our info is sketchy at best. We only have one agent observing Shroom Fighter, and she's keeping a low profile."

"She?"

"Yes. Riaza Fivi. She discovered that Shroom Fighter has connections with Wild Space worlds, as well as the rumored Bragulan influence."

"I see."

"You still want to do this, Zozze? It will be a high-risk mission, and I'd hate to lose fine agents."

"Me and my fellow agents are ready, sir. We will not fail."

"Very well. You will attempt to observe Shroom Fighter's activities throughout the Feelipeenis, undetected if possible. Of course, disguises are allowed."

"Will we be allowed to contact Fivi?"

"No. She will be told about your mission and contact you instead. If you try to do so on your own, she may end up compromised."

"Right sir. Out."

Zozze's image disappeared.

"You think this will work, Director?", asked the Ambassador.

"Hopefully not. I don't like having my agents run amok. But then the Intelligence business isn't all you want it to be."

[Shroom Man 777]

This video may not exactly be safe for work. Viewer discretion is advised.







Centrality Embassy, Mayniland
Planet Luz, The Feelipeens
8 September 3400

Maynilad... shit; I'm still only in Maynilad... Every time I think I'm gonna wake up back in the jungle.

When I was home after my first tour, it was worse. I'd wake up and there'd be nothing. I hardly said a word to my wife, until I said "yes" to a divorce. When I was home after my first tour, it was worse.

I'd wake up and there'd be nothing. I hardly said a word to my wife, until I said "yes" to a divorce. When I was here, I wanted to be there; when I was there, all I could think of was getting back into the jungle. I'm here a week now... waiting for a mission... getting softer. Every minute I stay in this room, I get weaker, and every minute Feelipeeni squats in the bush, he gets stronger. Each time I looked around the walls moved in a little tighter.



Shadowshroom
Somewhere in the Feelipeens System
8 September 3400



The small child played with the carabao's severed head. He was one of the children R. Julia had taken, had threatened to kill should Lady Zara disobey his will. The child had seen what R. Julia did to his friends, how he had snapped their necks with his powerful hands. But now, he played with the carabao's severed head, in the very presence of R. Julia himself - and the man, if you could call him that, barely paid the child any heed.

In the days since then, R. Julia had kept the remaining children and had ensured that they were sheltered, clothed and well-fed. In a way, they had been better treated in the care of R. Julia than they would have been in the impoverishment of their old homes. Yet, R. Julia kept them to ensure Lady Zara's compliance, and should she ever defy him, he would not hesitate to take their lives in an instant. Such was the evil of that man, the master of Shadowshroom.

A massive furry paw clouted the small child, throwing him across the room. Fortunately he landed on a soft bearskin rug, and thus the blow left him with only severe bruising but nothing else broken. R. Julia frowned slightly as he watched the assailant, a brute Bragulan, grab the severed water buffalo head the child had been playing with.

"Da!" laughed the Bragulan, Vlydymyr Boryslyav, the maker of famous(ly brutal) programs like 'No Star Empire for Old Bears'. He unhinged his jaws and devoured the water buffalo head in one wretched motion. He spoke as he masticated the carabao's cranium. "That puny human who fashions himself as the Imperator was most amusing. Blasphemous, but most amusing. We request that he be brought along for the tournament in the K-Zone. We shall call it... the Koprulu Karnage Kage Fight!"

"Yes, it shall be a grotesque spectacle worthy of your proletarian workers, and the final free-for-all battle royale shall be a sight unlike any seen before in the galaxy," R. Julia said. He swallowed his distaste for the uncivilized brute Bragulan barbarian, even allowing the bear to strike one of his children, for this was business and as loathe as he would to admit it, he knew he was dealing with no mere insect, but an equal. Normally, he would not have tolerated anyone striking his subjects without his permission, for only he - R. Julia - had the right to decide the suffering of insects.

"It will be a bath of blood," Vlydymyr Boryslyav chuckled gutturally. Unlike a human, or Solarian, executive, he was not concerned with the ratings of his shows like No Star Empire for Old Bears. The position he occupied was in the convoluted entanglements between the various Bragulan bureaus, the Justice Department's entertainment division, the propaganda truth ministries, and the industrial productivity agencies. He was not out for the ratings or cable subscriptions, for the proletarian civilization of Bragule had no cables to subscribe to - for all broadcasts were under the singular control of the Imperator's sole network, and should any Bragulan subject attempt to opt for another network or cancel his subscription, he would shortly find himself canceled. Rather, the purpose of these brutal Bragulan broadcasts and airing Shroom Fighter was to improve Bragulan proletarian working-class people's productivity - for the sight of humans killing other humans was an enjoyable one that would warm any Bragulan's heart and motivate him to do the Imperator's work further.

"Its called bloodbath," R. Julia corrected.

"I think I prefer it my way" Vlydymyr Boryslyav merely laughed. "If there is anything you humans can be depended on is that you shall never find unity in Byzonist perfection, preferring instead to slaughter one another for the most insignificant of reasons, day by day and time after time - whether it be in the wars you wage against one another, or in the bloodstained arenas of tournaments such as these. It is truly in your nature to destroy yourselves. It is good that we both find this rewarding... comrade."

"Indeed," R. Julia replied, nodding sagely. Had it been any other creature to speak to him in this way, he would have made the creature severely regret its choice of words. But this Bragulan, R. Julia could do nothing to it. After all, in its own way the Bragulan was speaking the truth, if the creature was even capable of that. "As long as both of us hold our ends of the deal, then we shall both reap what we sow. Comrade."

[Darkevilme]

Hyperspace lane, Multiversal Empire of Happyness

The Sunshine Mushroom was a cruise liner that the designers had clearly imagined would be graceful and imposing, a majestic prince of the space lines. Something had clearly gone terribly wrong, through incompetence or managerial interference the Sunshine fell far short of the mark. With all the grace of a tranquilized buffalo and all the majestic presence of a river barge the vessel full of imperial citizens ploughed steadily through hyperspace like a great big cow grazing through a field.

And where there are fat herd animals all alone, there are always wolves...
---
“Fastah! Must have FASTAH!” the ork mechboy bellowed through the megaphone, barely audible over the hammering beat of the atomic detonation reactors and constant hissing whine of the hyperdrive as it forced the vessel ork cruiser Kill dozer through the hyperspatial aether.

Gretchkin boilermonkeys scambering constantly around the engine fighting a continueing battle to patch the steam spewing leaks in the myriad pipes that keep the hyperdrive cool, more steam jets rupturing forth even as earlier ones are patched.

Kill Dozer arrowed in to intercept the comparatively becalmed Sunshine. Now when faced with a ship in hyperspace there are a couple of methods usually employed to capture the vessel for boarding or to pull it out of hyperspace, ranging from Solarian Hyperdynamic hyperfields to Bragulan grappling harpoons, however none of them are considered fundamentally orky enough. So Orks remain the only species to favour the tactic that was seen here. A cheer went up within the Dozer just as the captain of the Sunshine realizes his predicament-
“WAAAAGH!”
Like an angry fist the Dozer smote the cruise liner, its bow shattering the flaccid hull plates of the fattened cow and driving deep within. Thus penetrated the cruise liner's paltry defences now had an ample and vulnerable opening through the Dozer's crew could disgorge and begin their merry profiteering.
---
“Hosts to citizen protection mode.” captain Cad Willard was not a happy man, and it wasn't just cause he was named Cad Willard, there were orks on his ship! His precious ship. As he gets confirmation from the Hosts he turns his attention to the communications console, holding the side of his head as he grabs the microphone. “This is the Sunshine Mushroom to all empire vessels in the area, we are under attack by ork pirates, request immediate assistance.” he says and then wipes the blood away from his face Transmitter hardware fault, communications offline blinked back at his freshly cleared gaze from the console. Cad blinked and fought down the nausea and pain from the head wound and turned his gaze out the sternward window towards where the communication array was, was it seemed was the operative word. An ork dressed in some bastardized but big and bulky mixing of an EVA rig, spacesuit and powered armour had just finished tearing the communication array completely loose from its mounting point and tosses it away. The sternward window tinting near black the moment the drifting array reached the edge of the Sunshine's hyperfield and was exposed to aether without protection.

Goddess damn them! Well they're not gonna take this ship without a fight! Cad gets out of the captain's chair and goes stumbling off in search of his gun and some medication so he's not in danger of passing out during the fight, it probably wont be long before the greenskinned bastards reach the bridge.
---
Dear goddess, this program is good at this!
The boy was truly in heaven, sprawled out on a bed of lies and indulging in the favourite pass-time of MEHnites across the empire, using ephemeral falsehoods to indulge base lusts and desires.
His hand was slowly working towards the wondrous hair of the phantasmal girl at work between his legs when he was rudely interrupted from his debauchery.

“Wozzis?” Baz looked at the interior of the room, momentarily confused at the sight of distant trees and vistas extending before his eyes far beyond the size of the room. Baz is no mathamakitician but this seems, wrong.
“Dunno, grab the pinkie!” declares Snaga shoving past the ork and striding towards the confused boy before his lustful haze can fade and be replaced by alarm at their arrival. Snaga reaching out and grabbing him by the neck and dragging him out of the bed as Baz looks at the distant vistas, putting all his wit and intellect to the task of puzzling out how distant mountains could exist in this room.

A second later Baz exhausts his mental resources and turns to a dependable fall back, guns and shootin'. And now the room made more sense, Baz isn't good at geometricity but that sparking metal panel with holes in it looks to be where the wall should be. Baz sets about making this room more comprehensible as Snaga drags the boy out, the sounds of exploding holopanels and moar dakka abusing the human captive's ears fiercely as he tries to loosen the tight grip the greenskinned brute has around his neck, starting to feel somewhat lightheaded.

“Stop xenoform, release the citizen and prepare for eradication!”
Snaga turns at the synthesized voice and headtilts “Ye wot?”
A Host, i'm saved! the boy thinks, redoubling his efforts to escape and giving the foul monster a good kick, bruising his foot against the hard muscle but nonetheless showing his defiance.
“Xenoform uncooperative, eradication in progress.”
Snaga leapt to the side as the robot proved to have laser eyes, though not fast enough to avoid the beams as they cut through rocklike musculature and nearly severe the limb midway to the shoulder. Snaga doesn't seem in pain though and just grins as he re-acquires his footing and swaps his gun to his good hands, dropping the boy to the floor and letting him gasp for breath

“Izzat da best you can do?” Snaga says and without waiting for an answer yells and leaps across the corridor, smashing his gun down against the mechanoids head and knocking it sprawling and nearly smashing its face in completely
“If ya gonna shoot at orkz,ya gotta be less lamez about it.” Snaga declares and steps back from the robot.
“Unit sensors impaired, require assistance.” the robot replied.
“Pah, panzy arse metal head.” Snaga retorted, took aim and blew the machine's torso to smithereens with an excessive application of gunfire, thoroughly deactivating it.
“Panzy arses the lot of ya.” Snaga muttered to himself and turned, grabbing the boy by the leg and hoisting him up just as the pinkie was about to try and run off. By this point Baz had finished obliterating the interior of the holodeck and emerged, Snaga turning and tossing the boy.
“Hey Bazza, hold 'iz.” he says, now able to scoop his gun back up.
“Why'z he not wearin' pants?” Baz asks once he's gotten the boy in custody.
“Dunno, must be a humie thing.” Snaga replies and looks around to try and remember which way along the corridor they'd come from.
“Ya gonna be okayz?” asks Baz seemingly only just now noticing that Snaga's arm is held on by the barest of sinews, although with it being ork sinew it's hardly in danger of dropping off.
“Ya. Doc'll put iz back on, gimme some jooce for da pain too.” Snaga says and grins nodding. The Kill Dozer's doctah was an odd one for giving da orks what they termed Jooce for the pain before operatin', orkz didn't need no jooce but no one had told'im that, Jooce was 'rollickin' good stuff hence Baz's look of envy before they set off again along the corridor in search of more pinkskins.

[Lonestar]

Dominion News Service




Foreign Ministry condemns Leakydick Network
The Dominion Foreign Ministry condemned the publication of Shepistani Diplomatic Cables on the transparency group Leakydick's infosite.

"A certain degree of privacy is needed and expected in order for there to be functional interstellar relations." A spokesperson said "Any persons associated with the Leakydicks organization, if found in the Grand Dominion, will be extradited to the Shepistani Federation for trial."


Animal House banned on Damascus, Chesapeake, and Massanutten
The hit interstellar sitcom Animal House has been formally banned from broadcast and transmission on the planets of Damascus, Chesapeake, and Massanutten. The "Big Three" taking such measures virtually assures a Dominion-wide ban of the show. The positive presentation of a Amplitur drone has driven the ban, and despite the studio offering a Amplitur-less version of the show similar to that shown in Shepistan.

The Dominion Center for Law and Progress will be challenging the ban in the courts.

[Siege]

Public Release,
From the Office of the Vice-President of the United Solarian Sovereignty



After a release of documents alleged to have been authored by the Shepistani State Department to the public galaxy, questions have been raised internationally about the actions of data-site Leakydisks, which is hosted on a cloud node inside the Greater Solarian Datasphere and thus within the jurisdiction of the United Solarian Sovereignty.

The actions of Leakydisks have not violated Solarian data-law. Information is free, and redistributing it makes humanity wealthier no matter who is distributing and no matter who is receiving. We do not recognize foreign infocurb laws, there are no penalties for releasing documents into the Datasphere, and there is no source control except as a de-facto state prior to release of information.

There will thus be no prosecution of the operators of the aforementioned site by Solarian authorities.

[RogueIce]

“Well, well,” murmured Iago Morgan. Like his predecessors he looked human enough but wasn't, a robot body possessing the collective knowledge of tens of generations of CEOs that had come before him. “I didn't think I'd see the day.” He tapped a button carefully concealed in his vaulting mahogany desk, calling up one of his many assistants. “Jackson, we need to talk to a certain Mr. Vincent Arrowny. He's in the city somewhere, please arrange for him to be picked up – no, no violence, if he asks just tell him Mr. Hank would like word. Yes, that'll be all.”

Nova Terra

Vincent Arrowny was a cautious man, and had set up various means to warn him if somebody was approaching his current location.

Acting on such a warning, he carefully watched as a man entered the building in which he had taken up residence. Vincent noted that the man had a definate look about him, the kind that said he knew how to handle himself. And yet it was equally clear that this man was making no attempts at all to conceal his presence.

While it could still be an attack, this last fact made it rather unlikely. And so when the knock came at his door, Vincent simply opened it. "Yes?"

"Mister Vincent Arrowny?" the man inquired.

"Yes."

"Mister Hank would like a word with you."

"Very well," replied Vincent. Picking up his bag of supplies and clothes (which he had kept packed except for what was immediately needed; he had, after all, been half expecting someone to come find him) he followed the man out of the building and to whatever destination awaited him.

[RogueIce]

Midgar, Shinra Republic - September, 3400

Marshal Celes Chere, Shinra Republic Army, marched to the center of the stage and stood at attention before the President. Today was a big day, no, a huge day for her. She was being promoted to the rank of Marshal General, the supreme achievement for any Army officer's career - or at least, any who had served after President Cid Shinra assumed office, as it had been he who had created the rank.

Nonetheless, she could not help but steal a glance towards Marshal Kevin "Kefka" Palazzo, lined up along with the ten other Marshals of the Army on their side of the stage. He was the commander of the elite Fifth Army Group and many had considered him a shoe-in for elevation to this exalted rank. Certainly, his recent service in successfully putting down the Returner rebellion should have seen him promoted for sure.

And yet there had also been the rumors. Rumors that he had somehow exceeded his orders. Rumors that he had done something to greatly anger Grand Admiral Leo Cristophe. Rumors that these actions, whatever they were, had cost him the appointment.

Celes Chere didn't know the details of what had or hadn't happened. All she knew was that she had been given orders to report to Midgar, and upon her arrival had been informed of her selection by the President for promotion.

And so the ceremony was prepared: the Navy's three Grand Admiral and the Army's pair of Marshal Generals - whom she would soon be joining - flanked the President. On one side stood the five Fleet Admirals and on the other the eleven Marshals. After she had been called forth, she stood before the President as he pinned the five red stars of her new rank to her uniform. After she saluted him, Celes marched to her position next to the two Marshal Generals as the President gave a short speech.

She knew a small, private party would be held, with the President and his six senior officers the only ones present. And she also knew that by the end of the next day she would have to select her replacement for command of the First Army Group. But for now, she could enjoy the sense of accomplishment and congratulations on her promotion to supreme rank within the Shinra Republic military.

And pretend that the burning, hateful gaze she sensed from Kefka was only her imagination.

[Mayabird]

Previously:

"The Emissaries ask for no material support from the Refuge. Your positioning would make logistics too difficult and would place your fleet too far away from your home territories. We would not ask you to weaken your strategic position on account of us. We only ask for private diplomatic support in convincing other nations to allow us and any allies we acquire to proceed unmolested in our pacification of the MEH threat. As you have possibly seen by now the Emissaries as a whole are not very talented at the fine art of politics. I am the best diplomat we have and to be brutally honest I am as much designed to bring about peace through the destruction of opposing armies as through talk. So any help you can provide in assuaging the other species of the galaxy would go a long way in ridding the quadrant of the menace of the MEH."

Outside Known Space

Caution replied, "Indeed, we could provide diplomatic support. Already, our ambassadors are disseminating information to turn the opinions of other governments against the MEH."


Thinking aside, Caution Despite Hopefulness reflected on how very convenient it would be if the Emissaries and MEH mutually destroyed each other, or at least knocked each other down to such a level that mopping-up operations could finish the rest. Maybe they wouldn't have to worry about several centuries later, or the Emissaries moving their schedule ahead, or any other of a thousand scenarios.

Still, MEH had to be destroyed.


"As for material support, I am not authorized to divulge much information about the Refuge's defenses. I cannot say anything about weakening of positions or not-"

Though Caution had to, on a certain private level, agree with the assessment.

"-but there is still the possibility of sending small ships by warp gate instead of traversing the entire distance. It would be energetically quite expensive and they would not be of much help in combat aside from screening, but the Refuge," and there was the electronic equivalent of an unnecessary throat-clearing, "has some experience with scouting, reconnaissance, and not being detected. We both know the value of proper intelligence.
"Of course, if you have already done so, there would be no need for us to repeat it. And if so, any information the Emissaries have that could be of benefit in diplomatic negotiations (such as observations of fleet exercises, possibly as a preparation for invasion) would be welcome and transmitted through the proper channels."

[Shroom Man 777]

Ork pirate ship Gargantantive IV
Sector B-23



Ork Kaptain Groxkilla Badspork wuz readin' da newspaperz fer de articuls an' obituariez an' de klassifiedz cuz he wuz a smart'un an' waz lookin' fer job opportunities, ya see. Times 'ere tuff 'an wid dem pinkie boyz koalishun smashin' dem pirates 'n Zebez 'an such gettin' dem 'employment opportunities' wazn't eazy sleazy peazy as it wuz back 'n da dayz. So 'ere 'e waz wearin' 'is readin' glassez, which waz aktually da eyeglassez of sum pinkie humie who'z 'ead wuz stickin on Badspork'z spikey stick.

"Wot's dis?" Badspork wuz lookin' at da internashunul newz pages an' 'e saw sumfink o' interest to 'im.

BOOMBERG TELEVISION

DICKS DISSEMINATES DANGEROUS DIPLOMATIC CABLES CONTAINING CONFIDENTIAL CONTENT

In another coup by the Leakydicks datanetwork, the organization has released sensitive information obtained from the Interstellar Union of Worlds. Included in these are transcripts of diplomatic communications with the Multiversal Empire of Happiness, most of which pertain to the new power's key regional objectives. Also mentioned in these diplomatic communications are MEH plans involving the destruction of Ork planets for basing purposes and resource extraction, and inquiries about experimentation on condemned espers from other nations.

"Dem leakydickboyz be dizzeminatin' dem dangery diplodokus kablez kontainin' konfidential kontentz... dem Miratiaboyz an' dis Mutieversul Empruh of Apinez... destrukshun of Orks fer wot?!" Badspork got uprightz prompt an' proper. "Oy! Dis deir leakin' dicks iz srs stuff!"

Badspork went 'round pacin' back and forth az 'is brainz was tinkin' an' thinkin an' mullin'it overz. Badspork took off 'is readin' glassez an' put it back on de humie 'ead stickin on 'is pointy stick.

"So dem Mutieversul Empruh of Apinez iz wantin' a fight, do deyz? Huh?" Badspork smacked a gretchin 'ard an' told 'im ta listen good. "Well, us orks be wantin' a good fight too an' dis beats workin' fer toofs an' breakin' our backs leik sum deadbeats! Cuz orkz is made fer fightin'!"

"Oy, ye grot! Patch us to de nearest orky vessul nearby!" Badspork kommanded 'is gretchin. Da gretchin tooled 'round with da radio before 'e skreamed when dere was an 'splosion an' de elektrisity kooked its face off. Badspork laffed! "Oy! Dis is Badspork to any 'ere Orky vessuls nearby! 'Ne one dere?"

"Diz is GrimmJaw, wot ye want ye dedbeat? I ain't gonna be lendin' ya no more teef until ya pay yer dues, an' I ain't got 'ne more jobs fer ya, so sod off!"

"It ain't 'bout teef or jobs, GrimmJaw, ya stingy miserorkly git! Itz dem boyz from dis Mutieversul Empruh of Apinez, deir leaky dicks sayz dey iz lookin' fer a fights!"

GrimmJaw's reply wuz a laff.



"If dey be wantin' a fight, dey already gotz wun on akkount of my raidin' an' pillagin' theyr shipz! Eazy peazy an' der soft shipsez bein' full of humies, fatty wuns too! Good ta eat!"

"Wot?! Youz iz already fightin' dem MEH boyz?"

"'Course I iz! Ya stupid grot! Got me two shipfullz of fatty humies roastin' o'er an open fire leik 'em chestnutz! Hahahaha!"

"Why youz sneaky bastid! Why youz not be tellin' mez dat youz be raidin' an' pillagin' dem fattiez?"

"Cuz you iz a dedbeat grot, dats why! Now if ya kan exkuze me, I gotz more of 'em MEH boyz ta go pillagin' on! GrimmJaw out!"

"Son of a squig!" Badspork kursed. "Dat git 'as 'is own kastle an' everythink 'an kan't even let old Badspork in on 'is pillagin', wot a selfish squig 'ead! Well, I show 'im! I be showin' 'im gud!"

Badspork grabbed a gretchin an' threw 'im into da kontrol konsole 'of da ship. Da gretchin's face smacked on da kontrols good an' dere waz more elektricity an' skreamin. Dat made Badspork laff an' feel betterz.

"Alrite ya grotz! Set kourse fer de MEH spacez! Dis'll be a good fight, alrite! Dem MEH shipz're big an' tuff, but dem MEH shipz're also few an kan't be every'ere at once so if we'z smart leik Gork we kan go 'round deir systems an' go ploinking der softie civie ships an' dere ain't nuthin' dey kan do 'bout it kuz deir hueg ships'll be slow leik a fat squig! Haha!" Badspork laughed. He fucking laughed. "Oy, an' go tell da other boyz dat we'z got a party 'ere with da MEH an' dey iz all invited! Dem MEH boyz wuz wantin' ta go 'round an' destroy uz? We'll show 'im wot orkz is made of! Waaaaaaaagh!"

Az da kaptain Groxkilla Badspork ranted on an' on, 'iz ship da Gargantantive IV jumped into da hypershinyspace an' made itz way 'wards da Mutieversul Empruh of Apinez.

[MKSheppard]

Chesapeake Fleet Anchorage

Louis Hushy was walking down the boom-airlock towards Annapolis, when the voice of his immediate superior, Admiral Kendra "Killer" Ro came booming down the corridor.

Despite being born with an inferior set of vocal chords due to being a woman, Ro had trained long and hard to throw her voice with the best of them.

"WHAT IS THIS BUTTFUCKERY, HUSHY?"

At that Hushy froze. Maybe they knew? Oh god, how could they know?

Ro continued with her rant, oblivious to any discomfort in Hushy.

"Why is the Annapolis still using STRAK consoles? You should have been updated to the new SMARM system long ago. We can't deploy until this buttfuckery is fixed!"

"Sorry sir. We were planned to get the upgrade a while ago, but that whole Pendleton business required us to be pulled out at the last minute to go along with the multiversal coalition, so we never got it."

"Fine. Be sure that this buttfuckery is fixed by the end of the week, since that's when we're deploying." replied Ro.

"Deploying, sir?"

"Yes. We're going on a mission towards the Korpolu Zone as part of a good-will visit to the Bragulans."

At this, Hushy's upper right eyebrow started to twitch.

"Sir, will we be under extra-Shepistani command? Things were not...so well for us on the Annapolis the last time we were."

Ro waved her hand. "No, thank god. We're not going to have to put up with that buttfuckery this time around. Not with me in charge."

"Good to hear that, sir."

Ro didn't even bother to acknowledge Hushy's last statement as she strode forward towards the Annapolis.

[Simon_Jester]

Missile Frigate Gacknik*
Holding Station off Zebes
July 10, 3400
(1320 Hours Coalition Fleet Standard Time)

*Translates as "Belligerent, Strongly Inclined Towards Slashing" or "This Close to Going Axe Crazy," depending on the translator.

This stinks. Nugak Tranados slumped at his new monitoring station, which was a lot like his old one, only more crowded. Go figure, he spent twenty-seven months manning a missile battery around Mining Colony Two. It got blown up and dropped him into another missile battery right away- no break. Blame it on the enemy, they said. Stupid humans.

Well, at least he already knew how to do the job. All that had changed was that the datalinks he kept track of were coming over the ship's internal network, instead of by comm laser from a fire direction center a few planet-widths away. He didn't know why this ship was so short of missileers- hadn't they come straight from the homeworld? Maybe all the old guys got moved over to one of the arsenal ships.

The new crew had some pretty rough customers too- thick-carapaced types; the ones with pincers would make handshake jokes with you and you got the feeling they really meant it. Creepy as fuck, and the hand guys weren't a lot better. But they were good at their jobs and they kept to themselves, so it didn't really matter he guessed. Since the whole team from Battery 91 had gotten shoved into one bunk room, if he didn't think about it too hard he could pretend nothing had changed. Same missiles even.

Still, it would've been nice if they could have gotten a break after the humans blew up their old battery. Stupid humans. At least I saved my fish.

And now they were coming again. Even worse! So yeah, progress, but he was still nervous about running into the humans again. Word was it was the... Proysens? Praasons? Persians? Something like that. Anyway, word was that it was the same guys as had hit the mining colony. That had him worried. He was reassured, though, by the widespread rumors among the fleet that the supreme commander of this human fleet was an idiot. Also, they had reloads for the launchers this time, which was pretty sweet, and they could run away after they ran out of missiles without their bunks getting blown up.

He didn't have a good feeling about this battle, but he still felt like it wouldn't be as bad as the last one. So he tried to ignore the crawlybugs in his stomach, kept his eyes on the control feeds, and waited for the contact alarms.

---

Arsenal Ship Hurgaa*
Flagship, Zebes Defense Force
(1330 Hours Coalition Fleet Standard Time)

*Translates as either "Acidstorm" or "Drizzle of Horrible Melty Death," depending on the translator. Urtraghus has some very strange weather.

The newly minted admiral Frugus could feel his people getting nervous. This was what they'd been waiting for these past weeks: the arrival of a huge enemy fleet. They'd be here any minute. The swarm of contacts on their deep space hyperwave detectors could only be the Prussian Second Fleet, formed up around dozens of enormous troopships. That meant they were planning to bombard and invade Zebes all in one go, much the way things had gone at Volksland.

Frugus had made an enormous study of the battle of Volksland during every waking moment not devoted to command of his raiding operations. He had long since come to the conclusion that the Volkslanders were fools, and that he could do better. And while he might not be an experienced admiral, but he was damned to the special hells if he wouldn't try, not when Weavel had trusted him with something so important.

Part of him wanted a fight to the death against superior opposition. It would be dramatic, simple, and no one afterwords would dare to question that he'd done his best for the Urtraghan people. But that wouldn't be his best- that would be throwing away a significant chunk of the Urtraghan fleet, cruisers against battleships and frigates against cruisers. That would be weakening the starfleet. After lengthy conversations with Weavel, and with Weavel's approval, he'd constructed a new plan. One a bit more subtle, but with a much greater chance of recovering the fleet intact after the battle.

This would be the first real fleet battle he'd commanded in person, aside from the simulations he'd done in over the years. He hoped his plan would work.

He tapped his pincers nervously and surveyed the ships of his command. There were the standard plasma destroyers, which the Boskonians had produced for the Urtraghans in great quantity over this past decade. Most of Frugus's were the smaller "Class A" variants used at Hawk's Nest, but he'd managed to scrape together just over two dozen of the more recent model.

The new "Class B" plasma destroyers were a more advanced design, taking advantage of advances in the Urtraghan industrial base and its ability to maintain higher-grade ships. They were long ranged and low-signature in hyperspace like their predecessors, but had greater agility, more broadside firepower, making them more flexible in combat against enemy escorts.

Distributed along with the plasma destroyers were a score of Urtraghan-built missile frigates. Where the humans would be coming with a heavy load of fleet defense missiles, his own missileers were armed with heavy antiship weapons, of the same type used in system defense batteries.

All in all, Frugus was pleased with his frigates and destroyers. The Prussians' frigates he could handle well enough. Their destroyer railguns weren't something one took on in a beam duel lightly, but light ship against light ship, he had superiority against what was coming. Unfortunately it wasn't going to be a light-ship battle, and when it came to heavy units, Frugus was not happy with the best he'd been able to manage.

Frugus's "cruisers" were merchant conversions done in the improvised yards here at Zebes itself. Big conversions, granted, but not battleship nor even battlecruiser class so far as performance went. The larger, more rugged freighter hulls had been packed full of great masses of ablative armor- or just piles of rock- and modular engines; they were tough and reasonably fast, but the turret lasers Weavel had been able to find weren't impressive. Others had seen their cargo holds stuffed full of missile packs; Frugus himself would command from one of these. Sheer magazine capacity gave them greater firepower than his missile frigates, but they were little more agile than the laser ships and much more vulnerable.

Recognizing the relative weakness of his cruisers, Frugus had concentrated them into one group that he planned to keep at long range. Armed with lightspeed weapons and guided missiles, they could afford to stand off at a greater distance, which would give them more survivability against the inevitable storm of capital-class gunfire they'd draw from the Prussian fleet.

Meanwhile, the other two groups contained the majority of his light ships, commanded by junior admirals from the homeworld. After consulting with the junior admirals in command of those groups, it had been agreed that they would form the wings of his planned envelopment move. Smaller and more agile, they could risk getting closer to the Prussian ships, while still managing to land hits from ranges the Prussians would be hard pressed to match- they'd be shooting at bigger targets, if nothing else.

Much bigger targets. Any minute now...

---

Valkyrie-class Battlecruiser SMS Brunhild
1340 Hours Fleet Standard Time

"Emergence!"

Hyper translation didn't feel like much in and of itself, not with a properly configured drive. Accompanying the transition, machinery switched on and off, ringing in the artificial gravity, and that was noticeable. Enough so that most Prussian officers preferred to take it sitting down. Konteradmiral Reinhard von Musel was an exception, at least when he needed to present that implacable public face for the troops. He took every available opportunity to do so, seeking them out where possible- for his long range ambitions to work, he needed reputation.

His eyes flicked over the plot as the FTL and passive sensors started pulling in data. The star, the major planets of the system, nebulous clouds for the asteroid fields, and... there. Enemy drive signatures, several dozen of them. Shaking out as CIC identified them- two subvariants of the spinal plasma ships they'd all come to know and love by now, an unidentified frigate type, and some massy things that might be up in the battlecruiser range... or might not, now that the first power-to-weight and EW emission plots were showing up on screen. They'd have to wait for the first salvoes to know.

More than I'd expected to see... but one thing troubled him. There were none of those unusual ships- the ones with the exotic beam weapons and mass drivers, that he'd seen at Target Three before they self-destructed. Whoever was behind those ships had committed some of them to a mining colony... but none to Zebes itself. Why? Why would they support the Zebesians there, but not here?

In any case, the fleet was already shaking out as planned, the battleships forming a partial globe between the swarm of Zebesians and the massive troop transports. There were dozens of the enormous things, each carrying several divisions of ground troops for landing operations. Their armor and shielding were not to be despised; these were assault transports and not mere troopships, but they were effectively unarmed, quite slow, and utterly mountainous targets.

On the flanks of the troop convoy, Second Fleet's heavy cruisers and battlecruisers formed a ring at a healthy covering distance. And for every capital ship in the fleet, a destroyer and a frigate from the attached escort squadrons hovered nearby.

Reinhard's own Sixth Battlecruisers were spread in an arc along fleet-relative dorsal, placing them 'above' the plane formed by Second Fleet, and the distant locations of the Zebesian ships, and the planet Zebes itself. In his case, the escort formation was a bit unorthodox, with the destroyers and frigates forming up in the same plane as the capital ships themselves.

Officially, this was a fleet missile defense formation, adopted only in emergencies. In the log books Reinhard would register it as having been taken "in anticipation of enemy missile attack." In practice, he wanted to make sure they had clear view of the enemy- and clear shots. The frigates' sensors expanded the coverage possible from his own battlecruisers, letting him look more carefully and in more directions than would otherwise be possible, even with his ships' capable EW suites. Reuental's destroyers were likewise too valuable to be left in the rear; the Valkyries were undergunned for capital combatants, and that made the Z-1240s' railguns important fire support assets.

Reinhard saw the rest of the fleet's screen positions shake out and his lip curled- the others were mostly peering out at the enemy from behind the skirts of the capital ship's EW and point defense envelopes. Meanwhile, the battleships remained in lockstep as they stepped up acceleration and started advancing toward the planet. He turned to his aide who, as always, stood beside him in battle, routine practice be damned. "It would seem that von Mückenberger wishes for the troopships to set the pace of this battle."

Kircheis shrugged. "I'm sure things will work out. We do have a major advantage in tonnage, even assuming those heavy ships in the enemy formation are as good as their weight, rather than their power output, suggests."

"I'd be happier if I saw more of those strange ships we encountered. Something is... wrong."

"Sir, I think you may be worrying too much..."

"I hope so. I truly do."

[Darkevilme]

Killdozer, currently 'docked' with Sunshine Mushroom, MEH territories

“This is the Acclamation Big Proud and Tall to Sunshine Mushroom, we received your message and are moving to investigate. Repeat this is the MEHN vessel Big Proud and Tall moving to investigate your interrupted distress signal.”

“Zog'n crap, call da boys back we needz tah get out of here!” the radio ork yelled into a speaking tube as the message repeats on his receiver next to him. Faced with da radio's orks alarm and the audible message also heard from the speaking tube alongside his yelling the recall order was sent. However with da boys lacking small talky boxes they had to rely on a fundamentally far more orky means to call the scattered kidnapping gangs from the ship, a freaking enormous drum.

---

BOOM!

“It'z da recall, lets go. ” Snaga declares after cocking his head to the sound and hearing that thumping boom once again. Baz fires around the corner and then looks to Snaga and bahs “I'm havin' fun.” he declares, a laser beam whipping down the hallway and carving a chunk out of the corner next to him. Snaga gestures with his gun back the way they'd come “but it's the recall, time to go.” he says but leans patiently against the cart they'd found and stuffed with pinkies, casually smacking down one of the scrawny captives as he tries to escape the tangled mass of bodies.

A whimper is heard as the human subsides, possibly with broken bones, and then Baz fires again down the corridor.

“My weaponry is impaired, host requesting assistance.”

“Zog'n request this!” Baz says and pops out again to fire.

click click click
Baz looks in confusion at his gun, as if 'no more bullets' was a hard concept to grasp. Then without missing a beat he looks up to Snaga “rightz, now we can go.” he declares, starting to push the cart on back on back towards the Killdozer with Snaga jogging along behind him.

“Shoulda put some red paint on it.” Baz declares as they round a corner, Snaga now sprinting to keep up as the cart picks up speed for the final stretch back towards da cruiser.

“Stop xenoforms, your escape shall not be permitted.”

“Not you zoggers again!” Baz declares as he sees two Hosts step out into the corridor ahead of them as the cart barrels along. Baz aiming over the top of the cart full of pinkskins before remembering he's got no more dakka, but the Hosts can't fire their lasers with the cart in the way. Baz suddenly grins with cunning.

“Stop xenoforms, your escape shall not be permitted.”
The Hosts repeat and position themselves to slice the ork apart once the cart goes by, but then like so many others before them, they underestimated the orks.
“SURPRIZE!” yells Baz, leaping ontop of the cart, humans whimpering beneath his weight even as he reaches out for the Hosts, grabbing their scrawny metal heads before they can re-orientate their weapons.
“And SMASH!” yells Baz, bringing his two hands together and crunching the two Host heads together, Mehnium alloys no match for those hardened palms crumple under the impact, sensors splintering into uselessness as their casing pancakes before orkish might. Baz grins ferally and tosses the two broken Hosts aside and and looks ahead to where part of the bow of the Killdozer is visible protruding into a profoundly boring cafe. They were home free.

MEHN Big Proud and Tall
“We are coming into range sir.”
“Any response from the Sunshine Mushroom?”
“None sir, they remain silent. However subspace ripple and distortion indicates presence of another ship in the hyperfield and significant atmospheric leakage.”
Pirates, had to be pirates
“prepare tension fields and clear for combat. Designate second vessel as suspected pirate and prepare to pull the Sunshine from hyperspace.”
“Aye sir.”
The prepare for combat alarm sounded and the deck vibrated faintly with a more bass hum as the hypermatter reactor ramped up and turrets traversed to preliminary targeting solutions. The Acclamation preparing to descend like a fury on the pirates who would dare assault the Goddess's shipping. A shame really, they did not get the chance. In a spray of hull plating the orkish vessel Killdozer erupted from the side of the cruise liner and raced away before a tension field lock could be attained. Three seconds later before the hull plating had even reached the edge of the Liner's hyperfield there was an almighty shockwave through hyperspace as the cruise liner performed an emergency drive shutdown and crashed down into realspace.

“Pirate craft heading on course seventeen dash four at one four times standard hyperspeed. Preparing pursuit vector.”
“Belay that navigation, we must render assistance to the Sunshine, they're in a bad way and may not survive till other vessels can arrive.”
“But sir, at that speed the pirate will be beyond sensor range in under an hour.”
“Yes leightenant, but our citizens come first. Bring us out of hyperspace and prepare to dock with the Sunshine Mushroom.”
“Aye sir. Preparing for realspace translation and docking procedures.”

With rather more grace the dagger of Acclamation descended out of hyperspace beside the stricken Cruise liner, to render assistance to those few who had managed to hide from the orks and stabilize the failing life support of the civilian vessel. All while the orkish cruiser Killdozer raced away, the triumphant laughter of the crew underlaid by the whimpers of their terrified captives and punctuated by the yells of "FASTAH" from the engine room.

[Mayabird]

All picture credit goes to Shroomy, as does editorial review credit.

Animal House - Shepistani edition


[Location: Third Floor Kitchen. Enter SORELAG the KARLACK]

Sorelag: “Uggggggggh...sooooooooo huuuuuuungryyyyyyy...”

[laugh track as Sorelag digs through a cabinet. He pulls out a packet of Instant Pizza clearly marked “Kupo’s”, shakes out a cube, and sticks it in the rehydrator.]

Sorelag [as he returns the packet to its former place]: “Let’s see you ruin my lunch today!”

[The deep bass voice of the rehydrator says “Ding” and Sorelag eagerly opens the door. Inside is a rehydrated pizza...with cigarette butts all over it.]

Sorelag [overhead shot, as he screams at the sky in anger]: “SHELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLEYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!”

[Laugh track.]

[Cut to: HANK the PHOSAKO in the Third Floor Study Lounge/his private sanctum. He is in his usual pose, reading.]

[Sorelag bursts in, knocking down the door.]

Sorelag: Hank! She did it again!

Hank [aside]: Why am I always everyone’s relationship counselor?

[Chuckle track.]

Hank [to Sorelag]: “Have you tried talking to her about it yet?”

Sorelag: “...talking?”

[Chuckle track.]

Hank: “Yes, talking. Telling her that you don’t like it and she needs to stop.”

Sorelag: “I...hadn’t thought of that.”

Hank: “Then what did you think you’d do?”

Sorelag: “I thought I’d eat her.”

[laugh track]

Hank: “That’s...not very civilized...”

Sorelag [lost in daydreams]: “Boil her up, add some butter and salt...”

Hank: “Sorelag! Back to reality!”

Sorelag: “What? Huh?”

Hank: “You’re going to talk to her!” [Sorelag looks confused.] “Shelley! To tell her to stop doing...whatever it is she’s been doing. What is this about anyway?”

Sorelag: “Yes! Yes! I’ll tell her right now! I’ll get her to stop!” [Sorelag runs off.]

Hank [turning back to his reading]: “I hope that isn’t about the cigarette butts.”

[Laugh track.]

Hank [yells towards the door]: “And I hope Sorelag fixes my door! The one that he broke!”

[Hyena laughs.]


[Scene change: Shelley the Amplitur Eoghan is in her giant fish tank, underwater, smoking. Sorelag enters and knocks on the glass.]

Sorelag: “Shelley, we need to talk!”

Shelley the Amplitur Eoghan: “Go away! I’m sleeping!”

Sorelag: “It’s about your cigarette butts!”

Shelley the Amplitur Eoghan: “What about them?”

Sorelag: “You’ve been leaving them in my food! I don’t like that.”

Shelley: “Yeah? So?”

Sorelag: “So stop it!”

Shelley [blowing smoke at him...somehow, despite having glass and water in the way]: “Nah.”

Sorelag: “Then... I’ll EAT YOU!” [He leaps at Shelley’s tank but then is suspended in midair, then thrown backwards by a psychic blast.]

[cheer track with hyena laughs]

[Close up of Shelley.]

(Only it’s an Eoghan, and it’s underwater.)

Sorelag [runs out of the room]: “HAAAAAAAAAAAAANK!”

[Fade out to laugh track.]

[Shroom Man 777]

In Goddamn UNREAL TIME
Previously on Cananaan

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.

King Guynauld de Chatilusignon's Fortress
Planet Jerkicho
Cananaan system
In sector L-23



News of the decimation that wrought Terminal Dogma quickly reached the lords of Byzantine Cananaan, the rulers of the lands settled by Orthodox believers and consecrated in the God-Emperor's name. Though far from Byzantium and the Imperium of Man, they nonetheless kept their faith resolute and could be said to be of firmer constitution and belief than even their brethren at home in Koprulu. Thus in Cananaan they carried forth the God-Emperor's commandments to the letter in purging the heretic and the xeno, in putting them to the sword and taking their infants and dashing them against rocks - as was the holy writ of He on Terra.

That they consorted with the foul Saracens did not speak of any amicability between the truest of Byzantine Orthodox believers and the heretic practitioners of the Mohammedian faith. Rather, it spoke of the grave nature of the arch-heathens of Terminal Dogma, those who professed neither faith nor worshipped any god yet continued the practice of their blasphorities in incessantly tinkering of pagan powers that were an affront to all that was sacred to the Emperor and even the false prophet of the Saracens. The arch-heathens of Terminal Dogma consorted with the Amalekites and Cananaanites, the original inhabitants of these worlds and lands who both the Byzantines and Saracens despised equally, and in their consortium the arch-heathens sought to desecrate the holy sites which both faiths and their believers shared. Though blood was shed between Orthodox and Mohammedian in the struggle for possession of these holy sites, none could abide the arch-heathens' desecrations - for such was the extent of the godless transgressions transpiring within Terminal Dogma's cursed catacombs.

So it was that a temporary truce was made, to forge a precarious alliance between those righteous followers of the Emperor and the turbaned Mussulmen of the east, so that a grave blow may be struck into the hearts of the greater infidel, despoiling him and ceasing the infernal blasphorities he was undertaking. The Orthodox crusaders had played their part, but in the end the Saracens could not be trusted, and they cursed their sudden but inevitable betrayal - casting blame on the Mohammedians for the cataclysm that had occurred at Terminal Dogma, the appearance of appalling albino apparitions, and the annihilation of the lands and holy shrines surrounding the epicenter.


Thus King Guynauld de Chatilusignon convened a council of his peers, other nobles of the Byzantinian Orthodox houses and crusader-lords of Cananaan, to consult with them the inevitable retribution they would deliver unto the Saracens.

"The treachery of the Saracens knows no bounds! They have desecrated our holy shrines and brought ruin unto our world!" declared a lord, brandishing the sigil of the God-Emperor of Man - a banner upon a spike on a skull adorning a spiked banner-skull on a skull spike-banner. On that banner was a red cross, signifying the Emperor's blood and sacrifice.



"Al-Humungus and his Mohammedians, would not have broken their pledge of peace," replied a noble donned in the blue hues of the House Tiberias. It was the count himself, the author of the short-lived truce with the Saracens. "Al-Humungus will not come into this kingdom..."

"Tiberias knows more than an Orthodox should about Al-Humungus' intentions," remarked the crusader-lord derisively, speaking to the count with apparent disdain.

"That I would rather live with men than kill them... is certainly why you are alive." Tiberias spat back.

"That sort of Orthodox faith has its uses, I suppose," the lord sneered at him mockingly.

"We must not go to war with Al-Humungus!" Tiberias banged his mailed fist on the table. "We do not want it, and we may not win it."

"Blasphemy!" the crusader-lord cried indignantly.

"Blasphemy!" the surrounding knights joined in a chorus of denouncement.

"Blasphemy!"

"An army of the God-Emperor, which bears His holy cross, cannot be beaten!" King Guynauld de Chatilusignon himself proclaimed.



"Does the count of Tiberias suggest that it could be?" he then remarked, thus silencing the defiant count. Then the King faced his subjects and proclaimed once more, "There must be war. God-Emperor wills it!"

"God-Emperor wills it!" repeated the crusader-lord.

"God-Emperor wills it!" his knights hollered in return. "God-Emperor wills it!"



"God-Emperor wills it!"

The chorus of righteous indignation continued on until it reached a crescendo of fanaticism, their zealous devotion and hateful faith overwhelming all sense and reason. Had the God-Emperor seen this Himself, seen their utter dedication to His love, His bosom would have grown warm with pride.

"God-Emperor wills it!"

[Fingolfin_Noldor]

Imperial Chronicles
Planet Jerkicho, Cananaan



“I am happy to announce that the Imperium will bequeath you 2 Adeptus Mechanicus Manufactorums,” said Petr in a rather deadpan tone.

“Excellent! And my other requests?” Guynald waved his cup of wine.

‘Will the old fart just die or something?” Tyrus thought. He was rather surprised that not one but two manufactorums were allowed. No doubt from the surplus stocks which were old and antiquated, but still reasonably useful.

“The Imperium will also grant you the blueprints for the older marks of the Exarch tanks, Testudo IFVs and other armoured vehicles, as well as some of the older infantry weapons in the Imperial arsenal,” Petr replied evenly. “As for the other requests, they will be delivered shortly.”

“Good, Good. I have a Crusade to launch, some techno infidels from God Emperor knows where, and Mohammedians to purge. When will the manufactorums arrive?”

‘Well, he certainly is impatient. Though judging from the ruckus of a meeting he had yesterday, I would imagine that he is in grave need of more advanced weapons now. The man has a mission to fulfil, and the Imperium is giving him the weapons to do the job. I wonder if this is a good idea,’ thought Tyrus. He waved it off. What Guynald did with the weapons was none of his business, since it was someone within the Ordos Diplomatica who wanted it to happen. He was not the diplomat, and merely the messenger. All he really cared about was dealing with the damn Albinos and their damnable piracy. Tyrus decided to let Petr do the talking since he could not stand the Guynald’s halitosis and was dutifully keeping a meter away from Guynald. Petr for his part, had switched off his olfactory sensors.

“According to the Adeptus Mechanicus, your Excellency, your manufactorums will arrive by the end of the week. You will have to work with them as to where you would like to place the manufactorums.”

“I’ll leave that to my advisors and so forth. But now, it’s a time to celebrate and toast to an excellent partnership!”

“I trust you will fulfil your end of the bargain?” asked Tyrus.

“Yes, yes. You will get what you want. I will leave that to my scribes and advisors to deal with the details. But for now, let us drink!”

Tyrus groaned quietly. Just when he thought this meeting could come to an end as soon and pleasantly possible, the drunkard decided to make things drag on for a few more hours. This was going to be a long night.

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

The manufactorums arrived at the end of the week, as Petr had said. They were installed in two locations, right next to citadels of great size, and even protected by Void shields, courtesy of the Adeptus Mechanicus. They were given to Guynald in an earlier round of bartering between Guynald and the Inquisition. Within a day, the manufactorums were ready to begin churning out war machines for the Guynald’s own Great Crusade. Guynald had kept the deal between him and Tyrus a close tight secret and only a number of officials knew of the pact. Tiberius, Guynald’s main political rival of the kingdom, was similarly kept in the dark. When the news of the manufactorums broke out, even Tiberius was surprised. Now Guynald had all the tools to fight the war. It was now only a matter of training the army to be ready to use the new weapons and to fight them. For that, the Imperium provided some military advisors and some techmagos to provide the necessary training required to service the war machines and to fight with them.

Within the next few weeks, the balance of power was due to shift, and shift very much to Guynald’s side.

[Simon_Jester]

Recommended Listening: Mozart's Clarinet Concerto, Third Movement

"Sir, I think you may be worrying too much..."

"I hope so. I truly do."

Valkyrie-class Battlecruiser SMS Brunhild
1343 Hours Coalition Fleet Standard Time

Korvettenkapitän Siegfried Kircheis nodded at his admiral. "Me too. It looks like they're starting to get their active sensors sorted out, so..."

"Yes. Time to take our seats and watch the comedy unfold."

So bitter... Well, as long as it didn't cloud his judgment. Reinhard strode over to the command console. By long tradition there was a good-sized clear zone around a flag officer's seat. A not-strictly-authorized modification to Brunhild's bridge layout gave Siegfried a seat right by his commanding officer in battle, where admirals' aides were not expected and seldom called on to be. Arguably it was necessary, since Reinhard tended to count on him as his chief tactical adviser regardless of who was assigned to his staff.

To tell the truth, Siegfried didn't much care whether it was necessary or not; he'd have been just as happy to do it if his oldest friend saw fit to keep his own counsel.

Control baton in hand, Reinhard was already manipulating his own repeater display, a large holographic one set close the the command chair. Kircheis could make out most of it from his angle- again, not strictly an authorized modification; the usual model wasn't suitable for omnidirectional viewing.

"They're already starting to spread out and come toward us, here and here- range is extreme, but I expect they'll open fire any time now. Looks like they're trying to envelop us in the vertical plane. No, not an envelopment, probably just a raking crossfire; I doubt they'll open the spread past ninety degrees or so."

"Heavies in the center, looks like."

"And farther away- another sign they don't trust their combat power to match their tonnage; they're not bringing them in as close as I would units that size. They wouldn't hang back that far if they expected them to handle battleship salvoes; if there's one thing these... raiders don't lack, it's boldness."

Kircheis nodded. I wish our own command could say the same...

---

Arsenal Ship Hurgaa
Flagship, Zebes Defense Force
1347 Hours

Admiral Frugus tapped a claw on his knee idly. If they haven't reorganized in response now, I doubt they will. Apparently von Mückenberger was satisfied with his emerging formation. His loss.

His ships were outmatched ton for ton, but when life gave you bombfruits, you made grenades. Frugus had done the best he could, exploiting his ships' smaller target profile and the longer effective range granted by his higher-velocity weapons; you couldn't get much faster than "laser cannon."

He'd kept a solid core of his heavier units- the heavily armored laser ships and missile-bearing arsenal ships- with a scattering of smaller escort ships. The bulk of his destroyers and frigates, both the missile and plasma beam units, were spread out into two great pincers, stretching above and below the plane of the system to rake them from shorter range. Unlike his monitors and arsenal ships, the lighter vessels could manage enough acceleration to sidestep the Prussian railguns at those ranges; he'd have to stay farther out to keep from losing ships.

Of course, it helped that he was aiming for their biggest targets.

"Laser ships, open fire on the transports."

The Prussian transports were enormous- each one had to be carrying several divisions, and there were scores of the things in a tight group at the core of the Prussian formation. Their battleships were between him and the transport group, doing their best to cover the troopships with point defense and veil them with their high power EW sets, but sheer mountainous size made them fairly visible... and no point defense rig ever made would save them from his monitors' pulse laser batteries. He just wished he had heavier weapons, or more of them; if those troopships were armored commensurate with their tonnage, the lasers weren't going to accomplish as much as he'd like.

The plot showed nothing when the monitors fired, naturally. Their hits seemed to be kicking up shield scatter. Nothing impressive yet, but the battle had started. And any minute now... there. The light ships on his flanks, mostly new reinforcements from the homeworld, hit turnover and braked to keep rough pace with the massive Prussian fleet. As their speed dropped to where it needed to be, they began pivoting and pumping cruiser-weight plasma bolts into the Prussian ranks. Again, not as much firepower as fast as he'd like, but if his reading of the opposition was right, they'd have plenty of time to get their shots in.

Of course the Prussians shot back, energy spikes from the battleships, battlecruisers, and destroyers indicating the launch of hypervelocity rounds. He couldn't track them; all he could do was hope, for tense seconds that stretched out to a minute and more as the invisible slugs came howling down on him... yes! Shields rippled on two of the laser monitors as they took paired hits, and single shots rang off ships throughout his formation, but no massive grouped salvoes, nothing heavy enough to flare down shields. Even his plasma destroyers and missile frigates were tough enough to ride out single hits from the Prussian main batteries with a fair chance of survival, so long as no follow-up shots came in before the shields could rebuild.

The beam duel was going well, for the first minutes at least. He wasn't giving out as good as he got, but the range was long enough that his own ships made better skirmishers than the Prussians did. And they didn't seem to be launching an aggressive stroke with the cruisers, something he'd feared at first but expected not to see.

The next priority would be gauging the timing for the missile attack...

---

SMS Brunhild
1358 Hours

Reinhard shook his head. His voice was low and angry. "From an uninspired formation, an uninspired battle, yielding initiative to the enemy. If I were running all this it would be trivial, but..."

Not again! It was the admiral's abiding weakness- he was too vulnerable to being distracted by his frustration with the high command. With a warning shake of his head, Siegfried tried to interrupt.

"Sir..."

"Hah. I know, I know. It's just a hobby of mine, watching other people direct battles when there's nothing decisive for me to do. Besides, it might be for the best. It saves our combat potential, so long as we maintain fire discipline, unlike, say..." Reinhard winked.

Kircheis nodded, returning the thin smile. "Third Battlecruisers?" The quintet of Siegerkranz-class ships was off below and to their left. That mainstay battlecruiser type carried about a quarter more guns than the Valkyries, and the Third was plying them with wild abandon, keeping up something like twice the rate of fire of the Sixth's own, more deliberate gunners.

To be fair, the Third was scoring about forty percent more hits than they were... but it looked like they were throwing single shots at targets of opportunity across the enemy's entire ventral flank to get them. Plenty of hits, but Siegfried doubted they'd score any kills soon, not without more luck than they deserved.

He had rather more hope for the irregular salvoes from the Valkyries' own forward guns. Reinhard and Reuental had their ships trying to pick out specific targets and throw full broadsides toward the fire control computers' best guess as to where the enemy really was through all the dodging and jamming going on. Often enough the gamble failed and the salvoes missed, but they'd already spotted a few debris plumes from hits that had cracked the shielding on some of the heavies in the enemy center... hits that Kircheis would swear were from their railguns.

"Yes. So if we're lucky, perhaps the ammunition we're saving may prove decisive."

"Maybe, if the enemy puts up some real effort."

Reinhard's eyes had a hard glint to them now. "I find I rather hope so. It would reflect to our credit; if I can't make the battle be fought well, it would be nice to get some political advantage from having to sit around and watch other men fight badly."

"Still, it seems awfully one-sided."

"No, it could be one-sided, if we made it so, but it isn't now. This is merely a small force standing up to a large one, not a small force being overrun as the numbers would allow. Their lasers outrange us severely, yes, their plasma guns marginally so; they can stand off and keep hitting us from long range while we flail away at them with railgun fire. But we have the advantage in capital ships and medium range weapons; why won't he use it properly?"

"There are the transports to keep in mind."

"They're tough, they can take it, so long as we keep the missile ships in screening position. But the destroyers and battlecruisers were never meant for the screening role; they're an offensive arm and should be used as such. One blow of the gauntlet could clear either of our flanks, if only our stalwart commander weren't such a turtle. He's forcing defensive tactics on us, and we're wasting ammunition to score each kill."

"He's got most of them shooting at the flanking groups. If it weren't for the crossfire, I think he'd attack."

Brunhild shuddered; one of the Zebesian frigates must have gotten lucky. But the Valkyrie was tough, her shields still at full capacity; she rode it out with little trouble.

"Heh. I doubt it. The flanking ships are harassment fire, destroyer-weight and not that much of it; he could leave the transports to brave it if need be. Better to have brought them along later after we'd secured the system, and the ones surrounding, of course. If only I..."

I'd better get him back on track. "Such is life, sir. Let's see what good we can do regardless."

"True..." Reinhard paused, tapping his cheek and looking at the display. "Kircheis, does anything strike you as odd about the heavy units in the enemy center?"

"...very different evasive behavior, two separate groups. CIC thinks the lasers are only coming from..."

"Right. I'd say we're looking at two types of ships; massive laser ships, call them 'monitors,' and equally large but lower-mass ships. They haven't fired yet, probably missile carriers, call them... 'bombardment cruisers.' Looking at those ejecta plumes, there's some heavy ablatives on the monitors."

Kircheis called up a display of damage assessment, such as they'd been able to manage for the hits that had seemed to go through the Zebesians' shields. There weren't many, not at this range, but they'd managed a few by luck or occasional concentrations of fire. "True, sir, looks like... rock, do you think?"

"Yes. And those are mid-hectare range targets. If they're as thick as they are wide, we're just pounding sand- literally. Battleships or heavy missiles could put them down easily enough, but I think we should shift fire to the lighter ones, the ones hanging back. Keep them honest, as it were?"

"Heavy EW output on the- bombardment cruisers, you said? A time for antiradiation rounds, perhaps."

Reinhard smiled "I like it. I'll give the orders."

[Force Lord]

Sovereign Galaxy News

The United Solarian Sovereignty has offered asylum and citizenship to several Center of Economics members expelled from the Centrality. The CoE members were expelled from their home polity on charges of corruption. The members offered citizenship include at least eight former agents of the Commerce Section, eleven of the Finance Section, nine of the Manufacturing Section and three of the Labor Section. The government of the U.S.S. has the following to say on the matter: "it is a habit of the United Solarian Sovereignty to provide a home away from home to humans displaced from their worlds of origin, regardless of the reason why".

Rumor that the Centrality personnel were in fact agents for the CEID intelligence agency all along were neither confirmed nor denied by the Directorate itself. "It is not our habit to comment on such matters," says a spokesperson for the Central Espionage and Intelligence Directorate. It is not currently known when or indeed if the expelled CoE members will be arriving in Sovereignty space. According to sources in the Centrality, several persons under investigation have disappeared from their places of residence, where they were placed under home arrest by the CSB.

CSB Interrogation Room, Centrum
The Center Sector, The Centrality
IN GODDAMN UNREAL TIME

The room was dark, dark, and dark. Even after millenia, the primal fear of darkness was still in the minds of many. Not that the CSB felt it was effective in making it's quarry talk.

"Answer the fucking question. Are you a CEID agent?", said the interrogator.

"Fuck you, you cunt," spat out the prisoner.

There was the sound of a fist striking at the man's groin, and he howled. The man was heavily beat up, and the only reason he was still standing was because of heavy drugging.

"You know, you should just confess right now. You might just get a better deal out of this."

"Why? I'm dead anyway."

"Well, your family might have something to say about that."

"Family? What are-" Silence.

"Ah, so the agent makes a fatal error. I thought you CEID agents were better than that. But then, maybe you're on a lower category?"

The condemned man did not respond.

"Let me tell you this, son. The CSB has been in business before there was a Sovereignty. We know how to break human beings better than anyone, even the fucking Bragulans. And yet here I see some amateur CEID agent blowing his cover before I had to resort to the big guns. Does your agency really thinks that little of us? I guess your buddies will be a better challenge, hopefully. You, on the other hand..."

"What?", the man whimpered.

"Maybe you can be salvaged. We'll "teach" you how to be a good little Centralist, and send you to the CIS for proper intelligence training. Then, we'll perhaps stage an "escape" for you, so you will claim to be persecuted and apply for asylum in the Sovereignty. You will return to your own country...as a sleeper agent, and so fool those you serve."

"Y-You won't get away with this. They'll find out-"

"Oh they will. The question is, when? After we find what we want?"

A moment of silence. Suddenly, though, the interrogator giggled. Fucking giggled.

"Enjoy the mind-rape, my dear."

The interrogator then laughed. She fucking laughed.

For a fleeting second, the prisoner swore he saw a woman's face. He could not dwell on it, however, for soon his mind was filled with pain.

Horrible, terrible pain.

If the room hadn't been soundproof, his screams would have filled the hallway.

[Ryan Thunder]

Ryan shut his eyes. Lines of text appeared in his vision.

Code: Select all

ls

, he sent. A huge list of words scrolled by. One caught his attention.

He opened his eyes. "Did you ever wonder," he uttered, "Why they called me Ryan Thunder?"

Code: Select all

Player.GiveAbility(Physics.Electricity.StartBolts(100, 5 GJ));

Ryan stood alone amidst a field of charred and smouldering bodies that stretched from one end of the enormous imperial courtyard to the other. The stench of burnt flesh was overwhelming.

Then he noticed blue and silver armoured figures appearing here and there. At first he thought they were merely stragglers--but there were far too many of them for that... "Jesus Christ!" he exclaimed as he realized that he had not, in fact, killed the Huang Di's entire bodyguard, but rather a mere fraction of it.



Ceramic armour plate chittered against kevlar mail as hundreds of them surrounded him, aiming everything from rapiers to rifles at him. A few of them raised lightning rods up into the sky. Why they would have such a contingency was beyond him. He searched quickly for an alternate command, but turned up nothing. What a worthless UI, he thought. He reached for his guns. A dozen bullets slammed into his armour, knocking him flat on his ass before he'd made it half-way.



"Alright! I surrender!" he yelled meekly. They grabbed him and his guns, and dragged him bodily through the palace to the Huang Di himself, who was enjoying a steam bath on his favourite chair.

"You!" an imperious voice roared. Ryan tried the bolts again, and was rewarded with a clap of thunder, but nothing else.



"I don't know what you're up to, but man, you are such a total dick, you know that? A ginormous, slobbering douchebag," the Huang Di said, pointing an imperious finger at him. "I like that. How can I help?"

[Simon_Jester]

Recommended Listening: From Carl Nielsen's Symphony No. 4, First Movement

---

Arsenal Ship Hurgaa
Zebesian Flagship
1402 Hours Coalition Fleet Standard Time

So far, so good.

The humans were putting up a heavy fire from their railguns, and the battleships in particular were hitting some of his ships hard- he'd already lost three of his plasma destroyers and a missile frigate from the flanking groups. Quite a few hits from the humans' numerous cruiser-weight railguns, along with a handful of battleship rounds, had punched into his laser ships as well, but they were taking it on the carapace well enough. Those ships' outer holds were full of enormous thicknesses of rock, and so far all the Prussian guns had managed was to turn some of it into gravel and powdered glass.

The bulk of their fire was spread across his fleet- very heavy and reasonably accurate, but easier to handle than it would be to take full salvoes from single human ships. One of the plasma frigates escorting his heavy units had died that way already. He didn't know whether it was a fluke or careful gunnery that had put six rounds of eight from a Prussian destroyer's broadside into it, but the frigate's shields went down and took her engines with them. The follow-up salvoes finished her off. A few other groups of four or five hits had come roaring in on his laser monitors- but again, they could take it.

If any other such salvoes had been thrown, they'd missed. Frugus had worried about the limits of his EW systems too; Urtraghan technology was behind galactic norms in some ways and the Boskonians had only provided so much. But they seemed to be up to the task of keeping the Prussians from putting too many of those tightly aimed sheaves into his ships.

Then the holiday ended, as the flagship's control room flexed. Walls buckled momentarily; the display screen at the far end of the room twisted a few degrees out of true before snapping back with an ear-flaying screech. Several flat-monitors cracked outright. Glancing at the ship status display, Frugus muttered a curse. That hadn't gotten through the shields. Damn all underbuilt civilian construction... at least the construction crews had put enough flex in the data cables and power trunking to keep that from tearing the connections apart.

Just as he was starting to recover from the moment of disorientation, he saw something worse yet. Hurgaa's sister ship Skrehdor* took a dozen rounds and exploded, shields flaring down as the high-energy kinetics tore through her missile magazines. Urtraghan antiship missiles were pure kinetic weapons, with no volatile warheads, but when cruiser-caliber rounds came through the side, the shattering high density power capacitors in the missile drives did the job.

"Festering dung of every imaginable herd beast! Find out where those shells are coming from!"

Hurgaa shuddered again; this time one of the stanchions cracked part way through as a flaw in one of the welds couldn't match flex of the hull- three more rounds slamming against the shields. Thank the gods they weren't breaking through; coming harder on the heels of the first wave that might have finished them. Precious seconds ticked by as the Fleet tactical computers tried to figure out where the fire was coming from. They weren't energetic enough to be coming from the battleships... there! Grouped salvoes from the enemy cruiser squadron farthest to dorsal... uncannily high hit rate.

Homing rounds of course... homing on our jammers perhaps?

"All arsenal ships, switch decoy drones to full power, step down EW emissions to 10%." If he was wrong, that might just make them more vulnerable. Would it work? Hurgaa's captain rolled her ship to keep the disrupted shield facing from falling apart outright, just in time to take another hit. Other ships reported impactors, one of them a hit that disabled several of her launch rails. But things were going back down to normal, hit rates on his ships' shields more manageable, though he was losing decoys at a disturbing rate.

He'd managed to avert the worst of that barrage, but they plainly had him marked. It was time to start flushing his missiles before he lost any more of the platforms carrying them... or his own life.

Part of him wanted to give that cruiser squadron to dorsal a nice double helping of missiles, but the fire plan was set up across his entire fleet; revising it on the fly might work, but might equally well cause confusion as the commlinks between ships were overloaded by the revisions. "First missile salvo, fire!"

* Translates as "Shriekbat" or "Bizarre [obscenity, possibly some sort of curse directed at fate with an overtone of 'WHY?'] Kamikaze Death Flier," depending on the translator.

---

Missile Frigate Gacknik
Ventral Flank Group, Zebesian Fleet
1405 Hours

The officer coming in over the intercom was pretty harsh, like most of the guys on these ships. Nugak had already gotten the feeling that they must be scraping the bottom of the barrel back home, but from the look of it the new guys fought pretty well even if they were jerks.

"All batteries fire, fleet fire plan Magenta Two, support the arsenal ships' launch!" Like Nugak, battery chief Jorrobie was from the handed subspecies- the pincer guys didn't make for fine manipulation of controls. And he needed that now, frantically entering the launch codes to get as much preparation done as possible.

The fire plan was complicated, he knew that much. This Frugus looked to be a lot tougher than that alien they'd had in charge back at the mining colony, and he was counting on all the missileers- it was the fleet's biggest punch against the humans, and he'd spread the word around about that. Gacknik would be launching at the same time as not just the other frigates in their own battlegroup, but the ones firing at the enemy from above too- and the big arsenal ships at the core of the fleet, the ones that carried a ridiculous number of missiles and not much else.

Maybe it was for the best that he wasn't on an arsenal ship with the long-service guys, come to think of it. They sounded kind of flimsy.

Anyway, the battery chief was almost done working. This time, Nugak had been dropped into the fire mission monitoring slot- in case anything stupid or useful happened to the fleet at large, he was supposed to give the battery chief a warning so he could switch targets. It was a better job than just manning a watch station during off-hours, though considerably more confusing; Nugak hadn't exactly earned top marks in tactical training. He was kind of worried, really.

Don't screw up don't screw up don't screw up...

So far, everything was going according to plan though, so he didn't have to say anything that might screw things up. The humans were sitting fat and happy around their big troop transports, coasting towards Zebes and blazing away at everything nearby with their railguns. Meanwhile, the fleet was stinging them with plasma and laser cannon; he'd already seen a few of their ships wobble from their base course or rearrange formation a bit, and he was pretty sure that meant damaging hits were slowing them down or interfering with their ability to protect themselves.

But so far, they'd only stung the humans, and the human battleships had already blown up at least four ships he'd seen. Not good. Especially since you couldn't see those damn railgun slugs coming; everything would be fine and then WHAM! Gacknik had already been hit four times from the smaller guns, all on the shields so far, but always with no warning. It was almost as bad as having laser cannons shooting at you.

Then the plot started changing. The arsenal ships in the center disappeared into a cloud of fog. At first, Nugak thought there'd been some kind of disaster, until he realized the leading tendrils of fog were flowing towards the human fleet, and pulling the rest of the cloud behind them at high speed- those were missiles!

A lot of them, too. Nobody had told him just how many of the things the arsenal ships carried, but it looked like whatever he'd have guessed would be too low. Wow.

"Arsenal ships are firing, chief."

"I copy. Ready to launch on central control's go code." The chief flipped up a cover on his control board and pressed a button, signaling that he was satisfied with his tubes' fire solution.

Wait for it... wait for it... aaaaaaah!

Urtraghan antiship missiles were big beasts, and Gacknik was first and foremost a missile platform. She had launchers almost everywhere her designers could find room... which did not leave much space for shock absorption.

The ship bucked and shuddered as the frigate's acceleration coils slung the missiles out and howled for more. Ready magazines threw reloads into the launchers fast enough that there was no time for the shaking to stop before the next wave went out. It was fifteen confused seconds before the last rounds went out and the process of reloading the ready magazines from deep storage could begin.

But the missiles were on the way now, the waves from Nugak's own battery group only part of Gacknik's launch, and that only a small part of the bombardment headed for the humans from the fleet. He hoped this would go better than the last time.

The fog toward the center was picking up speed: The arsenal ships' missiles had been underway for a while now and were going at a pretty good clip. They'd hit hard when they got to the targets, but Nugak was worried about how long the bad guys would have to line up shots at the missiles before they arrived. The frigates from the flanking groups were closer in- their missiles wouldn't hit as hard, but would hopefully hit more often...

Go go go... aaaaaaah! Ready magazines reloaded, the frigates threw another salvo, with more coming from the arsenal ships. They weren't done yet. A third wave followed the first, and that was it- the arsenal ships were running on empty.

And now the humans were trying to shoot down as many as they could. Nugak hadn't gotten a good look at their missile defenses during the fight at Mining Facility Two, because he'd been too busy running for the escape pod at the time. Now he saw that they started off with their own missile launches, mostly from the smallest and largest of their ships, with midsized ones holding fire- those were the railgun ships, though weren't the Prussians supposed to have missile-carrying cruisers?

The human countermissile launches flew right into the middle of the advancing missile clouds; his display registered their nuclear explosions as tiny bubbles of light that popped in the blink of an eye. The leading edge of the fogbanks started to fizz and dissolve as they ran into the Prussian nukes. But the fog was rolling on faster than the nukes could push it back.

Cone and cylinder-shaped holes started appearing as the fog got close to the human ships- they must be loading their large caliber guns with flak for close-in defense. Individual red flashes were missiles killed by point target weapons: quick firing autocannon probably, and they added a dancing scintillation along the leading edge...

Come on!

The first wave was shredded, with only a few making it in. The second and third had rather more luck, with the enemy's long range counterfire out of the picture. The markers for human ships flared as Gacknik's sensors spotted the flashes of shield scatter, flared brighter where they spotted debris plumes.

YES! There were quite a few of those bright flares.

"We nailed some of the little bastards, hits on the battleships, hits on the transports... holy Zarquod, looks like a couple of 'em are breaking up!"

"What, the battleships?"

"I wish."

"Crap. Does the computer think we hit anything?"

"Isn't saying." Nugak started fiddling with the display. "Not sure. But... a couple of the battleships look, um. Aaagh, I can't read this thing right!"

"Lemme see!" Jobblod hopped up from systems monitoring; with nothing in the launchers for now it was probably OK, though the chief hissed displeasure. What were we shooting at, chief?

"Preferred target was number eight, secondary was target seventy-four."

"Hmm. Number eight-" that was one of the battleships- "Hells. Doing OK. But seventy-four, hey, that's one of the transports that broke up! That'll teach 'em to invade our planets! You think it was us?"

"Who knows?"

"Anyway, looks like targets two and four are limping pretty bad, their EM sensors are all shot to Groolidar* too. I think we got a piece of those two. Plus the smaller ships we bagged, and, well, lots of damage it looks like. All over the place. I think a lot of the missiles got mixed up and wandered off the fire plan. You think that's good or bad?"

"Dunno. Anyway, says here we're supposed to start thinking about follow-up strikes if we see anything we can kill without the arsenal ships, so get back to your post and run some diagnostics! Let's move, people!"

*One of the Urtraghan "special hells," generally agreed to be the one with the most lava, the dullest tridents, and the most grating music.

---

Valkyrie-class Battlecruiser SMS Brunhild
1415 Hours Fleet Standard Time

Siegfried Kircheis shook his head at the display as the transport Hanau broke up under a storm of missiles- past a certain point, the sheer number of impactors punching through the armor robbed the ship of structural integrity. After the last few hits, the stern section simply drifted away, and the main hull split open soon after.

"Those poor soldiers." There were over a hundred thousand men on that ship; how many will make it out alive? There were emergency bubbles for every soldier, but nowhere near enough proper escape pods- pods for a ship that densely crewed would take up an impossible amount of room. The bubbles would keep them alive for some time, but how long would it be before anyone could pick them up? Or how many were dead on the other transports that took hits?

Reinhard nodded. "Ja, but you know it could have been worse, Kircheis."

He closed his eyes. "I know. Those bombardment cruisers threw a lot of missiles; if we hadn't been able to jam them off Kellerwald and Tübingen..." The deck shuddered as Brunhild's main battery director decided she had a good fire solution for one of the plasma destroyers to dorsal. The pirate beam weapons were still throwing fire, and now that the Prussians had damaged ships, they presented more of a problem.

"Mittermeyer's counterfire shook out nicely too- very quick analysis, he was launching countermissiles almost before the last rounds left the dorsal attack group."

"You did order him into missile defense formation half an hour ago."

"Still, it was neatly done. I like him. I think I'll keep him."

"Heh." That was good news. Finding good people was an endless struggle. "Do you think Bödicker's flagship will be able to keep up? Oldenburg is still losing speed."

Reinhard frowned. "I don't think he'll have to worry about any sudden dashes. Mückenberger will be relying on gunfire to keep the beam ships off our backs."

"I hope it works." The deck jerked as the flagship took a shot at one of the Zebesians again. The broadsides often came as a surprise; it was more a question of when Sixth Battlecruisers' computers came up with an educated guess exactly where to aim than anything else. Mostly they missed, but once in a while they got lucky and one of the raiders was knocked reeling by the high-speed rounds, shields cracked and hull battered.

Now what? Would the raiders manage another launch, or were they limited to destroyer-weight harassment fire now? How much more would they take before they broke?

---

Missile Frigate Gacknik
1417 Hours

"Any good targets for follow-ups, chief?"

"Nothing from central fire control yet; they're not talking."

Weird. Nugak wasn't the most aggressive guy, sure, but he'd think they'd be planning something by now; the first missile launch had been a while ago.

Then the door slid open. A pair of pincer guys strode in.

The chief turned. "What are you doing with those arm cannons?"

"We're here to explain a few things to your boys."

"What are you talking about? Who ordered you here?"

"The captain. Now listen up!" He twitched the arm with the gun attached. "We're pulling out of the system to rendevous with reinforcements."

"What? On whose orders?"

"By order of the high command. There's a plan. Keep your head down and do your job, and you'll be rewarded."

"This is korakkshit. We're in the middle of a battle here!"

Suddenly the two troopers looked really alert. Nugak edged away from the chief a little.

Apparently the chief saw it too, because he sounded a bit less... pushy now. "Seriously, we're pulling out the fleet?"

"Yeah. Keep your head down and do your job, and then it'll be just fine. You got it?"

"...I got it."

Jobblod drummed his fingers along the edge of his control board, nervously. "What do you think that was all about, chief?"

"I dunno. I don't like it. Guys waving that kind of artillery around inside the ship... I've been in the Navy for ten years and I've never seen anything like it. Something's fishy. These guys... they're not normal navy. I've been off Urtraghus for two years now, but I can't believe recruiting and training have changed that much. They've got the right insignia and all, but... something's fishy."

"What if this is some kind of mutiny?"

"What can we do? We're not boarding elites, we don't have any weapons; they'd kick us to pieces without even firing up those guns of theirs. It's like the guy said, we've got to keep our heads down. Hopefully it'll all be sorted out later...

"What if it isn't?"

The chief rasped in resignment. "Eh well. When life gives you bombfruits, make grenades I guess."

[Siege]

CEID substation
Undisclosed Location



"So this is the Sectors, Tanner? New Tinseltown, land that's still wrasslin' with making a good cheeseburger? Somehow I thought it'd be bigger."

"Kindly skip to the point please, Van Zandt. What the hell are you doing here?"

"But you already know why I am here, Tanner."

"No, Van Zandt, actually I don't. I haven't got a fucking clue who sent you here or why. But I know what line of work you're in and let me tell you something: we don't need any Zero hitmen here, no matter their reputation. We don't need you. We can handle this. We have it under control."

"Under control? 'Under control' you say? Is that why I get to read about your operations on the news? Maybe you can 'handle it' so well you have time to run a PR department in your free time?"

"... that wasn't me."

"What do you take me for, some kind of enormous dickhead? I already know that wasn't you. If it was then we wouldn't be having this conversation, on the account of you being dead. But you still bungled the shit out of this operation, mister so-called station chief Tanner. You got the CSB crawling all over our op like flies on shit, so I think you've got a pretty funny idea of what it means to be in control. Now. Because of your screwup certain people have sent me all the way up here to clean up your mess. I don't like traveling a lot, so I'm pretty fuckin' pissed off with you right now and what I want to know is, are you going to get in my way?"

"I know your reputation Van Zandt. I know better than that. But you can't just... Look, I don't know what your game is, but this isn't the K-Zone. It's the Sectors, the Unies are just one short hop away, you can't run your wetworks up here like you would down there. The fallout would be disasterous."

"No, Tanner, it won't. If the CSB found out about PARCEL POST, that would be disastrous."

"But how on God's old Earth do you propose to stop a CSB investigation? The Bureau's as good at this as we are, and we're a goddamn long way away from home."

"You’re mistaken, Tanner, as you so commonly are, in thinking we need to stop the Bureau from doing anything. In fact I'm counting on them being nice little paranoid Centralites. We're wrapping this up today."

"How?"

"Easy. We'll dangle the low-level contacts, the ones marked 'expendable' in your files who don't know anything of value anyway. The Bureau will snatch them, torture them for a bit, think they hit the jackpot and then bury them so deep you'd need a dragline to dig 'em out. They're predictable that way, and they won't realize that they've actually cleaned up your mess for you."

"And the other moles?"

"On their way to the Sovereignty as we speak, by way of express warp gate via Alpha Centauri. See it now? We get what we want, the Centies will take care of the scraps left behind, and nobody will be anything the wiser 'cause there's nobody left to talk anywhere this side of the Holy Empire."

"Except the leak."

"Yeah, about that. You know a guy called Sandersson?"

"My private... You mean he leaked the news to SGN?"

"He did. Got a fistfull of credits for his trouble. Oh, and this morning he accidentally fell through a window of his hundredth-floor apartment. Drugs, you see. I'm told he made quite a mess of the pavement. Modern high-rise can be such a danger, don't'cha think?"

"Jesus, Van Zandt..."

"That leaves the reporter Sandersson talked to. Now, Solaris doesn't think she knows about PARCEL POST, but just to be sure my colleagues back home are going to arrange for her LARC to have a fatal accident in mid-flight somewhere around, oh, just about now. Which I think means that I've just cleaned up your clusterfuck of an operation for you."

"At the expense of how many lives?"

"Who cares? The Bureau would've found those contacts eventually, that's why they were designated expendable. And now we get to keep our secrets at the price of the life of one traitor and one nosy reporter. You ask me, I call that a bargain."

[Force Lord]

CIS General Headquarters, Centrum
The Center Sector, The Centrality
IN GODDAMN UNREAL TIME

"You sent the message to the Bragulans?", asked Director Gates.

"Yes, sir. Permission to speak freely?", said a staff officer.

"Granted. I'm in a good mood today, luckily for you."

"Is this a good idea Director? Asking the Bragulans for help might end up blowing in our face."

"I'm perfectly aware of the possibility of blowback. However, the Triumvirs have allowed us to do this, and we do need to give the CEID a taste of it's own medicine."

"But the CEID's a first-grade Intel group, sir. Might be too difficult this time."

"You worry too much. We do this or we don't. End of discussion."

"Yes, sir."

[PeZook]

Zubrich, Chimera sector
Edge of Sovereignty space

The Blackjack slipped into the system without so much as a whisper, at least as far as the defence sensors were concerned. Two small Collector craft appeared with it, masking their own hyperspace transition just as well as the CEID Darkstar.

In the system’s Kuiper Belt, the Viper cruiser lurked along with the rest of its escorts, monitoring the situation and ready to jump in and provide heavyweight support to the operation if necessary. It was no secret the CEID would rather avoid any attention here - Zubrich was an autonomous place, its neutral status regulated by a set of accords with the government of the Sovereignty and the ruling bodies - both human and alien - of the Chimera Sector. While most people considered both the sector and the accords an adorable anachronism in a galaxy full of imperialistic star nations, various USS institutions benefited from it enough that for the foreseeable future, nothing would change. And of course this particular planet like most of the Chimera Sector wasn’t your usual third-world craphole, and possessed a decent defence system equipped with some of the best technology dirty money could buy.

The piles of dirty cash came from the world’s main export - Zubrich provided discrete banking services for a staggering array of customers. From Solarian megacorps trying to hide unsavoury revenue streams through Wild Space smugglers trying to secure their interests when trading with violent and unpredictable people, down to Bragulan intelligence funelling kickbacks and bribes into various spots. By observing activity and movement on Zubrich, the Solarians could keep tabs on their many, many enemies and the criminal syndicates to boot. As the man said, it was better to keep one’s friends close...and the enemies closer.

Data acquired during the chase after Legion’s carrier program indicated that much of its activity was, in fact, carried out through Zubrich. It was a long shot, but all the CIs in charge of the hunt agreed that laying in ambush at Zubrich represented the best chance of catching the robot mercenary away from his hiding spot. If there were any loose ends the whole Limpkin affair left, they would be found here.

There was only one problem.

Agent Friday stole one look at the schematic of what passed for Zubrich’s local Datasphere and scowled, We have no goddamned idea where to look for him?

Correct, The Dollmaster replied, a chorus of agreements coming from all the other CIs involved in the hunt. The Collector team was now based on one of the Wasp patrol craft which entered the system along with the Blackjack.

Friday didn’t seem amused. The glowing map of all the myriad possible locations of interest hovered in the thoughtspace. Its staggering complexity seemed a bit like Legion laughing at them all.

I assume you have a plan, then.

Also correct. 404?, the Dollmaster called up one of the Collectors - it seemed odd, the way the CIs got to...like each other? Or at least as close to it as two paranoid special warfare intelligences could get, anyway.

We will infiltrate a specially prepared package of tracker programs, trojans and other assorted devices into Zubrich networks. They will alert us to any suspicious activity on the planet and inside its datasphere., the Collector seemed almost smug when saying that.

I still say we should just extract cooperation from their government. What are they going to do, sue us?, that was Freki, still aboard the Viper, connected to the thoughtspace directly via a secure link, It neatly sidesteps all our problems.

It would be easiest, but risk damaging our... special relationship with Zubrich, August observed

Agent Friday sneered, So it’s better to just crack their networks and violate their neutrality, then? I don’t follow.

Ah, but we will be provided the necessary deniability, The Dollmaster observed. The hovering crystals representing the Collector team emanated a set of sidebands that indicated amusement at the way the humans danced around the issue, By our newfound... allies.

Correct. Should the operation be compromised, you can just blame it on the Collective., One pointed out, And besides, it’s not like the CEID doesn’t dig around in their networks on a regular basis.

The implications of the Collectors knowing that were... unpleasant, for they indicated the goddamned robots knew more about galactic affairs than they let on. On the other hand they might just be bluffing, using CEID’s own reputation as an all-knowing Moloch against it. Regardless and after a brief dramatic pause, One continued, A significant amount of fieldwork will be involved in this task, as we’ll need to physically access some parts of the network for truly comprehensive coverage.

Freki positively beamed with eager glee. Leave that to me.

You’re not going down there without me. That was August, appearing even more sour than usual. Don’t think I don’t remember Ourania.

You’re both going, echoed Friday, who took great pains not to let her irritation at August’s slip of the tongue show through the link. Any takers from our newfound allies?

Crystals representing Albert and One glowed briefly, We are best suited for covert operations. 404 can support our frames remotely. I suggest we operate as separate teams and hit the largest possible number of network nodes this way.

Friday had to restrain herself from making another snarky comment, satisfying herself with a simple statement, That much is obvious.

Detailed planning will commence in point-nine kiloseconds when we are close enough to remotely interface with Zubrich comm networks, then. Approximate time to insertion is one hundred kiloseconds. Meeting adjourned.

The thoughtspace dissolved, and all involved sentients went back to the real world aboard their respective starships - or more properly, to non-connected enhanced reality. Except for Dollmaster, of course, who was busy slipping the Blackjack and its two escorts through the system’s sensor networks.

Thirty six hours later

The operation was a surgical procedure: using data painstakingly collected by the CEID over decades, network nodes and server farms with substandard security were selected for infiltration of the tracker packages. Operatives left the squadron covertly, using a variety of clever and unusual means to infiltrate Zubrich, and then moved about the planet using local transportation. It wasn’t easy, but once they avoided the orbital sensors and small-craft patrols, it became slightly easier, thanks to a staggering variety of fake ID, adaptive disguises, active jamming and field hacking that allowed August and Freki to drop in and out of the surveillance networks that were omnipresent in any reasonably modern star nation. The Collector team kept their exact techniques to themselves, but were also able to operate unhindered, at least for now.

Eight hours after infiltration, the first tracking packages managed to spread enough to provide significant coverage of the local network. Only two nodes were left by then, infiltrating which would allow monitoring of most unsecured and low-secured traffic. Both of them were located in the sleepy city of Lugano - a cushy resort lost in the spinal mountain range splitting Zubrich’s largest continent in half. After breaking into server farms located inside the planet’s biggest cities, that was almost a vacation.

Less so for the minds in orbit, tasked with organizing all the intelligence gathered and filtering through it in search for interesting patterns of activity, all while trying to remain undetected by the surprisingly dense defence patrols. Thus, occasionally, the data flows stopped as the Blackjack and its escorts had to maneuver to different orbits, before hacking into another comms buoy.

During those maneuvers, activity was reduced and only a few members of the team had anything at all to do. It was a time for doing maintenance, reviewing data, having actual meals as opposed to supplements and stims... A period where the brooding corridors of the CEID vessel saw almost normal, human activities (if you considered implant-studded VACs roaming the ill-lit corridors, their every move controlled by the unsleeping will of the ship’s controlling intelligence ‘normal’.)

“You know, this would go a lot faster if we could gain access to a submesonic core on the surface”, Agent Friday said into the air. She was sitting alone in the stripped metal hall that passed for the mess, having her first normal meal in days. Even then, though, she couldn’t help but task some of her implants to going over the mission data again.

“That is true, we’d have no need to use detectable comms bands.”, Dollmaster’s disembodies voice rang out inside her head, “But access is impossible to achieve at this time.”

Friday sighed, sifting through reports. The whole operation was too hastily prepared for her liking, and its very plan seemed far-fetched and full of wishful thinking. Albeit it was developed by CIs. Could a CI even fall prety to wishful thinking? Olympic always claimed they had no human weaknesses, but perhaps some things were an intrinsic quality of intelligence itself. She’d have to ask a CI engineer...

Friday winced as her conditioning caught up with her, realizing she let her thoughts wander. That shouldn’t be happening. She exhaled slowly and concentrated, calming her mind and examining her own thoughts in excruciating detail, to find the fault which allowed this transgression to happen.

“Agent Friday”, Dollmaster, ever present, ever watching, spoke suddendly, “I believe you should take a break.”, the CI said. It wasn’t a request - the machine had most certainly picked up her agitation and changes in body chemistry... if not her exact thoughts.

The CEID psion nodded stiffly and disconnected from the network. She collected the refuse and walked over to the disposal chute, when the Collector liaison walked into the mess hall.

Vilena posed an interesting conundrum even to the fundamentally emotionless CEID crew of the ship. They would have been wary around any intruder into their realm and indeed were to her, but that didn’t stop the agents from conjecturing why an organic human was in the service of freaky evil robots.

There were no doubt reasons why a human would serve the interests of non-human powers -- CEID was too familiar with the palette of human motivations not to acknowledge this. There were humans working for Chamarrans, Pfhor, hell even for the Amplitur: it didn’t require much more than the right incentive (or, as the Directorate itself preferred, the proper brainwashing) to achieve a sense of loyalty. That was something CEID could understand and appreciate. Indeed, the Directorate had long theorized Collectors were reprogramming kidnapped organics, perhaps even en masse, to work for them. The Bragulans were known to do so, so the robots couldn’t be far behind: it was something CEID scanned its recruits for, just in case.

But Vilena... There was something peculiar about her. She was difficult to read, not just psionically but Dollmaster had a difficult time cracking her personality matrix and even August, the most empathic agent aboard - for a given value of empathy - couldn’t coax enough out of her to base a proper assessment on. There were tell-tale traces of conditioning and brainwashing that could be picked up even without psionic abilities: slight aberrations and deviations from the standard model of human psyche, but none were present here.

The CEID agents did manage to gather some interesting data, mostly thanks to the omnipresent CamDust littering every single surface of the ship. The most peculiar of those wast the fact Vilena had nightmares. And after them, she’d activate some sort of small recording device, set it on the table and...stare at it for hours. Naturally, Dollmaster had scanned the device thoroughly, and let it through since it presented no threat whatsoever: the only I/O port on it was a small microphone. The memory unit was on the dense side of galstandard technology, but transparent to scans. The power source was not energetic or dense enough to be cause for alarm.

Friday knew all this, and when she passed the Collector agent she couldn’t help herself and sent out psychic feelers, brushing ever so slightly against Vilena’s mind. She did that before, obviously, and nothing came out of it - it was more a pastime than anything else. A way to exercise the more subtle art of her abilities, the reading of people without intruding on their minds (as Friday’s superiors were wary that Collectors could’ve implanted monitoring devices into Vilena that would detect any proper psionic intrusion).

This time, she surprisingly managed to catch a glimpse of something.

Blood gushing slowly out of ragged, terrible wounds on the chest. Leg stumps trashing in the mud, pain flaring from the torn nerves and strips of muscle crudely chopped off by machete strikes. The horrible feeling of despair and loss.

A body - a body in a trash heap next to her. A body of the only person that mattered, now slashed up, horrible open wounds oozing blood in a way that showed, without a doubt, that her heart was no longer beating.

No more will to fight. No more strength, even if the will was there. The sky, covered in black clouds...

And then, an angel, leaning over her, the silent death-mask of a face staring emotionlessly. So fearsome, it reaches out towards her and, in a flash of light, there is only...oblivion.

Friday managed to disentangle her from the vision with considerably more effort than she should have to expend: for a psion of her power and job description, powerful emotions and horrible visions were an everyday thing. Something peculiar about Vilena’s mind made it difficult, though.

Regardless, it was an interesting find. In the Sovereignty, anyone suffering from a serious trauma would have it edited out by a professional redactor. Traumatic memories were either erased entirely or redacted to such an extent that one could recall them without the massive psychological backlash they originally came with. There was no good reason to cling to pain and suffering unless one was a masochist or a demented lunatic. Which raised some interesting possibilities about the Collector agent.

As Friday left the mess hall, she caught a glimpse of Vilena staring at her. Briefly, her one organic eye flashed with something...

Hate, perhaps?, Friday thought dispassionately. The idea didn’t bother her. She’d made enemies far worse than little psycho girls, and twenty-three years as a wetworks operator for the Directorate had given her a conscience of ice. Guilt just slid right off it. But hate, she knew, was a powerful motivator. Hate could be molded, shaped and set on a collision course with its target as well as any weapon.

That left the matter of who this particular weapon was aimed at. Her specifically? Friday didn’t think so -- the mental probe was nothing compared to the mind-rending trauma she’d found. No, this was the kind of pervasive psychological damage that could make little girls hate indiscriminately. Which was probably just why the Collectors hadn’t redacted it -- blind hatred was a useful thing to have in certain agents. Although of course they would still need some way of channelling that trauma in order to prevent it from biting them in their shiny metal asses. Let’s say the capital of an ally who facilitated one’s lust for revenge... or the debt of gratitude one owed a saviour?

A-ha.

Friday permitted herself a small smile. It was time to have a chat with Dollmaster.

[Shroom Man 777]

City of Atuvir, Faust
The Centrality
Goddamn Unreal Time

The Esper Games continued. Now they were in the final rounds, and this one was for Precision Electromagnetics. The two contestants were both from the Spin Zone, the first one was a moshu warrior monk sensei, court astrologer and oracle from Tianguo. A grand vizier. To describe him, one would have to imagine a person, tall, lean, and feline; high-shouldered with a brow like Shakespeare and a face like Satan sculpted in gold: a close-shaven skull and long magnetic eyes of the true cat green. Invest him with all the cruel cunning of an entire Eastern race, accumulated in one giant intellect. Imagine that malevolent being, and you have a mental picture of the yellow peril incarnate in one man...



It was then that lightning descended from the Tesla coils around the mad Tianguo vizier, filling the air with crackling electricity. He did not seem to mind it as the thunder and lightning played out around him, as though the electrical storm around him was not even worthy of his attention. The lightning arced around him, beside him, above him, but he paid it no heed. Not even the edges of his ceremonial robes were singed.

"Fools!" he declared as he waved his arm, bringing an accusing finger - tipped with long, gnarled wickedly sharp nail - to point at the audience. On his finger was a jade serpent-ring. "All of you! Behold!"

Suddenly the harsh crackle of the lightning ceased as with his psionic power, he began to manipulate them through some arcane process. The electric storm seemed to dim around him, the edges of the bolts growing softer, the glare more subdued. It was as though the jagged bolts of lightning had turned fluid, flowing all around him. The sound of thunderous rumbling, electric hissing and harsh crackling was then replaced... with music.

Atonal tones of oriental orchestrations played for all to hear as with his psychoflexitive powers, the Tianguoman seemed to manipulate the very fabric of electricity itself to generate sound out of thin air. This was the task the athletes had to perform in Precision Electromagnetics - manipulating the ions in the very air, the static, and somehow generating sounds with it. There was a clang of a gong, and the grand vizier then declared:



"THIS IS MY MECCA!"

His voice echoed throughout the arena, and then he began to cackle.

***

The next contestant was none other than the Umerian Deepak Asthana. He walked into the lightning field without hesitation, and rather than project a psychokinetic field to protect himself from the flickering tongues of electricity, he instead allowed them to go into him and flow through him, to course through his entire body as though he was one with the lightning. He closed his eyes and rather than cackle insanely as his literally power-mad predecessor had, he instead he felt the electricity with his mind as he expanded his consciousness and allowed it to run through the coruscating energies permeating all around him.



He moved his arm, slowly waving with it, and the lightning field seemed to sway, as though following his movements. He waved his other arm, and the lighting followed it too - flowing with it fluidly. He then moved both of his arms, much in the same way a conductor would, at first making small movements, and as he did so the crackling and electro-static zapping sounds of the electrical storm around him resolved into silence... and then it turned into something else, a slight melodious hum that began to build itself up gradually as Deepak moved more and more, before transforming into a powerful rhythm. Deepak's motions became wilder and wilder and the sound itself, not just the electricity, seemed to flow with his movements until the music exploded into a cosmic symphony unlike any other!

When Deepak Asthana was done, he bowed and the audience and judges applauded his performance. He stepped off the stage while the judges made their decision.

[PeZook]

Aurora Shipyards
The Centrality

The recent frigvette fire-sale sparked a massive increase in local traffic at the Aurora Shipyards. Small yachts carried officials for inspections of the vessels, shuttles ferried crews from all across the galaxy to man and guide them across the nine vectors of space, technicians and robots scurries all over the massive docks.

Amongst that gigantic cloud of various traffic, one ship stood out in particular. An absurdly gigantic bulk freighter was powering through a specially cleared corridors towards Pier XI, Dock C, where more than fifty frigvettes still awaited their reconditioning.



Despite its huge bulk, the HV (Hyperspace Vessel) Lifeblood Of The Universe gently and precisely slid into a position besides the dock. Automated systems worked out comms protocols and checked the ship's permissions and clearances against gigantic databases of the Central State, ensuring it was, indeed, what it claimed to be.

"Interesting...", colonel Jonathan Bero, CSB, muttered to himself from his security station, looking at the readouts, "...they really want us not to finish the reconditioning?"

It sounded suspicious. C'Tan Consumer Products not only didn't want the mothballed frigvettes reconditioned, they didn't bother negotiating the price down with that fact in mind: something which every proper corporation would at least attempt.

And, of course, they sent the Lifeblood. They must've paid a pretty penny to rent one of the biggest, fastest and best armed freighters in the known universe.

Then again, colonel Bero was utterly convinced at least half the customers buying the frigvettes needed them for anything but their stated purpose. Quite possibly that was the cas with all the customers.

Sighing, the colonel approved the documents, "Tell Mr. Turdner he can begin the transfer at his earliest convenience."

[Shroom Man 777]

City of Atuvir, Faust
The Centrality
Goddamn Unreal Time



Azamat Bragatov's eyes widened as he watched the Precision Electromagnetics finals. There was the maddened Tianguoman who, Bragatov had seen in his reconnaissance, had inhaled mercury fumes in preparation for the match. Was that even legal? It didn't matter. The ectoplasms were off the charts and Bragatov made sure to record them with the PKE in his ushanka.

The next contestant was an Umerian, and while at first he seemed to be utterly unremarkable and relatively quotidian, he swiftly began to conduct the electrical storm around him with all the mastery of a musical maestro - gesticulating wildly with his hands as the lightning sang to his movementations and transformed into a cosmic symphony. Incredible, absolutely incredible.

It ended just as quickly as it began. Actually, not really, it lasted for a while, but Azamat Bragatov left before the final judgment could be rendered. He looked at his PKE readings and were satisfied with what he had gathered - he didn't need to watch the judges engage in self-congratulatory butt-slapping, he had enough of that in the IBGV's communal shower rooms. He checked his digital wrist watch, noted the time, and promptly got out of the coliseum. He took the same route he had taken every time these past few days at Faust and he looked around, gazing at the memorized reflectorized surfaces to see the mirror images of the now-familiar Centralite agents tailing him. He could smell them from a mile away, no thanks to the... gift he had delivered the CSB just a few days ago.

"Heeheeheehee," Azamat Bragatov giggled. He fucking giggled.

As if in a replay of the last episode, Azamat Bragatov barged into a public unisex restroom and with a mighty Bragulan roar he sent all the people in it running out despite their half-completed businesses therein. He found the largest stall, which the Centralites had generously provided for handicapped people, or those with special-needs or were really huge (like the Kipakt athletes and audiences visiting Faust). He sat himself on the throne and pulled something out of his ushanka, another special package, which he swallowed. Then, focusing his digestive processes, he clenched and delivered the parcel to the Centralites who he knew for sure would be on the receiving end of the... plumbing.

***

CSB Underground
City of Atuvir, Faust
The Centrality
Goddamn Unreal Time

Vwoomp!

This time, they were prepared. The CSB crew were fully decked out in NBC suits and some even wielded flamethrowers, just in case. This time, there would be no screw ups. This time, they would defeat the Brown Thunder. This time...



The specimen was sealed in a fortified transparisteel chamber rigged with a self-detonation device. If the damned Bragulan had any other tricks, the hazmat team would simply evac the chamber and trigger the explosives - and thermite plasma would engulf the specimen and vaporize it, leaving nothing behind. It might seem a bit excessive, but after that last insult, they weren't taking any chances.

The CSB scientician - the one who had worked for quite some time in Umeria and had a mastery of science matching any Technocrat - began his dissection. He moved his scalpel to open the vile and wretched brown thing before him. It was so huge...

But then -

"Stop!" a voice called out through the intercoms. He turned around to face a face belonging to a black-suited man outside the transparisteel chamber. "Cease and desist! Hand over the specimen to us now! Comply!"

"What? Why? Who -?!"

"Are you questioning my authority?" the suited man revealed a badge of the CIS, the Central Intelligence Service.

"Hmpf!" the CSB man straightened himself up. "And what authorization do you have?"

"Authorization? How about the Central FUCKING government?" the CIS man sneered. "Lose the shit, or you lose your job."

The CSB technician relented. He opened the chamber and handed the specimen over to the CIS agent, who had donned gloves so he could handle the material.



"What are you going to do with it?" the CSB technician asked.

"You're on a need to know basis, and you don't need to know," replied the CIS agent as he placed the specimen inside a ziplock bag. Without further ado, he left the CSB Underground.

***

CIS Black Site
Unknown Location
The Centrality
Goddamn Unreal Time



The CIS agent opened the specimen and found the package within it, the package the IBGV agent had dead-dropped.

"I guess... you can call it... a dropping," the CIS agent remarked as he wore his sunglasses. "Yeah!"

Then they examined the contents of the package. He looked at it suspiciously, and then he examined it more closely...



...aha.

"Microdot," the CIS agent said to himself. He let the computer decipher it, and it was surprisingly fast. Turned out the cipher being used was one of their own, an older one that hadn't been used ever since CNS Datton incident, which probably explained how the Bragulans got their hands on it. He deciphered it and read the secret message:

From: Central Intelligence Service
To: Imperial Bureau of Galactic Vigilance

(secret, extremely encrypted message)

To whom it concerns this:

We have something planned regarding the Sovereignty. It seems the CEID had snuck in a few of their agents inside our Center of Economics, and we want to repay them in kind. We want IBGV collaboration if possible, in order to plant a few sleeper agents inside USS territory. We would be happy of receiving your help.

We are interested. Tell us more about your plan.