SDNW4 Story Thread 2

[Steve]

Thread 2 is here. Carry on with our zany cosmic hijinks!

[Fingolfin_Noldor]

Cananaan


If it was a war that Guynald wanted, it was a war that he was going to get. It took a good few months to get the army trained to an acceptable standard deemed by the Imperium’s military advisors. “I just hope they don’t point the rifle in the wrong direction, or forget to look at the IFF. Sigh...” said one of them. Apparently, there were a number of friendly accidents, and early on in the basic rifle training, a number of cadets shot themselves because they failed to follow the instructors’ instructions on how best to hold a gun.

Fortunately, it was an easier task to train the tankers to fight, relatively. Imperial Tanks were generally automated enough that all tankers had to worry only about was aiming and shooting their targets, and driving the vehicle in the right direction. Also fortunate was that the former cavalry men also knew how to read maps and navigate the terrain. The alternative of course was to give the Cananaanites the fully automated versions of the vehicles where only a single person was required to manage and run the tank but the Inquisition decided it was too advanced for the Cananaanites and they were loathe for some aspects of Imperial technology to fall into the wrong hands. Regardless, through fits and starts, and the occasional shoot up, the military advisers managed to whip up an army in fighting shape. Sure they weren’t as good as even the lowliest of the System Defence forces, much less the PDF or the much vaunted Imperial Guard, they were at least good enough to deal with the local rabble.

Guynald decided to tour the newly formed brigades. He was impressed. Next to his knights and men o’ arms, the tank brigades and the riflemen made the former look antique. Nevertheless, the former were still needed to cover the flanks of the new army. One of the Byzantine advisers cautioned against having the tanks driving off without their flanks exposed. “Sire, there is little point in sending off your tanks without infantry support. It is foolhardy to do so, especially considering how inexperienced your army is,” said the adviser.

“Oh they would get their support alright. I just want them to attack the bloody Muslims and the local yuppies together at once. I just hate their fashion taste. Seriously, which idiot walks around with such shinny teeth that make him look like some buck eyed rabbit? And who walks around bare chested and wearing a stupid mask? It is inconceivable.”

‘There he goes again, about their fashion taste. I wish he washed his damn beard for once too,’ groaned Tyrus. He had no plans to get involved in the military discussion. If Guynald wants to waste his forces, he is more than welcome to do so. After all, the two manufactoriums were producing at near peak capacity, and fabricating new armies was really a matter of training up new men to service the weapons.

The adviser’s eyebrows arched. “Are you sure, sire? Your army is inexperienced, and attacking in such a foolhardy fashion might risk heavy losses.”



Guynald waved off his concerns. “No gambler gambles with only a few chips and hopes to win. One must be bold! One must be courageous!”

“Assuming one doesn’t lose the war at the same time,” the adviser muttered. There was no way to gain say Guynald when his mind was set on the matter. It was a futile effort. The adviser just hoped the entire operation does not blow up in their faces.

The army set out making best speed for the nearest Jihadist town and Cananaanite town. As they watched the army head out with Guynald at his head, one of the advisers turned to Tyrus, “I can’t help but notice you were utterly silent during the exchange, my Lord Inquisitor.”

Tyrus merely shrugged. “If the idiotic buffoon gets himself into a cesspool of trouble, let him. Perhaps he would lose his bloody beard in the process, which is an added bonus. We are here to merely help him, not be his bloody baby sitters.”

The adviser chuckled. “That much I understand, my Lord Inquisitor. As much as I hate to see good equipment wasted, I guess it can’t be helped. I guess I will go train his men. He will be needing more of them when this is over.”

“Good idea. I have business to attend to as well.”

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

The army met with early success. The Cananaans were generally the worst off in the battle between the 3 powers, due to the relative lack of powerful patrons. Obliterating the nearest town of Cananaans was a trivial matter that was solved after the Kondensator and Sonnar artillery vehicles unleashed a fury of ordinance that left the town a nuclear charred ground.

The Klavostanis were however a trickier proposition. The Klavostanis were warned by early warning stations of the army’s approach, and they made ready the Army of Guynald.

[Darkevilme]

HSF Audacity, sector C-6, mission start+ 20 days, 1 hours

“So you're telling me that our mission might already be compromised?” Rayarr said eyeing her subordinate with the kind of hopeful yet fatalistic disbelief that usually accompanies a question like this.

“I'm saying we may have been detected momentarily, according to the simulation I ran our hyperspace baffle has a misalignment of 0.02 percent between modules 3 and 4, probably from when we realigned them after detaching the drop tanks. This may have led to the baffle being unable to fully absorb our translation shock.”

“And this was not caught at the time why?” Rayarr asks, this time with her body language tinged with disbelief.

“Procedure would usually call for the ship's CI to run post adjustment simulations and diagnostics shipmistress.”

“Mysteries save us... okay, find everyone involved in adjusting the hyperspace baffle. Until I say otherwise they'll be spending the rest of this mission going over our procedures and find every little thing the higher ups saw fit to have delegated to the CI.”

“By your will shipmistress.”

While aware of their potential to have been discovered the Audacity remained unspooked and proceeded on their slow orbital path inwards towards the unidentified thermal signature further inside the starsystem, intending to deploy a probe onto an orbit just inside that of the signature at the point of intersection. The Audacity unaware of the vessel even now zeroing in on the spot it had emerged from hyperspace.

[fgalkin]

Somewhere in Sector C-6
Unreal Time



#113098576, a Type-II Parasite Craft, was among the oldest boats still in service. Over two hundred years old, it had been assigned to the Resolution In The Face Of Danger on its first mission, and had been with it ever since, surviving against all the odds. The patrol ship was a fairly good master as these things went, and they’ve established a fairly good relationship over the years. As the most senior and most experienced of the ship’s complement of parasite craft, #113098576 was usually given leadership of the missions, keeping in check the sometimes unruly group of imps possessing the recon craft. This made the current situation even more intolerable.

It all started out fairly well, with #113098576 and the other boats taking their assigned positions inside hyperspace, extending their ship’s sensor range. It was a strange place, very much unlike the murky shoals they were accustomed to. One could see further out, true, but in many ways this made their missions harder, not easier. In the shoals, they were familiar with every gravitational echo, easily able to discern a ship’s hyper-wake within the natural interference. Here, the ripples produced by a working hyperdrive were bigger and could be spotted further out, but so were those produced by the natural ebb and flow of hyperspace. The recon boats had to strain their sensor suites to the max, looking at every ripple in hyperspace. This was taking its toll on the boats, and eventually something had to give. Unsurprisingly, #113098576, with its ancient electrical systems, was the first to go.

Hanging quietly in its hiding place ten lightyears away, Resolution In The Face Of Danger considered the situation. The news that one of its recon craft suffered a systems failure, leaving it half-blind was, unfortunate, but not really unexpected. It had heard #113098576’s aplogies, and decided to be lenient on its oldest companion. In an actual stealth mission, the ship would have to be abandoned for the time being, or even scuttled to prevent capture, but this wasn’t a stealth mission, not really. Resolution In The Face Of Danger ordered a full scan of the system and the sector, the sensor suites of the ship and the numerous spy probes and sensor stations sweeping across both realspace and hyperspace. They found nothing. The only vessels in the sector belonged to the Lost.

So, it was it was with a small sense of relief that Resolution In The Face Of Danger ordered #113098576 to return for repairs.

---------------------------
Have a very nice day.
-fgalkin

[Chaotic Neutral]

EWH Stealth
P-25

"Fucking shoals!" The chief engineer was furious. It took a month moving at a snails pace to reach the sector, and now, just a few lightyears away from he rendezvous, the hyperdrive had finally given out.

Before he could look over what went wrong, a booming voice popped into his mind, "LIEUTENANT! What just happened?"

He looked at the damage reports for a few seconds before responding, "The hyperdrive gave out captain. I'm not sure how long it will take to fix it." Probably at least a week with this much damage...

"Then get to work!"

"Yes captain." He sighed. This was going to be a long week.

[fgalkin]

The Bragulan Economic Exposition Extravaganza of Friendship (BEEEF)
Vlyadibragstok, Southeastern Severnaya Sector / just beyond Northwestern Lena Sector
Unreal Time / October-December 3400


A convoy was making its way across the frozen wastes of Vlyadibragstok. A convoy headed towards the vast subterranean fallout bunkers, these caverns of Bragulanity where the BEEEF was held. Dozens of giant trucks, carrying everything from samples of the finest vegemite to the Lost’s miniaturized weaponry occupied the entire road, forcing even the mighty Bragulan nuclear-powered vehicles to swerve aside, giving them the right of way.

The truck at the front was the largest yet— dozens of meters tall, it towered over all others as its cargo was far more important than those of the others. For inside its spacious cargo area, there was none other than the Lost’s gift to the glorious Bragulan peoples.



The beefs oinked and grunted in Byzonist fervor, perhaps because even their simple animal minds understood the momentousness of the occasion or, perhaps because they were hungry, angry, and scared from in a giant truck being driven across the bare tundra. Either way, their oinkings were like music to the ears of the truck’s pilot, who was none other than Emissary Shroom herself.


Emissary Shroom

Emissary Shroom was giddy with anticipation. Soon, she would be meeting the aliens face-to-face at last, establishing diplomatic contact. She understood the enormous weight of responsibility placed on her purple shoulders and she was determined not to fail. Her Duty, the very essence of her being demanded it.

She knew it was customary to present a gift, and she had one fit for a king. Nay, not a king, an Imperator, for she had gone to Kazakstan, a nation famous for two things only—sword-riding pirates that were the terror of shipping lanes in the Neko Stars and the finest Salo in the galaxy! She had braved the weeklong trip through impassible shoals while fighting off Cossack pirates to bring the galaxy’s greatest beefs here, and she would die before she would allow anything to interrupt her triumphant entrance.


Kazakstanian Cossack Pirates Riding Their Swords

So engrossed was she in these thoughts that she failed to notice a crude skull-shaped barricade blocking the road, despite the large sign reading da Tull Boof, and the dozens of angry Boyz manning (orking?) it.



Her first and only warning were outraged shouts and the sounds of gunfire impacting against her truck’s armored cockpit. Da Orky Tull Collectaz were quite insistent about being paid, and if these daemonoids would not pay, they would pry their teef from their cold dead mouths!

Shroom dove instinctively and gunned the engine, driving the giant truck right through the barricade and continuing on through the hail of gunfire. The engine roared and the truck swayed from side to side, nearly turning over as it struggled to drive over the obstacles in its path. From behind, Shroom could hear the outraged oinks and squeals of the beefs, louder even than the bang of dakka impacts. Some of the beefs were hit, she realized, they would be dead or dying, unable to be presented to the Bragulans. The thought filled her with rage. Like every other species in the galaxy, the Lost had plenty of experience with the Orks, and the thought of some greenskin highway robber spoiling her finest moment made her growl in rage. “All units, fire at will,” she screamed into the communicator.

The soldiers guarding the convoy were more than happy to oblige, and soon the air was filled with disintegrator bursts from the trucks, cutting down the Orks left and right. The firefight was turning decidedly one-sided, but that didn’t matter because Orkz were made for fightin’ and winnin,’ and it didn’t count if they died, because then they were dead and not even an Ork could count while dead. So, the Orkz always won, and were in the process of winning yet another fight, and enjoying every last moment of it, too, even as they were being gunned down by the daemons in the trucks.

Shroom ignored all this, for there was something far more worthy of her attentions. One of the Orkz did not jump out of the truck’s path in time. Now, the greenskin was running for his life, as the Emissary’s massive armored truck gave chase. The Ork’s goggled eyes were nearly popping from their sockets from the strain as he sprinted faster than he ever did in his life. Early on, he had tried shooting the oncoming metal juggernaut, but the dakka of his shoota had done little more than scratch the paint job. Now, he had to do the most un-Orky thing possible, running away from the enemy. At the same time, he tried to preserve a shard of Orky dignity as he did so, and thus he was puffing away at his tsvagna-filled cigar as he ran. Then, the inevitable happened. The Ork doubled over coughing as he swallowed his cigar by accident, and his pace slackened.

Inside the armored cockpit, Shroom grinned as she directed the truck’s left wheel straight at him, There was a bump and a crunch and the massive vehicle drove on, turning the Ork into roadkill. The convoy followed her, leaving the barricade far behind. Shroom could already see the massive dome of the bragbunker where the BEEEF was held in the distance…

Then, she spotted something out of the corner of her eye. She was just turning to face the new disturbance when there was a massive CRASH and a giant impact sent her, and the truck flying through the air.


Like that, but with a giant truck

The truck landed on its side, shattering the cages and spilling its cargo of beefs, who promptly began their mad dash for freedom.

“No! Stop! Come back!” Shroom cried out as she emerged from the side door of the cockpit which was now the top hatch. “Don’t leave me yet! Come back, I’ll forgive everything!”

But the beefs did not stop. Their grievances ran too deep. They were taken from their world, loaded on a strange ship, mistreated and abused and underfed, and although their simple animal minds did not understand what was going on, they did understand one thing. FREEDOM. It lured them. It called to them. And so they ran, ignoring Shroom’s cries and pleas. Instead, these cries and pleas attracted the attention of something else. Something worse.



The King slowly raised himself from the ground, for the impact was strong enough to knock even the great ape off his feet. He was angry. Rage flowed through his simian mind, looking for an outlet to spill out of. He had turned towards the offending object, the truck that dared to attack him, the King. He saw the puny purple thing that climbed out of it. There, there was the creature that dared attack him! He beat his chest, he let out a mighty roar, and then he punched the puny thing with all his might.



Once upon a time, long before it was an Emissary, or a succubus, the being currently known as Shroom had been a mighty creature, soaring through the skies across countless worlds, devastating whole armies of the Fallen. That was long ago, but Shroom remembered, and sometimes thought wistfully about the lost sensation of flying through the air, the wind under her wings. Thus, when she suddenly found herself flying through the air, she decided to make the best of a bad situation, and closed her eyes, opened her arms and made like a dragon.

“WHEEEEEE……..oomph!” she screamed as she flew a few dozen meters and crashed into the ground. The impact made her roll across the snow-covered road, the shards of compressed snow and ice shredding her flimsy uniform and tearing deep gashes in her arm and side, which began almost immediately. “Owww,” she whimpered as she arrived to a complete stop by crashing into a charred radioactive stump of a tree.

Then, she opened her eyes and discovered that her troubles were far from over.



The massive beef had been observing her flight with interest. Like the other “beefs”, it was a Kazakstani pig, genetically engineered to great size and succulent perfection, it’s vast meats and fats the most delicious in the galaxy. Unlike the others, however, it was not a mere meat hog, oh no. It was a breeder, a leader of the herd, a male. And every Kazakstani male was a Cossack, even one that was six meters tall, weighed four tons, and was covered with thick mammoth-like fur. In fact, that made it a very scary Cossack indeed.

Like all Cossacks, the giant pig was not particularly bright, but like all Cossacks it was angry. Its ordeal inside the ship did not break its spirit, but rather filled with determination to get back at its oppressors. Now, seeing one of them literally land in his path, the giant hog did not hesitate. He charged.

For the first few moments, Shroom stared at him, dumbfounded, the impact of her landing still ringing in her head. Then, her hand went to the pistol strapped to her thigh under what was once her skirt, only to discover that it was no longer there, lost during her short flight.

“Crap,” she said as she looked up at the charging animal, so very close now. She wasted too much time. She sighed and quickly scrambled up the charred tree behind her. If she could jump on the creature’s back as it hit her….

Then, she saw that something had already beaten her to it. A figure had leapt from the overturned truck to the charging pig like a tiny brown bolt lightning, and was now holding on to the fur for dear life. Then, it pulled itself up and, spreading its arms wide, ran up the back to the neck.



Shroom could see it clearly now. It was an imp wearing a dirty brown hoodie and holding a very big gun.

“This is for the shits which I had to clean up,” she could hear the imp cry out, as he gave the pig a kick. The massive animal ignored it and continued its charge. “This is for refusing to learn fucking-of-mothers English!” The pig was very close now. “And this, this is fo…..AAAARGH!” the imp lost its footing and fell off, catching a strand of fur at the last moment. “THIS IS FOR MY WORDSWORTH!”



The massive gun vaporized most of the giant pig’s head, sending it crashing to the ground. The imp tumbled off and rolled on the snow, losing its gun. As the pig’s bulk slid past he tree, Shroom realized that what appeared to be reckless posturing on the imp’s part was actually a product of accurate timing, making sure that the animal’s trajectory would carry it past the tree she was on rather than straight at it.

But even that did not save her.



The pig was only a distraction and the King had caught up with her at last. The massive ape looked at his quarry, its simian mind already anticipating the pleasant “squish” the thing will make when being pounded by his massive fists. He gave a triumphant burp.

“Ugh….” Shroom groaned. Her daemonic mind was quickly going through her limited options. She could see the vehicles of the convoy coming to a stop, the daemonic troops disembarking and forming up, readying the weapons. She knew that they would be too late; the giant ape will get her moments before they could kill it. She couldn’t run from the much bigger creature. That left only one option.

“DIE, SIMIAN SCUM!” she screamed and lunged at the King’s eyes.

But the King was not called the King for his mere size. Once, the great ape had been the leader of his pack, the finest hunter on his planet, capable of killing even great dinosaurioids with his bare hands. His strength and reflexes were second to none, and somehow, the King managed to dodge the attack.

When the tiny angry purple thing jumped at him, the ape fell backwards, protecting his face with his massive hands. The daemonette hit the ape’s wrist and was deflected downwards, bouncing off his nipple and coming to a rest at his lower abdomen by hanging on to the strands of grimy fur that covered it. She could see the outline of the King’s massive genitals hanging below.

“Curses! You are too huge!” Shroom said in frustration. Then an idea dawned on her. “That means you have huge guts! RIP AND TEAR!”

Bracing herself, she drove the tip of her hand into the great ape’s flesh with such strength she pierced the skin and drew blood. The King roared in outrage at the impudent thing. He grabbed it with his massive hand, and raised it high, ready to slam it into the ground, snuffing out its puny life. Then, he paused and examined it closer. He looked at it. He gave it a good sniff. Perhaps it was a fond memory from the ape’s past. Perhaps it was the look of defiance on the daemonette’s face. Perhaps it was her otherworldly smell. Or, perhaps, it was her very large secondary sex characteristics, now barely concealed by the shreds of her uniform, but whatever the cause, a great smile appeared on the great ape’s face.



The King turned around and began to run, the Emissary still clenched in his giant fist. Several trucks of the convoy gave chase, but the giant trucks were slow and could not keep up with the King.

The remaining guards tried to contain the escaping beefs, now running in groups across the frozen radioactive tundra. Some were caught by daemons driving giant trucks, stunned by nonlethal weaponries and hauled back to the overturned trucks. But there were simply too many beefs and not enough daemons to catch them all. The vast majority of the animals made their escape. Some evaded all pursuit and disappeared into the frozen wastes, never to be heard from again. Others were blown up by the many atomic minefields surrounding the BEEEF bunker, their radioactive flash-fried meats raining across the landscape, tantalizing the olfactory organs of any Bragulans and even puny humanoids nearby with their delicious, but deadly scents.



And some evaded every trap and made it as far as the entrance of the bunker. Of course, they were not invited, and no one came to the BEEEF without invitation. They were challenged by K-bolter wielding troopers and their stick-beating overseers. But, such was the fury of the beefs that even these formidable obstacles were overcome and the giant animals disappeared into the crowds, smashing all in their path.



The King did not see this, nor did he care. The affairs of puny humanoids, or even the somewhat less puny bears no longer concerned him. His prize, the greatest prize anyone could wish for, was in his clenched right hand. He had used that limb for support as freely as any other in his attempt to build up speed to get away from his pursuers. Any organic being, even an augmented post-humanoid or a spiny Karlack horror would have been crushed to a pulp by the tremendous pressure inside the King’s fist. But the daemonoid inside was more than a mere organic being, her vat-grown flesh infused with ectoplasms and arcane energies until it approached the strength of a spherical mass of iron of the same size. Even so, Shroom could feel her ribs crack under the tremendous force. She cursed herself for following the aesthetic trends of the galaxy at large and designing a body with large secondary sex characteristics. Now, the pressure inside the giant ape’s grip meant that she couldn’t breathe at all. Luckily, daemons didn’t need to breathe, but the lack of air in her lungs meant she couldn’t talk. Thus, she was forced to express her disapproval by glaring, and what a magnificent glare it was. If not for the orichalcum wards, the King would surely have caught on fire or exploded from the psychic energies directed at him. As it was, he ignored it completely. His mind was on other, more pleasant things. The purple female in his hand had been unlike the others, it did not flee his wrath, far from it. She attacked him, again and again, first with her truck, then with her claws. At first, he thought it was from malice, for the female was small and he did not know it right away. But then, he knew the truth. She was performing the ancient mating rituals of his kind! She hit him! She scratched him! She even grabbed his nipples and went down on him! As the King’s simian mind considered this, his grin widened, for this was it!

At long last, the King had found his Queen.

----------------------------
Have a very nice day.
-fgalkin

[RogueIce]

Midgar, Shinra Republic - Two Weeks After the Capture of MEH Transport Pursuit of Happyness

President Shinra took his seat in the conference room. With him present, the forum known as the "Council of Twelve" was officially in place. Along with the President were the Vice President, the three Grand Admirals and three Marshal Generals, the Secretary of State, the Secretary of the Army, Secretary of the Navy, and Director of the Shinra Intelligence Directorate. Alongside the official members of this council were the President's Chief of Staff Brian Sinclair and Christopher Veld, director of the ultrasecret Special Intelligence Division. They had gathered to discuss the disturbing report of the intercepted MEH transport and the grave implications thereof.

"Well then," began the President. "I suppose we shouldn't be surprised. After all, they did ask us for Espers directly."

"Indeed they did, sir. But asking and actually engaging in trafficking are two different things. This gives us the cause, and I would say the imperative, to act." The others nodded in agreement with the Secretary of State.

"The question then remains, how do we act? The precedent set by Pendleton is clear. But this 'Empire of Happiness' is no backwater world. Hell, since they ignored our request to establish a diplomatic mission, we have no clear idea of their capabilities."

"Indeed, Mister President," said the Director of Shinra Intelligence. "We have attempted to gather some information with probes, but it is limited. We can say, from interviews with the MEH transport crew and the probe data that they clearly believe 'Bigger is Better' when it comes to their fleet."

"They may not be the brightest when it comes to diplomacy," Grand Admiral Cristophe said. "But they're certainly dangerous."

"Clearly, this will require an allied effort. But it is important to remember another lesson of Pendleton: the Shepistani Slaughter. We should choose our allies carefully," said Chief of Staff Sinclair.

"Yes. So it is important we select our allies with care." The President paused briefly. "Given our intelligence sharing agreement, it is safe to say that both the Interstellar Union of Worlds and the Holy Empire can be involved. We will have to share this information with them anyway, and I have no doubt they will assist us in the campaign. Who else?"

"I think an important element is staging," Grand Admiral Gilad Pellaeon responded. "To that end, the Klavostanis seem like our best bet."

"Agreed. We should also go to New Anglia I think. Having the Royal Navy on our side would be a huge advantage. Given their precedent with Pendleton and the fact we sent forces to aid them, I think they would agree to lend assistance to our own efforts," said Grand Admiral Edward Clarke.

"What about the Clans of Hiigara?" asked Marshal General Celes Chere. "We worked with them during the Pendleton operation and they are also fairly friendly with New Anglia."

"A good choice. We might also send inquiries to Umeria, though they seem stretched thin these days. But it couldn't hurt to ask, and I think they'll be discrete in any case," said Marshal General Russell Benson.

"The Byzantines," announced Marshal General Stephen Roth. "They can be...unpredictable. But I think having one of their Battle Barges along will help. Given what we know of the MEH Starfleet, that may be an acceptable tradeoff."

"Yes. Anyone else?" asked the President. After a few minutes of discussion, no other candidates were decided upon.

"Very well then. Mister Sinclair, start producing some letters to be delivered to the IUW, Holy Empire, Klavostan, New Anglia, Hiigara, Umeria and the Byzantines. Handheld couriers sent via warpgate, and stress discretion as much as possible. I don't think we want this to be a feeding frenzy."

"At once, Mister President."

"Well then, let's get on to some preliminary plans for the operation..."

---

Results
Letters sent to the IUW, Holy Empire, Klavostan, New Anglia, Hiigara, Umeria and Byzantine Empire. Letters sent by official couriers through Warp Gate. Meeting to be arranged via face to face means, discretion emphasized.

[Shroom Man 777]

BEEEF

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[Shroom Man 777]

Written with PeZook!

A second later, a green beam cut across the main window, bathing the bridge in an eerie glow.

...and blew apart the relay's antenna.

"SHITS!", cursed Fukeseyev, dropping the recognition manual and racing towards the intercom. The book's open page clearly showed a pattern matching the one on the telescreen - a Collector targetting array.

The robots have finally decided to ask their neighbors to keep the volume down.

ROBOT SURPRISE

Derevnya Gadyukino System
Severnaya Sector
Bragulan Star Empire
Unreal time

“Shits!” screamed crewman 2nd class Pyotr Fukeseyev. He had managed to headbutt the shield activation button on time, but even then the ship rocked violently as severed pieces of the substation’s antenna collided with the gunskimmer’s hull. Another green beam flashed across the main window, followed by another series of violent vibrations. They were on the path of destruction, and if Fukeseyev did not make his time all their substation would belong to the enemy. He lunged for the intercom and activated it. He shouted desperately for all to hear:

“Comrades! We are under attack by Collector ship! We are under attack by Collector ship! This is not a drill!”

Within seconds the commissar and the captain stormed into the bridge. Alarm klaxons started blaring as crewmen ran to their battle stations.

“Arm all weapons systems!” the captain, Odn Syiegel barked. “Prepare for combat! You, Fukeseyev, report! What the fucks is happening?”

“Sir, Collector ship blew up the substation tower. It looks like they finally got tired of the noise -” Fukeseyev was abruptly interrupted by a commissarial beating-stick landing on the top of his skull.

“Noise?! The substation is transmitting the glourious proclamations of Byzonistic glory, music to the ears of all species! Dare these robotoid scum reject this great gift?” roared Commissar Tedostp.

“Obviously,” Captain Syiegel interrupted dryly, earning a harsh glare from the commissar - who was neither his superior or subordinate, but his equal. “Fukeseyev, what kind of Collector ship?”

“Sir, Wasp-class, sir.” Fukeseyev replied. “The vessel has twice our firepower. We are outmatched -”

The beating-stick smashed his skull again!

“Fool! Bragule will never be outmatched, not by humans, not by robots, not by anyone or anything!” Commissar Tedostp proudly proclaimed. “We shall stomp on their faces and crush their skulls like cans, except for these Collectors, their robot skulls are cans!”

“Shits,” Syiegel grumbled. He looked at the commissar, who regarded him smugly, waiting for him to contradict his proclamation and implicitly admit that Bragule could be outmatched, that Byzon was less than invincible. Such ideologically-incorrect speech might allow the commissar to relieve him of command, thus allowing the commissar control over the gunskimmer. But the captain wasn’t going to fall for that trick, no way. “We will hold the line here and tie down that Collector ship for as long as we can. Crewman Fukeseyev, send a priority signal requesting for reinforcements to any and all nearby vessels. Hopefully, we can gain assistance from our comrades and in true proletarian Byzonic unity communally repulse these cybergeoisie oppressors.”

He looked at Commissar Tedostp, who seemed satisfied enough with the ideological purity of his commands.

“Captain!” shouted another crewman. “Collector ship inbound for another attack run!”

“Da, bring us to intercept course,” Captain Syiegel declared. “Let them know that no one who dares interrupts the Imperator’s pronunciations lives, not even robotoids who aren’t even alive in the first place.”

***

The tiny Collector spacecraft zoomed by, speeding away from the explosion. Even before the debris and clouds of vaporized metal managed to disperse, it whipped around on its heading as if it could ignore its own momentum and fired again, the green death-beam carving into the unarmed and unarmored relay station, opening up its compartments to vacuum, ripping open fuel and air tanks and vaporizing metal and crew alike.

Even after the craft stopped firing, the metal still sizzled and broke apart, eaten by remnants of the sickly green energy, as if infected by some unknown malady. It was a testament to mighty Bragulan engineering that the station did not fall apart on the spot, despite internal supports and armor plates disintegrating into dust.

The Wasp whirled around again. Tired of slowly carving the station up, the ship’s controlling intelligence unleashed a swarm of knife missiles, hoping to finish the job quickly and leave. The small hypervelocity projectiles bombarded the relay’s outer hull, penetrating deep into its soft innards and detonating, ripping apart cabling and instrumentation and blowing holes in huge Bragsteel supports that kept the station together.

Amazingly, though, it still would not blow apart, despite the pounding it took. And now, the Bragnum Force, finally crewed and on full alert, would raise objections to the Wasp’s attacks.

With artillery.

***

The Niva-class gunskimmer Bragnum Force smashed through the scattered debris field of the eviscerated relay substation. The shrapnel and desecrated viscera of the once glourious outpost collided against its ray shields while its subnuclear reactors burned with the intensity of Byzonic rage incarnate, propelling the wrathful vessel towards the Collector aggressors foolish enough to vandalize the Imperator’s speechifying space stations.

The smaller, nimbler vessel managed to somehow detect the gunskimmer’s maneuver, possibly because of its complete lack of stealth features and massive radiation-blaring engines. It jinked slightly, almost lazily, diving between the Bragnum Force and the eviscerated substation. It began to quickly gain distance, while the gunskimmer ponderously rotated using its liquid thorium thrusters.

As it turned out, the Wasp wasn’t quite fast enough.

“Kapitan! We have weapon solution!”, a crewman shouted from his station, furiously turning dials and calculating something on the brag-sized sliderule.

“Fire!”

And fire they did! Dozens of missiles erupted from the gunskimmers forward ports, ejaculating their thrusts so that their huge and rigid warheads could meet their foe shaft-to-face. The gigantic swarm screamed in pursuit of the Collector vessel, the gunskimmer’s crew following them with baited breath.

They detonated.

The blast threw out so much radiation and light that the gunskimmer’s arrays - both passive aggressive and aggressive aggressive - were momentarily blinded. The crew hollered with joy, high-bragging each other in properly Byzonist fashions. Captain Syiegel was the only one who didn’t, standing right behind Crewman Fukeseyev, staring intently at his telescreen display.

He didn’t have to stare for long - the Wasp’s return salvo arrived just seconds later, the green death beam lancing out from behind the gigantic explosion. As it dragged over the gunskimmer, the shield generators groaned under the strain, and hundreds of vacuum tubes outright exploded from the stress. Lights dimmed momentarily and a bridge station electrocuted a random red-furred crewman, setting his fur coat on fire as it did so.

The crewman shrieked in agony and attempted to run around the bridge while flailing his arms and begging for help, but the quick-thinking Commissar Tedostp preempted this by prophylactically administering a first aid stick-beating to send the burning Brag collapsing to the floor before he could set anyone or anything else on fire. Then he covered the crewman with his stormcoat to douse the fire, and then stomped him with his steel-shod boots for added measure. He removed his coat, pulled the crewman up, and beat him in the head again.

“Return to your post!” Tedostp roared, heedless of the horrific burns the crewman had suffered or the pieces of peeled-off skin adhering to his beating-stick. He growled contemplatively as he returned to his station by the captain’s side. Never before did he need to administer firefighting stick-beating during the first salvos of an engagement. “I have to admit, these robotoids are a formidable foe. More so than any pirate rabble, or even a Solarianoid ship.”

“Indeed,” Syiegel agreed. He was still hunched over crewman Fukeseyev, looking at the sensor readings. “Helm, take us to gun range.”

“Aye, kapitan!” the helmsman acknowledged. There was a groan as the gunskimmer changed its course to match that of the maneuvering Wasp. While the Collector ship may have had an advantage in having technologies countless of centuries ahead of the Bragulans, this was nothing new, for the same could be said of Bragule’s many other enemies - from the Apexai down to the Solarianoids. Yet Bragule persevered despite all this, as now the gunskimmer closed in on the speeding Wasp ship, its six reciprocating sub-nuclear reactors redlining to match the Collector ship’s exotic drives. “We are closing in.”

“All guns, fire on my mark,” Syiegel commanded as he watched the distance slowly count down. “Mark!”

On his command, no less than eighteen medium K-bolters opened up on the Collector ship. Space was filled with darting emerald green bolts, acid bullets hurled at impossible speeds towards the Wasp’s general direction. Its shields flared as the rounds connected, the sheer force of the kinetic transfer thrashing the Collector ship around, but despite this, its mobility was not impaired and it jinked and banked at impossible angles, trying to evade the K-bolt barrage. As fast as the Bragnum Force was, gunskimmers were designed for speed but not maneuverability. The Wasp managed to break off while the gunskimmer was hampered by its wide turning radius.

“Kapitan, the Wasp has gotten behind us,” another crewman said plainly.

“Fucks!” Syiegel cursed. Unlike their damned Monoliths, and unlike other large warships of the galaxy, the lesser (read: but still greater than his gunskimmer) Collector ships were extremely small for their power levels and also extremely maneuverable. Instead of a standup slugfest most large ships would engage in, these ships like the Collector Wasps and Vipers would instead fight like fighters. Which was vexing for a large piece of metal like the Bragnum Force. Not only did the Wasp outgun it, but it was also a smaller target, was faster and more maneuverable.

And it was now behind them.

“It’s opening fire! Break! Break!”

Just then, more green light washed over the bridge as the Collectors spewed their beams all over the Bragnum’s backside. The shields took on the color of the ejaculated energies, flashing green as they attempted to dissipate the sheer power the Wasp was pumping at them. More vacuum tubes in the shield generators exploded outright from the surging torrents of energy, but the broken tubes were quickly replaced by the gatling-designed vacuum tube autoloaders who themselves were fed by press-ganged Bragulans shoveling buckets of fresh tubes into them. Nevertheless, in the precious seconds the shields wavered, they allowed bleedthrough energy in - shattering through weak points in the force fields to inflict actual physical damage to the gunskimmer’s hull. The Bragnum shook violently as explosive reactive armor detonated against the flayer-beams and as ablative plating boiled into mist. Its wounded fuselage was venting superheated steam and leaking liquid thorium, the gunskimmer was bleeding.

“Launch missiles from rear tubules and prepare for evasive action!” Captain Syiegel barked. Almost instantly, the ship shuddered as the gunskimmer excreted a salvo of warheads from its rear end - silos opening up and releasing their contents, voiding like thermonuclear sphincters. The torrent of missiles once more engulfed the Collector ship in a brilliant multi-megaton whiteout, but not after its flayers viciously scythed through as many of the incoming warheads as it could.

Still, the warheads had done their job. While the Wasp was relatively unscathed, regenerative nano-armor healing whatever damage came from bleedthroughs, the nuclear salvo had temporarily blinded even its most sensitive sensors. This, combined with the copious amount of electronic warfare, allowed the Bragnum to break off and gain a temporary reprieve. While the Wasp was distracted by EM spoofs, decoy buoys and vegemite chaff, the Bragnum sped as far away from it as it could - establishing distance to allow it to lick its wounds.

“Damage report!” Syiegel shouted as he opened the roll cage of his captain’s chair and removed his space helmet. In combat situations, Bragulan sailors wore space suits so that they could do their Byzonic duties even when the compartments they were in got depressurized. It was not unknown for Bragulan warships to win hardfought victories only to later find airless compartments full of hundreds of dead sailors, who asphyxiated after the battle had been won, when their oxygen ran out.

“Sir... we have localized shield failures in several sections with three exploderized generators, bleed through from the Collector flayers has been moderate, there are several hull breaches to be sealed, one engine is damaged and spewing more rads than normal, five torpedo tubes have been seared shut, and three bolters also had their mountings melted,” mumbled the crewman who had suffered horrible burns from the exploding console.

“Try to see if the other shield generators can overlap to cover for the exploderized ones. Get those breaches sealed, or vent the compartments underneath them and fill them up with ablatives. Decrease the energy output of the damaged engine, we don’t want it to melt down on us, but redline some of the others to compensate for the lost thrust. Get crews with sledgehammers out to smash those seared tubes open and fix those bolter mountings,” Syiegel replied. He massaged his snout and turned to Fukeseyev. “Have we gotten any response from nearby Bragulan units?”

“Yes, sir. Warcruiser Today is Bragsday is inbound, ETA one hour,” the crewman answered.

“Shits,” Syiegel spat, scowling. “So, at this rate, we can’t last against them. We don’t have enough time.”

“But if we do not do our Byzonic duties and repulse these Collectors, if we linger here while waiting for reinforcements, those robotic fiends will destroy the substation!” Commissar Tedostp objected.

“Sirs, the Collector ship is moving back towards the substation,” an ensign reported, as if to accentuate the commissar’s point.

“We must engage them!” Commissar Tedostp roared and thumped his chest mightily. “And we will defeat them, or at least buy enough time for our comrades to come and assist us in doing so!”

“But how?” Captain Syiegel asked.

“Trust me, captain. I have a cunning plan,” Commissar Tedostp grinned viciously. “Take us to the Collector ship. When we are close, I will unveil a secret weapon that will give us a decisive edge.”

With that, the commissar pulled out his beating-stick and left the bridge. Captain Syiegel watched him leave, and then turned back to his crew. He shrugged, knowing all to well what the vicious expression on the commissar’s face entailed.

“Take us to missile range and prepare to launch all tubules at the Collector ship,” he commanded. “For Byzon! For great justice!”

[KlavoHunter]

The Empty Quarter
Late November, 3400

Making it in and back out of the Korprulu Zone in one piece was no mean feat, even for an Ork, but da boyz had done it, shepherding their kargo shipz safely back home under the guns of their Kill Kroozer, intimidating away other pirates, sneaking past 'oomie patrols. Against Warky's better judgement, the Mekboy went up to the bridge to get a glimpse of home - it was always a breathtaking sight. Asteroids of all sizes, shredded scraps of wrecked ships glinting in the starlight, and here and there a space mine could be spotted having drifted out of their more cunning hiding places. Warky cheerfully ignored it as the ship shook under his feet as one of those mines expended itself on the kroozer's force fields, a single stray mine wasn't going to get through HIS defenses! But there was a reason Warky had stopped coming up to the bridge, and he was reminded of that as a huge green fist pounded down on his noggin.

"WAAAAAAGH! Ya git!" Kaptain Gatzgrub bellowed, stomping irritably about the bridge after hitting the Mekboy, and then similarly belted the helmsork one too. "FASTA!" Any Ork got more boisterous as a WAAAAGH! drew nearer, but Warky had to admit, drinking all dat 'OOMIETHIRST had put Gatzgrub in quite a big, green, and mean way, even for an Ork. Certainly encouraged, the helmsork hot-rodded the Norkmandy into dock with a loud clanging of metal on metal.

Escaping the bridge, Warky went belowdecks to find one of the docking ports into his Warboss' hideout, wanting to make it over to da kargo bays for his well-shopped-for loot, before anyone else got to da good bitz... But it was not to be, as Warky was dropped to the deck yet again by an enormous metal fist kromping on 'is head, spitting out a toof. He looked up and fumed helplessly as he saw the grinning, lantern-jawed mug of Dokta Orkenhamma, as da bigger Mekboy's two mekanikill arms flexed above him. But still, any illusions that Gatzgrub had been da biggest, baddest Ork he'd ever seen, even on da 'OOMIETHIRST, were dispelled by the sight of his Warboss. "BOSS!" Warky gasped out.

Warboss Shroombad Mad Uruk Dakka practically left dents in the deckplates as he stomped in in his favorite kustomized armor. At least Orkenhamma hadn't mucked about with THAT either like 'e had so many uvver fings. Everything had been good 'til da Boss met dat overgrown Umorkian git with his wierd ideas and Sekret Weapon da Boss liked entirely too much. But before then, Warky had free reign in taking all da best bitz to kustomize da Boss' skwadrun with, and dey were the terror of the spacelanes!

"Those 'oomie zappas you got look weedy, Warky! I'll need half uv 'em." Orkenhamma boomed, shaking a fist threateningly at the smaller Mek.

'''ALF uv da zappaz?!?" Warky gasped out in astonishment. He wasn't some freak like Orkenhamma when it came to zappa, but a good Mek had to have a sense of balance and variety when it came to kustomizing fings... But even Orkenhamma didn't see Shroombad's gauntleted fist coming down to strike him, staggering the Mekboy, and Warky liked the sight of it, it made Orkenhamma not seem so big.

"Den take 'em 'n get ta work, ya gitz! I'm in a hurry!" Then he stomped over for a kick that sent Warky rolling into the bulkhead with a thunk, and then continued on his impatient way, bellowing at the top of his lungs for da boyz all to work fasta. The two Meks glared at one unnuver, and then went their separate ways.

~~~~~

"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!"
"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!"
"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!"
"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!"
"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!"

The roar of every Ork in sight of the glorious destruction taking place outside filled the air, and then grew louder still as every Ork within earshot took up the exuberant roar. The second-biggest asteroid in their local field had just turned the biggest one into rubble in a single mighty blow. The revels of several Orks who were too close to their Warboss were cut short with painful thumps.

"I want Dokta Orkenhamma up here NOW!" Shroombad bellowed impatiently, shoving them to run and go fetch him da Mek. Soon Orkenhamma was up on da bridge, his clothes and skin all covered in heavy black soot, staggering a bit from the shock of whatever minor malfunkshun had caused this. Shroombad's congratulating fist pounding down on the Dokta nearly drove him to the deck, staying barely up with extra mekanikill arms bracing him.

"Orkenhamma! I LIKE IT!" Shroombad then fucking laughed, looking out at his new flagship's first victim. "I fink I'll kall it.... da Deff Starr." Pleased with himself, Shroombad crossed his muscular armored arms, and then kicked Orkenhamma over onto his back. "Get da main gun ready again, we're goin' to pay Warboss Fingrot a visit!"

"But, boss! I 'aven't even finished with all de Force Fields I wanted to..." Orkenhamma protested at his boss' schedule, and was of course rewarded only with another metalshod boot for his trouble.

"You Mekboys are all de same! Never stop muckin' about wif fings! It's good as it iz and we're going NOW!" With that kind of an argument out of Shroombad, what Ork could possibly argue any further? Orkenhamma grunted, and picked himself up off the floor, and stomped back down into the bowels of da Deff Starr, back down towards the intricacies of da Main Gun that was his crowning achievement...

~~~~~

Navigating the treacherous deep shoals of the Empty Quarter with experienced cunning and simple brutal stubbornness, the enormous bulk of da Deff Star heaved itself out of hyperspace, utterly dwarfing the skwadrun of Kill Kroozas that followed behind it. The arrival of such a huge thing provoked quite the flurry of activity on the other, more gaudily-painted asteroid fortress that dominated this particular field - da Rokk'A Big-Dakka. Ships undocked with the bulk of the immobile asteroid, and swarmed out looking for a fight, or just to watch a fight, as it might be - they knew something big was going down here.

Shroombad grinned toofily as he gripped da kommunorkator in his huge hand, the device cracking a bit under the force of it. he took a deep breath, and then roared into it with all his long-pent-up anger and frustration on this issue. "'EY, FINGROT! GET A LOAD UV DIS!" Da Deff Starr hurtled in closer and closer on its many, many engines, while the biggest, most omnious-looking gun on the front of it crackled with barely-restrained energy...

Dokta Orkenhamma laughed gleefully as the gun, HIS zappa gun, prepared to fire in anger for the first time. From far-away Umorkia, something looking rather like this had always been his dream, where da 'oomerian 'oomies had made such a lesson of the great Tyrant Jagga back in the day, but no Warboss in Umorkia had enough ambition or resources to satisfy Orkenhamma. The central zappa was a huge thing, but it had been lacking a certain something...something that the Mek's dreams told him would work with MORE zappa! Mounted in a ring around the main gun were 10 of the much more neatly-focused Klavostani cruiserweight beamcannon, and after a little souping-up, but not TOO much muckin' with the 'oomie componants, they provided just the thing for da Deff Starr's main gun to have the power and coherence over a vastly longer range.

"Kommence primary ignition!" he yelled, and his hench-meks excitedly began throwing levers all throughout the assembly of the main gun.

As Warboss Fingrot stood on da bridge of da Rokk'A Big-Dakka, his jaw dropped a bit as he saw da Deff Starr shrug off all of his fortress-mounted weapons, hurtling in closer and closer to him. He saw the beams converge in front of their emitters, and then the central beam speared in through and past them, reaching out for him. He did the only thing he could do.

"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-"

Stock footage?!? In my STGOD?!?

All those assembled stared in awe at the destruction of da Rokk'A Big-Dakka, nobody else having presence of mind to shoot after such a display of firepower. Then Shroombad's voice came bellowing in over every single channel.

"YOU GITZ! I wont every single wun of you to run, run to erry' korner of da Empty Kwarter, 'n tell erry' single ork yous seez dat Warboss Shroombad Mad Uruk Dakka wuz 'ere, and 'e blew up da Rokk'A Big-Dakka in wun shot, 'n dat 'e doesn't think anyone else has da quads to try 'n stomp me!"

Every WAAAAAGH! had a leader, and now this one had found its.




~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
OOC:
da Deff Starr - 2755 Points

[Shroom Man 777]

The Bragulan Economic Exposition Extravaganza of Friendship (BEEEF)
Vlyadibragstok, Southeastern Severnaya Sector / just beyond Northwestern Lena Sector
Unreal Time / October-December 3400



"Mommy?" asked a child. He was clad in a gas mask placed on his face by parents who were concerned about the lingering radiation at the BEEEF. "Where's my mommy?"

He tugged the sleeve of a Solarian, who was wore a black suit and had black sunglasses on.

"Are you my mommy?" the child asked again, desperately looking for his mother. He had lost her in the BEEEF, somewhere in between the mayhem caused by the outbreak of Fenrisian bears, the havoc of the King's great ape escape, the rampage of the Astonishing Bulk, and the attack of the giant pig-beefs. He was wandering blindly. He couldn't even see properly through the goggles of his gas mask, for they were so dark as to shield the eyes from the flashes of nuclear initiations. All he saw through the goggles were vague silhouette, so he reached out for them in the hope that eventually he'd find his mommy. "Mommy?"

The Solarian brushed him off, fearing contamination.

The child sobbed. It had been hours since he last saw his mommy. He was cold. He was hungry. He started to cry.

"Waaaaaaa!!!!" he bawled, voice muffled by the gas mask. "Waaaaaaa!!!!!"

"Awwww... ain't dat kute!" a voice grumbled behind him. "But itz wrong!"

"Waaaaaa!!!!" the child cried even more, heedless of the massive stinking form behind him.

Suddenly, the child was picked up.

"It leik dis!" the voice chuckled. "Waaa-waaa-waaa-waaa..."



"WAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGHHHH!!!!!"

The ork shouted so loudly that his stinking breath blew the gas mask off the child's head, revealing his horrorfied look.

"Hahahahaha!" the ork laffed, 'e frukkin' laffed.

The child cried and ran away. Tears streamed down his eyes, but with his teary eyes no longer covered by the gas mask, he finally saw his mommy, who was also looking for him. He ran to her and hugged her so hard, never ever happier in his whole life.

"Mommy!" the child squealed.

"Awwww... ain't dat kute!" the ork laffed.



Ork pirate ship Gargantantive Nufink'
Sector B-23



De late an' great warboss Badspork Groxkilla 'ad tree shipz, da Gargantative IV, da Gargantative Too, an' da Gargantative Nufink' built an' kumishuned in dat orda, kuz az sumwun sed, "didn’t matter because Orkz were made for fightin’ and winnin,’ and it didn’t count if they died, because then they were dead and not even an Ork could count while dead", an' Orkz kuldn't kount whiel aliev two. Neway da wun who sed dat gut nabbed by sum big 'ol hueg munkey, so waddever. Haha.

Soes Badspork sent 'is boyz to da BIFF ta buy sumfinks wid der teef leik sum oomie 'o kittie zappas an' some melty-braggy-dakkas an' der braggy spud-taters. Dey allsoes 'ere settin' up a Tull Boof butt dat got wreked by dem peegys. So den wen de boyz ran outta teef an' gut tired o' punchin' an' hittin' udder orks in de mouf fer der teef - leik Warboss Shroombad Mad Uruk Dakka's boyz, who'er needin' a dentally-akkredited mad dok bad - Badspork's boyz de-sided to pack up an' 'ead home.

Dey doked on de rokk dat wuz der base.



"Oy! Wer's ole boss Badspork?!" axed da big Nob Kaptain in charge o' de Gargantantive Nufink' az 'e got off de shipz an' got into de rokk's hanger. "I gotz sumfink teh show'im!"

'E wuz chukling cuz 'e 'ad a big brag-dakka redy bee hind 'im, redy ta skalp Badspork wid sum K-boltz an' melt 'im to 'is sporez. De Nob Kaptain wuz plannin' ta zog ol' Badspork an' be da new boss. 'xcept da boyz who'er orking da brag-dakka 'ere plannin' ta zog 'im, da Nob Kaptain, too after gettin' rid of Badspork. Kuz dey wuz tinking of dis "upward mobility" y'see, kuz dey 'eard it from motivational speaker sumwhere at da BIFF.

'Neway, before newun kud zog newun wid da big brag-dakka, a gretchin kame runnin' ta da Nob Kaptain.

"Oy! Wer's ole boss Badspork?!" axed da big Nob Kaptain.

"Aaargh!" da gretchin' skreamed kuz da axe kut off 'is noses.

"Do I haz ta repeat myself?" axed da big Nob Kaptain. 'E swung 'is axe but da gretchin ducked.

"Badspork!" da gretchin skreamed again.

"Wot 'bout 'im?"

"Is disposed at da moment!" da gretchin replyed.

"Wot dat?"

"'e ded!" gretchin answered.

"Wot?! Haw?!"

"I tellin' youz!"

...

Previously on SDNW4...

With the need for disguises gone, and the Ork ship disabled, the Illuminated Path was free to blow the Ork ship into tiny pieces, but had different orders. Right now it's mission was to wait for reinforcements.

To be continued...

Then

Ork pirate ship Gargantantive IV
MEH Space

It wuz not a gud day fer Warboss Badspork Groxkilla.

"Ey! Da engines stopped! Some 'o da gunz won't move eitha'!"

"Dey musta' put somethin' in deir trash! Send the boyz to get it off!"

"We kan't, dey all went to the hummie ship!"



"Eh shaddap!" Badspork roared. "We'z jus gonna' eat da fatties in dat ship an' take it o'er an' use it ta haul our shipz! Tell da boyz to shoot'em humies fasta!"

Da grot tooned in on da radio an' kommunikated wid da boyz in de humie MEH fatty ship. Da reply wuz filled wid lotsa skreamin', not da bludthirsty skreamin' dat wuz gud, but da bludkurdlin' skreamin' dat wuz bad.

"BOSS! WE'Z GETTIN' SHOT UP!" kame da reply from wun o' da nobz.

"YA GITZ! KILL 'EM HUMIE FATSOS AN' GET ME DAT SHIP! DATS AN' ORDER!" Badspork rawred.

"BOSS! DEY GOT SPARKLY THINGGIES! NO! AURGH! NOT DA SPARKLY THINGGIES! - *fzzzt* "

Realizashun downed on Badspork. Da reazon y dem MEH humies wer such fatties wuz kus dey eated da boyz!

"Naw! It kant be!" Badspork gassed.

An' den suddenly da alarms blaired. Der alarm wuz a squig stuck on stikk, wid wires konnekting it to da sensers. Da squig started ta skream kuz da wires wuz elektrokuting it.

"Boss! Fatty ships koming' in shinyspace!" a grot showted.

"How fatty 're we talkin' bout?" Badspork axed 'im.

"Very fatty, boss! Liek yer mammy!" kame da grots' reply, an' Badspork reely did axe 'im. Wid an' axe.



Da very fatty MEH ship kame.

"Zoggin' krud! Badspork kursed. "Tell da mekboyz ta make da sheep go fasta!"

'E luked 'round an' saw dat all de grots wer ded. 'E 'ad ta go tell da mekboy 'imself. Soes Badspork maid 'is way to'ards da ingin room.

"Oy! Mekboyz! Make dis sheep go fasta!"

"Ah' kanna do'it kap'n!" replyed da mekboy, Morkgommery Skott.

All 'round 'em, grots 'ere boardin' rokkit shuttels an' exkaping. Butt not Badspork, a gud kap'n ne'er leaves 'is sheep. Or wuz dat a sheeptard?

"WE NID MOAR FASTA!" Badspork skreamed.

"Dem buzz droids nibbled on da fasta!" Morkgommery Skott skreamed bak. "Dey eated it all!"

"KRUDD!" Badspork went to da reaktor. "DIS REAKTOR INGIN, IT MAEKS FASTA!!!"

"Buzz droids nibbled on da bits, boss! Reaktor no gud!"

"Shut it!" Badspork backhanded him. "Hit it wid hamma! Hamma-hittin' alwayz maek gud!"

"Hamma-hittin' no gud, boss!" Morkgommery reeplyed.

"Dumb git, I get hamma fer ya!" Badspork got box wid mekboys' hamma, so many hammas 'innit, leik 40,000 hammas. Badspork got biggest hamma in box, da warhamma. "Wot dis button? Dis button red! Red iz fasta!"

Badspork laffed an' wuz gonna hit dat butt-

"No! Dat button is yellows! It nut fer fasta, boss!" Morkgommery innerrupted 'im. "Not red! Not fasta! Iz yellow!"

"Lego 'o me!" Badspork smaked 'im good. Stoopid mek. "Iz red! I boss an' I sez so!"

"Noes!" Morkgommery skreamed.

"YIS!" Badspork skreamed two.

But dey wer both wrong. Da button wuz not red 'o yellowz.



Da button wuz red-yellow.

Badspork pooshed da big red-yellow button.



An' den da ooniverse 'sploded.

...

Now

Ork pirate ship Gargantantive Nufink'
Sector B-23

"Alas, pur Badspork, I did'na knew 'im well," cried the Nob Kaptain. "Two bad."

Wid da eugoogly dun, dey held a funeral at space. Da orks kudn't spell funeral widout 'fune', aktualy dey kudn't speel at all, butt still dey 'ad fune wid da funeral.



Da squigpipes plaid a funeral song fer boyz ta 'onor boss Badspork's passin'.


Borkeemian Orksody

Iz dis da reel life?
Iz dis jus' fannasy?
Caught in a big push,
No 'scape from realty.
Open ya eyez, Look up at da skies an' see,
I's jus' a poor boy, dun need no sympafy,
'Coz I'm big 'n mean, not a grot, chop and smash, shoot a lot,
Neway the waaagh goes dozn't really matter to me, to me.

Warboss, just keeled an ork,
Put mah dakka 'gainst 'is 'ead, pulled mah trigger, now 'e's ded.
Warboss, waaagh 'ad jus' begun,
Butt nao I's gone an' shot up all ya nobs.
Warboss, ooh, Didn' mean ta make ya mad,
If I's not back 'gain dis time tomorra,
Keep stompin', keep stompin' as if nuffin' really matters.

Two late, I gots shot up,
Sends hurtin' down me spine, body's achin' all da time.
Goodbye, ev'rybody, I gotta goes,
Gotta leave ya all behind an' face da troof.
Warboss, ooh, I dun' wanna die,
I sumtimes wish I'd ne'er waaaghed at all.

I see a lil silhouetto of a beakie,
Zoggin' humies, Zoggin' humies, is it yer turn to stomp now?
Thundabolts an' Lightnins, very, very fright'ning me.
(Gorkamorka.) Gorkamorka. (Gorkamorka.) Gorkamorka, Gorkamorka Gork n' Mork
Waaaaagh! I's just a poor boy an' nobody loves me.
'E's just a poor boy from a poor goff tribe,
Spare 'im 'is loife from dis monstrosity.
Easy kome, easy go, will yas lemme goes?
Xenos! No, we will not let you go.
(Let him go!) Xenos! We will not let you go.
(Let him go!) Xenos! We will not let you go.
(Lemme goes.) Will not let you go.
(Lemme goes.) Will not let you go. (Lemme goes.) Ah.
No, no, no, no, no, no, no.
(Oh Brother Captain, Brother Captain.) Bruvva Kaptin, lemme go.
Da kommissar 'as a boltgun put 'side fer me, fer me, fer me.

So ya fink ya kan shoot me an' spit in mah eye?
So you fink ya kan kurse me an' leave me to die?
Oh, baby, kan't do dis to me, baby,
Jus' gonna get out, jus' gotta get stompin' again!

Nuffin' reelly matters, newun kan see,
Nuffin' reelly matters,
Nuffin' reelly matters tah me.

Neway da waaagh goes.


Ass da song died, all dat kud be 'eard wuz da sound of orks sobbin'

"We'll ne'er ferget ya, boss Badspork!" da Nob Kaptain swore unner 'is bad breth. "We'll revenge yer death! Hu's wid me?"

Da remainin' boyz of da late great Badspork all rawred as wun.

"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!!!!"

"Dats it den! We'll take da fight to dem MEH fatties! We'z already skared 'em off da sparklyspace lanes, dey naw use da warpgits 'xclusively, dis means dey ain't so tuff! So we'z gonna bring da fight to der systems!" da Nob Kaptain rawred. "We'z gonna take da Gargantative Too, an' da Gargantative Nufink' 'an tell 'em wat four!"



Da Gargantative Too, an' da Gargantative Nufink' lunched to'ards da MEH. On da way, anudder shipz joined 'em, a shipz full of Flash Gits. Now der were tree shipz 'eadin to da MEH.


Results:
Three Ork ships, 100 points each, head for the closest MEH star system!

[Force Lord]

HSF Audacity, sector C-6, mission start+ 20 days, 1 hours

“So you're telling me that our mission might already be compromised?” Rayarr said eyeing her subordinate with the kind of hopeful yet fatalistic disbelief that usually accompanies a question like this.

“I'm saying we may have been detected momentarily, according to the simulation I ran our hyperspace baffle has a misalignment of 0.02 percent between modules 3 and 4, probably from when we realigned them after detaching the drop tanks. This may have led to the baffle being unable to fully absorb our translation shock.”

“And this was not caught at the time why?” Rayarr asks, this time with her body language tinged with disbelief.

“Procedure would usually call for the ship's CI to run post adjustment simulations and diagnostics shipmistress.”

“Mysteries save us... okay, find everyone involved in adjusting the hyperspace baffle. Until I say otherwise they'll be spending the rest of this mission going over our procedures and find every little thing the higher ups saw fit to have delegated to the CI.”

“By your will shipmistress.”

While aware of their potential to have been discovered the Audacity remained unspooked and proceeded on their slow orbital path inwards towards the unidentified thermal signature further inside the starsystem, intending to deploy a probe onto an orbit just inside that of the signature at the point of intersection. The Audacity unaware of the vessel even now zeroing in on the spot it had emerged from hyperspace.

CNS Datton
Deep Space, C-6
Unreal Time

"Sir, we've reentered realspace," said the helmsman.

"Good. Has the bogie been detected?", said Forg.

"Yes sir. It's heading towards an unknown heat signature," said the scanner crewman.

"Identity of the bogie?"

"Still unverified."

"Very well. Let's just stay cloaked for now. Follow the vessel, but keep our ship at a safe distance."

"Should we hail them?", the helmsman was interrupted.

"No. Not yet anyway. I want to see what they intend to do."

"Well sir, they've already deployed a probe."

"Should we shadow it?", asked Lieutenant Sorge.

"Yes, but in a roundabout way. Wouldn't want to startle our quarry, would we?"

The Datton began to move, slowly, it's cloaked sublight engines taking it to the mysterious thermal signature...

[Force Lord]

Unknown starcraft, Deep Space, Arayna Territories
Sector AA-24, Former Outlander Commissions
Unreal Time/Early 3401

The shadow looked into space, marvelling in it's glory. Oh, how many secrets it hid. Secrets hidden behind the darkness. The secrets that gave the Universe its power, its structure. This was the truth of existence: Power with Structure led to Order and Peace. Dovan Aybeem, long ago, learned of this, and made it Law. Law followed by hundreds of billons, Centralist or not. The shadow could only imagine what was it back then, when the Great Founder broke the power of the scum that had reduced millions to penury and despair, and gave them a purpose. From there, Centralism was born.

And now the shadow looked at the planet, a planet suffering from the same anarchy his ancestors had to endure so many centuries ago. Yes, this planet will be the first to begin the path of Restoration of Authority. For how beings could prosper while anarchy took everything they had? Centralism will give this world's inhabitants the stability they so desperately needed. And there was the matter of choosing a suitable leadership, one that did not surrender to the vices that Power often brought. As Dovan had said, "Power without a purpose is useless, for power is meant to be used. The State cannot survive if it fails to use it's power, because then anarchy fills the vacuum left by the State. All existence is a constant struggle for power, since no living being can do anything without power.

The shadow smiled. From now on, this unfortunate planet will witness a new definition of power. Power with a Purpose.

"For Centralism."

He heard his master's voice one last time:

Fufill your destiny, and crush all anarchy!

The black ship sped towards the planet, to begin its deeds.

For the Order of the Black Star had come to the former Outlander Commissions. And it was there to stay.

[Shroom Man 777]

"Sir, one of our probes have detected an unknown vessel entering the sector."

"The Lost?"

"No sir. The cloaked probe is still analyzing the ve- sir, unknown ship has entered cloak. We've lost contact."

Figures. We weren't the only ones who received that message. "Helm, direct the ship to our bogie's last known location. Send us deeper into the sector."

"Yes Captain!"

SS Strudel
Deep Space, C-6
Unreal Time



The Strudel lurked in the shadows of space. It was on silent running, had been for weeks. All non-vital systems shut off, and only a few running at full capacity - propulsion, life-support, sensors and cloak. It was formerly a Blitz-class frigvette from the Centralist Navy, but it had been sold by the Centrality, and bought and paid for by the Dead Sea Trading Company. The Company did a few modifications on the frigvette to suit their needs, the installation of their own weapons and sensors, not to mention an off-the-shelf cloaking screen.

The screen was a source of no amount of grief. After they first dropped out of hyperspace, the newly-installed cloak had been a microsecond late in activating during the initial realspace reversion. That potentially compromising error had thankfully been the only one so far, but the Strudel's crew had taken great pains to ensure it would never happen again. Nevertheless, who knew if anyone else had seen their little slip, for all they knew there could be a handful of hidden ships trawling sector C-6, looking for the same thing they were after.

The Company, aside from using its corporate warships to guard its shipments of goods, also occasionally leased them to whoever was willing to pay for the services of plausibly deniable private military warships. The crews of the Strudel needn't know who their mysterious benefactors were, all they needed to know was that they were getting paid quite handsomely for this job.

Their sensors had picked up an unidentified thermal signature further inside the star system, and so with their off-the-shelf cloak screen and silent systems, they moved in to investigate.

Their instructions were to survey the sector C-6 and find the source of the Lost transmissions, and so they did.

The Strudel launched a probe towards the unidentified thermal signatures.




On the last episode of SDNW4

CNS Datton
Deep Space, C-6
Unreal Time

"Sir, we've reentered realspace," said the helmsman.

"Good. Has the bogie been detected?", said Forg.

"Yes sir. It's heading towards an unknown heat signature," said the scanner crewman.

"Identity of the bogie?"

"Still unverified."

"Very well. Let's just stay cloaked for now. Follow the vessel, but keep our ship at a safe distance."

"Should we hail them?", the helmsman was interrupted.

"No. Not yet anyway. I want to see what they intend to do."

"Well sir, they've already deployed a probe."

"Should we shadow it?", asked Lieutenant Sorge.

"Yes, but in a roundabout way. Wouldn't want to startle our quarry, would we?"

The Datton began to move, slowly, it's cloaked sublight engines taking it to the mysterious thermal signature...

[Agent Sorchus]

BEEEF!

The former Magister Ailill, the now newly minted Envoy to the Nations, stepped down from the aircar he had appropriated at BEEEF and for BEEEF. Jack Turder's special spectacle sure was spectacular, but only surprising in that the Karlacks hadn't made an attempt to harvest its genes before chaos reigned. Oh, how he wished he could stay and witness how the chaos would play out, but he had an appointment to keep.

Still, he made a stop off at the Eoghan Pavillian. Mostly he had only come to pick up the notes, intelligence and special delivery for the meeting, but it was an opportunity to clean up after having unknown food spilled on him when the stage collapsed. It looked something like the Bragfurters that he had seen a vendor selling, and if that was the normal vegemite based sauce he really couldn't wait to get into other clothes. And it was nice to be in an area where he didn't have to breath heavily or walk lightly.

Volydimyr Putyn was waiting, one massive Bragulan paw resting on top of the other, both supported by a spindle of a cane. His greeting was easily heard offer the exhaust of the aircar and the unloading of the 4 cases of cargo. "Greetings Envoy of the Eoghan state. And congratulations on winning the confidence of the people/workers in the Election."

"Greetings, Minister Putyn of the Byzonic Bureau for the People's Department of the Proletariat's Inter-Species Friendliness." (no-humans allowed was the rest of the name) "May Byzon send his light on you forever." An artillery barrage broke the conversation off for a minute. But it made for a good spot to have a rather circumspect discussion. "We brought the requested cargo. Three new Black boxes from Factory 7 and a fine selection of small Doodads."

"Yes, good. Now onto more important things, the Imperator in his great wisdom has decided that the great injustice of humanities' great numbers needs to be addressed. We were hoping that the EUC which despite being on the opposite side of humanities' expansion would want to partake in this. It is well known of your struggles with the dreaded Centrality humans and the rise of the New Humanists who speak harshly of other species."

"All true. Yet we can live with the Atlanteans."

"Da little one, but they are harmless. Too concerned with their own little advancements. But it is also true that all too many human states think little of ruining and ruling over the Inhumans in their borders. Why should we mindlessly submit to the will of the peoples of the Twin Earths?"

"Not mindlessly at least."

"Exactly, and what good is a mind if it doesn't have a voice? That is what we propose, one voice for all the Inhuman nations to stand behind." Ailill had a slightly different opinion of mind's without voices for the world to hear. But that was mostly because the voices were taunting him with tantalizing clues as to what sort of Chaos that the kingly beast, was causing, even if "suddenly giant pigs" didn't make much sense.

"I do believe that the commons will find something of that nature agreeable. My office will get back to you on that. I have a couple of documents we have secured from our assets for Masha's eyes." Minister Putyn might or might not be IBGV, but he would most likely have an ear of theirs to talk to. The only identifier the single use info case had was OMINOUS in old Eoghan script were it wouldn't be noticed. "I don't believe we have anything more to discuss today do we?"

"No, but I await next time. The Peoples Commission for Economic Exchange want to discuss greater ties of commerce."

"I can't wait."/sarcasm.


THE EOGHAN ARMS PAVILION PRESENTS

The Twin-needle class in systems fighter. Built to a rigorous standard as a light fighter for patrol purposes. As designed it will have an in-system hyperdrive capacity to make your patrol system more flexible. To Debut late 3401.

The Aaken light auxiliary cruiser is being developed as a modular ship for export. By the Stefen/Wylkes system they are 50point hulls that include a modular section that is worth 10points of the hulls normal strength. Modules currently in development include troop transport, additional weapons, and cargo sections for non government sales.

The PV-14K is the preferred tank of the Commons and comes with a variety of factory made variants suitable for all nations and struggles. There is the low maintenance variant that forgoes primary shielding and adds an additional Vegemite derived ablative armor, which is available for manufacture with a license. We have all sorts, so come check our catalogs.

Need a cheap way to add additional utility to your grunts? Buying support drones is the way for you. They are simple to integrate into a defensive network, they can bring heavier weapons, and they are yours for the low low price of 1000000 Boonbills.

[fgalkin]

Your Anus Transit Hub
Sol Sytem
Sector A26
Multiversal Empire of Happiness
Unreal Time (late September 3400)




As humanity spread across the stars from its twin cradles of Earth and Nova Terra, it had carried the memories of their homes with them, memories of places like Prussia, England, and Shroomania, which continued to live on in the names of countless planets. In fact, there were a lot more people than the places they were from, and as one travelled across the galaxy, one discovered just how common certain placenames were. Even the names of the twin crades of humanity were not exempt from this, gracing the galaxy with several dozen Earths, Terras, New Earths, New Terras, and any variation thereof. But one name stood apart from all this. One name did not look down at the imitators, for it had none. One name was unique in that it was unique. That name was Your Anus.

The lore of the Multiversal Empire of Happiness tells of a time when the Leader came to a post-apocalyptic Earth. It is then that one of her first decrees was to rename the planet of Uranus into its current name. This caused much confusion amongst the populace, for they were mere humans and could not fathom the glorious plans of the Leader. It was only centuries later, as the Multiversal Empire crossed over the boundary between universes, and they experienced the wonders of the galaxy that was their new dwelling place that they understood her greatness. They understood her plan, and the amazing depths of foresight she was capable of. They wrote letters of praise as tears of adoration welled in their eyes and flowed down their plump cheeks, collecting in small puddles that were gathered into vials by the cleaning robots and then sent to her along with the letters (for letters and vials of tears were the measure of one’s devotion to the Leader). They even towed the system’s warp gate to the orbit of Your Anus, and placed the MEH’s primary transit hub there so that the whole galaxy would know her wisdom.



It took more than half an hour for the warp gate to charge and during that time, Your Anus Traffic Control had been in constant contact with the visitors. So, it came as no surprise to anyone when the gate finally opened, releasing a sleek green ship, flanked by two smaller escorts, barely 40 meters long.



While Your Anus was the primary transit hub of the Sol system, Earth was still the center of government and the dwelling place of the Leader, and Earth was the place the small convoy made its way to. The representatives of the MEH were waiting for them at a station in orbit.The diplomatic ship glided to a graceful halt next to it and disgorged a shuttle carrying the Lost’s ambassador and his entourage.

When the shuttle doors opened, the first thing the amazed MEH representatives saw was six combat units, four-armed and covered with cruel-looking thorns. The poly-alloy of their carapaces changed and shifted, forming complex fractal patterns, and, in fact, seeming to consume the light that fell on them. They gave the assembled MEHnites the evil eye.



Then, they stepped aside, revealing the much shorter Ambassador, whose body and personality was customized to fit the aesthetics of the MEH.


Emissary Zorgy

“Greetings, fellow sapients,” the being grinned at them. “I am called Emissary Zorgy, and I am here to offer you the hand of friendship!”

True to his word, the Emissary extended his hand and waited for his counterpart to respond.

--------------------------------
Have a very nice day.
-fgalkin

[Steve]

Larfield Convention and Resort Center, Halsing Beach
United Enclaves of Gilead, Hobbs, Sector X-13
18 August 3400

Situated along on of the stretches of beach at Halsing, the Convention and Resort Center was hosting a conference of regional starship drive manufacturers and buyers, as well as government and non-government figures involved in the same. It was a liked choice for such a thing: Halsing was a beautiful beach and there was something for everyone in the libertine enclave, while the enclave itself was not one of the more specialist enclaves that might offend or bewilder.

Granted, Sarina and Helena would have been perfectly okay with one of the lesbian enclaves. But they still enjoyed what they had; a private cottage paid for by Danielle, a stretch of beach to walk out onto, and a stipend that let them buy whatever they wanted. To top it off, even Halsing permitted nude sunbathing, so the two young lovers were sprawled out on a giant beach rug allowing their bodies to tan completely and to recover from the fairly exhaustive morning sex that they had mutually enjoyed.

"So you think your sister will propose?", Helena asked.

"Now that her big fear of losing her girlfriend by looking to be after her money is gone? I expect them to get engaged here." Sarina looked at the yellow star of Hobbs and its system through her light-adjusted shade glasses. "It'll be good for Amber to get her mind off money issues."

"And having a ridiculously wealthy sister-in-law couldn't hurt you either." Helena smiled and reached over, her hand touching Sarina on the hip. "Think you could see us getting married?"

Sarina looked over at Helena. "I don't know. Are we that serious? And it's not like we're going to obey our vows, given what we do for fun..."

"You mean finding classmates to have dungeon play with?", Helena laughed. "I'm sure we can have the vows worded so that we'd follow them regardless of that." She kissed Sarina on the cheek. "Though I'm not actually proposing, just wondering. I mean, once we graduate University there'll be jobs to look to.."

"I know." Sarina sat up and put her hands on her knees. "Well, I'm feeling famished, and we got some good sun. Want to go get dressed and find something to eat?"

"I'd love it," Helena answered.



In a cottage just down from where Sarina and Helena were getting dressed, Yong Sie Gui and a team of his men, one of a few teams, checked their guns. They knew the Tyconian ruler was here now, and that at any time their opportunity might be presented. "Remember that we are striking a blow for our Jieshi people," he reminded them. "Death is not to be feared, it is a release from your obligations to our nation."

"Shouldn't we just kill the sisters and be done with it?", one of the men asked.

"No!", Yong insisted. "They have cousins who can be married. No, we must instead force their government to call off the union at pain of their death and the deaths of all others we take."

"Even if we seize Anglos and French?"

"Yes." Yong smiled viciously. "Those empires cannot be too pleased with the union prospect, if Tyconia persists and causes their citizens to die from it, they might accomplish our goals for us. Now, get prepared, I will make sure our ally is ready!"



In one of the private rooms in the center, Tabitha was double-checking her weapons. A final report to Princess Sara had been sent through the back channels; the mission was approved. At the same time, Tabitha had ensured that channels she believed compromised also learned of the impending attack, part of her plan to draw out the mysterious group that had vexed her employer.

Tabitha put her beamsaber on her belt and checked to make sure her agiels and sidearms were in place. She would help the Jieshi fighters secure the resort, but afterwards she intended to slip away and do what was needed.



The lower floors and upper-most floors had the most luxurious suites in the resort center. Danielle had picked a ground floor suite to avoid the need for elevator rides when returning to her room, though it was not the biggest as it was only for her to use when staying close to the convention; she had also rented the most private of the resort cottages for herself and Amber to stay in when she was not scheduled for any visits to the convention floor. She and Amber had returned to the room after a morning visit to the Pegrano Drive Industries daily meeting, where they were now finishing the midday meal that Sarina and Helena had just left to embark on. They hadn't changed out of their semi-casual business blouses and skirts yes, but their swimsuits were already placed on the bed, for wearing on the way to the cottage where they would be discarded for sunbathing, swimming, and other assorted activities.

"So I take it you heard the Grand Duchess of Tyconia arrived yesterday with her sister?", Amber spoke aloud while Dani was finishing a bite of her lunch sandwich. "I think it'd be interesting to meet her in person, given the whole 'dynastic union through lesbian marriage' she's about to go through."

"The Torygraph is bleating all about that," Dani scoffed. "Though mostly because the Tories don't want anyone in this sector getting too powerful."

"I remember reading in one of Sarina's magazines that she actually prefers guys, but is going along with this just to keep her throne because her Premier is obsessed with getting the union arranged."

"Sarina's magazines are half full of gossip." Dani waved a hand dismissively. "And frankly, the 35th Century just started, despite what my own planet's dwellers sometimes like to think. There are lots of people who swing for both teams."

Amber giggled at that. "So, what are we doing after lunch?"

"Well, I was thinking a visit to the cottage would be nice. I have to be back tomorrow evening, sadly, the Grand Duchess will be attending meetings then and I should be there." Dani smiled mischievously. "I've had some special... toys delivered out there. We'll have privacy to try that scenario you've been begging me to do since you found it in the Enclave datanet."

A smile crossed Amber's face. "Oh really? You'll actually consent to being the dom for once?"

"Quiet, you, or I'll..."



The higher floors of the resort, and the Presidential Suite, was where the Schweizer entourage was placed, at insistance of Reina's security people. At a cost Reina found a bit excessive the entire floor had been rented out to ensure her security people had complete access. Lines had been prepared should an evac be required with elevators and stairs unavailable, armed men watched the entryways... they had turned the floor into a fortress for a handful of people.

Sarisa and Reina were finishing lunch while Druni and Nika, having eaten earlier, were burning the calories they'd gained in the confines of their bedroom. Druni moaned in pleasure from how Nika's hands ran over her body and the feel of Nika's lips on her skin. "You are impossible to keep up with," she sighed. "We had a word for girls like you in the Cloister."

"And... what would that... be?", Nika asked, her question interrupted by the sound of her lips pressing against Druni's breast.

"Jalima." Druni, with a surge of strength, pressed up and forced Nika to roll. Now on top, she pressed her lips to Nika's throat and began to nuzzle her while her hands held down Nika's forearms. "It means..." She brought her mouth up to Nika's ear. "...someone who's desire for sex has consumed her."

"Then I am a jalima and proud of it," Nika boasted. Try as she might, she couldn't roll Druni off her. "And you are one too, I'd say."

Druni smiled at her. "Oh, I was accused of being one sometimes. In a Cloister of teenage girls, many of whom are openly attracted to other girls and with at least some of the rest becoming curious about it over time, it's not always a good thing to be called."

"I beg to differ," Nika insisted.

There was a tone nearby. Nika's personal comm was going off. "Is it your parents?", Druni sighed. "Let them call, I'm enjoying you too much."

"They'll probably just call back."

"Fine." Druni reached over and brought the comm unit over to her. She looked like she was handing it to Nika, but as Nika reached for it Druni suddenly took it and tossed it into their clothes basket. "Easier to ignore in there," Druni giggled, before snuffing out Nika's protest with a strong kiss.



In a room two floors below them, a single CompInt-occupied android body was hooked up to the datanet for the entire planet. In a private server, he remarked to his conact, "Green 20 is not maintaining communication."

"It does not take a stretch of the imagination, Blue 4, to know what two young, energetic, and mutually-attracted organics are up to when one doesn't answer calls," Blue 2 replied slyly.

"But this is why we should not have assigned an organic in this tenuous situation." Blue 4 looked at his superior with concern. "I am certain the strike will come today or tomorrow. Green 20 needs to be in place to protect the Grand Duchess, lest the Plan be set back."

"You are there. Keep monitoring the situation and be ready to assist Green 20," Blue 2 replied.

"But, I am not a Red! We Blue Chroma are not meant for this!"

"For the Plan, we must all be ready to take on special duties."



Reina looked at her swimsuit-clad reflection in the mirror. She looked fit, as she'd worked laboriously to maintain, though her vanity made her feel upset about the mole showing up on her right cheek and the fact that her abs were softening. I'm letting the cooks in the Palace go too far, she thought wryly. Still, there was no denying she looked good.

Sarisa, in her mind, worked better. Probably due to having more time for sports and workout (without having to spend hours every day engaging in "political" activities), her sister had a more-toned body, and she was wearing the daring swimsuit to prove it. "Just who are you hoping to impress?", Reina teased her gently. "Or are you hoping those lurid stories about the Countess of San Luis' younger sister are true?"

"What stories?", Sarisa asked.

"You don't remember Matilda's stories when she was off-semester last year? About how Sarina Kelly-Martinez had an entire circle of lovers she kept beyond her girlfriend, all of whom she invited to her home for private parties and sex romps?" Reina laughed. "Anglian tabloids can be so much fun when they're raunchy."

"Ha. I'm still a bit young for them, don't you think?"

"Well, who would you be dressing to impress then? Certainly not Druni?"

Sarisa shot her sister a scornful look. "Druni and Nika make a good couple, and I try to avoid any entanglements with my instructor's other students."

Reina laughed at her. "So you say. But right now I don't want to think about relationships, I just want to get down to the beach and enjoy some sun."

"How you're going to do that with security people all around you, I'm not sure," Sarisa said drolly, but she nevertheless followed her bikini-clad sister toward the elevator and their security team.


The Jieshi cells had spread themselves out well, disguised as tourists from all over the region. Yong, in particular, had assigned his best men to the Larfield's main building, with orders to keep an eye on Grand Duchess Reina's movements. It was not expected that she would be vulnerable until attending the convention for the first time the following day, but Yong did not want any opportunities to pass his group up.

One of his men, Hao Bei Gui, was sitting in the lobby nursing a cup of coffee and a personal reader, appearing to just be another casual visitor or tourist who was checking up on news. He was, in fact, steadily on the lookout for their target, should an opportunity present itself.

When he saw the Schweizer sisters emerge from the lift with a quartet of bodyguards, he triggered his implant for direct communication to Yong. "The sisters are on the move. They will be sunbathing, I think. They have four guards."

"We will not have a better opportunity," was the reply. "Alert your brothers in the Larfield, I will get the others. We strike now!"



Yong's men filed out of the cottage. They were trying to be inconspicuous, but even the SMG energy weapons they had couldn't be concealed without coats of some sort, making them look very out of place on a beach covered in naked and barely-clothed sunbathers and swimmers.

"The Target is about sixty meters south of your position," one of his men said from an observation post. Yong verified this with a close look; he did indeed see the flare of pinkish-red hair that belonged to the Grand Duchess.

"Be ready to abort if necessary. Do not begin the takeover until we have begun our attack," Yong ordered. He looked to either side as one of his men carefully, and discreetly, checked his weapon. They were behind the beach, not in full view...

At least, that was his intention.



Sarina and Helena had intended to head straight to the Larfield main building to visit their diner, but along the way they had stopped to "snog" for a few minutes on a dare.

After stopping, but with her hand still clasping Helena's thigh, Sarina was the first to notice the ten or so men who were walking together, horribly over-dressed for the beach. Out of curiosity her eyes followed them, even as Helena's lips and tongue continued to work on her neck.

She saw a sudden flash of light as one of the men, moving slightly toward her, allowed his coat to open. And Sarina had seen more than enough holovids in her life to recognize a dangeorus energy weapon when she saw it. She froze in fear for a moment, her eyes widened, while Helena for the moment kissed her on the neck, not realizing what was going on. "Oh my God," Sarina managed to get out.

"What?"

"Those men, they have guns," Sarina whispered hoarsely. She fumbled for her phone.



Yong had scanned around him reflexively and noticed his man's gun slightly visible. He reached a hand out and grabbed him by the wrist. "You fool, you..." His eyes moved beyond to a pair of young women at the rear of the beach, along the palm grove. He saw them staring at him and his men, and he saw one of the girls fumbling nervously for what looked to be a cell unit. He knew the girls had seen his wayward man's weapon and that they had to act. "We are revealed!" A command from his brain opened his comm links to all his units, and he barked an attack order in Jieshi.

His men responded to the attack order by taking out their firearms. Yong himself opened fire on the two girls, sending a spray of red energy bursts in their direction in the hope that it would hit them or at least buy him a precious second or two. Ruined by two women! he grumbled to himself.



When Tabitha heard Yong give the attack order, she was already near the resort's security center. A group of uniformed, armed security men were in there, still unawares. She pulled out her sidearm and stepped into the room. ESP made her accuracy perfect; six security guards, six relatively clean head-shots with a pulse energy weapon that left their heads intact but the brains within a smoldering ruin.

The Larfield Resort's security systems were wired into Halsing Beach Police systems as well, to ensure rapid response. She exploited this to send a "dumb-AI" trojan into the network. Isolated systems for the police wouldn't be infected, but of course their very isolation made them generally useless if they couldn't access anything.

"Security is down," she reported over the comm. She began to read out the locations of security teams to Yong's men even as she scanned for communications activity that seemed sufficiently anomalous.



Sarisa was sunning lazily on the beach towel when commotion to the north drew her attention. Her senses told her something was wrong, to be confirmed moments later when energy fire blazed in the air and the nearest bodyguard to her fell dead, a burnt hole in his chest. "Reina, someone's trying to kill us!"

Her sister had responded by jumping up, before being brought down by a bodyguard who started to drag her toward the resort building. Sarisa felt another grab her, then an intense heat across her bare left shoulder as a burst of energy fire got so close it insta-sunburned her skin before killing a second guard.

Instinct snapped into place. Sarisa focused her mind forward and lashed out, creating a plume of fire that zipped across the distance and enveloped one of the men. Their features were Asian and her immediate thought was "Jieshi terrorists".

She looked to see that the third guard was down too, likely killed in the opening strike; if anything was preserving her life and that of her sister and surviving guard it was the crowd of people rushing around and obscuring targets.

She was just behind Reina and the surviving guards as they rushed to the doors of the resort. They came up toward them...

And found a line of assault rifles waiting.



Captain Gerard LeCroix of the Tyconian Lifeguard got the alert when one of his men, assigned to window sentry duty, reported weapons fire. His helmet confirmed the guards sent with the Grand Duchess and Crown Princess were down. As the fourth and final one went down he was already ordering most of his men to the elevators.

The commotion caused Druni to emerge from her suite, holding a sheet over herself as she intercepted one of the guards. "What's going on?!", she shouted.

"Assassins are attacking Her Grace!", was the shouted reply as the guard went through the door.

Druni returned to her room, where Nika was already putting on clothes, having heard. Druni reached for the closest things she could get, an eclectic mix of nylon legging underwear and a tank top Sarisa had given her, as she thought about what to do.

She felt something terrible in her mind. Something was wrong. There was something here, and things were not what they appeared to be. She thought of the Lifeguard and....

Nika watched, stunned, as Druni bolted out the door. She turned toward the elevator door and shouted, "Stop!" LeCroix heard her, barely.

But it was too late.

The door shut and one of his guards had already pressed a button. Doing so activated the explosive charge Tabitha had tied into the system days ago, a small charge that was not very powerful... but as it was on the anti-grav repulsors for the elevator car, they didn't need to be.

The top floors vibrated from the explosion, and Captain LeCroix and all his troops plunged to their deaths.



Sarina and Helena both turned and ran as they saw the gun point at them. Weapons fire went off over their heads; Sarina stumbled forward in trying to get down and had Helena fall on top of her. She started to crawl along; though her instincts were shouting "RUN RUN RUN" they were also shouting "STAY DOWN", and so she did. She reached for the phone again and started to dial an emergency number.

"Sarina."

As she was about to confirm the call, Sarina looked back to Helena. She looked pale all of the sudden, not just from fright either.

There was a large section of charred, cauterized flesh where Helena's hip used to be.



Yong smiled as the unimportant hostages were herded into the one of the convention ballrooms. He had upwards of 60 armed men here, patriots ready to die for their nation, with equipment and training sufficient to deal with the contemptible Gilean security services. No, they needn't worry about anything for a time; it would take hours for even other nations on Hobbs to respond by sending forces to help, if they even did so, even longer for a response from the sector's other states, and over a day or even two for the Anglians or French to get involved. Meanwhile, with some of his men securing the entrances and exits from attack, another team was gathering all the people in the resort into one of the side ballrooms while he and some of the others used another exclusively for their main prisoners.

He looked down at the Duchesses. They were trained Espers, so he had seen fit to smuggle in isolated null field collars that would contain their power. One was being fitted to Grand Duchess Reina's neck as she demanded, "What do you want?"

"We want security for our homeland," Yong demanded. "Is the communication ready?", he asked one of his men in their language.

When an affirmative was made, a recorder was moved to bring Sarisa and Reina into range of it. Yong looked to it and began to speak. "I am Yong Sie Gu of the Jieshi Patriots' Front. My fellow patriots and I have seized as prisoners the Tyconian ruler and her sister, as you can see here." He gestured toward them. "Did you really think we would permit our nation's subjugation by foreigners once again? No, we patriots have acted, and you will listen or blood will be on your hands. I give the Tyconian government two hours to formally disavow the pending Union agreement with Fynn and to cede to Jieshi the districts of Jushang and Mayliu, which are Jieshi by blood and right, or I will begin executing hostages every half hour after that." Again he gestured toward the Schweizer sisters. "And I will start with Grand Duchess Reina herself."

[Lonestar]

Dominion Defense


Meinhof Republic agrees to place itself under DCMA authority
The Meinhof Republic, the most populated human settled world in Sector BB-1, has agreed to place itself under the authority of the Dominion Colonial Management Administration. The former President Terwilliger signed a "Treaty of Friendship and Federated Nation Status" with Admiral Grierson of the Tuscarora Strike Group...[More]


Next Star Dreadnought Class to crib heavily from Shepistani designs?
In the interests of controlling costs in the in the proposed new capital ship program, BuShips is seriously considering licensing and adapting the latest heavy Shepistani designs. Although no contracts have been issued, or are expected to be issued before 3404, industry watchers believe that the next Star Dreadnought class will be substantially more powerful than even FRAM-Virginias...[More]

[Darkevilme]

HSF Audacity, sector C-6

With the probe dropped the Audacity began to boost ever so slowly under gravitic drive back up their elliptical orbit and out of the inner system, leaving its lonesome mechanical eye to slowly catch up with the inner system contact. The probe was programmed to perform a simple close pass passive scan on the first intercept then switch to an active scan once the Audacity was safely clear of the area.

“That's odd, shipmistress the probe just picked up a thermal signature. Tracking across arc indicates an elliptical orbit of some kind, pattern of movement indicates it cannot be a malfunction, signature marked as 03 on plot.”

“Good, I'd hate to send you as well to join the others. Find out where they're going and we'll investigate on the outgoing arc of our elliptic.”

“By your will shipmistre- new contact just emerged from hyperspace in the outer system. Unmasked drive signature but no visible flame, translation shock magnitude indicates strike craft of some kind. Recognition software has found no matches. New signature marked on plot as 04.”

Rayarr tail flicks thoughtfully Never a quiet uneventful mission when you want one, lack of a match doesn't guarantee it's the Lost of course, the recognition software could not be relied upon this far from the home territories, still it skewed the odds in that direction and it was higher priority than the masked thermal signature that wizzed past their probe... Rayarr nyah'd softly realizing if she didn't at least try to check that out she'd have it vexxing her curiousity for days to come.

“Adjust elliptical course to intercept 04, prep a Ripper for a stealthed recon flight along the estimated course of 03.”

“By your will shipmistress.” the bridge cats chorused and then turned to their tasks, the Audacity altering course towards the outer system strike craft while within ten minutes one of the Rippers emerged carrying cloaking modules and sensors in place of some of its ordinance and set forth towards where a best guess indicates the other stealthed contact was heading.

[Force Lord]

CNS Datton
Deep Space, C-6
Unreal Time

"That's strange...," said the sensor technician.

"What did you find now?", asked Captain Forg.

"I'm getting a strange sensor reading, very faint."

"Can you prioritize?"

"I'll take some time."

"Well, then get going!"

"Sir, should we risk deploying a stealth probe?"

Forg frowned. Stealth probes were effective, but very expensive. Only one factory in Centrum made them, and he wasn't interested of hearing the screams of the Navy's Budget Office.

He decided to bite the bullet.

"Do it."

[fgalkin]

Somewhere in Sector C-6
Unreal Time

#113098576 emerged from hyperspace at the outer edge of the system in a brilliant flash of light. Even with the sensor feed from other boats and the Resolution, it was, as its mothership informed the nearly blind recon boat, almost half a light minute off-target, a most embarrassing failure for one of its experience.



If Resolution In The Face Of Danger could sigh, it would have done so as it heard the recon craft’s profound apologies. It had already decided to forgive #113098576’s failure in light of its previous exemplary record, but it was that very record that was making the decision very difficult indeed. Still, the failure had been mechanical, so perhaps the fault lied in its own maintenance drones. Yes, that was it. Resolution In The Face Of Danger sent off a detailed flight plan to the damaged craft, and began a thorough review of the drones’ performance over the last few weeks. They were non-sapient, of course, and could not be punished properly, but at least it could assign the blame in its report where it was due, and protect its oldest parasite craft.

Then, something caught its attention, and it bumped the review down in priority, assigning one of its autonomous subroutines handle it. The patrol ship’s sensors had picked up a thermal reading, albeit a faint one, within the inner system. That was most unusual, and Resolution checked the reading against the results of its most recent sensor sweep. Immediately, it felt a stab of panic—the reading was new, definitely not present earlier. Quickly, it observed the unidentified object’s movement and extrapolated its trajectory. A trajectory, it thought grimly, which would take it rather close to the our communications relay. They were not alone, Resolution realized. Someone had come at last.

The ship considered the situation. The unknown object’s readings were extremely weak, too small to be a hyper-capable ship, even one with most of its systems shut down. It was impossible to tell more without using active sensors, but the object was most likely nothing more than a probe of some sort, launched by another vessel. But no ship had been detected in the sector by the sensor platforms and parasite craft…unless it was a stealth ship, which slipped past them undetected. The Lost had never heard of other powers using stealthed craft, but that hardly made it impossible. And if the aliens DID have stealth ships, the Lost must know, for they would likely have to reconsider their entire approach to security.

Quietly, Resolution sent off a submesonic transmission to a relay station outside the sector, which forwarded it to Station Dis in the Diplomatic System. Then, it awakened its diplomatic unit and told it to be ready for possible first contact. With these preparations complete, the ship fired up its active sensors, examining the object in detail, confirming its suspicions about its origin. It was a sensor probe, and given its size, the ship that launched it had to be nearby.

Resolution thought this over. The probe was small, but not particularly stealthy. It was unlikely it would have evaded its earlier sensor sweeps, which meant that it had to be launched recently, around the time of #113098576’s arrival. Which meant that it was the parasite craft’s actions that most likely led to its detection. It considered how that should affect its decision to be lenient, then pushed it down in priority, for it had more immediate things to worry about. Still, if #113098576 was the cause of all this, it was possible that it would be followed, especially if the Resolution itself remained unseen.

The patrol ship directed its attention at #113098576, scanning the space around it, then expanding the sweep in a large cone along its trajectory. It found nothing. Disappointed, but also slightly relieved, it was about to turn away, when it noticed…something. A faint echo, perhaps, or an actual weak ping; the distance was too great to tell, and the parasite craft’s sensors were blind and useless. Resolution considered it, and launched an interceptor to investigate.


A Type-I Parasite Craft (Interceptor)

Having done that, Resolution then turned its sensors towards the probe, extrapolating its potential point of origin, and diverting its full attentions there, bombarding the sector of space with LIDAR, radar, and more exotic beams. It was a matter of minutes before target’s cloaking fields were penetrated, leaving it exposed to the daemon’s gaze.



Mentally grunting in satisfaction, Resolution began composing a message to its superiors, ready to relay the sensor readings of the new ship, when it was interrupted by an emergency signal from one of its strike craft.

“Master,” came a recon bost’s panicked voice. #113098693 was slightly newer than #113098576, and had taken over command with the damaged boat’s departure. “We are detecting…something in hyperspace.”

“Something? Something?! Surely you can do better than that,” Resolution snapped back.

“We’re not sure, Master. The hyperspace wake is far too big to be that of a ship, and it is using a completely different hyperband than any known spacecraft. Perhaps a space monster…” The recon boat relayed its sensor feed to its mothership, allowing Resolution to see the object with its own eyes.

“The Demogorgon preserve us,” Resolution muttered. The object was still far away, almost a whole day out, but its size was unmistakable. From the size of the disturbance in hyperspace it created at that range, it had to be as massive as The Darkness That Came Before, possibly more. Could it be…them?, Resolution wondered. It was very likely, it decided. The Enemy had received their message, sent agents to investigate, and now that the Lost’s identity was ascertained, they had come for them. Waves of panic and terror washed over its consciousness at the thought of the unimaginable horrors of its home dimension, the unspeakable tortures their kind had in mind for those who had committed the greatest of treasons.

It considered its options. The object was still a long way off, moving slowly and ponderously. If Resolution made its escape, perhaps it could outrun it...but that was no guaranteed, especially if the Enemy had stealth ships trailing it. It could not jeopardize its people by leading the Enemy to them. It probably would not matter in the long run, of course, not with the sort of power in the possession of the Enemy which defeated them long ago and was now coming to finish the job. The Lost had been Found, and their time was well and truly over. Still, however, even if its purpose was no more, the ship still had its final Duty to fulfill.

Quickly, it diverted three of the stealth carriers’ spy probes to trail the Enemy ship, recording and relaying data on its performance. Then, it sent a priority message, through a whole chain of relays.

One supermassive object ≈.75-1 homeship masses inbound, ETA ≈20 T-hours. Stealth ship presence confirmed. Chain of events indicates probable Enemy contact. Emergency protocols now in effect. Will remain and investigate further to confirm the nature of the object.

[Sensor Readings Attached]

That left the matter of the stealth ship. The Enemy was still hours away and perhaps had not counted on its spy being detected so quickly. Resolution had no chance of defeating the massive vessel that was coming at it, but the spy ship was a wholly different matter. It was a small thing, around the size of the Lost’s own stealth carriers. That meant there was still one thing the patrol ship could do.

No longer hiding, Resolution In The Face Of Danger powered up its systems, feeling power course through its circuitry, magnified a dozen fold by the power amplifiers. It activated its defenses, enjoying the subtle change the very fabric of spacetime within its Sphere of Exclusion, ready to be shaped and molded at its whim. It started the trapdoor generators, ready to deflect oncoming hostile energies into distant dimensions. It awoke its hellbeams and pulled back the armored canopies protecting the pylons of the long-range Slow Drive missiles. It activated its Combined Drive, ready to intercept the enemy ship at a moment’s notice.

Then, with the aid of its diplomatic unit, it sent a warning to the ship in galstandard English.

“Attention, unknown stealth vessel,” it boomed over the comms. “You have been detected, and will explain your purpose here. Any attempt at evasion or resistance will be considered a hostile act and will be met by deadly force.”


-------------------------------
Results:
1) Resolution In The Face Of Danger (65p) has now powered up its systems and is easily detectable by all ships in-system.
2) SS Strudel has been detected and is now being challenged by a very frightened daemon.
3) An interceptor (0.1p) is heading towards the Chamarran ship to investigate it.
4) Inbound Collector Monolith detected! (note: it’s still fairly far away and may not have been detected by the stealth ships present in-system).

Have a very nice day.
-fgalkin

[DarthShady]

The Bragulan Economic Exposition Extravaganza of Friendship (BEEEF)
Vlyadibragstok, Southeastern Severnaya Sector / just beyond Northwestern Lena Sector
Unreal Time

Quite a sensational event this Bragulan BEEEF turned out to be. So many different lifeforms all gathered in one place. Species from across the galaxy, both friend and foe, under one roof - or at least on the same planet. Alyxia was the Aspect assigned to the Karlack mission, or whatever you chose to call it, for the BEEEF, and she was rather enjoying herself. It wasn't every day that she would get the chance to pose as a human and mix with them. Such occasions were rather rare and usually far more bloody.

Alyxia personally controlled all other Karlack Bio-forms on the planet. Not an easy task - to keep such beasts, created with the sole purpose of killing and driven only by their dark instincts, from going wild and feasting on the abundance of helpless visitors of the BEEEF. Although she did encourage attacks on a select few, mostly the former inhabitants of the Karlack section. Her task was simple, present some Karlack products to the masses, observe them and interact with a select few. Speaking of a select few and her killing machines, she had to intervene a few minutes earlier because one of the bio-forms was about to attack ambassadors from The Refuge.

An interesting encounter. She thought. The Swarm had decided to attempt diplomatic contact with The Refuge and it wouldn't look good if their first diplomatic act was eating the other sides diplomats. Still the task of contact would be left for later. Right now she wanted to sort out some arrangements with the Bragulans. Considering who the regular contact for the Bragulans was, the horribly formed abomination of an Aspect called Mozak, it was thought that a meeting with a young human(at least she looked like that on the outside) would make a nice change.

She was about to make her way to the meeting when she heard a very loud roar. Her psionic senses had immediately told her what the source of the noise and the growing disturbance was. And it was not long before she was face to face with the beast.

The King!

Rampaging through the corridors, through the screaming and dying masses, The King had come to a sudden stop some fifty meters from Alyxia. He looked at her with his large eyes and let out a mighty roar! She simply met his gaze and smiled. She fucking smiled!

The King roared once more and charged towards her.

Alyxia remained calm, the smile still on her face, she took a step forward and observed the lumbering beast heading her way. This should be fun. She thought and awakened her powers, which she had until then kept subdued so as not to attract any unwanted attention from the ESPers present. One moment of contact with the Hive Mind and her abundant powers would be more than enough to drive most of them insane. She extended her hand and reached out with her mind. The unseen force of her attack lifted the great ape high into the air, much to his dismay, and with the flick of her wrist she slammed him into the wall.

It didn't take long for The King to get back up on his feet(which were also his hands), but when he did he was confused and even more angry, he didn't understand what had just happened to him. At that moment Alyxia projected her thoughts into the great creatures mind. "Wanna see something really scary?" The sentence echoed through The King's mind, followed by a torrent of images, visions from the Hive Mind, desires of the Karlack Bio-forms. The King roared, this time out of fear, and rumbled down the large corridor.

Alyxia looked on after him for a few seconds and then decided to go on with her business, play time was over. She had much to do.

[Akhlut]

Tewktyao Tepoz reviewed his preliminary reports. The Xinmahwakat had numerous eyes and ears throughout the galaxy, with a startlingly low number of them moxi or kipakt, so it was hardly surprising for him to get information from areas thousands of light years away.

What was surprising was that all the reports seemed to indicate movement toward the MEH, especially from the Orks.

Nothing too concerning, but he thought that it should probably be checked out anyway.

So, he would call upon one of the oldest human auxiliary espionage groups for the NenAltKik: the New Space Army.

He went to his communications channel, and opened it up to Commander Djangles, while making sure that Djangles would only hear his voice.



"What is thy bidding, oh Great Star Master?"

"Commander Djangles, you know I really dislike it when you call me that. Just call me general, would you?"

"Great Star Master, you know I can't," he replied, a look of grave concern on his face.

"Fine, fine, whatever. Anyway, Commander, I need you to assemble your finest team for me. I need you to go all the way out toward Ork space for me. There is a lot going on there and I need eyes on the ground for the Greater Good."

"I knew you'd ask that! I already have my best men ready! We'll take our stealthiest ship: the NSAS Turtles All the Way Down."

"Excellent. That's just perfect. Please do try to keep alive and send me back useful information."

"As always, Great Star Master. Kumbaya."

Tepoz sighed deeply. "Kumbaya, Commander Djangles, Kumbaya."

[Simon_Jester]

Undisclosed Location, Sector H-12
Boskonian Sector Command Dome
Simulator Tank
1956 Hours

High Admiral Natalya Zokolova grimaced as Sixth Battlecruisers and their escorts charged through Cosmog's fleet of core ships. Cosmog had apparently chosen to keep up the pressure on von Mückenberger's center rather than pull back and away from von Musel's line of flight, and that hadn't been an unreasonable decision. But it had painful consequences as the Prussian ships shot through his loose-formed, blurring cloud of ships and seized a pair of mid-weight combatants under tractors. The core ships struggled helplessly, their low-impulse driving projectors unable to shift the greater inertia and brute engine power of the Enemy ships.

Cosmog had obviously been expecting a brief, point-blank exchange of fire, one where his ships would give as good or better than they got. Instead, he got a brief opportunity to fire freely at the Enemy... and the Enemy got to engage two of his ships at extremely unfavorable odds. They were dragged off and mauled to death by point-blank railgun fire in a matter of no more than three minutes, taking only a single frigate with them.

He's making us look foolish... But that wouldn't be a repeatable trick. Cosmog's choice to stay on station when the Sixth charged him was avoidable; he could just as well have sidestepped, keeping his forces out of tractor range. Next time, he surely would- Zokolova had no real doubts about the moogle's tactical competence.

What would von Musel do next? She expected that he'd be ordered back to engage the Kavoolites and their Gron auxiliaries; the damage to their ships from the earlier missile attack was significant, but they'd soon have command and control shaken out and ready to fight again...

2004 Hours

...or not. If von Mückenberger was going to call the young rear admiral back, he'd have done it by now. Especially with that spread of photon torpedoes from the Kavoolite disruptor cruisers to jog his memory. So what was going on, exactly?

Zokolova pondered for a moment...

Thinking about it, there were only two possible explanations for why ships would be headed for the hyper limit at his best speed. One was to try and escape her forces before the inevitable general collapse of the fleet's resistance- simple desertion, or- oh no.

Had the senior officer had a sudden stroke of insight? Unlikely; the man's dossier was clear. He was a plodder, exquisitely schooled in the Prussian theory of warfare and its emphasis on overwhelming concentration, on using the biggest possible hammer. Detaching a cruiser squadron to break the encirclement trapping his forces and let reinforcements in wasn't beyond him, but it was the sort of thing he'd only think of in a comfortable armchair- most unlikely that he'd consider it under pressure. Which meant it had to be...

Von Musel!

He must have decided to go after the interdictor grid himself. Had he won over von Mückenberger somehow? Or was this insubordination-to-incompetent-superior*? There was no way to be sure- though perhaps if it was insubordination, her enemy's forces might split over the question. That would be very convenient, probably the only way she could depend on getting the victory she craved.

On the other hand, if von Musel managed to keep his command together in their mutiny-to-avert-crisis*, her plan might very well unravel entirely...

*These terms are both all one word in the Boskonian language, and both have positive connotations.

---

Z-1240 Series Destroyer Z-1261
Flagship Eleventh Destroyer Squadron
2008 Hours Coalition Fleet Standard Time

"Sir! Orders from Prinzregent Luitpold: "Split off from the battlecruisers and harass the enemy dorsal group from long range.""

I knew this was going to happen.

Von Musel had forwarded a summarized version of his plan already, along with orders to accompany him out of the system, just a few minutes ago. Reuental kept his mouth shut. On the one hand, it was obviously a smarter move than sitting around and waiting for the ammunition to run out. On the other, he knew that the high command wasn't going to like it when something like a quarter of their combat-effective escorts abandoned the field, no matter how much damage they'd done to knock back the forces immediately opposing them.

The order from the flagship was predictable, though it might well amount to suicide in the long run to obey. It was very tempting to ignore von Mückenberger and proceed as if nothing had happened. He could do it. The junior captains of his squadron would follow him, orders or no orders- something of a knack of his; he could probably have convinced them to turn outright pirate given time.

On the other hand, the aftermath- Reuental didn't want to spend the rest of his life as a captain, nor as a disgraced officer drummed out of the service. Being a destroyerman hadn't done his career any good as it was; being a destroyerman who'd disobeyed a direct order from an admiral with friends on the staff... not good at all. So it was equally tempting to gamble on von Musel pulling it off without him- concentrate on keeping his own ships alive until reinforcements arrived. Regulations would back him, and he thought he had a fair chance of keeping his destroyers intact for another hour, whatever the numbers might look like.

Difficult to say...

A window at the corner of his display flashed. Reuental accepted the call- this, too was not a surprise.

"Yes, Admiral?" He couldn't help but think of von Musel as the admiral, the real one, even as he considered abandoning the man for the sake of keeping things by the book.

"I am aware of your recent order from the flagship."

"That was on our squadron channel." Encrypted, too, come to think of it...

Von Musel's face was immobile, looking levelly at him. "Command-cruiser comm systems, remember?"

Ha. Should have known The corner of Reuental's mouth rose a millimeter or so. "Yes, sir."

"There is little time. I will not waste it on fancy words. The facts are simple. You have a choice here. I will go no matter what you do. You may stay here and wait for me, if you choose. If I fail, the fleet will be destroyed, and you would die a coward. If I succeed, perhaps you'll still be alive when the Allies come to save you, and then you would live a coward."

Reuental felt his shoulders bunching at that- the words weren't phrased as an insult was barely tolerable- but he kept listening to the admiral. Hard words, yes, but it was a hard situation. Von Musel paused for a moment, trying to read the destroyer officer's face, then continued.

"But I don't think that's the kind of man you are." The admiral's smile was thin, sharp-edged, almost a twin to the one Reuental saw in the mirror so often. "I think you have the judgment to see which of two conflicting orders is right. Follow me, Fleet-Captain, and whatever price we may pay, we will have saved the fleet."

"Understood..."

"Make up your mind quickly, or you may get the worst of both worlds. Von Musel out." The window went dark.

To decide between professionalism and ambition, when duty could be said to lie either way... it wasn't easy. Reuental frowned in displeasure. He needed time, he needed perspective- no. He needed the other half of his brain. The comm channel to F-2522 was already hooked up- on speed dial, as it were.

Wolfgang seemed very much caught up in the urgency of the moment, though long acquaintance showed the ghosts of two lost frigates in his expression. They'd accomplished impressive things today, but it hadn't come cheap.

"Oskar! Is this about-"

"Yes. What do you think?"

"I think we'd better do it, you even more than me. We're going to need those railguns of yours- they're damn near half the tubes we have left..."

"Two fifths." Reuental supposed that his face was doing more of the talking than his voice- no doubt Mittermeyer could read him as well as the other way around.

"Whatever. Look, we can hash out the legalities later; this is important, probably the most important thing we've ever-" Mittermeyer's eyes went wide, and his normally ruddy complexion was very pale. "You're not... staying, are you?"

The strain was nearly unbearable- duty against duty, professional pride against ambition- "Conflicting orders. On the one hand, rank, on the other hand..." Reuental made a gesture; they both knew damn well that the sentence should end with "sanity" or the like, but to say it, even under these conditions... it was too much. The system was breaking down, all the rules and doctrine and drill were carrying Second Fleet over a cliff, but what was there to replace it? Every man for himself, follow only the orders you please? What kind of military could function like that?

Reuental could feel the composed mask of his features cracking- only a fraction, he hoped, but the situation was overwhelming. It wasn't even a question of making a single ruthless choice between a right answer and a wrong answer- that he could have done. But the imponderables at work here... everything hung in the balance, too much to think about and no time. "I don't like this, Wolfgang; either way I'm..."

Mittermeyer took a deep breath, and looked very, very squarely into Reuental's mismatched eyes. "Think of it this way, Oskar. You have two admirals to choose between. Whose command would you rather live under?"

Everything clicked. That wasn't quite the right question, or not his right question. But it was more than close enough to the one Reuental should have been asking himself all along- one that practically answered itself, when you knew the two men involved.

"Ask rather under whose command I'd prefer to die. More important decision."

"So...?"

"I'm in." He switched to bridge comms.

"Signals, message to all destroyers: prepare for hyperspace jump, outbound in the direction of the allied fleet!"

---

---

Recommended Listening: The Boskonian Naval Anthem!

Boskonian Sector Command Dome
2012 Hours

Not good- Sixth Battlecruisers was already nearing the hyper limit, taking its screen with them. The Contrecoup Six installation was heavily shielded, but unarmed, and in no position to resist indefinitely the attack of a dozen starships at close range.

She had one force in position could potentially save this situation, or at least delay the inevitable. Unreliable assets, with their edge already worn off- but they could reach the trouble spot; they were practically there already...

Kavoolite Missile Harrier Toranox
Withdrawing Under Heim Drive
2013 Hours

"Admiral, message on the special communicator!"

That could only be one person. "Put her through."

The human woman's origins were mysterious- obviously not an independent actor, but Imperial Intelligence had failed to learn anything meaningful about where she'd gotten her resources from, or the details of how she'd managed to subvert the Urtraghans so thoroughly. The bargains she'd struck with the Empire were nervous: certainly so for the Imperial court, hopefully from her side as well.

Many humans could pass for Kavoolite with relatively minor cosmetic alterations, but there were always those touches of uncanny wrongness; in Zokolova's case, the flat look in her eyes and the eerie reddish off-brown shade of her hair. Her abrasive, domineering tendencies... those were, strictly speaking, not entirely out of place among the Imperial aristocracy. But in the details, the way she reacted when faced with someone she could not order about, there was again foreign to his culture.

Admiral Maiek was the child of five generations of House Solius Star Lords, the brother of a reigning Lord. He might one day be uncle to another if he lived that long; his sister was young yet and his niece barely out of infancy. A feudal lady of the Empire would be expected to show respect to one of such rank.

Zokolova's emissaries were often exquisitely respectful. In person, even over a communicator, her own social graces seemed nothing more than a mask, and one that was prone to crack when stressed.

For now though, the mask was on. "Admiral. Enemy ships are approaching the interdictor array from the rear. Take your command and engage them as they emerge from hyperspace- the station must be protected until the Prussian main body can be destroyed!"

He didn't like this woman, but he was an officer of the Imperial Navy, an agent of the crown, and therefore had to be courteous so long as the crown called for courtesy. "Milady, I fear I must consult my sealed orders before committing to another attack. How long before this enemy fleet moves into position?"

"You have twenty minutes."

"I will answer you in five." A faint ripple crossed Zokolova's face, like she was suppressing the impulse to say something. Then the viewscreen went black.

His ships were valuable assets. The warbirds, cruisers, and laser strikers committed to Zebes, those could be replaced in relatively short order, but the training that went into the specialist missile harriers was more difficult to reproduce. Even by the standards of Imperial resources, his ships were valuable and difficult to replace. It was no wonder that the Emperor had personally scribed a set of sealed orders to be read by the commanding officer in the case of a deviation from the original plan.

The admiral reached for a locked compartment in his command console. Biometrics opened the lock at his touch. He withdrew the envelope, slit it with ceremonial dagger, and pulled out the hardcopy packet. He was a quick reader; perusing the top sheets took very little time.

They made for most edifying reading...

---

Boskonian Sector Command Dome
2019 Hours

"Yes?"

"We must regretfully decline, milady."

Somehow, I'm not surprised. Unreliable assets. "Admiral Maiek, this is of critical importance to the overall battle plan, including your own fellow Kavoolites; if the Prussian battlecruisers are allowed to strike at the interdictor with impunity, victory will become impossible."

"I have my orders."

"Those orders would seem ill-advised. The situation has changed; your missile harriers could easily tip the balance, committed to another attack."

"Nevertheless, I have my orders."

"Those orders are ill-advised in the extreme, I think, more so than you realize. I'm on the moment of victory here; this is a bad time for your Empire to get cold feet."

The Kavoolite chuckled. How DARE he? "The Empire is not without intelligence of its own. I don't know who you really are, or where you came from, but I know the fate of those who trust you too far. Or do you deny the involvement of your minions in the fate of the honorable, if lawless, Keldrog? And the thousands of defective dummy 'missiles' your people have supplied to the Zebesian fortress batteries?"

"I say again, this is not the time for doubts. You've committed too many assets to this campaign; how will you justify such a complete failure?"

"I don't need to. As I said, I have my orders for what to do when your plans start changing. And I believe those orders are quite reasonable, given the precedents."

I must bring him back under control... Persuasion was failing; threats? "And you believe it prudent to abandon me at such a time?"

"Very much so, given how you've used others under similar circumstances."

She hated political judgment in an asset. "Really, admiral, do you think you- or your amusing little 'empire-' are in a position to betray me and get away with it? I suggest that you reconsider..."

"I do not fear you, treacherous alien harpy!"

A pit opened in Zokolova's mind.

She felt the hellish flickers dancing in her eyes; knew that her voice was slipping the leash she usually kept on it when dealing with these insubordinate backwater savages, but she was past caring. Her reply to Maiek's defiance came out as a low, baleful hiss, one that didn't sound particularly human, let alone sane.

"It's been a long time since anyone chose to make themselves my personal enemy of their own free will, Kavoolite. This will be... refreshing."

She cut the circuit, struggling to concentrate on tactics rather than on the red mist pounding in her head. Think. You can still salvage the situation, limit the damage. Revenge is for later. Business before pleasure. Long years of discipline had drilled those lessons into her; she would not make the mistake of losing sight of her own interests at the first taunt.

A warning to the interdictor station- no, that would be superfluous; the skeleton crew had long since fled via shuttle, leaving the job of managing the station to its computers. For keeping a fleet locked down the expert systems were perfectly capable of running unsupervised. That they wouldn't be able to do so against two fleets at once was a limit of the hardware, not the operators.

Cosmog. She needed to alert Cosmog. Then the asset fleets, but Cosmog first. A thought and a gesture summoned the admiral's holographic image, floating in the simulator tank. Making the appropriate gesture of abasement, the moogle was first to speak.

"My humble apologies, High Admiral! The lost cruisers-"

Even Zokolova had difficulty keeping up a state of murderous rage while carrying on discussions with the chubby little fluffball. Even knowing what that keen, ruthless tactical mind was capable of, he still had a certain... je ne sais quoi. She cut off his attempt at self-justification.

"Irrelevant. Your reasoning is understood will be addressed at a later time."

"Your orders, then?"

"Expect Sixth Battlecruisers to attack interdictor grid, letting Enemy reinforcements attack you from behind. Be prepared to retreat. Keep sensor watch out, but continue to do as much damage to Prussians as is consistent with escape."

---

Recommended listening: Battle on the Ice

Kaiser-class Battleship Prinzregent Luitpold
Flagship Second Fleet
2033 Hours

"Word from Rear Admiral Meurer, sir..."

"Put him through."

Admiral Gregor von Mückenberger had made a pretty good guess as to the situation from the numbers alone. Meurer's grim, ashen face confirmed the guess. "We've knocked out five of those damn plasma destroyers for the loss of two of our screening vessels, but Flamme and Reisige are out of solid shot. They're throwing flak rounds with the fuzes switched off. That can't last, and my other ships are down to seven percent of magazine capacity."

"Secondary and tertiary weapons?"

"Better, but we can't use them, except at point blank range…"

"How are you for fuel?"

"No more than forty-five minutes at this rate, sir, sixty if we ease off on evasion and try to take more hits on the armor, if..."

"I know." At this point, their main power demands were dodging and powering shields; the new Zebesian fleet was fighting a long range action and were putting far more kilotons on target than his own command. Doing less dodging and accepting more hits on bare hull would keep the power flowing longer, at the price of more damage to the outer hull and armor belts; putting more power into the active defenses meant running out of fuel sooner- and a ship without fuel would die quickly in this environment.

They'd have to take the risk, to get those extra minutes. Von Mückenberger nodded. "Do it. That'll be a general order shortly. And Meurer?"

"Yes?"

"Word from the allies; the Eoghans are working on a plan to knock out the interdictor platform from long range with FTL torpedoes. They could break through in half an hour or so."

"Thank you, sir!" Meurer saluted; von Mückenberger cut the circuit.

What he hadn't told Meurer about the message he'd gotten from the Centralist flagship was that the Eoghans were launching from a range best described as "around the orbit of Pluto." Granted the Eoghan weapons had the speed to cross the distance, but he had no idea if the their 'aether torpedoes' had the drive endurance- and he was damned sure they didn't have the guidance to find a target a few kilometers across from several light-hours away. He assumed the allies expected to land hits somehow, but it was a forlorn hope, an obvious one. He was doomed- doomed and betrayed, with those few of his ships that had the fuel and ammunition to fight having quit the fields like the mincing little cowards they were…

He wanted to sink his head into his hands, but couldn't- one must keep up appearances. It was all collapsing around him. These impossible will-o-wisps in front of him, dancing away from his ships' bombardment and hammering him with their beam weapons, the same on the flanks, now those damned antimatter torpedoes coming in from dorsal. The only ships he had with enough ammunition to make a proper fight of it had cut and run, the damned cowards.

No. No. No...

A voice over the intercom- the flag captain: "Brace for torpedo impacts!" The admiral's eyes flicked up to the plot- another salvo of antimatter missiles from the unengaged group to dorsal. Every few minutes, the Zebesian cruisers would fling several dozen more of those little high-speed fireballs. The damned things slipped by point defense, snickered at ECM. The only thing that stopped them reliably was pattern fire from nuclear missiles, and he only had so many of those left... and yes, the captain had been right, the torpedoes were headed straight for his flagship. All of them.

Nein. Nein. Nein...

The enemy torpedoes had been launched in a staggered salvo, probably from Umerian-style launch tubes with small ready magazines, but these bastards didn't miss a trick. The individual groups flew at different accelerations to converge in a single massed bombardment against Prinzregent Leopold. Flak and QF guns on the battleships tried to bring them down, but they came in fast and clever, weaving back and forth, and their narrow profiles made them difficult to kill with barrage fire. He watched one of the torpedoes fly straight through the heart of a flak burst without even noticing it, slipping between the fragments even as two on either side vanished from the plot...

The ship rocked, groaned, convulsed as antimatter blasts flared round her on all sides. Shield generators groaned under the load, pouring more power through fast as their busbars could move it, trying to hold the defensive fields together... then failed.

The Kaisers were, in this respect, a testament to Prussian engineering. Individual defensive panels failed, yes- but slowly and gracefully, breakers cutting out before the generators themselves overloaded and destroyed themselves, and careful design work ensuring that failing panels didn't sabotage the last-ditch resistance of their neighbors. By the time the flagship's shields went down, virtually all the Kavoolite torpedoes had already detonated, and they would no doubt have ridden out the missile attack well enough, with minimal, superficial damage.

Unfortunately, Prinzregent Luitpold was also under fire from a Boskonian battlecruiser and three destroyers at the time. What the Kavoolites had started, Cosmog's macrobeams did their best to finish.

Nothing made of atoms could absorb that torrent of fire unmarked. Ultrawaves howled against the battleship's bare hull, thunderbolt-intense but far more than thunderbolt-powerful. No earthly bolt of lightning carried its power along a track meters across; no earthly bolt of lightning continued to cling to its target for second after second, rather than expending all its limited reserves of force in a single microsecond-long spark. The high-capacity ablatives of the flagship's outermost protective belt boiled away first by hundreds, then by thousands of tons, buying seconds of life for the Prussians as they burned to and beyond the point of vaporization, continuing to refract energy away from the hull even when reduced to a cloud of ionized gas.

The macrobeams tore into the heavy armor underneath. But this too was to prove a stubborn line of defense, a sandwich of meter-thick slabs of complex metamaterials, ultradense metals, and hyper-refractory ceramics. Cunningly aligned cofferdam spaces filled with low-density materials channeled superheated vapor away from the protective layers underneath, protecting them from the secondary effects of the Boskonians' fire. That bought still more time, allowing each millimeter of armor to resist to the utmost against the direct effects- again, to vaporization and beyond; the great theme of the design being to keep as much durable matter as possible in the path of enemy fire as long as possible.

By this point, the crews were beginning to react to their predicament, knowing they had seconds only to save the ship. In desperation, the helmsman redlined the ship's lateral thrusters, firing wildly in an attempt to sideslip the enemy's targeting. It wasn't enough- the macrobeams walked off target now and then, tracked onto undamaged armor rather more often, but kept drilling, if at reduced speed. Soon they were through the main armor belt entirely.

Normally, at this point a ship would be quickly destroyed. Prussian warships were not normal in this respect. When it came to their resistance to enemy fire, they had a hard crust, yes, but they didn't have a soft interior. They were, to paraphrase the original orkish, "bastard covered bastards with bastard filling." The macrobeams splashed against emergency barrier screens thrown up inside the hull, refracted into cofferdam spaces, and smashed headlong into countless bulkheads- bulkheads crossing the ship in all directions, each one made of the same kind of heavy, refractory, resistant materials that went into the main armor belt.

Far and away the majority of the Boskonians' energy was expended uselessly on titanic masses of armor plate. But the incoming fire was destroying systems, burning out compartments one by one. Soon deep rents, blazing with steel-mill heat, carved into the battleship's outer hull.

Disclaimer: Prussian battleship may not appear as depicted. However, the large glowing holes in it do.

It was this that caused the ship's forward auxiliary engines to break down at last- they could handle the temperatures, but couldn't handle having their power cut. And it was this that saved the ship. With her maneuvering thrust unbalanced, the ship's energetic attempts to dodge light-speed weapons fire became something more complex: a barely controlled three-dimensional spiral.

Gravitics scrambled to keep the acceleration from smashing her crew to paste as the battleship's acceleration whipsawed back and forth through the full range of her performance envelope in a matter of milliseconds- but they succeeded. And no fire control system could keep track of something so inherently unpredictable: a ship pitching and yawing wildly, her main engines thrown into the balance, a target unpredictable in three dimensions, on a course dictated more by random systems failures than by any intent of the helm.

The maneuvers were unsustainable- the crew was hopelessly disoriented within the first seconds, and the stresses on the ship's hull frames would have torn her apart in minutes- but they bought still more time. And Prinzregent Luitpold's sheer resistance had finally bought her enough time. The guns of Bödicker's Second Battle Squadron turned on the flagship's tormentors, bringing an end to her minutes of agony.

Von Mückenberger, meanwhile, was trying not to pass out from disorientation after being slung around at several dozen gravities along a trajectory that resembled a roller-coaster as designed by M.C. Escher. The accelerations he'd felt weren't nearly so bad, thanks to quick-acting gravitics, but that just meant he hadn't been crushed flat. Looking down to be sure his arms and legs were still there and hadn't been rearranged while the world turned inside-out on him, he tried to make sense of the chaos on the flagship status display.

Main battery at seventy percent, missile cells forward a total loss, but they were empty anyway... some major computing nodes burned out, but nothing that wasn't at least triple-redundant. The worst thing was the loss of steering forward, but the ship was still combat-capable. The admiral nodded to himself, then sighed.

The unengaged dorsal group was making his command's situation far more difficult. Damn von Musel! He'd needed those battlecruisers and their ammunition! Combined with the heavy beam fire from the enemy's center, those torpedo barrages posed a serious threat to his command, as he had just learned to his pain. He had a horrible feeling that this experience was going to be repeated for many of his ships, many times before help arrived- if help arrived.

---

Recommended Listening: Moving Mountains

Valkyrie-class Battlecruiser SMS Brunhild
Flagship Sixth Battlecruiser Squadron
2040 Hours

"Von Reuental had me worried for a minute. That man bears watching, Kircheis."

"He's a lot like you, in some ways."

"Perhaps." And perhaps I bear watching too...

They were coming up on the destination point- and thank what gods there be, the array hadn't turned out to be capable of stopping two fleets in opposite directions at the same time. Anyone still on that station must be getting desperate, and rightly so; they were in a nutcracker. He'd had all his ships on a hair-trigger alert approaching the array- painfully slow covering the last light-days in hyper, ready to drop out at the first hint that the buzzing static jamming the space to coreward of the array would expand to envelop his own command. No such hints had come.

Transition passed as usual- it was practically undetectable when it was planned properly, though the secondary effects of machinery shifting and changes in artificial gravity as sublight drives powered up were noticeable. Not too disconcerting, though, and Reinhard had much more important things to worry about.

They knew roughly where their target was; from hyperspace it lit up like a flare as the source of its own massive interdiction fields. Pinpointing in normal space was, if anything, harder- and yet utterly vital. Every minute they waited meant a greater risk they'd come back to a destroyed fleet.

"Sensors, target profile on that interdictor."

"Target bearing plus thirty by minus fifty-two, squadron relative. Range five point three million kilometers; target discrimination... bad, margin of error point four milliradians. Enemy EW very effective." Some kindly junior officer zoomed a section of the main tactical plot in on the target- or rather, the misshapen, flowing blob with the target was probably somewhere inside. Small craft buzzed around the station- must be from the allied contingents.

"Order to all ships: close the range at speed, keep trying to crack that jamming. Sensors, try to get a profile on those small craft from CIC."

The next minute seemed to last forever- finally, a reply came in.

"Looks like an Eoghan design- Heim-capable, can't be all that well armed. Not sure what they're doing, sir, though they do seem to be pecking away with fighter-weight weapons." Interesting. Clearly, someone out there had decided to try and get something into operational range of the interdictor; with hyperspace locked down, that left Heim drive. Which left them out of effective weapons range unless... hmm. Just how far could the Eoghans throw those torpedoes of theirs, in an emergency? He suspected he was about to find out.

"We've got it down to point three six milliradians." Still unacceptable.

"Keep trying." If they had to get in close for a fire solution, so be it, but that would consume precious minutes, and he was cutting the timing too close as it was.

"Sir, I've got a flare of exotics, looks like... querying CIC... Heim field came in at around 40c, then collapsed. Must be one of those aether torpedoes."

Reinhard nodded. "Any indication of damage?"

"No sir, the station must be very well shielded. And I see two more coming in... overshot. Passing us to starboard." Blurred lines on the display marked the path of the torpedoes as they screamed past at something over four hundred thousand kilometers' distance- a nicely safe distance, but discouraging.

They must be firing nearly blind... It would be a desperation tactic to take potshots with something as expensive as those missiles had to be, but at this range, what choice did they have? Maybe those small craft buzzing around the station were trying to spot the target for the Eoghans' torpedo fire.

But even if they were sporadic, those hits were exploitable. "Sensors, try to get a fix on the target from those exotics." No EW system he'd ever heard of could fake a direct hit from an FTL missile; if the blasts from the Eoghan weapons didn't give them something to lock onto, nothing would.

Again the interminable wait. The Eoghans scored another hit, several more misses, and flares in the deep field from what looked like tiny Heimships coming apart in mid-flight. Drive burnouts? Some of them were almost impossibly far short of their target; the aliens' attack must be a forlorn hope indeed. Another hit...

"Message from Reginlief; they're getting it! Target uncertainty down to six microradians and dropping." Not too bad- almost good enough, given a reasonable estimate of how big that station had to be.

"Very good. Tell them to keep on it, and share their findings. Also-" a pause for thought, but one imperceptible to an outside observer- "Message to the Sixth and Eleventh: "All ships, roll to present broadside, stand by for time on target attack on my mark." Then get those Eoghan craft out of the line of fire."

The mongoosoids' little guncraft were obviously trying, but their own weapons weren't even warming up the station's shields. The torpedoes, for all their massive, space-warping punch, weren't doing the job either: not quite enough power per shot to bring the defenses down in one go, and not hitting often enough to grind it down.

Could he do better? Time to find out, as the speedy gun-shuttles flowed away to a safe distance from the station.

"Target discrimination down to one microradian, sir, we're resolving the target..." A spot on subspace scanners, a different-shaped spot on radar pulses that were finally returning. Kilometers of metallic field emitter arrays, no doubt dotted with the shield generators and jammers that made this target a hard one- but the idea of component shots at this range was a joke; the best they had much hope of doing was concentrating an area bombardment into a small enough volume to put all their rounds on a target that size.

Seconds ticked by- the rounds were already in the ready magazines, but a squadron fire plan took a bit of time. Finally, all ships' indicators flicked green, gunnery computers done with their work.

"FIRE!"

Brunhild bucked sharply as the first broadside crashed out the tubes- a crisp, computer-controlled volley spaced by less than a millisecond. The next broadside- was it psychosomatic, or was the ripple bigger? Hard to say; he knew the second lot of rounds went out the tubes a few hundred KPS faster, but enough to feel? Then the next, and the next.

Every ship in the Sixth and the Eleventh poured it on, as fast as the busbars and loaders could bear. Each broadside faster, carrying a fraction more energy, with the muzzle velocities precisely calibrated. Barrel temperatures rose, organic supercoolant boiled off and trickled heat outward; the weapons officers knew their jobs though, and nothing went past redline before the final salvo went out the tubes at 108% of rated power. Cooling jackets glowed brick red, but that was within parameters, and the guns were already cooling off.

Nothing to do but wait; the rounds should be on target, but time of flight was measured in minutes... he leaned forward against his chair's shock frame, teeth on edge- he almost jumped for a split second before he realized the steadying hand on his shoulder was Kircheis, then relaxed... just in time to see a massive flash on subspace, shield scatter from over a thousand slugs hitting the interdictor's shields in the space of a millisecond.

"Sensors, report!"

"Picture clearing... field is still up!"

Mother of God... A battleship would have folded under a hit like that- if it were possible to do it against a maneuvering target, at any rate. "Anything more?"

"Should have spectroscopy in a few minutes, when the signal gets back, sir."

"Carry on." No way to hurry, that was a light speed sensor. "All ships, prepare for second time-on-target attack." This would take more time- cycling rounds up to the ready magazines, waiting for the guns to cool. Reinhard imagined lines of spacers transferring twenty-kilo slugs into the autoloaders by hand down in Turret Emil, for all the worlds as if nothing had changed in fifteen hundred years since Coronel and the Dogger Bank...

More minutes, more tension. He looked back at Kircheis, who smiled. "We'll get them, sir."

"Oh, we will." If I have to burn our barrels white doing it.

"Sir, we've got confirmed metal vapor from those last rounds- iron, beryllium, must have gotten burnthroughs. Some damage at least."

"Good." Very good indeed- they could kill this thing, hard as it might be. Reinhard checked the status lights. All green except for Güdr- they were having trouble with turrets Anton and Bruno, apparently.

"FIRE!"

Again the rhythmic crashes of the Valkyrie's main battery, building to a crescendo. Again the long wait, the muttered prayers from down by the bridge stations. Again the blaze of shield scatter through subspace, with no data from the lightspeed sensors for minutes to come. Again the shock as the target appeared, by some impossible feat of endurance to survive the barrage...

And cheers from every rating within earshot as the seething chaos of the hyperspace interdiction field started to evaporate, like a fogbank suddenly exposed to the noonday sun.

[Shroom Man 777]

“Attention, unknown stealth vessel,” it boomed over the comms. “You have been detected, and will explain your purpose here. Any attempt at evasion or resistance will be considered a hostile act and will be met by deadly force.”

SS Strudel
Deep Space, C-6
Unreal Time

The crews aboard the cloaked Blitz-class frigvette were on the verge of panic as the apparently very well-armed vessel approached them. However, in the bridge, two stood unperturbed by the sudden turn of events.



"Captain, the unidentified vessel has found us and it is hailing us," said adjutant Den Zel. "Vessel configuration has no known matches on any galactic record, sir."

"They must be the Lost, then," replied Captain Von Hackmann. He read the message the strange ship had sent them and considered his options. "Deactivate the cloak and bring us to a stop. Power down our weapons systems. Send the following message:

"We are the SS Strudel, operating under the Dead Sea Trading Company. Our purpose here is to explore the sector and find the source of the Lost transmissions, to verify whether they are genuine or not. It looks like we've found it, or rather it's found us, and apparently it looks genuine. We mean you no harm and we come in peace."

Von Hackmann finished his peace and nodded to Den Zel, who immediately sent the transmission. He tensed, awaiting the Lost ship's reply, and whether it was going to be a friendly response or a hostile one. Prior to his employment in the Dead Sea Trading Company, he had served in the Prussian fleet as a corvette captain before being dishonorably discharged after several instances of disregarding the commands of a superior officer. He had thought then, and still did, that they were overly too hesitant to get into the action. But now, Von Hackmann wondered if they were right all along. Either way, if things turned out for the worst, it looked like he would be finally getting some action here.

"Sir," Den Zel turned towards him. "We're getting a reply."