StarDestroyer.Net BBS

09) See Their Eyes Opened Wide


30 MAR, 2055
00:15:57


"Auxiliaries entering system under fighter escort," Master Chief Ava Earhart reported."Zera by foah, now won-five+zera megaklicks downrange, closing Thalassa, max av."

"Telegate targeting beacons strong and steady from all targets," NAS Enterprise's intel officer, Lieutenant Commander Yasmin Spovk reported

Lieutenant Commander Amy Bettincourt's guns hammered the final Reb starliner in near-Thalassa space to plasma and crunchy metal bits, as Chief Radioman Rhonda Klein reported "Skipper, comm from Nemesis Actual; second enemy JMOB entering system, predently plus five by fifteen, nine point foah teraklicks downrange, max av.” "

"When it rains, it pours," Rear Admiral Kimball Kinnison Aldrin observed.

“Doesn't it always, Skipper?” Commander Draco Kirk remarked, even as he juked, burned, and brought the armored cruiser's main arsenal to bear on an Argentine Schranhorst attempting to bring its 64 fifyrrn-inch r-guns to bear.

“Radio,” Kim ordered, “relay to Admiral Mantell Nemesis' telemtry.”

“Message sent,” Rhonda replied.

“I have an ident on inbound JMOB,”Yasmin reported.”CSS George Wallace.”

"Intel,”Kim said,” pipe JMOB commander's psych profile to my BCI, if you'd be so kind "

The psychological profile of one Vice Admiral Kennissw Mountain Sipe instantly appeared in front of her right eye.

A few monents' study if same, and Kim further instructed Yasmin:

"Send this to Admiral Mantell as well. '"

"Data sent, Skipper," Yasmin replied, as the auxiliaries closed to two hundred kiloklicks of Thalassa, and held position.


30 MAY, 2055
00:15:57


Press With Rancor gave up, after the third time his BCI told him "no Internet," shortly after being abruptly kicked from YouTube.

He could still connect to his P2500s and nearly everything else in Naxos, and that would have to do for now, as he was en route to an audit of a homeless camp on the north side of own

He joined a freedom caravan headed for the camp as well, after Press With Rancor, Footloose, couple others in the suddenly terminated live had declared open season on the bums living in tents, and leeching off the white man.

He sent the P2500s up ahead, after one more sharp right turn put him on Goodwill Road, a cracked and narrow road terminating in a rusted chain-link fence underneath the Downport Expressway overpass.

He had to pull the cam drones back a bit, the forks of lightning interfering with telepresence via BCI.

That lightning arcing down, disintegrating a tall, gnarled, purple-leaved tree with reddish bark which had grown through the cracks in the middle of the road, as the wind picked up, and started batting Press With Rancor's private conveyance areound like a cat toy.

The rest of the convoy gunned theiir engines, and bulleted toward the rusted fence, Press With Rancor following suit, the mass of all the onrushing vehicles easily tearing through the fence, and into tents, shanties, and fires, the vehicles running down, and crushing vermin underneath their wheels.

Press With Rancor unbuckled his seat belt, and rolled out of the driver's, as streams of blue fire turned the Charger into a colander, before detonating the fuel tank, the First Amendment auditor on his knees, returning fire from multiple points within the homeless camp.

30 MAY, 2055
00:16:10

"First and Ninth Fleets away," his chief of staff, Rear Admiral TJ Holt reported from the center of CSS [i\]George Wallace's[/i] CIC, Vice Admiral Kennissw Mountain Sipe watching the N.C.O. First and Ninth Fleets 2,880 warships, carrying all 144,000 men of the 1st, 2nd, and 3rd Naval Infantry Containment Corps, and supported by all 14,400 of the platform's F-41Cs, close with the 2,190 enemy starliners and cruisers, 1,190 of which had just annihilated Keithley's entire command.

"Approaching landing zone," the chief quartermaster at the helm reported, as the 750 million-ton Robert E. Lee-class Joint Mobile Operations Base now hovered over a deep crevasse on a Titan-sized body deep crevasse n the interior of 61 Cygni's' Kuiper belt, and descrnded on its RCS thrusters.

"Fighters now fully engaged against inbound enemy fleets.," Wallace's CAG, Commodore Darius Haymer, reported.

Sipe nodded….all according to his brilliant plan; he knew Ike Mantell would divert at least two fleets to stop him landing the NICCs on Thalassa to carry out Midian Protocols, and Sipe had planned accordingly.

Given nearly even odds(and white male supremacy, as ordained by God), First and Ninth Fleets and their fighter support would easily win through, deal with the surviving enemy warships in near-Thalassa space, as well as the four 950,000-ton assault carriers and the gaggle of other auxiliaries holding station 200 kiloklicks from the planet, then scour the planet itself largely clean of life, black bagging only those tyrants old enough to be used, young enough to be broken to the white man's yoke, as specified by Moses Himself, the greatest general in the history of the Lord God's Grand Old Republic.

There was a slight crunching sound which reverberated throughout CIC, as the platform touched down at the bottom of the crevasse.

"Deploy remote antennae," Holt ordered."Deploy all mining and industrial platforms; we'll harvest as much of the Kuiper belt as we can, before shifting locations. industrial, shipyards, Combat, I want new cruisers and starliners being spat out of this platform like a rat making babies, no excuses, twenty-four hour shifts, until further notice. Mining detail to be deployed to this planetoid as well; just because we're using it for cover doesn't mean we can't harvest it for raw materials. That is all, Combat out "

"Combat," the platform's resurrection center chimed in,"Re-Rezz. That last fight trying to cleanse Barnard's Star left us low on biomass for the chrysalises. We'll have barely enough to complete the Re-Rezz of another fifty full crews; beyond that–"

'God willing," Sipe commented, as, in the main holobiewer, he watched Mantell's 12,500 remaining warships take up station 250 kiloklicks from Thalassa,'you will have biomass enough to re-rezz every man jack aboard this platform, and then some "

"Understood," the resurrection center replied "Re-rezz out."

30 MAY, 2055
00:16:26

It had been close.

And, in spite of not losing a Marine, not without cost.

Del sat on a pile of crates, re-reading Amanda Potter's after-action report.

There had been accounts, for years, about the horrible things League dicksuckers did to those unlucky enough to be taken as slaves, things such as sensory deprivation, indoctrination, starvation, using men braincorded into women's bodies to break them utterly...

Del's Marines more often than not, fought Nickies, like they had to on the moons of the super-Jovian Jack Pumpkinhead(Tu Ceti VI) in six of the worst months of their lives, just before being deployed to Thlassa.

Reb Naval Infantry Containment troopers black bagged girls on the cusp of puberty, brutalizing and murdering everyone else, and were right bastards. in and of themselves.

As were the Reb occupation forces on Thalassa.

Amanda and her girls, after punching through thr ambush waiying at the lift doors, had to fight room by room, to secure a chamber of horrors rivalling the Nazi death camps liberated by the Allies during the Polish War over a hundred years ago.

And, they hadn't been the only ones to do so.

War had ways of killing without inflicting physical trauma.

A 150-ton Stridsvagn 220 Testudo chariot of the Royal Mechanized Regiment rumbked slowly past her, its main turret slewing around, almost as if its eight-inch main, 40mm coax, and 25mm top-mount accelerators were all sniffing for more targets; First Combined-Arms Division had gated in, en masse, after Oak nine hundred Marines had made entry, none of the Reb garrison surrrendering in the series of short, sharp firefights which had followed.

Above her, a pair of Lightning heavy fighters pumped 25mm, five-, and eight-inch rounds into random parts of Naxos, while Boxcar tilt-jet transporters hovered over the former garrison's landing field, before going into forward thrust, and moved toward a column of smoke in the distance.

"Six," her executive officer, Lieutenant Colonel Selena Duffy said, as she joined her,"got orders."

So they had, Del glancing at them on her BCI's holofield.

"Right," she said, gathering up her L22, as she got to her feet.

'Dropshios on the ground, loading up," Selena said, as the two women walked toward the landing field,

Del nodded, as she came within sight of her command troop's Comet dropship, and Five Section climbing aboard it, while Seven Section, and rock apes assigned to 1st Combined Arms' RAF air wing's security commando, kept guard.

Del waited til all of Five Section were up the ventral airlock ladder, then, One Section and she covered Seven Section, as they boarded, Del then remaining behind to cover the rest of her command section, as they boarded.

Once the Mika reported the rest of the section were aboard and secured , Del ascended the ladder, pulling it up behind her, when she gained the troop bay, then belting herself into her jump seat

The Comet shot into the air a moment after Del reported everyone aboard and safe.


30 MAY, 2055
00:16:26

Almost three thousand Reb warships came at them in a formation known as a Lensman"s Wheel, allowing all of them to fire as one unit on the survivors of the the NAIF's Seventh and RCN Fourth Fleets.

'All ships, break, break, break!" Phyll ordered over battle group tacnet, even as Electra shoved the Old Oak sharply down and violently hard to starboard, then tilting the ship up, so that her guns bore on the undersides of the enemy machines.

Petra hammered at them in passing, Heart Of Oak coming about, righting herself, after clearing the tail end of the enemy's formation.

"Engineering, Combat!" Phyll ordered."Override safeties, overcycle Bergen generator; Number One, stay with 'em. Guns, keep firing!"

"Safeties overridden," Meg replied over the higher-pirched whining of the Bergen jenny, and the attendant cachphiny of alarms."Generator overcycling "

"Av now foah-tree- niner decimal five terakips," Electra reported, as salvo after salvo from Petra's guns knocked Reb warships out of formation, some for good, too many others riddled stem to stern with glowing, gaping holes, merely turning round, and committing themselves to a death ride to allow their undamaged comrades a chance to make it to Thalassa, and drop their cargoes of Nickies to kill everything on the planet.

"Enemy launching dropships and heavy starlift vehicles," Kylien reported." Closing Thalassa, foah-tree-niber decimal five terakips."

"AuxCon, Combat," Phyll said,"enemy small craft, inbound Thalassa, foah-tree-niber decimal five terakips "

"AuxRadar has acquired, Skipper," Shanise's holo replied "Doing what we can."

"Copy," Phyll replied, as Oak, Churchill, and Warspite cleared the formation of cripples, and their interceptor batteries began scouring enemy small craft from space, even as the three cruisers' surviving Shield Maidens streaked past and pounced on any dropships and heavy starlifters still flying.


30 MAY, 2055
00:17:01

"Are we, His People," exhorted Reverend Joshua Flint over a megaphone,"going to letradical Left tyrants and bullies drag us back into the tyranny of equality?!"

"NO!*" roared the patriots assaulting the camp full of vermin, even as violent, loony, liberal terrorists took them under fire.

"Are we going to allow them and their Cabal to put us back in chains, back into the enforced mediocrity of diversityand inclusion?!" Flint then demanded.

"NO!" they, His People, the only People, cried as one.

"Will we ever allow niggers, dykes, and freaks to ever be proud of themselves ever again?!" Flint asked, and His People, with a single powerful shout, said "HELL NO!"

Then, without further preaching, they swarmed through the camp, guns blazing, Flint his AR-27 7.62mm accelerator rifle in hand, following them, taking cover behind the burning wreck of what had been some sovereign private conveyance, firing long rippling bursts into the ragged collection of tents, lean-tos, and shanties ahead of him, as blue fire tore through the car's blazing carcass, taking a couple of patriots beside Flint to glory.

The pastor of the Seven Moutains Dominionist Church of Naxos, and life long member of Thlassa's governing Klavern, was certain of that, certain, that, though cut off from the Internet by the Disciples of the Grand Klaven in New Jerusalem, forever denied the Blessed Hope of resurrection by the harlot, the fornicator, the sodomite, the dlave and the tyrant, white men were God's People, therefore destined for mansions and thrones in the Kingdom Of Heaven that lay beyond the Antarctice ice wall.

Flint crawled on his belly away from the burning car, just as bullets flew through it and where his head had been moments earlier

"American girl, American guy," one of his fellow patriots sang, amidst the crackling of the fire all round them. " We'll always stand up, and salute! We'll always recognize. When we see the old Southern Cross flying, that's there a lotta white men dead! So We, His People, can sleep in peace at night, when we lay down our heads!"

"Praise the Lord!" Flint shouted in reply, amidst a righteous chorus of “Deo vindice!”s "Hallelujah!"s and "You tell 'em, Brother!"s, as white, Christian men, image bearers of the Lord, Jesus Christ, and His begotten Son, Billy Sunday, sang the the anthem of the Restored American Republic in earnest, as they continued advancing upon their enemies, as the mighty, righteous host that they were.

30 MAY, 2055
00:17:01

"Entering Achernar system heliosphere," the senior chief quartermaster at Leonidas Polk's helm reported.

"Pioneer now won-five teraklicks directly astern," reported another watchstander.

"Engineering, Combat," Vice Admiral Alexander S. MacKenzie-Calhoun ordered, without hesitation, as he stared at the main holoviewer,"overcycle warp generators, get me more speed! We must beat those Mormon cocksuckers to the punch! Pike, fleet status?!"

"All five fleets restored to full strength and manning," Rear Admiral Robert Pike reported,"however, we are critically low on biomass and replicator feedstock. If we don't begin harvesting op–"

"Avril, talk to me!" MacKenzie-Calhoun spat " What's in this system?"

His Klan liaison officer, Commodore Jean-Christophe Avril, replied,"Fifteen planets orbiting both stars, two of which are within their combined Goldilocks zones, the sixth and seventh planets, both of which are jointly claimed and contested by the Haziri Unification and the Klahrun Republic."

"Howlers and Chromedomes," sniffed MacKenzzie-Calhoun.*Use the proper terminology, Commodore; they are not sovereigns, and not worthy of anything but slavery and extermination, praise the Lord "

"For God is good," Avril replied " The Admiral is, of course, correct."

"No shit," MacKenzie-Calhoun smugly replied, as the helmsman reported,"Pioneer has overcycled its warp generators, now closing us rapidly, currently won-five-oh gigaklicks downrange."

"Fuck," MacKenzie-Calhoun swore, as Polk closed a sullen, bluish-tinged brown dwa–

30 MAY, 2055
00:17:18

"Combat," Portia reported as the shriek of the Dark Horse's Bergen generator changed to it more normal whibe,"Engineering. Diwncycling, max av."

."Copy," Rita replied, as Tina's salvos forced still more crips to shed their small craft, and come about to engage the Nak and RCN warships, and allow the undamaged comrades the opportunity to bull through the two fleets' remaining 1,876 machines, and land their Naval Infantry butchers on Thalassa.

Battle Squadron 421 skinned over the crips, driving rounds through their hulls at point-blank range, the twelve ships'interceotors then ripping apart C-37 and C-56 transports, while their main batteries hammered the arse ends of the uncrippled enemy machines, taking out scores of them, scores more only badly damaged by intercepted and fragmented ordinance, turning to engage the RCN battle squadron, as 423rd Battle Squadron, led by Commodore Gideon Maxwell's King Charles III Gustav, pulled up even with Bucephalus and the rest of the 321st Battle Squadron, causing still more damaged Reb wankspanbers to turn from Thalassa, punch their small craft, and engage the Allied warships.

Until the Royal Dutch Starmarine's Second Fleet opened fire from directly astern of the Rebs, and removed that option, their interceptors making short work of theirdropships and heavy starlifters, as the survivinf Nak and RCN ships caught up to the two squadrons led by the Dark Horse.

Caught between teo fires, the remaining Rebs were dispatched in short order.

"Skipper," Kris reported, "am readingpower, thrust and Bergen generatir activity from one of the dwarf planets in the Kuiper belt.

At the extreme edge of the master holoproj 's field of view, a Cherenkov radiation flash indicative of quantum tunnel transition appeared in the system's Kuiper belt.

"Which one," Rita asked," as if I had to guess? "

"Unable to ascertain, Skipper," Kris answered"but, I'd say it was the one the enemy JMOB chose to use for a bolthole, if I had to guess."


30 MAY, 2055
00:21:20

It would've been simpler, more efficient, just to have bots and nanites do the work.

But, there was a certain pleasure in watchibg lazy niggers, good for nothing dykes, and demon-possessed,parasitic, sexually-confused freaks, all of whom would've perished without the handouts from the They/Them Rothschild corporate Shadow Government, finally being put to work by their own, knee-booted, white-skirted, halter-topoed subhuman kind

Master At Arms 2C Callum Rodriquez tried not to smile too much, as he watched Harpies tear into barely-pantied slave girl ass with their razor-wire whips, while screaming for the degenerate lazy sluts to "work harder, bitches! " calling them lazy, good for nothing cunts, reminding them their days of collecting corporate welfare checks, and eating bon bons were well behind them, and they had to actually pull their own weight in the Restored American Republic, praise the Lord.

"Rodriquez!" Senior Chief Master At Arm Dwight Kowalski shouted in his helmet,"are you fuckin' dead from the neck up, or is Dumbfuck your native language?!"

"Chief?!" Rodriquez , abruptly distracted from the show the slaves and tyrants were putting on for him, replied.

"All right, tard," Kowalski growled," I'll explain it again, this time in words of one fuckin' syllable. Metzger's squad missed their check in, and I can't raise them on connns. So, I need you and your gang of utter fuckups just got volunteered to–"

"Fu–" came from Seaman 2C Caleb Allted further up the sealed and aied-up mining tunnel, before the ripping sounds of heavy accelerator fire cut him off.

And, scaly blue reptilian creatures in golden-brown suits of powered armor fell upon the rest of Rodriquez"s squad, chopping them up for dog meat left and right, as Rodriquez returned their fire with hid Armalite M30 60mm storm gun, backpedaling all the wh–

10) Down the Mississippi

30 MAY, 2055
00:21:20

"Our God! Is an awesome God! He reigns! On Heaven and Earth!" the patriots in the burning bush now yowled, as they advanced, Darla and the other Resisters, hunkered down behind syill more blazing undergrowth, swept 180 degrees of arc ahead of them with their weapons, quickly reloading while others behind them continued firing into the blaze, unabated by the pouring rain, exacerbated by howling winds and violent flashes of lightning.

"'Surely the Welsh can do better than that, Owen!'" Darla heard one of the older Resisters quip, as she vectored a steady stream of blue fire from her Ruger 50-14 accelerator rifle.

"I ain't Welsh, possum," Darla remarked, as,, from the remaining Resisters, first, one at a time, then all together, sang out "Your Fraud! Is such a Monstrous Fraud! It reeks! It reeks–"

"-- with wisdom, , and love! Our God is an awesome God!" the burning bush counterpointed, as those within it fired and inexorably advanced toward Darla and the others.

"--the innocent blood It's shed. Over two thousand years!" the voice of Resistance, Darla included, sang, as they returned fire.

"'--is an awesome God! He reigns! On Heaven and Earth!'" the patriots continued howling, as they came closer, chopping into the Resisters the entire ti–

"'Well, we! Fired our guns, and the British kept a comin'!'” came singing and blue fire blast great, bloody gouts in the burning bush ahead of Darla *'There wasn't as many, as there were a while ago!”

"'We fired once more, and they began to runnin'!'" Darla found herself singing a song about a battle the pre-Union British Empire had lost, as she continued firing,"'Down the Mississippi. To the Gulf Of Mexico.''"

Though, Darla thought, as she reloaded, then resumed firing,if I remember my history correctly, we lost that battle after we'd already won that war.”

30 MAY, 2055
00:23:40

"Sir!" a watchstander cried out "Contact lost with all mining details!"

"What?!" Sipe, already unable to comprehend that the planetoid he'd chosen as momentary refuge had just moved, could only ask in stupefied credulity.

"Contact lost with First and Ninth Fleets!" still another watchstander reported, as Holt ordered "Beat to quarters! All hands, prepare to repel boarders! Quartermaster, lift ship, now, now NOW!"

Wallace's torches and RCS thrusters lit up with a scream, as the JMOB started lifting, as Sipe regained enough of his senses to demand,"Holt, what the fuck do you think you're doing?!"

"We put down inside one of Gypsies' fucking asteroid ships, ,and, now, the dickkess blue wonders want to fucking kill us all! Sir!" Holt spat in reply, before shouting,"Engineering, Combat! Stand by for emergency upcycle! All ha--”

30 MAY, 2055
00:23:40

When one sees something the size and mass of Titan run down, at max av, one of the largest megastructures humabity had ever built, then blow it away with a single eight-ton penetrator from the forests and mountain rangees of big r-gun batteries on its surface, the only logical response was “Jesus, holy God.”

At least Kum thought so, as she watched the Gindaro mobile planetoid blow away the JMOB with a single 36” turanium penetrator fired from somewhere along its equator.

Or, maybe that was the slowly-ebbing heat in Enterprise's CIC talking, the commander of Fleet Scouting Group 55 taking another pull from her saline bottle, as Lieutenant Commander Demeteria Svott's holo reported,”Combat, Engineering. All radiators re-installed, internal heat 90 degrees, falling. All other damage under repair.”

“Primary ficon back online,” Amy reported, even as her guns turned a Reb starliner into plasma and metallic crunchies.

“Twelve,” Ava then reported,”won-two, additional quantum tunnel signatures detected in system Kuiper belt, and they're frickin' huge.”

“The Gyps had a whole damn gindaro in the belt, and we never even knew it,” Yasmin reported, as in the master holoptoj, twelve more asteroids and planetoids, ranging from Luna and Titan-sized to ones the size of Ceres, followed the first great gindaro put of the Kuiper belt.

“”All inbounds on direct intercept,” Ava reported,”won-five gigaklicks downrange, max av.”

“Lead vesel comming Upper Michigan,” Rhonda reported,”asking for Admiral Mantell directly.”

30 MAY, 2055
00:25:00

"I'm gonna rape your ass, then kill you real good!" hissed a little brat, as he jumped Marine Lunette Colbert, futilely clawed at her suit.

Del caved his fucking skull in with the butt of herheavy accelerator, and Lunette kicked his dead weight off her, as Oak's 900 Marines reached the perimeter of the Resistance encampmebt, the Resistance workers behind the blazing undergrowth keeping their weapons trained on the Marines, as one of them, a squat young blonde with massive knockers, rose from her prone position, left her accelerator rifle slung over her left shoulder, and, approached Del with her mediglived left hand out.

"Lwftwnant Darla Garrision, detached service, Marine Recon.Wibbke wibbke doo," she said, as she shook hands firmly with Del, and the pneumo in the young woman's medigauntlet but through Del"s right gauntlet and into the palm of her hand

*Colonel Adele Lazenby, commanding Heart Of Oak's Marine landing force.Fibble fibbble fibble," Del replied, as the pnurmo built into her right gauntlet returned the favor

Tt was the work of a moment for her suit's genscanner to compare the DNA sample Del had just taken to the one on file for Lieutenant Darla Garrison, Royal Marines Recon, on temporary detached service with the Resistance.

"Sir" Darla said simply, Del saying "Leftenant," in answer .

"We can scare up some grub, coffee, at least," Darla then said, to nods from the other Resistance workers. "We're short on medical supplies, and trained medical personnel, and we've been getting not just wounded from the fighting, but folks needing just basic healthcare, you've no idea just how bad…"

"Corpsmen will assist the medics," Del ordered, as, in small groups, her Marines crossed the camp perimeter. "Gun Sections will establish a perimeter round the camp, and mount guard duty; see to that, will you, Ex?"

"Sir," Selenal said.

“I'll also need details to put these fires out,” Del added, as sections of Marines were already attending to that.

30 MAY, 2055
00:25:00

The slave struggled to its feet, amidst a rain of lashes from Miss Chanta's whip,.

"Now, ya lazy little whore!" Miss Chanta screamed at it, as it held on to the rocky face of the shaft it was trying to hammer a nanite spike into, another slash across its bottom reminding it to "fuckin' pick up your tools, ya no-good, parasitic little sl–"

Then, there was a loud sound like ripping cloth, something wet and sticky splattering itself all over the slave's back, as it turned, saw Naval Infantrymen and Harpies firing on, and being ripped apart by ..scaly, blue things with brownish shells, either wielding big, boxy, multi-barrel accelerators, or slicing through Harpies and Naval Infantrymen with thin wires vibrating from cylindrical handles, and shrank back, trembling, eyes wide, as it dropped the nanospike and the heavy mallet it used to hammer nanospikes into the wall, and tried desperately to find someplace to hide.

"C'nere, ya rancid little cunt!" one of the Harpies, Miss Cherry growled, as she grabbed the slave by its matted, dirty hair, dragged it to her boots, and shoved it's head underneath her skirt with a "gon' give me some bootie, fo' you di–"

Then, one of the things stood over the cowering slave, Miss Cherry lying face down between them, blood pouring out of her neck.

"P-pkease…." was all the slave could stammer out, as the thing effortlessly picked it up in its arms, and cradled it.

"Those who hurt the little ones must end," the creature sang, with a voice more pleasing than its appearance would have suggested " That is the Law we sing, young gindarchem. You are safe now."

"I don't believe you," the slave found itself sobbing, before bracing itself for certain punishment

"It saddens me to hear you sing of that, young gindarchem " the creature, sounding g genuinely sad, and at the same time, tired, sang to the slave.

"Nevertheless, I understand."

Epilogue: Come And See

30 MAY, 2055
07:26:23

Admiral Ichabod “Ike” Mantell motioned for NAS Upprt Michigan's CIC team to stand down, as the Deputy CIFO of the North American Interstellar Fleet rose from his chait, and walked toward the blue-scaled, ornately-robed, meter-sixty tall alien emerging from the quantum tunnel which had formed on the Seventh Fleet flagship's sweltering, red-lit command deck.

“You.” the alien, male, apparentally, asked, without preamble,”Ichabod Admiral Mantell [iUpper Michigan[/i] North American Interstellar Fleet, grandson of Thomas Admiral Mantell Odyssey Chiron 13?”

If that didn't take Ike aback.

Absolutely no one below admiral knew the truth about the first expidition to Kobol, which was fuel for fevered conspiracy nutter butters on the Internet, but, it simply could not be helped.

The alien had a metal-covered, metal-foil tome in his hands, and, unless Ike was wrong, that tome had a twin in a SCIF on Tranquility Stardock.

“Iam Saleesh Qadaram Quoteff Zhrinkorfa Intekjaynem,” the alien said.”Just as I sang with your grandfather over the world known as Kobol eighty-five of your ywaes ago, I would sing with you now.”

“Okay,” Ike said, as he turned toward the wardroom.”If you'd follow me.”

06 JUNE, 2055
07:56:00

"-- trying to blame their long-discreditrd and debunked bullshit climate change narrative," Matt Walsh remarked, on Terry R. Eicher's live,"for there hardly being any food on the fucking shelves, or, even baby formula, for that matter."

"Or," said Rodney Johnson, as he gutted some old nig like a fish, and took the gallon of milk from his cold, dead hands,"why you gotta pay a arm, a leg, and both your balls for a jug of milk."

He shot some other fucker about to glom on to the last pack of Kraft Singles, as he made his way through the dairy department at Aldi in Sherman, Texas, the forty-year old professional driver then grabbing all the butter and eggs still in the cooler, using his Smith and Wesson Model 502 autorevokver to put 280 grams of turanium through some motherfucker trying to reach in his cart

"We on to that shit, tho," Oreo then said in the live streaming on Rodney's BCI, Oreo's brother Bobo, adding "dam' sho' are. They jus' tryin' to put the white man back in the bondage of they Rothschil' corporate slavery."

"Worse than that, Brother Man," 33 You See said."All part of the elites' plan to make the white man extinct and replace him with apes, amd monkeys, by forcing us to choose between their fake, soy, GMO garbage grown in some lab in Yokohama, or starvation."

"Death," Russian Vids remarked, as Rodney shot a motherfucker reaching for a pack of bologna in the lunch meat section, then taking the last couple packs of hot dogs, and the last paackage of bacon, fucking turkey bacon at that "for the white man either way, as the soy and the mRNA in their fake, weaponized food turns us all into more of them."

Two dudes were fighting over the last package of ribeyes in the meat cooler,, and Rodney shot both of them dead, taking the steaks for himself, then emptying both men's carts into his own, slitting someone else's throat while he was reaching for the only twenty-four pack of Coca-Cola left on the shelves .

"Hey!" some idiot in a Aldi shirt shouted, as he left his point of sale terminal intercepted Rodney, and held on to the front of his cart," you gotta pay for all that."

Levelling the autorevokver between the corporate slave's eyes, Rodney reminded him," I know my Constitutional rights, and, as a sovereign white man bearing the image of God, I have an unalienable right to food, clothing, and shelter, without having to enter into no fuckin' contract or business relationship to get those things. Now, fucking move out of my way "

"You are violating my Cons–" the corporate bootlicker had the balls to start to sass Rodney, before a ripping burst of blue fire shredded him up for dog meat.

A short redneck, with more Dunlap than greasy naked biker chick short t-dhirt , grinned at Rodney with marijuana-stained teeth, as he held a smoking M24 in his hairy paws, and informed Rodney,"I'll be tskin' what's mine now, boy."

"Fuck you," Rodney countered, aimingg the Model 502 right between the stupid eednck's piggish little, brown eyes.

"Don't make me hafta execute you for treason, an' put a lien on all your shit boy," the redneck warned, aiming his accelerator rifle dead at Rodney "I'm within my Constitutional rights to seize that swag ya got, in my capacity as a common law judge, private attorney general, and a whi–"

A thought was all it took for Rodney to close his weapon's triggering circuit, and explode the redneck's head like a rotting pumpkin, Rodney then taking the dead man's weapon, all his spare mags, his BCI, Rolex, pinky ring, gold chain with its large golden cross, and, finally, about a half dozen metal fillings, couple which looked like they were platinum.

"Punitive damages," he told the smoking headless corpse."Levied in my capacity as a comment in-law judge, private attorney general, and a white man bearing the image of God."

He then wheeled his shopping cart out into the lot, boots crunching on fake-ass snow,(since the chemtrailled so-called snow wasn't melting when it fell around the blazing remains of the Boot World next door), as he rolled the cart to the cab of his Grandpa Johnson's 2021 GMC Sierra, loaded the groceries in back, got in, fired it up, and slammed on the gas, as he screamed out of the lot onto US Highway 82.


6 JUNE, 2055
08:11:15

They walked arm in arm, along the banks of the River of Dreams which bisected the city of Bethesda, on Canaan

It was almost as if Sylvia Tilly was home, most of the buildings, street vendors, river traffic, sights, sounds, smells, all as she'd remembered them being when she'd been a child growing up on Kentaurus.

Even the sky, indigo, Toliman a blinding Creamsicle orange white, Rigil Kentaurus a point of yellowish brilliance off in the distance, was the same, the familiar warm breeze of a Kentaurian summer ruffling her hair and thr gorgeous blond locks of Deiiah Thorez, the breeze bringing with it the equally familiar smells of spiced, frying food from the vendors just now setting up their carts.

But, Srlvia and Thorez weren't home, not in their time and place, and neither Kentaurian nor Deian wanted to go back.

The devil you knew wasn't always better.

"Baby?" Thori asked.

"Homesick," Sylvia told her.," But not really, strange as that sounds."

"Not strange," Thori, smarter than her truly goddes-like looks would suggest, remarked." We're in another time and place, a better one, but...I find myself thinking of Deiia, the rolling plains, soft breezes smelling of the sea....”

She trailed off, the two women guided by their noses toward a young Hispanic couple dispensing various tortilla-wrapped meats from a six-wheeled panel van of a shade of green which could be seen from orbit.

"Haven't had breakfast," Sylvia commented," and the smell's making me hungry."


" Yeah," Thori said, as she led the two of them to an opening, at the rear of the van, the chubbier of the two women, her face hardly lined at all, brightly wished the two of them good morning, then asked them if they liked anything to eat.

"The steak and potato carnitas," Sylvia decided, after a quick skim of the holoptojected menu," sound scrumptious; I'll take four of them, along with a large orange and mango juice, light ice."

*Chicken and cheese quesadillas," Thori decided," two of those, and some fried rice on the side, along with an unsweet tea."

The chubby Hispanic woman then repeated both orders, in Salvadoran or Nicaraguan Spanish, to her her short, lithe companion already frying the tortillas for their order, the cook repeating the order back, to which the chubbier woman replied "gracias," before displaying a receipt in front of her right eye, and telling them," that will be ten ameros even for everything "

"My treat, babe," Sylvia said, uploading ten North American Dollars to the woman's account via her recently-installed BCI.

The chubby woman fixed their drinks,and Sylvia took a sip of the sweet orange-mango drink, then stepped aside to let a young black woman with a gaggle of kiddos order their food, Sylvia catching a glimpse of the replica NAS Columbia poking its nose from behind a stand of trees.

In her time and place, Humans had only managed to land on Earth's Moon, in what space deniers derided as trash cans made of curtain rids and tin foil, while these humans, in a 190,000-ton cruiser resembling the one in First Landing Park, under the command if Captain Edwin Aldrin, had made it here, travelling faster than light, something the Humans of Sylvia's Earth would not discover on their own, being, as they were, in the grip of a second Dark Ages, but brought to their doorstep by Kentaurian explorers four hundred years after the fall of global civilization.

"These Humans should be proud of themselves," Thori remarked, lightlu hold Sylvia's hand, ss she too gazed upon the replica of the Columbia.

“These Humabs,” Sylvia reminded her,”are fighting to survive, because other Humans want to end them.”

A silence, then Thori said:

“I know that too, my love.”

6 JUNE, Y168
11:15:00

Amy Lynn Benedict-Arnall, once a Federation Councillor from Terra Nova, charged into the newly-elected Prime Minister of the Terran Dominion's office, spitting fire..

"What the fuck's the meanin' of this?!" the bleached-blonde, overindulged trailer park trash brattily demanded, as she stood toe to toe with Slidell." We had a deal, you assh--”

YOU WILL STRIP! Slidel, easily imposing his will on the silly mundane bitch, thundered in her mind.NOW!

She removed every stitch of clothing, including her stockings and ankle straps.

[o]ON! TOUR! KNEES![/t] was the next thought in her empty little head.

So complete was this P12-rated telepath's control, the mundane didn't even wonder what was happening to her.

She simply went down on her knees, and, at the next thought in her head, began licking the expensive Gucci shoes of Mitch Slidell, born Alfred Bester in another time and place.

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