StarDestroyer.Net BBS

Esper Athlete Village
The Centrality
16 August 3400


Horace Michaels was still unsettled by the Centrality's society and the omnipresent propaganda and material extolling the virtues of single-minded devotion to "the Central State". He was a 129 year old Esper, Class 5 rating, and the leader of the Anglian Esper Athletic Society's team of six that had opted to participate despite the lack of an official national team by either the Anglian Olympic Committee nor HM Government. The ESAS had promoted sending a team despite the uniform lack of attending Anglian watchers; even their own families had refused to come. Nobody wanted to end up accidentally walking on the wrong grass and getting imprisoned for years in the Centrality.

He was about to settle into sleep to prepare for the next day's events when there was a knocking at the door. He answered it and found a box waiting for him. Looking it over and determining there was no threat with his direct-perception abilities, he opened it....

As he went to look down to view the contents, an automated voice said the words, "Remember kids, Espers aren't actually Human." The miniature visage of Shepistan's brutal dictator greeted him. He lifted the action figure into his hands and concentrated slightly. His direct-perception abilities allowed him to discern the makeup of the toy. It's nothing more than a crude piece of plastic and electronics, he thought dismissively. Someone's idea of a bloody joke.... He put the toy in the box, closed it, and threw it in a trash receptacle. A faint "Commie sons-of-bitches..." came from within before a press of his foot opened the receptacle's bottom and plunged the toy into the building's trash heap.

Esper Athlete Village
The Centrality
16 August 3400

Deepak Asthana of the Umerian Precision Electromagnetics Team wandered back to his bunk. Typical of Umerian espers, his abilities were diagnosed at an early age and he was more or less bodily thrown into a training program to make the most of them. That involved less practice and more classroom time than one might think; he'd topped out at a masters' in electrical engineering. Tinkering with electronics and then making them dance was a passion for him, and he'd been doing it for nearly twenty years.

It was an honor to be here, and he was glad his mother and brother had taken time out to be here and watch him. He hoped he could win a medal for them, and who knew- maybe he would. But his workout regimen left him very much wanting to hit the sack. His event didn't start for another few days, so there was nothing but the usual routines to keep his abilities at their peak of fine resolution in time and space for now.

As he settled on his bed and reached out to turn off the light from across the room, he heard a knocking at the door. He answered it and found a box waiting for him. From Uncle Herbert!

Hmm. Interesting. I wonder what's inside...?
It was the GAYSBRO General Sheppard Action figure...with realistic leather overcoat.

Detecting that it's packaging had been opened, the figure's internal circuitry came to life, activicating it's playtime programming.

It climbed out of the box and stood with it's hands on it's hips like it was surveying the landscape. Which in a way it was. It was storing the play area's dimensions in it's internal files so it could realistically wage toy war.

The action figure's realistically sculpted synth-plastic lips began to move.

"Would you like to play a game?" it said in a reasonable facsmile of General Sheppard's voice.

"WOULD I EVER!" With a quick psychic twist, he cut the action figure's power supply. Then he fished out a multitool to look the thing over...

Deepak soon discovered that the GAYSBRO action figure had an impossibly, hilariously crude recording system: a magnetic tape. Little did he know that GAYSBRO had contracted the manufacture of innumerable General Sheppard action figures to mighty Bragule! For in Bragule, material costs were low, gulag workers considered a twenty hour shift at starvation wages a sweet sweet luxury, and toxic plastics could be used freely, for the mere suggestion of environmental regulations would be quelled by a IBGV man's beating stick.

Magnetic tape recorder. Hmm... This could be fun. And good practice, too!

Half an hour of painstaking work later, Deepak reconnected "General Sheppard's" battery and sat back to listen, as the action figure's realistically sculpted synth-plastic lips began to move, delivering the fruits of his labors in a reasonable facsimile of General Sheppard's voice:
Deepak knew the time had been taken out of his night's sleep. His coach would be pissed.

SO worth it...

The day after, he composed a message to Uncle Herbert.

Dear Uncle Herbert:
Thank you for the gift. It was just the thing I needed to raise my spirits.
-Deepak.

LIVE from Montgomery, Shepistan



BOOMBERG TELEVISION



It's morning again in Shepistan! We're here, live from Montgomery, Shepistan, thirty nine hours a day, nine days a week to give you the latest news in the Republic. This is just in, breaking news from Gayte Gulf, we've received reports that the town has suffered a massive attack believed to be of Amplitur origin. Casualties number in the hundreds, dead and wounded, with the bodies piling up every minute... The government response has been to deploy FREEDOM PRIME killbots against the Amplitur threat for maximum damage. We're going to show some life footage of Gayte Gulf to you now. If you have any children watching, you may want to change channels. Viewer discretion is advised.

COUNTLESS CRABOID CREATURES GRIP GAYTE GULF



A scene of carnage grips Gayte Gulf today as thousands upon thousands, possibly millions, of crabs crawled from the depths of the ocean to attack the township's human population. Men, women, children, none were spared from the callous crustaceans' onslaught. It seems as though the atrocious Amplitur had anticipated the actions of the military as Operation Blow Up the Ocean failed to achieve the complete eradication of Montgomery's crab population. Now, the townsfolk of Gayte Gulf pay the price as they are forced to evacuate their once beautiful town, their homes now infesterized by the craboids. The military has enacted a quarantine zone with FREEDOM PRIME killbots vaporizing anything caught red-clawed, while decontamination teams systematically burninate the town's ruins to cleanse the area of any craboid egglings.



Meanwhile, the survivors of Gayte Gulf have been transfered to New Moarlean's Duper Dome for temporary housing and shelter. There in the makeshift shelters of the Duper Dome, the conditions are deplorable, as the standard hardened underground bunker shelter facilities with all the requisite amenities are currently occupied by higher priority inhabitants - namely the military's nuclear warhead reserves, which are so numerous that they are now also being stored in fallout shelters originally meant to house lower-priority civilians.

Everyday the Duper Dome grows more crowded as people from other small coastal towns are herded to its crammed confines. The military has reason to believe that more craboid attacks may be on the way, and other outlying coastal towns have been evacuated and fortified in anticipation of another repeat of the great Gayte Gulf crab battle.

WOULD YOU LIKE TO LEARN MORE?



Ladies and gentlemen, this is just in. General Sheppard will make a live televised address to the nation in response to the recent events. This must be very important! We'll have to interrupt the scheduled program for...


GENERAL SHEPPARD'S STATE OF THE REPUBLIC ELOCUTION (SORE)

TRANSCRIPT OF GENERAL SHEPPARD'S SPEECH



"My fellow Shepistanimericans. Today we face a great and terrible threat. The shortsightedness of the Centrality regime has brought this threat upon our doors. Their fault has led to the shedding of Shepistani blood. But this cannot stand. No more, no longer, no way, Jose!

We must finish what we began with the regrettably necessary destruction of the Centrality embassy. We must bring this vicious circle to a close. We must destroy the psykerist menace that continues to flaunt its very existence in our faces, this vile psionic thing that continues to attack us from both without and within.

Again, more regrettably necessary destruction must be had, but now it shall not be our towns or our people who shall be destroyed - but theirs. Shepistan will not abide the psyker, not in any shape, size, form, or specie. They are all enemies of the Republic.

As such, by the authority vested in me by the Shepistani Republic, I declare war."

Midgar, Shinra Republic - Shortly After the Shepistani Declaration of War

President Cid Shinra was watching the latest from the Esperlympics when a military aide burst into the room.

"Sir, the Republic of Shepistan just declared war!"

"Upon who, Colonel?"

"Well, um... They didn't actually say, Mister President."

Cid Shinra was rendered speechless for a full thirty seconds. "They... They didn't say against who?"

"No, Mister President. They just declared war. Specifically, General Sheppard personally declared war on a national broadcast."

"But he neglected to say against whom," President Shinra replied quietly. "Well then. Until we know more, there's not much to be done. Make sure to contact our allies and those nations with who we are friendly in the area around Shepistan. We're far enough away that a mobilization should not be necessary at this time."

"Yes, Mister President."

"Oh, one more thing. Have a message prepared to Shepistan. Politely inquire as to just who they declared war against. We would be most curious to know."

"Of course, Mister President." The President and the colonel could have almost laughed at the absurdity of the situation, if it were not for the fact that Shepistan's idea of war would almost certainly entail large amounts of dead sentients.

LIVE from Montgomery, Shepistan



BOOMBERG TELEVISION



Shepistani stocks reached their lowest point yet with the announcement of tariffs by the Nova Atlantean Commonwealth, which was followed by a wave of similar tariffs by small-to-medium star nations following the Commonwealth's lead. The embassy bombings and the subsequent events after it have alarmed investors in and around the Loin Stars and the Spin Zone area. Shepistani stocks are at the lowest point in twenty five years. The Grand Dominion, which has significant stakes in the Shepistani market as Shepistan's biggest trading partner in the Loin Star region, may also be adversely affected by these recent developments.

These tariffs on Shepistani goods such as rubiconium and enriched nuclear materials may be a boon for other vegemite and nuclear materials exporters such as the Technocracy of Umeria and the Prussian Star League, Shepistan's primary competitors in the rare space minerals (RSM) markets. Bragulan vegemite stocks have also risen, though not as much as the Spin Zone RSM exporters, on account of their distance and place in the Koprulu Zone. The Umerian Ministry of Ecology's refusal to accept the Shepistani contract for environmental refurbishment, on the other hand, has been most beneficial to the NenAltKik dinosaurian international genetics companies.

On a minor good note for the Shepistanis, the New T'au Conclave of Ethereals' advocation of a boycott against Shepistani manufactured products has caused an inversely proportional response from the Byzantine Imperial Orthodox Church with the Patriarch calling for all practitioners of the Imperial Orthodox faith to purchase more Shepistani manufactured products to defy the will of the foul grey-skinned Tau xenos. This has led to record profits on part of several Shepistani convenience store chains with branches in Byzantium, such as 9/11, as well as record purchases of the Shepistani Fingolnger - particularly the new Byzantium-only edition Finglonger called the Fingolfinglonger. The Bragulan Star Empire has also attempted to offset the Shepistani economic woes by increasing their purchases of Shepistani military-grade sonic-electronic ball breakers while simultaneously lowering the price of papers sold to Shepistani graph-makers.

However, despite the anti-Tau countermaneuver by the Byzantines, and the Bragulan Star Empire's financial support of their allies, Shepistan is still in dire economic straits. Their rivals seem poised to take advantage of the situation, and even Shepistan's most virulently loathed fastfood chain - McNamara's - is making in roads in the Wild Space and small-to-medium star-nation markets.


Robert Space Satan McNamara

One of the most devastating blows this economic downturn has had is that due to the stiff competition by McNamara's, Shepistan's own beloved fastfood chain McDonalds Douglas has been forced to stop production of its XBOX-70 VALKYLIE MINOGUE happy meal with miniature spring-loaded JDAMRAAMLRSLBM9F-117/11 - the favoritest happy meal of children throughout Shepistan.

Shroom Man 777 wrote:Again, more regrettably necessary destruction must be had, but now it shall not be our towns or our people who shall be destroyed - but[/i] theirs. Shepistan will not abide the psyker, not in any shape, size, form, or specie. They are all enemies of the Republic.

As such, by the authority vested in me by the Shepistani Republic, I declare war."

New Athens Naval Base
Sector X-6
Shortly After General Sheppard's Broadcast

The klaxons were sounding throught the system. Every facility in the navy yards, every ship in the fleet, broadcasted the same two messages.

Aboard the fleet, the defense gun platforms, the planetside defense batteries: "General quarters. General quarters. All hands, man your battle stations."

At the shipyards, the space stations, another message: "All personnel review evacuation plans. Possible war emergency, condition orange. Invasion possible."

On the planet New Athens proper, aerospace traffic control frantically waved traffic out of now-unsafe corridors, to leave clear space for the theater shields over the planet's major arcopolises and industrial facilities. The population wasn't evacuated to the deep shelters yet, but if long range scans showed a Sheppo fleet inbound, they'd be starting on the way in minutes.

Titan-class Dreadnought USS Prometheus
Flagship 11th Fleet
New Athens System

Sector Admiral Tomi Lappalainen sat like a rock in his command chair. Looks like this could be the big one. He grunted. "Prerana, latest from DEW?"

"Nothing, sir. But... we don't know how close they could sneak heavy units for a pre-positioned strike."

It ought to be physically impossible for them to move anywhere within six hours of us without our noticing, but they might know something we don't. Well, Prerana would alert him to anything unusual.

Eleventh Fleet was the largest single concentration of firepower in Umeria, one of the two "Monolith buster" formations MiniSec had assembled starting in February. With eight dreadnoughts, six battlecruisers, their screen elements, and the attached Fourth Intervention Task Force, Lappalainen was the Technocracy's first line of defense against Sheppo aggression, until other fleet formations could come up from deeper in Umerian space.

And after that broadcast earlier, he fully expected to see the Iron Bitch come roaring out of hyperspace at him any time now, with a full battlefleet in tow. He had a nice warm reception ready for her; as far as he was concerned, nothing this side of the Koprulu Zone said hello quite like sixty Mark Fourteens with a side order of torpedoes.

Meanwhile, USS Hornet, the fleet carrier attached to his flagship's division, was performing practice launches of fighters, to make sure everything was ready- routine protocol under these conditions.

---

Myrmidon-class Dreadnought USS Grenadier
Flagship 14th Fleet
Hemings' Star, Sector X-7

Fleet Admiral Daiyu Kang paced back and forth across her flag bridge- a quirk her staff had gotten used to; she could hardly abide immobility. Going into combat was one thing; she'd strap in then if need be. But for some reason she always thought better when she moved around, except when events were positively racing.

"George, give me an update on the status of the system control groups; is Ferrara mobilizing them?"

Whether she'd be pulling those dispersed formations in on her own position- or pulling them along in her wake- would depend on a lot of factors, many hard to estimate. If the balloon went up, would she get the go code to invade the Feelipeens and burn out the Sheppo fleet bases at Bark and Pubic Bay? Or would she be directed to coreward to reinforce Lappalainen? It all depended on the Sheppos' fleet movements.

She needed to know more, more!

"Hugo, talk to the ELINT cutters, tell them to set up for deep space search in support of the DEW sensors. Focus on the Great Northern Run and the Saurian Way." It wouldn't give them much more data than the system's own passives, but it'd be better than nothing...

What the hell is Sheppard up to?

Esper Athlete Village
The Centrality
16 August 3400

The facilities were not bad. The Centrality had finished the Athlete village, and an annex for the Ranoideans had been finished. The humidity was a balmy nintey eight percent and the temperature was a pleasant twenty nine degrees celcius. There was even a lukewarm soaking tube, and places to perch.

Magus was soaking when a knock came at the door. The day's telekinetic competition had gone well. It was fine control telekinesis. Otherwise known as bending spoons, and he had managed to do a bit more than bend. Fractal patterns in the fine silverware had been the day's order of business. Still, that competition was not over. He would have to wait to see how well he stacked up against other nations. Tomorrow though, was a Scan and Counter against the Umerians.

"Oh son of a whore..." he groaned as he got up out of the saline bath and hopped to the door. Upon opening the door, he found a suspicious package. He turned his senses outward, looking for any sign of explosives, toxins etc. He found some toxic residue, but nothing weaponized. Still, that was a quick analysis, he did not bother to do much more than a cursory scan. He took the box inside, and opened it up. He knew immediately who had sent it...



"Want to play a game?" the little action figure asked, before rattling off propaganda.

"Remember kids, Espers aren't human!"

"No, indeed I am not you creepy creepy little thing"

"Commie sons-of-bitches. It'll be a cold day in hell before I let them cross Canada into the mainland..."

Magus was about to vaporize it when he remembered earth mythology and had an even better idea. Ge took a picture frame, and used a knife to fashion a crude little cross, and the nails that held it together to crucify the little action figure on it. Then he scrambled the magnetic tape that stored the sound, causing the little figure to make a confused and garbled sound that resembled moans and little shrieks. He hung the little thing on his door.

Then he got in touch with the rest of his team mates, and then the Centrality government.

...

The Next Morning

Magus' team of high-level telepaths was scheduled to compete against the Umerians that morning, and when they entered the arena, he asked for the microphone from the announcer.

"Gentle-beings from across the Galaxy. I would like to thank you for showing your support. As some of you may be aware, the Athletes from our assembled nations have received generous gifts from some unknown benefactor this past evening. These charming little action figures have warmed our hearts. In gratitude for this wonderful present bestowed upon us, we would like to sing a song garnered from the history of the human homeworld. If you would be so kind as to use your translator headphones at this time."

With that, his team lined up, and over the loudspeaker a melody began to play, and his assembled team began to sing, their minds Gestalted for coordination.



The crowd roared with applause.

...

The way a scan and counter exercise worked was for each telepath to write down a simple image on a card, and hand it to the referee. Then they tried to rip the image from the other one's mind past his blocks, while themselves trying not to let their defenses fall. The combat took place inside a mindscape, which could be observed by the referee telepath, who was hooked into a computer which digitized what he saw and projected it into a three dimensional display. Each telepath would play a sort of shaman-game, trying to redefine the terms of the engagement and their opponent's perception. Any telepathic combat was like this, which made the contest as much a matter of skill as raw power. The displayed image is what the combat looks like interpreted through the mind of the referee, and depending on their mindset, can be highly variable.

The Umerian telepath, Yuri Vladivostok wrote his thought down on a card and handed it to the referee, as did Magus. They squared away at fifteen meters and begin

Yuri began by constructing a single crystaline barrier around himself in the mindscape, its many faceted geometric form seemed impenetrable to attack,, and from it sprang numerous projections which sought after Magus by erupting from the structure in his general direction, to which Magus responded by creating a vortex of hammers around himself, that shattered the relatively fragile crystaline spikes--then moved toward the Umerian telepath's mental representation, battering against the barrier and sending large fragments of it careening toward the audience in the holographic display, only to dissipate before reaching them. Yuri responded by transforming his barrier into a wall of tentacles which grasped the hammers and kept them from moving, and then striking back, wrapping Magus in their many-suckered grasp and attempting to burrow into his body. Magus counter-attacked by sending an imaginary electric current through the tentacles, paralyzing them, and then drawing a rapier. He lunged for his opponent's throat inside the imagio and his blow was sidestepped and swept aside by a shield pulled from the ether by Yuri, who stepped forward and attempted to slam his shield into Magus, who changed the field of engagement itself. The ground became ice, causing the Umerian telepath to slip and lose his footing. When the human tumbled backwards, Magus was ready with his mind-sword and thrust it through the eye socket of the Umerian's mind. He had the thought. A red skycar

...

"Red skycar!"

"Correct" said the announcer.


OOC Note: Combat decided by a series of opposed percentile dice rolls. First to reach three victories in an exchange by a margin of 5 percentage points or more wins. Dice rolls weighted against Umerian telepath by 35% at Simon's request.

ESPer Athlete Village
Faust, Dovan Sector, Centrality
16 August 3400

Colonel Kuroko Shirai was actually quite amused by the Centrality's society, particularly its preoccupation with constant propaganda extolling the virtues of single-minded devotion to the state. My, how insecure the Centrality's leadership must be if they feel the need to pound all this propaganda into the heads of the citizenry, she thought to herself. There are far better ways to secure the loyalty of your own people. She sighed. Damn it, I'm letting my mind wander again. I need all the concentration I can muster if I'm to actually win a medal or two here...

Colonel Shirai was yet another member of the SOS Imperial Marine Corps' extensive ESPer forces, an Anglian Class 5 specializing in telekinesis and physical augmentation, and the de facto leader of the team that had been sent all the way across known space to represent the Holy Empire at the ESPer Tournament, regardless of whether there would be any attending Haruhiist watchers or not (asides from the 200-strong Marine company sent to accompany the team and assist Centralist security forces, of course). This show would be for the rest of known space, a demonstration of the Holy Empire's psionic might. Colonel Shirai had been a star student during her time at Tokiwadai, and she had proven herself during countless bug hunts and police actions in and around Haruhiist space; she hoped that her abilities would be enough to impress the Centralist judges and her fellow ESPers from New Anglia, Umeria, and the rest of the galaxy.



A knock came from the door of the Colonel's private bedroom. "I'm coming, I'm coming!" she called out as she set down her drink and got up to answer. She opened the door to find a simple package. "I wonder what it could be..." she said to herself as she picked up the package and brought it in, closing the door behind her. She set the package down and used her psionic abilities to undo the wrapping and open it, revealing...



...an authentic GAYSBRO General Sheppard action figure, with realistic leather overcoat!

"Interesting gift," Kuroko said to herself as she went to pick up the figure, only for it to climb out of its packaging and stand up on the table. Its playtime programming had just been activated, and it was currently scanning the play area so it could prepare to wage toy war later on.

"Would you like to play a game?" the figure spoke up.

"Sure, why not?" Kuroko responded, applying her ESPer abilities once more to cut its power supply. After studying the exterior of the now-lifeless General Sheppard figure for a few seconds, she telekinetically took it apart piece by piece to see what made it tick. It took her a few minutes to fully gut the thing while making sure not to actually break any of the pieces, but she managed to pull it off.

"Well, I'll be damned," Kuroko said as she surveyed the pieces of the General Sheppard figure now lying on her table. "They actually used a magnetic tape to store the voice clips! And such shoddy plastic, too! Did GAYSBRO outsource production of this batch to Bragule?"

Kuroko knew from previous experience that older General Sheppard action figures were made of higher-quality plastics and used a miniaturized hard drive to store voice recordings, as GAYSBRO products were often used as testing materials at Tokiwadai and other ESPer academies. In fact, bulk orders from the Holy Empire's ESPer academies were one of the few things keeping GAYSBRO afloat in recent years, as demand for General Sheppard action figures was starting to drop even within Shepistan itself; while the GAYSBRO execs were a bit baffled as to why a prominent psyker state like the Holy Empire was such a large consumer of their products, they let the money speak for itself.

Kuroko did not dwell long on the specifics of this particular figure's origins, though. Using her telekinesis, she meticulously put it back together, finishing by putting its coat back on and reconnecting its internal power supply, causing it to reboot its playtime programming. "Would you like to play a game?" the figure spoke up once more, as if nothing had happened to it.

"I got an idea for a game of my own, if you don't mind," Kuroko replied as she took the figure in her hands, walked up to the door, and opened it. "Now, where are the Misakas?" she asked herself as she walked out into the living area of the Haruhiist team's bunkhouse. She got her answer when she saw the seven Misaka clones lounging around, playing with their own General Sheppard action figures, but not in a way she had expected.

Similar to their counterparts on the Umerian team, the Misaka clones had been taught electrical engineering as part of their general ESPer training, mainly as a way for them to learn how to use their powers for peaceful as well as martial purposes. Apparently, all seven of them had the same general idea that Deepak Asthana had, though given their Haruhiist heritage, their way of expressing it was...unique, to say the least.



"Please don't say you are lazy, datte hontou wa crazy..." the action figures sang in a reasonable fascimile of General Sheppard's voice.

Once Kuroko got past the initial shock of hearing the General Sheppard action figures singing, she laughed. She fucking laughed.

Somewhere in Wild Space

That night, Red had nightmares.

Terrible things happened in them. Fire and animal shrieks surrounded its carapace, and vicious anger-thoughts filled the air as its loyal scurrypods banged on the hard craboid shell with stones and crude sticks. Then, just as Red could feel its extremities boil and die, a giant creature stomped through the flames. Scurrypods scurried away with screams, while the beast stared at Red with a pair of glowing green eyes.

Then it stomped on him. Forever.

The Amplitur woke up quivering, its pincers clacking uncontrollably as it looked around the small forest clearing it took for its own. The morning air was cold, though the fire, loyally maintained by the ubiquous scurrypods provided some heat and comfort. Red looked around, trying to fight back the panic - both with its compund eyes and with its mind. Everything seemed in order. The Carapacers were laying their eggs on the edge of the clearing. The Cleaners were fighitng off ants that attempted to intrude on Red's domain. And the scurrypod search party was still walking east, looking for the falling star, albeit they were now on the very edge of Red's mental control ability.

Satisfied that the nightmare was in fact merely a dream, Red grabbed a couple soft, fertilized Carapacer eggs and consumed them slowly. The lone craboid had to wonder: what was the meaning of the dream? Were the gods trying to tell it something? Perhaps...perhaps Red should prepare to defend its land! Maybe some terrifying enemy was preparing to destroy its fiefdom and take all its slaves for himself!

The thought was terrifying. An enemy! Perhaps a two-legged demon, like the ones from the shaman's stories! The huge beast could certainly belong to them, for according to the shaman of Red's tribe, the demons posessed terrible beasts of war and their carapaces were made of iron impenetrable to spears and slings!

Red quivered again. If the demons were here, then it would need to prepare! It squinted and concentrated, calling all its minions with a mighty psychic shriek. A howl rose above the clearing as the poor mind-controlled critters were forced to converge on their master's throne.

Driven by fear and devotion to its gods, the Amplitur screeched and raised its pincers. Its mind was feverishly beaming messages into the heads of its thralls: images of weapons. Of slings and spears and throwing stones and axes and javelins. It knew how to make those things, as Red was a tribal warrior and hunter - just like every other Amplitur male from its tribe.

All these messages carried with them an undercurrent of fear the likes of which the poor critters have never experienced. Being simple forest critters, they knew fear of death - but they lacked the mental capability to fear death in some unforeseen future - that's why the Amplitur's thoughts were so absurdly terrifying. When their master was finished with his lecture, they scattered in panic, desperate to carry out Red's orders. A threat was coming! They would die if they did not prepare! A threat! - was what filled their thoughts now.

The Amplitur settled back to its throne, observing the frantic activity. Yes...he would be prepared. It picked up another Carapacer egg and decided to check upon the 'seach party' it sent into the forest yesterday.

It concentrated and searched for their minds - which was a difficult task due to the long range. Red rummaged through the simplistic scurrypod minds in search for any interesting finds...and froze after it saw what its thrall was looking at.

It was another clearing...green and undisturbed, and in its middle...an egg.



Even through the pitiful mind of the furry animal, Red could feel the brief tingle, the faint emanations coming from the egg. They filled the alien craboid with joy and glee and a incredible elation.

A female! A fertile female in her protective cocoon, hibernating in wait for a mate! So Red would not die alone after all! It would take the female and spawn a new generation of broodlings together, populating this world with their offspring! Oh, fateful day! Oh, merciful gods!

BRING IT TO ME!!!, Red roared mentally to its slave, causing one scurrypod to collapse to the ground, blood oozing out of its nostrils. The remainder of the search party seized the squishy egg and began trotting back the way they came. Red could feel them to be tired after tirelessly marching throughout the night, but it didn't care. It wanted the female, it wanted her now, and it would get her, no matter what - even if it had to kill all its scurrypods!

For now, though, there were matters to attend to. Red turned part of its mind towards combing the forest immediately around its present location, in search of more creatures to subvert and command.

It found something, but not what it was looking for. A delicate thought-tendril touched Red's mind from far, far away - a probing touch, trying to identify the mind it behest.

And then came the message.

The female is MINE!

Red winced. So there was another Amplitur here. It should've been a reason to rejoice! A fortitous occasion, the meeting of his own kind when just a day before, Red thought it was all alone here!

But the other one wanted the female too. And Red didn't go to all this trouble just to give her away.

The other one would have to get her from Red's cold, dead pincers.

Vulture Rock



General Sheppard stood once before the cameras.

"As president of the Shepistani Republic, I categorically deny all allegations that we are behind the recent troubles that the Centrality's ESPerlympics is encountering."

"Seriously, people." sighed Sheppard. "You expect me to believe that we sent toys to the Centrality as part of our evil plot? If we were behind it, we would have sent something a bit more lethal, like nuclear weapons."

"However, since there seems to be an interest now in the Centrality in Shepistani toys; we are more than happy to arrange for future shipments."

Sheppard shuffled some more papers, and then almost as an afterthought added:

"It has come to my attention that certain star nations are...overreacting to our re-declaration of war against the craboid psionist menace that even right now is threatening Geyte Gulf with their slimy carapices."

Remembrance of Apexaia
Low orbit over Faust



The area occupied by the Silver Shield member delegation didn't look like they were situated aboard a starship. In fact they didn't much look like quarters at all. The room had a rounded ceiling and was almost triangular in shape, with the door in one corner and a pair of low dais' in the other two corners. In the middle was a triangular basin of water with a column at each end of the water basin. The capitals of the columns, though, were not like the Doric-Ionic-Corinthian orders usually seen on neoclassical Terran architecture, but clearly shaped like the heads of snakes. The air was hot and humid. The walls were decorated with lavish murals, glistening with condensation and depicting stylized animals from all over the galaxy, as well as an array of geometrical patterns mostly including zig-zags and whirls. The very structure of the room seemed somehow relaxing. This was the center of the mighty Apexai vessel, and here even a latent psion would be able to feel the mighty pulse of the vessel's heartbeat, an oscillating psychic current that throbbed through its pseudoreal membranes.

Sitting cross-legged on one of the dais', so close their lips almost touched, were two young women. They were both tall, long-limbed and very thing, even for hybrids. They looked similar enough to be twins, which in a way they were, since they were both cloned from the same genetic material and raised together. Their faces were elongated and narrow and perfectly symmetrical save for a prominent scar above the left eyebrow which, weirdly, was mirrored perfectly on the both of them. Their complexions were so pale they almost seemed to shine. Thin and moist tunics stuck to the curves of their bodies. To a psion's ethereal mind-sight, they would appear as a helix of psychic energy. They were deep in trance. Their hair danced with flecks of St. Elmo's fire, the physical manifestation of the dense psi-field that saturated the room.

The door opened and a package drifted in, carried by some unseen force. It began to squeal the second it crossed the threshold of the room, the shrill whine of malfunctioning electronics echoing weirdly as it bounced off the slick walls. Neither Luna nor Stella moved, or even opened their eyes, but from one moment to the next the packaging disappeared. It wasn't shredded, or vaporized; it just... vanished, revealing the diminutive General Sheppard doll inside as the source of the electronic wail. Ringing with psionic feedback the small action figure began to speak:

"My fellow Shepistanimericans. Today we face a great and terrible threat. The shortsightedness of the Centrality regime has brought this threat upon our doors. Their fault has led to the shedding of Shepistani blood..."


Headquarters
Esper Tournament Committee

“Sir, I think you have to see this.”

The chairman of the Esper Tournament Organization Committee scowled. He'd heard that particular line far too often in the last couple of days; usually it meant something in his little world had gone horribly pear-shaped, and it was up to him to find a last-minute fix before the government got wind of there being a problem in the first place. “What is it now?”

“It's a message from the Silver Shield delegation. They say that in view of the Shepistani declaration of war on psions they are choosing at this time to withdraw their active participation in the tournament, but they are electing to stay as observers to the goings-on.”

His scowl deepened. “When was this transmitted?”

“Well... That's the weird thing, sir... According to the datestamp it was sent late yesterday evening. Just after those damned dolls started to show up... But hours before Sheppard made his declaration. We must've missed it in the Rosenberg ruckus. But that's not really poss-”

“It is when goddamn espers are involved,” the chairman cut off his subordinate. “I take it that goddamn saucer is staying where it is?”

“As far as we know, sir. Take a look out the window- it hasn't moved an inch.”

“Fricking psykers...”

Opposite Sides of the Same Coin
Nou Craiova, Valahia
Carpathia Shoal Zone, Carpathia Sector (Sector P-25), Belkan Empire
16 May 3400


Andre Olivieri (left) and Milosz Sulejmani (right)

Andre Olivieri, CEO of Olivieri Industries, was definitely not pleased with the direction the Gallian War was going. Even though his own government (and indeed, many within his own corporation) openly supported West Gallia, he and a few of his closest associates believed they could turn a greater profit by siding with East Gallia instead. To that end, Olivieri used his connections with certain parts of the Imperial Belkan Aerospace Force to purchase large amounts of old war materiel at rock-bottom prices, ostensibly for possible resale to government-approved buyers or disposal; instead, he covertly refurbished the material he had bought and then resold it all to the East Gallians at extremely high prices, double what his competitors at Grunder Industries, General Resource, or Neucom would typically charge. Naturally, the East Gallians complained that Olivieri was gouging them, but since neither Grunder, General Resource, or Neucom would sell to them, they had no choice but to buy from him.

However, while Olivieri could sell materiel, he could not guarantee that his clients would use it properly. Such was the case when he took possession of an older model Hresvelgr gunship, refurbished it, and sold it to the East Gallians, who then promptly chose to throw away this advantage by sending it on a mission to attack some jerkwater mountain town up near the DMZ despite the fact that the West Gallians still had air superiority. While he was able to get some money out of the deal, he was still displeased with how the Easties had chosen to handle it. The situation was not entirely hopeless, however, for Olivieri had a backup plan.



Enter Milosz Sulejmani. A former pilot with the Imperial Belkan Aerospace Force, he was a simple man with simpler motivations: Money, fighting, and killing. He and a few other like-minded pilots willingly resigned their commissions and took to the skies and space as simple mercenaries, willing to do anything as long as the pay was good. Needless to say, it was very easy for Olivieri to secure the allegiance of him and his squadron. As long as Olivieri could keep their pocketbooks full, they would do his bidding, though Sulejmani wasn't even in it for the money; he was perfectly willing to do everything for free just as long as he had the opportunity to fight and kill.

Previously on THE GALLIAN WAR wrote:"I knew those pompous East Gallian buffoons couldn't be trusted with something as valuable as a Hresvelgr. Very well, then. Mr. Sulejmani, your squadron's cleared for deployment in East Gallia. You should know who our contacts are there."

"I'll make sure to teach them everything about the fine art of aerospace combat, sir," Milosz proclaimed confidently. "I assure you that neither you nor they will be disappointed in our performance. Just make sure our paychecks are waiting for us when the war ends."

"I'm looking forward to it," Andre said simply. If everything went to plan, Milosz's paycheck would just be a drop in the bucket compared to the rest of the money he would soon be swimming in. Such were the joys of war profiteering.

---

Cranagan, Mid-Childa
Mid-Childa Sector (Sector P-24), Belkan Empire
23 May 3400


FILE PHOTO: Artist's impression of 2nd Lieutenant Vita (left), Colonel Hayate Yagami (center), 1st Lieutenant Signum (right), and other Belkan combat ESPers, date unknown

Starfighter pilots were certainly not the only contribution Belka made to conflicts all over the Koprulu Zone. Belka also had a long and proud ESPer tradition, dating back all the way to when the Belkan Empire still called itself the Zeonic Federation. Needless to say, the Zekes learned plenty of valuable lessons after their defeat and subsequent exile at the hands of the Haruhiists...along with a few they were better off not learning in the first place. While they had learned to abandon mecha and adopt proper combined arms tactics using tanks and aerospace fighters after the example of the SOS Imperial Armed Forces (and basically every other military in known space), their experiences with Haruhiist combat ESPers had also led them to conclude that psionically endowed little girls were also among the most powerful weapons in all of existence.

Thus, the vast majority of the Belkan ESPer corps was made up of lolis. Granted, most of them were in fact grown women who had received extensive amounts of anti-aging treatments to resemble lolis, but there were a few genuine prepubescent girls among their ranks. Even the most hardened of Wild Space and Veil combat veterans still found it hard to contain their disbelief whenever they encountered Belkan mercenary ESPers, though few would actually live long enough to learn not to underestimate them ever again.

Colonel Hayate Yagami of the Imperial Belkan Ground Force 6th Infantry Division, 66th Special Forces Regiment was one of the most experienced combat ESPers in all of Belka. A veteran of countless mercenary campaigns all across Wild Space and the Veil, she had gone up against the likes of the Volkslanders, the Pfhor, the Bragulans, and even the Karlacks and survived every single time. So accustomed was she to fighting larger opponents that she was actually somewhat disappointed at first when she learned that she and the rest of the 66th SFR were to be sent to help the West Gallian war effort.

"I'm pretty sure that there are other ESPers that can handle the job, but if that's what the top brass tells us to do, then so be it," Colonel Yagami said to herself after receiving a hard copy of her deployment orders. "It'll probably be a nice change of pace from the usual Nazi hunting and bear wrestling."

"Yeah, it'll definitely be nice to fight regular people for a change," another ESPer, a 2nd Lieutenant who called herself "Vita," interjected. "Believe it or not, Nazi hunting and bear wrestling can actually get boring if you're at it for too long."

"Things were definitely starting to get a bit stale, yes," a third ESPer, a 1st Lieutenant who called herself "Signum," remarked. "To be honest, I've kinda lost track of how many Volksies, Pfhor, and Brags I've killed. A break from all that would really be nice. Besides, I hear Gallia's a nice place at this time of year, even with the war going on and all."

Governor's Center, Faust
Dovan Sector, The Centrality

Falko Tredell was laughing. He was fucking laughing. For, him, the whole issue with the Sheppard action figures was one big joke.

"Ahahahahahahahahahaha! Those damn amateurs! They send us toys, and then we find creative uses for them!"

"Shepistan certainly helped us today, since we had trouble finding suitable mental targets," agreed Jomard Listem, the Director of ESPer Sports Activities. "Sheppard definitely won't appreciate us burning his face again and again in front of the cameras."

Tredell catched his breath.

"I think Shep is suffering from too much radiation poisoning. For him to pull off something like that, takes craziness. But enough about that. How are the games progressing?"

"The Ranoideans defeated the Umerians in Scan and Counter. Our team carried the day against the Ascendants in Speed Guessing What Number I'm Thinking Of, as usual. Right now the event is Psychokinetic Manipulation between the Anglians and the Haruhiists. That's what I can remember right now."

"SGWNITO is our specialty. We've haven't been beaten in that sport for centuries."

"I dunno sir. Recently we've been barely able to win gold medals in that event. The day might come that our winning spree ends."

"And that won't be this year. I'm sure of it!"

"And what we'll do about Shepistan's recent shenanigans, sir?"

"Nothing. Sheppard will be too busy worrying about his nearest neighbors to threaten us."

Just then, the Mayor of Faust arrived, followed by the Governor of Dovan Sector.

"Sir, the curfew is firmly established in all of Faust except, of course, the Olympic Complex," said the Mayor.

"The Sector is under heightened alert, Secretary. Every security measure has been implemented except the emergency ones," said the Governor.

"Good," responded Tredell. "We can be sure of the Tournament's safety. Now... it's betting time!"

Soon, every man in the room pulled out his wallet.

Written mostly by Shroomy, but I helped.
Diplomatic Tower, Mighty Bragule



Dessert was served. The dishes were made out of the most delicious and exquisite honeys from the most dreaded Bragfricanized jollibees, deadly red-and-yellow jacketed insectoid hornetwasps with multiple barbed scorpiontail stingers. The honeys were served with culinary beating sticks, which were different from the arbitrato-judicial and combat-issue beating sticks by virtue of lacking the letter ‘b’, which made them eating sticks. They dunked the eating sticks into the jars of honeys and then used them to soak the succulently sugary honeycombs with the sickly sweet syrup, drowning them in the liquid amber. It was just so decadent.



Fulcrum hesitantly tasted the dessert. While their intelligence files for this mission encompassed everything up to and including Bragulan dietary preference, actually eating something that you had read about was different from reading about something you were about to eat. So with trepidation he pecked and nibbled at the honey-soaked honeycomb, crunching it with his razor-sharp beak before sampling it with his tongue.

His eagle eyes widened, and he drew a sharp intake of breath into his Faveolar lungs, whose structures were utterly different and several times more efficient than that of mammalian lungs - which meant his gasp was also utterly different and several times more efficient than that of mammalian gasps. What he experienced could be described thusly; it was as though there was an explosion in his mouth, like that of a Bragulan paleonuke, and then in the aftermath of that explosion was a party! A Byzonist party inside his mouth! And everyone was invited!



Fulcrum shrieked to make known his approval of the Bragulan delicacy. Those around him cringed momentarily, but shortly afterwards resumed savoring their honeys.

Meanwhile, Colonel-Legionnaire Bartosz Zravyadskiyi had barely spoken during the previous pleasantries. It had been diplomatic liaison (and IBGV agent) Frydryk Krznvynsky and space captain Dobragost Braguslav who had done most of the talking, the politico-diplomatico stuff, and something about pirate patrols. Colonel Bartosz was a simple ground pounder, and for the life of him he had no idea why he was called in to do this first contact thing. The Imperial Legions of Liberation were far simpler and simple-minded than the IBGV or the Space Fleet. Still, while he was not quite as schemy and conniving as either the IBGV agent or the space captain, who were both looking for ways to exploit the situation with the Refuge, he had his own agendas. For one, this first contact thing was an opportunity at a decent meal - way better than the soylents back at base - so he took a whole honey-filled beehive from the serving plate and began eating it.



Om nom nom nom... Mmm. Delicious.

The Colonel noticed that the IBGV agent and space captain were looking at him strangely, with the mixed expression of disgust and horror in their faces. Maybe his bad manners would make a poor impression on the Refugee ambassador?

Uh oh.

“Um. I read in your diplomatic communique that you were particularly interested in our vegemites. Is there any particular reason for this particular interest?” Colonel Bartosz said slyly to the Refugee ambassador. This was what he did whenever commissars had their unwanted attention on him. When the Refugee replied and the IBGV agent and space captain turned their attention to listen to him, Colonel Bartosz resumed eating his beehive. Om nom nom nom... Mmm. Delicious.

“I am no engineer or physicist so I did not understand the details,” Fulcrum began, “but vegemite seems to have some interesting properties. Unfortunately, the Refuge has no samples of it, so we cannot test them ourselves.” Fulcrum did not mention that it was probably to check the vegemite for theological soundness with everything else (like practical uses) a distant second, as he had made sure he wasn’t thinking of it at all. It was like a primitive double-think, but he was young and not so well versed in the art as the Bragulans.

“Ah! If the Refuge agrees, we can send samples of the various vegemite derivatives Bragule offers to its comrade-nations, as an inauguration of Bragulan-Refugee comradeships! Vegemite is one of the great unnatural resources of the Bragulan Star Empire, a pillar of its economic might, together with vespene gas,” Colonel Bartosz explained, speaking with his mouth full of honeys, to the incredulity of his fellow Bragulans. Little did they know that prior to becoming a career soldier in the Legions, he had had come from a family of miners in a vegemite-encrusted moon at the Lena core sector. Then his parents died of vegemite poisoning and were posthumously awarded the Order of Most Valiant Proletarian Sacrificial Labours, leaving him orphaned but also eligible for officer school in the Bragulan military as a child of working-class proletarian heroes. Bartosz thought for a moment, of how much his parents had sacrificed for him, including their own lives, and how through them he had become an officer worthy enough of Byzon to be assigned to first contact duties. He wondered if they would be proud of him.

This poignant memory only added more emotional gravitas to his declarations of vegemites.

Fulcrum bowed, extending one wing. “We would be honored to accept these gifts. If my understanding is correct, vegemite could be a highly useful substance for the Refuge.” It could also be a dangerously unsound weapon that was being allowed to spread on random worlds despite the possible consequences or a sign of past interference by beings too terrible to think about, but the ambassador very carefully continued to not think about that.

“If the Refuge has no previous experience with vegemite, then we can deliver detailed files on the proper handling of vegemites and perhaps the first few shipments should be handled by us, yes?”

“Yes, that would be most appreciated. Stool will be able to bring up the files on the specifics of where and how to make the deliveries. I know that they must be brought to Grand Junction, but I do not know the current status of construction there. Ah, and speaking of...” The shiny cart with the talon grips on top drove up.

Fulcrum’s assistant, an amazingly alacritous amoeban Aggregate, had somehow managed to translate some of the Refugee-format holocubes into Bragtech microfilms in record time. At least, he had managed to translate several minutes worth of high-definition holofootages, which already filled an entire roll of microfilm. An entire roll the size of a fuel drum.

“Good work, Stool.” Fulcrum acknowledged his assistant. A Bragulan aide took the microfilm macrodrum and placed it on a projector, loading it much like how one would load a drum magazine into a machinegun (the similarity was deliberate, so that Bragulans who worked on film projectors could easily adapt to work on heavy machineguns with minimal re-training). The Brag aide worked the slide and chambered the microfilm before squeezing the trigger and firing moving pictures to a nearby projection screen. The film’s audio replaced the sound of gunfire.

Refugees and Bragulans alike ate their dessert, with even Stool slurping honey with a stripey straw, as they watched the projector shoot Refugee instructional videos into the big screen. Somehow, despite being transferred from a holocube format to a microfilm format, the projector still shot out holograms. Someway, the microfilm had successfully stored holographic data!

The movie ended with a whole solar system full of carnivorous asteroids, predatory nebulae and Replicators exploding in a supernova while the Refugees escaped just in the nick of time with their Emergency Drive. It was quite a spectacle, with the Refugee ships just narrowly evading the space fireball that chased them through FTL! The scene faded off with a narrator giving the epilogue, finishing it by stating that the rest was ‘history’. The film ended and after a moment, the Bragulans clapped their paws in synchronized applause.

Fulcrum stepped forward as the sound died down. “This was just an introduction to our history. Stool and the others will be providing more detailed information as its translated to the microfilm. As I said, the Refuge came from a dangerous place full of strange and terrible monsters. This new home looks to be much safer, but we still have our worries and concerns. In particular are the neighboring territories held by the Collectors and the Karlacks. The Collectors are apparently seen as inscrutable and have little contact with outsiders, but they are still close and could pose a threat. Any information known on them and their capabilities would be appreciated.

“The Karlacks are both closer and a more immediate-” he paused for a moment before continuing with, “-potential threat.” He paused again to watch the Bragulans’ reactions. “Most others consider them little more than a race of organic replicators that plan to consume all the universe, but your mighty and glorious empire has diplomatic relations with them.”

“Hrm...” as one, the three Bragulans seemed to consider this all at once, their ‘hrm’s sounding guttural in their contemplations.

“The Collectors,” began Braguslav. “Are indeed an inscrutable race of cold, soulless and emotionless machines. They are in the habit of ‘collecting’, as their name implies, certain things of interest - items, technologies, sociocultural relics, information, as well as people - that catch their eye. They often abduct persons unwillingly, and are said to perform experiments on them. Their methods of selection are unknown, but it seems that they are mostly attracted to things that are outside the norm, from mild curiosities to the strangest aberrations.”

He worded it carefully, giving mostly accurate information that they could readily confirm, but stating it in such a way that would disconcert the Refugees and, perhaps and most hopefully, give them reason to come closer to the Bragulan Star Empire’s fold. That the Collectors really were interested in collecting certain things, and that the Refugees would count as one of these items of interest, was only an added bonus.

“You have no doubt heard of their actions on the human planet Pendleton, and the most recent happenings in Solarian territory. Their warships are immensely powerful, each of their strategic Monoliths requiring whole fleets to engage. So your concern is understandable. Why, even our mighty Empire has come to blows with those metal monstrosities, but through the strength and numbers of our fleets we were able to repulse their depravities from our space!”

“Hear, hear!” the other Bragulans acknowledged his factual statement of the Bragulan Star Empire’s glory by rapping on their wooden tables.

“We shall provide you with available informations on the Collectors,” Braguslav finished, looking satisfied with himself and settled down. Meanwhile, Frydryk Krznvynsky took over.

“The Karlacks, yes. We can also understand your worries. They seem, for all points and purposes, to be nightmarish creatures borne out of the very worst things in the universe. They are said to be vicious and ruthless, lacking any hint of mercy or compassion or emotion save for hunger and the drive to consume all things,” Krznvynsky said this matter-of-factly while the other Bragulans looked on at him in concern, wondering why he was saying all these things which were exactly what they were supposed to not say. Save for Colonel Bartosz, who was again busy chewing contentedly at his beehive. “In all honesty, this is true.”

Krznyvsky looked around him, at Fulcrum’s thousand-yard-gaze, at the concealed expressions of worry on the faces of his fellow Bragulans. He chuckled slightly and continued.

“But what is also true is that the Karlacks are a vital ally of the Bragulans in dealing with the extremely genocidal xenophobic regime of the Byzantine Imperium, a cruel and most totalitarian state dominated by a cult of leader-worship,” this was a fact, though the irony of the statement which was the exact same description one could use for the Bragulan Star Empire was lost on Krznyvsky through copious amounts of doublethinking. “And the Karlacks are not an unthinking horde of monsters as most would believe. They are a thinking horde, dominated by intelligences that can be reasoned with. They can be reasoned with, for they have their own interests. Like any other creature, they defend their territories, attack threats, look for food and resources, reproduce and grow and multiply. So they are quite aware of the cosmopolitical realities in the Koprulu Zone, and dialogue is possible - if albeit difficult.

“This is a matter we can aid you with. For it is not in our interest for our new comrade-nation to be threatened by another comrade-nation, yes?” Krznyvsky concluded. “The Karlack Swarm will listen to us, for we are important allies for them. It would be best to have dialogue and diplomacy rather than antagonism and belligerence.”

“Indeed,” Fulcrum agreed. “But how could we receive assurance that they will not attack us?”

“You can receive assurances from the Karlacks themselves,” Krznyvsky replied. “They will be sending a delegation to our BEEEF.”

Fulcrum cocked his head quizzically. “BEEEF?”



“Yes, the BEEEF!” Krznyvsky declared glouriously, waving a paw as he did so. If Fulcrum’s shrieks had made the Bragulans cringe, then his mighty bellowing of ‘BEEEF’ had a similar effect on the Refugees. “The Bragulan Economic Exposition Extravaganza of Friendship!”

“This BEEEF sounds like quite an event,” Fulcrum said. “I am sure the Refuge would want to send a delegation, even if the Karlacks were not coming.”

“Yes, quite a number of nations are sending delegations to the BEEEF, so it is a good opportunity to meet and mingle with the cosmopolitical scene,” Krznyvsky replied. “It will be a party, and everyone is invited!”



Result:
The beginning of glourious diplomatic relationships between the Refugee and the Bragulans
Vegemites!
Collectors!
Karlack scare! And potential diplomacies with the Karlack, and the Bragulans will dissuade the bugs from eating the birds.
The BEEEF!

Shadowshroom
Somewhere in the Feelipeens System
16 August 3400


Two weeks passed with Zara moving between the cell-sized living space she'd been given and the training gyms. Muscle tone was returning to her figure after the time she'd spent dormant as a prisoner, hardening her scarred body. An eyepatch had been provided to her for her missing left eye - Sadat had, out of his sadism, made her in his own image.

Now she was to have her first fight.

Her fighting uniform was the flexible leather suit she'd been given after her release from the "behavior modification" cells. It was flattering on her figure, emphasizing the curves she had left and showing off the muscle tone in her arms and back - the skin-hugging leggings part of the one-piece were meant to draw attention to her legs. It was rather clear that the uniform was more for appearance, and promoting physical appeal, than actual fighting.

Of course, Zara - no matter how attractive she was in figure - now even more scars. Sadat's men had taken the Pfhor slave whip to her limbs, her shoulders, her belly and chest, turning her entire torso into a collection of scar tissue. It gave her a rather unique and startling appearance, making her look rough, like someone who had been in many a knife fight without a knife.

The guards had escorted her away from her cell. Her one neighbor, the spirited Tianguoese girl Toph, gave her a thumbs up of support. Her other, however, was still sedated and kept chained to the bed, having recently gone through a fit. Zara hadn't reached through to him yet, but she hoped that soon enough "Shroomka" would open himself to her mind.

The fighting stadium was in the asteroid base itself. The attending where usually the elite and near-elite of the Feelipeeni system as well as various figures from nearby settled systems and Shepistan. The seats looked down into a "pit" area where a fighting circle was present. Energy barriers protected the spectators from being directly harmed by the combatants; as the guards bringing her in took Zara into the center of the stadium she felt her senses return again, no longer oppressed by a null field. She looked around at the crowds, composed of fairly swank and well-dressed people. At one end of the stadium was an extended platform with seats and a podium; there stood General Julia, with Sadat at one side and a...

Zara blinked. It was a Bragulan standing beside General Julia.

"Today we welcome a new combatant into Shroom Fighter!", R. Julia proclaimed. "Seeded #44 in this tournament, Lady Zara of the Silver Moon!"

Zara's jaw hung open in shock as the crowd roared. He's not even trying to hide it! He's literally daring the Order, the entire Anglian Empire, to do something about it!

Would they consider her disgraced for fighting in the tournament? Would they understand she'd only do so under compulsion? She held no illusions they'd find out about it eventually.

"And our 21st seeded fighter, two time holder of Hippolyta's Cup, Lady Ivy Valentino!"

Zara looked ahead and faced her opponent.



The woman's sword looked real enough. Zara looked toward R. Julia again, wondering if she was being set up to be killed, when she saw him take something from his belt. "I believe this is your's, Lady Zara," he called out before throwing it.

She caught it easily. It was her beamsaber, which she had last seen left in her hotel room. She activated it with her thumb and saw the energy blade come to life. But though the tone sounded perfect, and the blade was as violet as ever, she knew it had been tampered with. She couldn't feel the slight warmth the blade usually gave off. They'd tinkered with it, reducing its power to the level of a training blade.

Nevertheless, it was her weapon, and Zara brought it up to assume a defensive stance of Dela Kutasi. Again R. Julia spoke. "And now.... begin!"

Lady Valentino's sword suddenly unfolded before Zara's very eyes.



What had been a blade was now a whip, which was sent swinging toward Zara. She brought her blade up to deflect it just to find it posed no obstacle; the whip-sword passed right through her blade. The blade wrapped around Zara's wrists, the blade segments cutting her skin as it became tight. Ivy pulled back with it and brought Zara to the floor. With psionic-boosted strength she began throwing Zara around her, making her dizzy as she slammed into the walls here and there. One of her ribs began to hurt, having been cracked by the impact.

Recollecting her senses, Zara managed to get her footing and fought back with her own power. She pulled with her bound wrists and knocked her opponent to the floor. The whip-blade loosened and fell away from Zara's bleeding hands, wrists, and forearms. The blade is telekinetically aided, Zara realized as she resumed a defensive stance, her weapon still on.

The battle stalemated for a couple minutes. Ivy would attack and Zara would parry the blow with telekinesis, focused through her reduced beamsaber. They circled one another, looking for openings to attack in better fashion.

The crowd, once excited at seeing Zara smacked around on the walls, now expressed their displeasure at the stalemate with a chorus of boos. R. Julia raised a hand, a motion that drew the attention of both fighters - it meant to stop fighting and hear his address. "This battle has been a draw so far. Begin the Countdown!"

The Countdown. The crowd roared its approval as a ninety second counter began to tick. If neither won before the counter ticked down to 0, they would both be executed on the spot. Zara immediately reinforced her telepathic defenses, not wanting her thoughts to leak out to her opponent. The thought, basically, that R. Julia had just handed her victory.

This was demonstrated after fifty seconds had passed. Impatient and genuinely fearful, Ivy took a gamble with an attempt at a misdirection strike, manipulating her whip-blade to come high and swing low to catch Zara's legs. Zara saw it coming in time, side-stepping the desperation attack. Her hand whipped out and grabbed the whip between two of the blade segments. She gave it a powerful, psionic-aided yank that pulled Ivy nearer before she leapt forward, closing the distance with her blade coming up.

Ivy retracted her weapon into a normal blade to parry, but was too late. As her sword reformed from its "whip" form, Zara's beamsaber passed through Ivy's wrists. Had R. Julia's people not altered it Zara would have dismembered her opponent at the wrists - as it was, Ivy cried out and dropped her weapon due to the intensity of the burns on her wrists. A roundhouse kick that connected Zara's foot to Ivy's jaw sent the white-haired woman to the ground for good.

Zara looked back to R. Julia, a grim look of stoic anger on her face. She turned off the beamsaber and watched him stand yet again. "Lady Zara is the victor!," he proclaimed. She will advance to Round #2!"

There were some cheers, but also some jeers. Lady Valentino seemed to have some fans. Zara didn't care, however. She hated every bit of this but knew what would happen if she revolted. At least, as things were now....



After Zara's cuts were tended to she was returned to her cell. Despite the exposure she felt Zara took the time to shower, cleaning off the sweat and, she hoped, the grime of participating in this terrible spectacle.

"You beat the dominatrix, I heard?", a voice called out. She looked away froom her shower to see Toph reclining in her bed. "Good for you. I've beaten Ivy myself, of course, but nobody likes to lose to her. There's even some rumors that Sadat lets her have fun with the people she beats, you know what I mean?"

"I hated it," Zara said as she wrapped herself up in the towel. "Are you due to fight?"

"Oh, of course. But I'm 19th in seeding, so you and I wouldn't meet unless we get to the final match. And I doubt that'll happen. You're in Shroomka's half of the bracket, you know? Nobody gets past him."

"Have you fought him before?"

"No, I haven't. This is my first Shroom Fighter Tournament in the adult leagues. But I've seen him fight. I think I'm the toughest girl on this asteroid, but even I'd think twice about fighting him."

Zara sat on her cot, letting the towel dry her off, and looked over to where the green-skinned man was sleeping. The null field in place impacted her ability to reach out to him telepathically, but she felt if she really, really concentrated she could sense him.



Sadat was waiting outside of R. Julia's office when he saw the stocky, large figure of "Granny" come up. She was every bit the sadist Sadat could be, but her business was the Youth fighters being groomed to grow up into full-fledged Shroom Fighter combatants... usually by way of extensive behavior modification techniques and plain old brutality toward any senses of compassion, mercy, or friendliness on the part of her "children". "Well well well, I hear that dear Silver Moon girl won her fight," she said to Sadat in her usual deep tone, sounding very soothing and soft but with a familiar edge to it. "You were hoping, perhaps, that she would be killed?"

"I got her back for the eye," Sadat grumbled. "What about that weakling Feelipeeni girl I handed over?"

"Ah, sweet little Talim. She's such a nice girl, very kind and considerate." Granny smickled wickedly. "Given time and my dear love, she will be most capable for whatever Lord Julia desires of her."

"Yes, well, don't break her too hard. The General says he needs plenty of sympathetic, nice children to hold over Zara Delmar's head should she get any rebellious streaks."

"You needn't worry how I take care of my dumplings, Sadat, just as I don't concern myself with how you treat them after they leave my nest." The hardnosed, evil old bitch looked past Sadat and to the office. "Is that a Bragulan I smell in the air?"

"It's some official from their Entertainment Ministry, or whatever they call it. Vlydymyr Boryslyav."

"Ah, the maker of 'No Star Empire for Old Bears'," Granny said. "I watch it with my best children every week."

Sadat tried to not show surprise at that. In fact, he tried to ignore it entirely. "Yes. The Bragulans learned of our tournament from the Shepistans. Now they're talking about airing Shroom Fighter in Bragulan territory and even more."

"Even more, you say?"

"Yes." Sadat smirked. "Before I left, the Bragulan was asking about holding the three rounds of Shroom Fighter on some Wild Space world near their border, so they can stream it live into the Bragulan Empire and give out tickets as a reward for Bragulans."

"My, how delightful..."

The Citadel, Mirakar, Miratia, Simulated

Gero grinned as the armoured train jetted into the Administrative Urbanate; it had already been scheduled to pass through here, so nobody even gave it a second thought--until it came screeching to a halt, and hundreds of heavily armed and armoured revolutionaries poured onto the platform. Citadel security was totally overwhelmed by the nearly battalion-sized force Gero had managed to co-opt from the Army, police, and malcontent citizens in general. Within minutes they controlled the hall of the Assembly. The Supreme Leader's own considerably large office, fortified like a bunker, held out until last.

Gero set the breaching charge himself. The dust had barely settled when he burst through the gaping hole in the wall--only to discover the office absolutely barren save for the Supreme Leader's own desk--which Ryan Thunder now sat on, amidst piles of DVDs, for some reason, casually aiming a massive pistol in Gero's general direction.

"You know, if you're going to hack my wife's brain, you should consider that I've had more than a thousand years to figure out how it works better than you." He paused. "Oh," he pointed at the pistol, "and this thing shoots knives. Knives that explode. Cool, huh?" Gero's face was turning redder with each passing moment. "Yeah, that's right, motherfucker," he continued, "Hax. Now, you're gonna fix this fucking asinine exception handler or I'm going to find something unpleasant to do with this thingy here."

"Oh, yes! Of course," Gero fumed, and with great exaggeration pulled out a small device from his inside jacket pocket and pressed a button. He looked back at Ryan and adopted a shit-eating grin. For a few seconds, nothing happened.

"...So, should I kill you now, or throw you to the mobs down in Residential?" Ryan asked. "Oh, what the hell. I'll just kill you now and get it over with. Game over, asshole." He pulled the trigger.

Huang Di's Palace, Tian Xia, Messamurrica



The knife blade shot into the wall and exploded, sending bits of stone and gravel everywhere. "…Fuck," Ryan uttered. The noise, of course, alerted the palace guards, who came scurrying.



They surrounded him and demanded that he surrender. Or so he guessed, anyway; he never could be bothered to learn Tian Xian. He flipped them the bird in response; it seemed pretty universal on this world. A sword lashed out of seemingly nowhere, glancing almost harmlessly off of exotic composite armour.

"Drop the guns," one of them replied in Shroomanian, "Or we'll take them."

Ryan chuckled again. "You and what army?"

They all gestured with their chins towards something behind him.



"Oh, fuck me." Ryan shut his eyes. Lines of text appeared in his vision. , he sent. A huge list of words scrolled by. One caught his attention.

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

Previously, on Ranoids

He picked up the receiver at his desk and dialed in CIC.

"Comms. This is the commander, send an emergency transmission to the rest of Omega fleet in Bombina Sector, they may have incoming attacks on shipping from pirate heavies"

The fleet jumped out of hyperspace into Bombina sector.

"Omega Fleet Command this is Maculatum actual, requesting fleet status report"

"This is Omega Fleet Command. Welcome home Task Force Sigma. Thanks for the warning, we were able to get shipping lanes closed and merchant vessels behind planetary defenses. If you scan the area, you will find a debris field. Unfortunately, the Commander of the Heavy Cruiser Dalmatina was killed when their shields momentarily fell. One the ship is repaired, it needs a new Commander. Consider yourself promoted"

Results: Pirates neutralized, Alrynchus finally has a ship suiting his rank, and is second in command of Bombina Sector Fleet.

[i]Previously on SDNW4[/i] wrote: "Crap! Brewbacca, we have to lose some weight!"

Brewbacca howled in protest.

"Go on a diet?! This isn't time for jokes!" Nah spat back. Then, an idea struck him. Half the Bragtech arms shipment was still in the ship. "Go to the cargo bay, we're dumping the goods!"

Brewbacca growled and howled something about how it was dangerous for him to open the bay while they were on the verge of space.

"Shut up and get some exercise you fat furry fuck!" Nah shouted and laughed. He thought it was pretty clever because Brewbacca was fat and furry, because he was wearing a fursuit which was furry, and because he was a goddamn furvert, otherwise known as furry. Hahaha!

Brewbacca whined and stormed off in a huff. Then Nah could hear the whine of bomb bays opening, and the whistling sound of the cargo being dumped like gravity bombs. Because some of the Bragtech weapons were gravity bombs!

"We're gaining altitude!" Nah cried. After all the shit that had just happened, all he wanted to do was get the fuck out of Pendleton. "We're breaking into orbit! Yes! Yes! Yes yes yes yes yes! YES!"

THE PENDLETON PARADIGM

Freetown, Pendleton

Gunfire, sirens and screams.



"Fook! Get down, bru!" Donny Marcher yelled as he grabbed his camera man, Solomon Mandy, and shoved him down the ground. Gunfire erupted all around them and predictably the streets exploded in anarchy, people running around screaming before they were cut down by the gunmen as they advanced into Freetown.

"It's not safe here!" Solomon Mandy stated the obvious.

"Ja, ja, ja!" Donny replied as they got up and bolted for the nearest cover they could afford, running behind a dumpster as fast as they could while fleeing bystanders were gunned down right behind them. Another person, thinking of the same thing as Donny and Solomon, tried to run for the dumpster and was just about to make it before he got hit. The round went inside the back of his head, and out of his face - spraying brains and splattering facial features all over the dumpster Donny was using as cover. "Fook!"

All of Freetown was in disarray. The gunmen, freed slave vigilantes, had come to exact punishment on their former masters. Now that the tables had been turned, many mistreated slaves sought to rise up and get even with their now-deposed oppressors. The Anglians wouldn't allow this, of course, so this never happened in the big cities or the key centers the Coalition controlled. But in the outskirts? Where the laws were weak, and where the local freed slave authorities in charge could turn a blind eye on these happenings, in part of their sympathies to the freed slaves or their lingering hatred for their former masters, these things could happen and did. Especially in a small faraway town like Freetown, populated by a majority of former slave-owners who deliberately left the cities and fled to the countryside to avoid the heel of the hated Anglians.

While in the cities they would have to contend with the Anglian invaders and their Coalition lackeys, the occupying forces still made it a point to protect the people of Pendleton from violence, both freed slave and former slave owner from both freed slave vigilantes and slaver insurgents. Such was not the case out here in the countryside. But this was the fate they chose.



The free slave vigilantes were hell-bent on enacting punishment upon their former masters. Casting aside the shackles of oppression and slavery, they picked up arms and came to kill. The indignation of forced servitude was one that could not be paid by monies, not that the slavers paid their peasants any monies. It was one that could only be paid by blood. The tree of liberty, as they say, must be refreshed from time to time by the blood of patriots and tyrants. These punishers were patriots, but they had no intentions of irrigating the liberty trees themselves. No, the only ones who would be doing the irrigating were the tyrants, and they would make sure of that.

The punishers didn't come alone. They brought with them other militants, freedom fighters who fought the slavers long before the arrival of the Anglians. These were men, women and children who fled to the woods to conduct their brutal war against the oppressors. They stuck knives in their hands and called themselves...



...wolverines.

"Snikt bub!" cried the wolverines in battle fury. They spoke in a secret language created so that the slavers would not know what they spoke of. "Snikt bub snikt bub bub-bub snikt-snikt bub snikt bub snikt-snikt bub snikt bub!"

"Oh fook! C'mon, bru! Ja!" Donny Marcher grabbed Solomon Mandy and ran for his life, or their lives rather. They were in Pendleton as journalists, but actually they were MPU contractors scoping the place for potential new contracts, seeing as occupations and counter-insurgencies were often ripe markets for the services of PMCs and other services the MPU provided. Prior to working for MPU, and back when the Outland Commissions were still there, Donny Marcher was in the ex-Arayna Republic's now-disbanded 32th Division together with Colonel Vosloo, who was the current commander of MPU's mercenary forces. With this in mind, it was no surprise that Marcher bolted across the Freetown streets-turned-killing fields with a sense of level-headed composure mixed with a frantic but controlled panic. He hauled Solomon with him, the man wasn't a hard-edged mercenary but rather a fisherman who ran out of fish, and the man could barely control himself there in that situation.

Solomon almost fell as he was grabbed by an old lady who looked like a matron of some formerly high-class family, before the war took it all from them. Her formerly fancy gown was tattered and stained red. One of her arms was hanging off her shoulder by a strand of meat.

"Help me..." she uttered. "My family... my family..."

"Bru! Come on!" Donny shouted as he dragged Solomon, pulling him away from the old lady. As they ran off, Solomon looked back and saw the old lady wandering around in a sea of chaos, pleading for help, looking for her family, her fancy dress now in tatters, one of her arms dangling off her shoulder.

As the old lady hobbled off in shock, she was cornered by three brutish men clad in black, with crudely painted white skulls adorning their chests. The three punishers were joined by a wolverine.



"SNIKT BUB!" the wolverine roared as he approached the old lady, malice intent on his eyes. He knew this old lady, knew her well. They had had an illicit affair even though she was eighty years his senior, but when her husband - the professor - had found out, he ended up being flogged for committing one of the gravest sins a slave could commit, namely that of consummating his lusts with his betters. He had escaped his captors only through sheer luck and desperation, and despite his enhanced healing factor the scars of his flogging still marked his whole body. This was why many of the wolverines, similarly disgraced slaves such as he, donned yellow and black costumes to conceal their forms. He asked the lady if she had missed him by saying, "Snikt bub!"

"Oh dear..." the old lady babbled feebly. She tried to back away, for now she recognized the slave who had slaked her lusts all those years ago. The punishers snickered while the wolverine began undoing his belt buckles and zippers. The fact that he had so many pouches made such a feat difficult, but eventually he managed it. He undid himself, and at the sight, the old lady gasped, on the verge of a heart attack. "Oh my!"

But one of the problems with having knives in your hands, particularly when handling sensitive areas was...

"SNIKT BUB!!!!" the wolverine screamed, he fucking screamed. He had cut himself and now blood was gushing all over. Blood and pubic hair was all over the place, and not even his enhanced healing factor could fix it. "ARGH! SNIKT BUB! SNIKT BUB! SNIKT BUUUUUB!!!!"

He pranced around in panic, jumping up and down while the punishers attempted to restrain him and use their hands to put pressure on the wound. As they did so, a loud rumbling noise filled the air, like the sound of distant thunder. As the wolverines and punishers slaughtered the denizens of Freetown, in the middle of it all the old one-armed lady looked up to the heavens and saw something great and beautiful in the clear blue sky.



Unbeknown to her, it was the Century Egg breaking the hypermach barrier as its turboramscramfanjets propelled it to escape velocity. She squinted, her glaucomyopicataract-ridden eyes perceiving something all the others did not in the midst of their bloodshed. Something, somethings, were falling from the heavens in the wake of that strange thunder-ship in the skies. The thunder was replaced by a faint whistling that grew louder and louder with each passing second just as the somethings grew bigger and bigger.

Something was triggered within the old crone's memories. Perhaps from her experiences in ancient times, memories of a similar time when war was upon them, or perhaps something from the holos she had seen centuries ago. She pointed at the sky and shrieked in bloodcurdling horror.

"THE GERMANIANS ARE COMING! THE GERMANIANS ARE COMING!"

Likewise then as the bombs came down, whistling as they did so, did the one-armed old lady join the wolverine in running around in a circle, and somehow confuzzled did the punishers also run after her in an attempt to restrain her. Her bleeding stump, together with the wolverine's spurting member, drew coruscating circles of blood on the earth below their feet.

The bomb landed with a horrendous explosion, not that of a chemical, biological or nuclear warhead, but like that of several tons of material rapidly striking the ground. By sheer luck was the old lady thrown out of the way when the wolverine, who was running around like a headless chicken, had bumped her when she was also running around like a headless chicken. When she recovered enough of her senses, she saw the flattened and pulped corpses of that wolverine and his punishers smeared under the thing that had fallen from the sky.

It was a container full of guns!

The denizens of Freetown were quick to react to this sudden paradigm shift. They scrambled over to the pancaked punishers and pried the felled containers open, liberating their contents of Bragtech weaponry. K-bolters, meant for adult Bragulans, were hauled by entire groups of men while those weapons meant for Byzon Youth cubs were man-portable and handled as such. There were other miscellanies in these containers too, such as beating sticks, potato-shaped hand grenades (for Bragulans were in boot camp trained by throwing potatoes, thus a whole series of Brag-grenades were made in the likeness of potatoes to ease the conscripts' learning curve), Bragsteel brass knuckles, and mini-Bragnums for kidlings.



The uppity well-to-do ex-slavers yelled in triumph now that they had the armaments they needed to teach those fringe world yokels who didn't know where their loyalties lie a thing or two about their proper place in the order of things. They had been given the Bragulan arms, and with these Bragulan arms they gave acid bullets to their enemies. It was the gift that kept on giving, in the finest traditions of the yuletide Bragsday.

Can'ton

As chaos and bloodshed reign in Freetown, so too was there mayhem in Can'ton, this time brought on by slaver insurgents. Not that far off from Freetown, the situation in Can'ton was the exact opposite. There were freed slaves living in Can'ton, for it was the site of a great mud puddle with which Pendletonian porcelain - a moderately profitable product of the planet - was produced, and before the freed slaves were freed and when they were slaves, it was in the mud mines of Can'ton that they toiled for a living under their master's whip. Now their master had been deposed, but there were those of the former ruling class that sought retribution on the freed slaves for being uppity.



Blasters went pew-pew-pew and the devastation wrought by their megajoules was incomprehensible. The Mangdalorians stalked through the landscape like big armored stalking things. There were entire families of slavers who were ruined by the demise of Pendleton's caste system, and in their rage at both the Anglians and their wayward property they sought to do violence against them. But there was no way they could strike at the Anglians, who were so mighty and powerful. Now the slaves, who were so haughty in their false sense of security and freedom, who went about thinking that things had changed and that they were equals? They were easy prickings.

The distraught and dispossessed people, the mud miners of Can'ton, huddled in fear inside their shanty towns. They once thought that the coming of the Anglians would bring forth change they could believe in, but that belief was shattered as though shot by a diamond bullet. The butcheries they beheld before them was the final epitaph of all their dreams of a better tomorrow. Their old hopes were gone...



But as they fell to their knees, they looked upwards and skywards and saw something burning in the vast firmament above them - like a meteor or a comet, with a trail of fire ascending towards the heavens. It was a portent, an omen, a prophecy.

It was a new hope.

A full container load of guns, twenty by twenty feet, dropped from the sky and crashed into a shanty home. Through sheer fortune, the hiding inhabitants were unharmed even though the container itself had disintegrated from the impact and spilled its contents of guns and ammunition all over the shanty. The inhabitants looked out through the hole in the roof and saw in the sky a glimpse of the Century Egg, just a glimpse before it disappeared entirely - vanishing from the sky, never to return to Pendleton ever again!

Although it had gone, the legacy it had left was unforgettable. The peoples of Can'ton rallied to the container and got their weapons. Thus emboldened by this, for surely this miracle was a sign of the gods and their favor, they attacked the Mangdalorians with a fury unknown.



"They say 'the future is in your hands.' We now the future. So we take your hands!" a freed slave yelled as, with a Bragsteel machete, he chopped the arms off a Mangdalorian.

"Looks like you've been... disarmed," declared one of the local free slave police officers.



"YEEAAAAH!" replied a chorus of machete-wielding freemen.
Coalition Aerospace Patrol Kikpaquatxitl-323



The Kipakti fighter jockeys soared through the troposphere of Pendleton on their routine sky-patrol. Despite being massive carnosauruses, their forms still (barely) fit the fuselage of the aerospace fighter jets custom built to their specifications. Their aerospacecrafts were truly great machines, massive enough to fit a huge dinosaur, and yet with variable geometry swing wings, turboramscramfanjets and supercruise capability to propel them to hypermach speeds in atmo, and aerolastic control surfaces plus 4-dimensional thrust vectoring for unparalleled maneuverability. Sure, they weren't space capable, but within a planet's atmosphere they were unmatched.

The flight lead kipakt toggled on his FATENING and TARPs to scan the planetary surface below him. The assignment on Pendleton, to represent the NenAltKik in the Coalition, was a prestigious one but after the harrowing space battle with the Collector Monolith, the whole ordeal had turned out to be dull. They saw more action in dealing with the civil unrests back at home, because rioting dinosaurianoids were way more dangerous than any amount of tiny humans with cute little Shroomolotov cocktails, and there was nothing in Pendleton to offer any real military challenge. The drills back home, with dissimilar aerospace combat training where they trained for hypothetical dogfights against Shepistani Vipers were far more exciting.

Without any enemy fighters at all, the 323rd Kikpaquatxitl Tactical Fighter Squadron was relegated to flying recon flights to scan the Pendletonian fringes for any sign of trouble. The Coalition ground forces couldn't be everywhere at once, even the Anglian ground contingent had to rely on aerospace cavalry to ferry it to and fro various hotspots in rapid succession. This meant aerospace fighters that could fly high, loiter long, and scan the planetside from high above had an important role in counterinsurgency operations. An important but boring role.

They had been vectored to this grid by the Anglians. So far there was nothing here but a couple of towns within a couple dozen miles of each other, Freetown and Can'ton.

"I'm detecting some weapons fire and distress signals down there," said the EWO.

"Yeah? From which town?" civil disturbances were a common problem, with slaver and freed slave groups carrying reprisals on one another. It was particularly troublesome in the countryside.

"Um, both of them."



"Right," the kipakt wing commander grinned mischievously, looking positively menacing with his eyes covered by reflectorized flight goggles and his mouth filled with huge fangs. "Ask HQ for permission to engage. Let's see if they'll let us use these JDAMRAAMs for a change."

"Negatory, flight lead, they're telling us not to engage but to relay the coordinates to the ground pounders."

"Bah, those bunch of parasaurolophuses. Alright, who's the nearest to Freetown and Can'ton?"

"We have a long range planetary patrol, one of ours. Moxli scout troopers."

"Alright, vector them in to the conflict areas. Might as well let them have some fun."

"Roger that."

"Copy that wilco foxtrot."

"Tango zulu x-ray."

"Bravo mike oscar."

"Charlie alpha quebec."

"Romeo juliet indigo."

"Over and out."
Long Range Planet Group



Like in many special operations groups, the Moxli scout troopers were a rather loose bunch often fond of doing things outside regulations. As such they were clad in relatively light armor and wrapped red bandanas around their heads. They were armed with relatively low-tech slugthrowers. While their arsenal included modern phased plasma weaponry, long range planet patrols were often hell on the maintenance, and with Pendleton in the middle of shoal space, shipments of spare parts didn't come as frequent as they'd like. So they reverted back to older but more reliable weapons, which could kill humans just as easily.

They split off into two groups, going for Freetown and Can'ton simultaneously. They stormed the streets and with loudspeakers they shrieked for all hostiles to lower their weapons and surrender. Some of the insurgents and vigilantes were still high from combat and murder and didn't comply, they even actively resisted and opened fire, so the Moxli commandos had to kill them to make an example to the rest of them. If the Anglians were out on hearts and minds operations, the Moxli were probably in the 'scary dinosaurs scaring the shit out of the humans' business. After mowing down the hostiles, the surviving vigilantes and insurgents either surrendered or broke off, so the Moxli subdued them non-lethally.



By making horrible shrieks while lunging at the fleeing/cowering humans and incapacitating them with their terrible toe claws!
28 Hours Later
Moose Easy Cantina

"You know," said a bar patron, a man who had moxli claw-marks marking his face. "I wonder who we have to thank for that. If it weren't for those guns, those damn Mangdalorians would've had us for sure."

"Yeah, those guns just dropped in there at the nick of time. It was like a miracle."

"Whoever it was, we sure owe him everything."

"Does anyone know who did it?"

"I do," came a reply.

"You do?"

"I do."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"C'mon, tell us!"



"Ladies and gentlemen, that man was none other than Nah Oslo," Blando Dullrissian declared.

Orthodox Times
Premier Newspaper for news in the Orthodox Christian World

Ecumenical Patriarch Gregorios Innokenti declares that killing and eating Ampliturs grants one immediate entrance into Heaven



Ecumenical Patriarch Gregorios Innokenti declared in a recent sermon that killing and eating Ampliturs will grant one immediate entrance into Heaven. He declared, "In the Name of the God Emperor of Terra, I decree that eating crabs and associated species will grant one extra graces. If one were to kill and eat an Amplitur, he is immediately granted entrance into heaven. We must stand with our Shepistani brothers against this old xeno menance, and crush them mercilessly." This decree was issued likely in response to the recent declaration of war by the Shepistan General Sheppard. The rabidly xenophobic Gregorios Innokenti is known to espouse with great rigour the Doctrine of Human Superiority where all xenos will either be exterminated, reared as pets such as Bragulans, or reared for food. He is a known connoisseur of Amplitur crab meat, though the source of this meat is relatively unknown and might well be Bragulan in origin.

[And now! More adventures about the Amplitur attacks! ]
[BTW the youtube has subtitles too, Sheppy-pooh! ^____________^]

///TS/SI/PEKING DUCK///
TO: CINC
FROM: DSIS

[The following footage and transcript are from high-tech special forces unit SHEP-HOUND operator codenamed SOLID SHEP, last seen in a top secret reconnaissance mission deep inside the Montgomery tunnel network. The remains of SOLID SHEP were recovered in an underground limestone cave, he is believed to have died at the claws of the Amplitur organism.]



[transcript begins]

PARA-MEDIC...

Shep, what's wrong?

I've encountered some kind of cave demon! I... I don't think I'll be leaving this place alive!

Shep, are you feeling alright?

Other than the gut-wrenching terror that I feel at the moment, I'm fine.

Calm down Shep, its not a cave demon its a Shroomian mangrove crab.

A what?!

A Shroomian mangrove -

OH MY GOD! It's looking right at me!

Shep -

SWEET JESUS!!! IT'S GETTING CLOSER!!!

Shep, listen!

It'll tear me to shreds!

Shep, you've got your knife, right?

Yeah, but –

All you have to do is stab it. Once you've killed the crab, you'll get a food ration... that you can eat later to restore stamina.

ARE YOU INSANE!!!

A knife is useless against those massive claws! They could rip a tank apart! Jesus Christ!

Shep, snap out of it! There are more pressing matters at hand. You have to find and destroy the Shagohod!

But the demon!?

SHEP WILL YOU JUST SHUT THE HELL UP AND STAB IT!

…

Errg! It's... it's moving so fast... Errg!

Okay... if I just concentrate on the... techniques The Boss taught me about CQC... I should be fine.

Okay... Counter-balance the knife, quick slash, retract. Counter-balance the knife, quick slash and retrac... ah... goddamnit?!

*the knife breaks*

*sound of struggle*

*stab *

Grraaa... CRAB BATTLE!!!

Okay... let's do this, motherfucker!

Aw yeah... you want...

Hya... Cr... ah... CRAB BATTLE!!!

*crab slashes eye *

OH DEAR GOD!!!

SHEP!!! SHEP, WHAT'S GOING ON!?!

EYAAA!!! CRAB BATTLE!!!

Shep, you're not making any sense!

AH... IT'S GOT ME!

AW... SONNAVABITCH!

ACK... erg... era... ferr... CRAB BATTLE!

What the hell!?!

Shep, stab it!

Ah... I can't... I broke my knife!

What!? Shep, that's impossible!

AH! Arg... crab... It broke... IT BROKE MY KNIFE!!! ACK!!! ERR!!! CRAB BATTLE!!!

STOP SAYING THAT!

*fzzzt *

OLIOLIOLIOOOO!!!!

raa... Who the hell is that!?

OLIOO!!!

I don't know. He must've jacked into our frequency!

OLIOLIOLIOOOO!!!!

RAA!!! CRAB BATTLE!!!

OLIOLIOLIOOOO!!!!

HRRRRYYYAAAAA!!!!!!

What the hell is going on!?

CRAB BATTLE!!!

STOP SAYING THAT!

OLIOLIOLIOOOO!!!!

You, too!

OLI!

Hey!

OLIOLI!!!

QUIT IT!!!

OLIOLIOLIOOOO!!!!

*Shep's eye is ripped off, Shep falls *

EYAAA!!!

Shep? Answer me! Shep, respond! Shep? Shep?! SHEEEEEEEEP!!!!!!

[transcript ends]

Capitol Building, Montalban
Pendleton, The Outback
21 July 3400


Sir William Tarkington had already been in a sour mood when he received the news of the fights at Can'ton and Freetown. They were in the boonies, not far from the Shepistani Bombardment Zone, where law and order were only starting to penetrate.

Those damned Liberals! Tarkington, having dealt with another meeting of the Occupation Committee, was more convinced than ever that if this occupation failed to work, it would be the fault of the Liberals for not simply annexing the planet outright and giving him complete authority as Govenor-General to make Pendleton an acceptable, if minor, world of the Empire. Instead they had gone on about "cooperation with other nations" to maintain the "balance of power in the Outback" and such, which was preposterous to Tarkington as Pendleton lacked any strategic value. It was, in fact, a burden to whomever occupied the planet.

What should have been a uniform Anglian occupation, with the rule of law imposed everywhere, had become a system of zones. The Anglians still had the most, but significant areas of the planet were under the jurisdiction of officials from the Empire Star Republic, the Hiigarans, and the Ascendancy, with one zone in the tropics allocated to the NenAltKik. Officially the entire planet was under the jurisdiction of the International Occupation and Rebuilding Committee, which Tarkingtoon was Chairman of, but there were already cases of the individual nations running things as they desired, including the tricky subject of relations between the ex-slaves and the citizens.

And then there were the costs, in men and material, from the insurgency. The insurgency mostly targeted ex-slaves and abolitionists, with a few attacks on occupation troops making use of off-world weapons. Already the Gothamites were said to be mulling a pullout - their government disapproved of the spiraling costs and having to match the contributions of the others. The NenAltKik were at least reliable in supplying shock troops to shut down civil disturbances, but they were hardly fit for more subtle uses of force and their zone mostly functioned by having the former sides too frightened to confront their reptilian occupiers.

Now this had come along. The insurgency had spent some of their remaining cash reserves to purchase Bragulan armaments on the cheap, armaments that would permit them to be more aggressive against the occupation forces. But someone involved in the transaction had approached the Secret Intelligence Service, so MI6 had implemented their own operation by arranging for the smuggler, when he arrived, to be intercepted and made to believe he had cleared inspection when, in fact, his cargo now contained micro-trackers to lead troops to weapons caches.

Now, however, it was clear something had gone wrong. The smuggler had instead dumped his weapons over Can'ton and Freetown, there was an open disturbance, and they had nothing to show for it. About the only loss to the insurgents was that in cash.

Hearing the report from his Intelligence Attachè, Commander Keith MacTaggart, Tarkington's face made his displeasure evident. "We would have been better off if you had let the Navy deal with the smuggler," he said dismissively. "If he slips back out, it will only embolden other smugglers to think they might have a shot, and our blockade will become tested."

"Unfortunately it turns out that the smuggler, this 'Nah Oslo', is a very erratic, deranged individual," MacTaggart answered. "He demanded more money, too much, and tried to sell the weapons to the Punishment Brigade." There was a quirky look on the man's face. "From what we can tell, he agreed to sell to them for even less money than the insurgents were to pay him. Something of an idiotic lunatic, really..."

"I want orders sent out immediately, in my capacity as Governor-General of the Outback Territories, that this Mr. Oslo is to be arrested for smuggling weapons onto Pendleton. I will see him before the King's Bench and off to the gallows, a warning to the others," Tarkington declared. "Now, if you will excuse me, I have a letter to write to the Prime Minister." When MacTaggart was gone Tarkington went to work, sending to Prime Minister Penton a request for more Army forces and for greater support directed at the other nations to Tarkington's authority on Pendleton. The occupation was nowhere near a failure, but there were rough edges that had to be smoothed out iif the planet was to be rebuilt and the power of the slave-owning classes irrevocably broken.

Occupation Committee Meeting

If Governor-General Tarkington could, he would've cursed those damn liberals out loud. But due to protocol, he couldn't, not in front of the Hiigarans, Gothamites, NenAltKik, Ascendant and other representatives and ranking personnel of the multinational Coalition gathered at the meeting. His anger at the liberals would've matched that of his counterparts from Montgomery, who were unfortunately expulsed from the Coalition after their nuking of Eel and Dogadishu. In some ways, Tarkington would've made a good Shepistani.

The reason for his ire was so:

One of the reports detailing recent local developments mentioned the aftermath of the Freetown and Can'ton incidents. Aside from the irksome lack of order in the boonies, the mucked up MI6 operation, and the heavy-handed NenAltKik response, to make matters worse the locals of both cities had ended up somehow regarding that smuggling scoundrel Nah Oslo as a local hero! For supposedly saving them from their enemies by raining down weapons at them!

Already, there was a movement in Can'ton to rename the whole town to "Oslo" in honor of their supposed savior.



Governor Tarkington would've groaned at this, but didn't because it would've been undignified of him to do so.

But now, to make matters worse, someone had seen it fit to include into the briefing an audio clip of the nauseating song the Can'tonites had made to commemorate the event:

Naaah!

The Man they call Nah!

Oh, He robbed from the rich
and gave guns to the poor.
Stood up to the man
and he gave him what for.
Our love for him now
ain't hard to explain.
The hero of Can'ton
the man they call Naaaaah.

Our Nah saw the freed slaves' backs breakin'.
He saw the freed slaves' lament.
And he saw the slave owners takin'
every dollar and leavin' five cents.
So he said: "You can't do that to my people."
said "You can't crush them under your heel."
So Nah strapped on his hat
and in 5 seconds flat
stole everythin' Butt Java had to steal.

Oh, He robbed from the rich
and gave guns to the poor.
Stood up to the man
and he gave him what for.
Our love for him now
ain't hard to explain.
The hero of Can'ton
the man they call Naaaah.

Now here is what separates heroes
from common folk like you and I.
The man they call Nah
he turned 'round his plane
and let them guns hit sky.

He dropped it onto our houses
he dropped it into our yards.
The man they called Nah
he stole away our pain
and headed out for the stars!

(Here we go!)

He robbed from the rich
and gave guns to the poor.
Stood up to the man
and he gave him what for.
Our love for him now
ain't hard to explain.
The hero of Can'ton
the man they call Naaaaah...



Needless to say, Governor Tarkington wasn't most especially pleased with his day.

Cyberspace
Greater Solarian Datasphere



To the human mind, cyberspace looked like rows and stacks of data, receding endlessly along neon infinities. It was a labyrinthine latticework of glowing colour in which it was easy to get distracted or lost, especially if one was a first-time cyberdecker trying to find a way through the ocean of data that represented the sum total of all knowledge the Sovereignty possessed.

For CompInts, it was different. Their vastly higher clockspeeds and superior data-handling capabilities allowed them a godlike vantage over the seething mass of electron states, microwaves, light pulses and subatomic pseudo-fields from which arose the virtual netherworld of cyberspace. It was unlike anything Callahan had ever experienced before.

Oh my...

Bright pulses of pure information raced through recessed geometries, connecting clusters of data that oscillated with the heartbeat of continuous digital permutation. Electronic repositories formed glowing nexi of data which in turn aggregated in immense constellations that Callahan instinctively realized had to correspond to planets or entire systems in the physical universe. Smaller specks hung suspended between the larger agglomerations. Some moved, others didn't: representations of smaller colonies, large space stations or very large ships speeding through hyperspace. But even the smallest pinprick of virtual light was connected to the others with the same luminous strands – the I/O streams that bound the Datasphere together.

Callahan decided to follow his own hyperwave signal toward the nearest constellation, the virtual twin of the Helicon system and every computer therein. No sooner had he formulated the thought that the Chamarran CI found himself instantly in the midst of the blooming data-hub of the midrange mining system. For the briefest of core cycles Callahan was surprised; then he chided himself for his consternation. He had expected the transition to take a while, as if it were a physical journey. But this was the Datasphere; time was an abstract at best, and access was instantaneous even across interstellar distances.



Slowly Callahan began to understand the bewildering chaos of information that surrounded him. There were cores of data all around him, representing computerized systems. Strung between them was the web of light that symbolized lines of communication; along them flitted millions of user avatars – peering closer, he could make out cyberdeckers, most of them appearing more or less as they would in the actual universe, as well as the featureless cubes of sub-sentient programs, more complex mathematical shapes preferred by intelligent expert systems and, occasionally, the asymmetric ataxia of virlife, small programs that had evolved 'naturally' in this digital universe; accidents of programming that frequently didn't even know there was such a thing as a physical world beyond cyberspace.

He looked up, and if he'd had a mouth he would've gasped.

Suspended between the coursing web of neon lights hung monolithic ziggurats. Callahan didn't know how he could've missed them before, they were so colossal it seemed impossible to overlook them now. They were the virtual representations of the Sovereignty's own Computational Intelligences, the spiders that weaved the digital web that connected the Sovereignty, the keepers of the lore. They existed as part of, yet apart from the Datasphere: its functioning was tied inextricably to the submeson cores that housed them.

One of those intelligences at first appeared to be farther away from Callahan – until the Chamarran CI realized that it wasn't; it was simply larger. Vastly larger, and it seemed to be growing – or rather, it was somehow manipulating the streams of data to draw Callahan toward itself. He briefly tried to resist, but as the vast computational intellect drew closer he soon realized it was useless; it was far better at whatever it was doing than he was. Soon enough, he found himself suspended before the complex mathematical shape that represented the cyberspace avatar of its multiple cores.



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

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


Creston was, like many "towns" in the Asimovian nation, nothing more than a series of structures meant to maintain and service the automated drones that, themselves, kept the server farms and telecommunications networks powered and functional. Only a handful of settlements and towns in the Asimov Nations were different, including "organic" habitats and support that would be recognizable as "towns" to living Humans (or "biological" Humans, as the Asimovians preferred to insist, since among their numbers were intelligences born as Human beings who uploaded themselves to avoid death or for various other purposes).

This posed a challenge to Tabitha. Humans were not expected to be seen, at all in Creston. Spaces were build to accommodate the automated drones, not human bodies. But she had to go in if she was to track the communications path that altered the Cornelian assassination order on Princess Hilda and King Charles.

She had foregone the customary leather suit for a lighter stealthsuit. It was an incredibly uncomfortable suit, as it included insulation to prevent body heat from getting out but which, in turn, made her sweat heavily as her body heated up. She only had a certain amount of time before she had to remove the suit lest she literally slow-broil herself in sweat and trapped heat.

The standard infiltration gear let her continue. Crawling, jumping, swinging at times from structure to structure and having to climb the flat, unwindowed surfaces brought her to her intended structure: Server Farm 26. Now she was forcing herself through the access shafts for the maintenance drones. Unlike ventilation shafts, which were typically too weak to hold a Human being, these were made of sturdier stuff as they needed to be capable of supporting the weight of passing drones.

Already sweating heavily, Tabitha pressed a key on her belt to activate her internal air supply. It would only last for about ten minutes, but she needed it to gain entry into the server farm itself. The farm was kept in a completely air-tight, airless environment, meant to prevent any corrosion or flammability potential from elements in the air - these were drones, after all, not living, breathing things. With a "dumb AI" security cracker she was able to wirelessly work her way through the airlock into the server farm, where she quickly found the servers she was looking for.

Using her security cracker she started looking through the dormant server's communication logs. She found where Jack Crutchins had received the altered contract and where the source above him and sent it in. In the 20 hour interim, then, was where she would find what she was looking for. There was the usual server maintenance traffic, a couple of the CIs using a few gigabytes here and there for extra memory storage as they implemented defragmentation or drive-cleaning procedures....

A single item. An anonymous sweep of the server's contents roughly two hours before Crutchins received the contract. The file with the contract had been accessed, though there was no direct sign of actual data alteration. Tabitha considered this; it meant the security issue that Princess Sara had tasked her to find involved CIs.

Ladies of the Ebon Blade didn't really like CIs, for reasons obvious to anyone who considered their usual approach to biological problems.

Tabitha copied down the information from the anonymous access. She would have to track the origin later, right now she had to get out of here before she set off security or her air ran out. Nevertheless, she did arrange for a message to be transmitted via the Cornelian security services back to Princess Sara, informing her of the findings. Whomever had interfered with the Princess' plans to stop the Fynn-Tyconian merger had a lot of resources, indeed...


Sweethaven
Pendleton, The Outback


The insurgents had struck fairly swiftly. A gathering of freed slaves had come to cheer a local abolitionist politician, recently returned from exile in New Anglia, as he promoted his candidacy to lead the town. This was the kind of thing that drew attention from the insurgents, the thing they had always clamped down on.

The explosion had killed about twenty people, including the abolitionist, and the brief seconds of gunfire had mowed down another ten. Dozens more were injured by the guns and bomb. As emergency services responded to the attack and Anglian Royal Marines established a perimeter and began searching heavily for the attackers, the four insurgents met at their safehouse, packed with modern weapons. "Another traitor put down, boys," the oldest one said. "It's going to be long hard work, but we've driven these abolitionists off our world before, we'll do it again."

There were nods of agreement, but nothing more could be said before the door flew open.

The men turned to face a woman standing there, in a red leather suit. Gunfire mowed down two before the oldest and his one surviving man could return fire, forcing the blonde to take cover. They advanced cautiously before being thrown back by an unseen force. Gunshots hit their guns one after another, blasting their firearms up and savagely tearing the flesh of their hands and forearms as a result. The woman stood again, her gun going back to a holster. She pulled out a pair of items, one in each hand, with her right hand soon revealed as gripping a beamsaber of white energy. She impaled the younger survivor with it, killing him instantly with a blow to the heart. The older one....

Soon she had him tied to a chair, his shirt opened. The second device she had pressed against him and caused excruciating pain. "I won't talk!", he cried out between presses of the weapon.

"Not willingly, I know," the woman answered. She smiled wickedly. "But I don't need you too..."


Half an hour later, the insurgent cell leader's dead body exploded, courtesy of a bomb just like the one that had killed innocent people at the town gathering. His piddly remains would not bear the marks of a man who'd had a gun blasted out of his hand and his wrists and ankles tied tightly. As far as the responding Anglian authorities would know, the insurgents had accidentally set off one of their own bombs. But among the surviving items, fortunately shielded from the blast by being on the other side of a safe or behind bulky objects, were various papers and data cards holding information on other safehouses for the insurgency. By the time the Anglians followed up on this intelligence and bagged more insurgents and safehouses, most of the safehouses for a 100 mile radius around Sweethaven, as well as the identity of the local leader of the insurgency responsible for disruptive attacks in Sweethaven and Montalban, would be taken.

A small distance away, Kara sighed as she submerged herself into a warm bath. She smiled to herself and dozed off in her bathtub, content of having done her part - as an ex-slave - to make sure Pendleton would never again due to a girl what it once did to her.

Deep Space: Sectors 25 A - 26 B

A light show illuminates the Galactic Void. Lights of every color blink in and out of existence with intensities from as bright as a light bulb to as bright as a supernova. Space bends and twists, sending huge waves through hyperspace that stop and disable travelers as far away as The Imperium of Man.

3 days later, the light show suddenly stops, they are replaced with station and planets. MEH has arrived.