SDNW4 Story Thread 2

[Shroom Man 777]

LIVE on ShinraSat/StratTV
FFIX News Presents:
THE FALAFEL FACTOR WITH PHIL O'LIELY

(FUCK IT! We're doing it LIVE!)

"BALLS! said Falafel Phil O'liely! You heard that right, I said balls! Goddamn Byzantine balls. You all saw what I saw. The Coalition was on the verge of the largest military operation in galactic history, and those fucking Emperor-botherers turned tail and left us and cut and run! We were supposed to help each other and support the troops, but not them! They ditched us after abusing our hospitality at the coalition staging grounds, after eating all our corndogs and drinking all our beer, after getting all the free stuff they could like those poor schmoes in hotels taking all those little shampoo bottles and moist towelettes, and they left us like Susan Rottencrotch after a date gone bad with syphilis and gonorrhea!

"And don't you tell me you weren't thinking about it too, goddamn it. You all did, every one of you out there. Those self-professed psychos turned tail, flip flopped and went with the goddamn Bragulans - those socialist bears - and other alienoids supposed to be their mortal enemies! What the fuck?! And now our boys are fighting and dying over at the MEH, and those Emperor-botherers are laughing at us like chumps.

"Yet where's the international outrage? Where's the condemnations? Nothing! As if those psychos crucifying aliens wasn't bad enough. Byzantium lied and people died, and I won't sit down and take it like some two gil whore like all those other limp-dicked nations who haven't made a peep! Maybe they can't cause they're in gimp suits with ball gags, or maybe most of them might be expressing their discontent in confidential back channels, but I'm gonna man it up and say it like it is in their faces, cause if they're not gonna post it, then by the Lifestream I will! Right here, and right now in Midgar City, on Planet Midgar, in the Midgar Sector in the center of MIDGAR SPAAAAAAAACE!"

"The disenfranchised, dispossessed and disheartened disgruntled people of the galaxy must be heard! And I, Falafel Phil O'Liely, shall be their voice! The Falafel shall speak for those who cannot! He is a crusader of justice, bringing a voice to the voiceless! Fighting for truth! Supporting all our troops! Doesn't matter if you're a fabulous Shinran with long white hair, or some big eyed Haruhiist speaking gibberish, or some pencil-necked Umerian playing with yer slide rule! Falafel Phil shall be your hero! Me! ME! MEEE!

"All the free peoples of the galaxy, we shall hold a RALLY TO RESTORE ANGER TOWARDS BYZANTIUM so that our voices will be heard! All over space and time, on all freedom-loving and Byzantium-hating worlds, bring food, bring placards, bring toilets in the shape-form-and-likeness of Golden Thrones so you can blaspheme them with your precious bodily fluids! Oh yeah!

"And remember, we rage against one man who has likened himself into a god. A false god, as the Space Popes themselves have said! A man-god who isn't even a man at all, but a big bad bag of bones with banners and spikes and skulls and bannerspikeskulls on skullspikebanners with spikebannerskulls and spikeskullbanners and all points in between! BEHOLD HIS TRUE FORM!


File Photo: Heraclius XX Komnenos

"We shall rage against his life support machine and hopefully he'll finally croak. We'll break all the walls down, first, second, third and fourth. Everything. Oh, this will be wrong, this'll be abominable. Eat your heart out, Jun Smith."

[Siege]

Solarian Dreadstar USS Perilous
Polar orbit over Thyiiluue



Hangar 313A was located in the starboard fore section of the dreadstar, and was larger than practicality necessitated. It was a legacy of the Murderous' class design history: after the first group of engineers had acquitted themselves well of their assigned task to design a massively impressing hull, and a second group had solved the problem of how to make it move through space at an acceptable pace, the dreadstar design was then handed over to a final third group, it being composed of internal architects, defence system experts and system integrators whose place it was to put a good use to the vast immensity of its volume.

They soon realized they had far too much space on their hands. Because the dreadstar was not just the largest ship ever designed by the Sovereignty but also one of the first to make optimal use of CI technology, and this massively reduced crew requirements from the initially anticipated thirty thousand down to a measly three hundred for all essential functions. All other tasks were now assigned to a horde of sub-bright robots that did not need any of the multitude of holodecks, barber shops, chicken soup dispensers and other facilities for off-duty crew that the initial design study assumed had to be present before the new CI-centric tech rolled along.

After eliminating all those now extraneous facilities, the architects realized the dreadstar could've been half its actual size to do the same job. Some of that space had subsequently been filled in with tertiary weapons reactors to power even more autolaser batteries, but the truth of it was that there was only so much space on the outside of the hull to mount weapons. After fitting every nook and cranny on the gigantic warship outer hull with missile bays, autolasers, field generators or interface hangars – and indeed more internal space with marine barracks than there was place for dropships to carry those troops anywhere – and still ending up with excess room the engineers had, in desperation, decided to simply make a whole bunch of spaces much bigger than they strictly had to be.

This of course created its own set of problems – many of them safety-related – but at least the ship was assured to have plenty space to house the solutions to those problems, and at the same time offer its inhabitants an amazingly spacious habitat for a space-going warship. In Hangar 313A this spaciousness manifested as a vaulting cavern of plaz-steel and black ceramics, on which was currently assembled a full company of elite para-marines.

“Atten-shun!” their commander ordered with a crisp and clear voice. “General on deck!”

A small group of VIPs marched into the hangar. Leading the way was General Summers herself, wearing an expression of massive dissatisfaction. Following them were General Kandinsky and two civilians, one of them a diminutive grey alien wearing a bowler hat. The small group came to a halt in front of the assembled soldiers and Hank looked pointedly at Twennysex.

For a moment the Apexai stared at the marine commander, who stared back levelly. Then Twennysex nodded curtly. “Colonel Baylor, you will do.”

Hank clapped his hands together. “Excellent. Let's waste no more time then.”

“By all means, let's,” Summers said sourly. “But first there's someone I'd like you to meet.” The general snapped her fingers. A man stepped forward from amongst the ranks of marines. He clearly was not a marine, as indicated by the reflective black sunglasses he wore, and the ubiquitous cybernetics that threaded and puckered his skin.



Hank raised an eyebrow. Summers smiled mirthlessly. “This is Luther, Mr. Hank. He will be the designated CEID liaison with your little band. He reports to Assistant Director Ridley... Who reports to me.”

The eyebrow lowered again. “I see,” he murmured. “General, a word?”

Summers glared at him in response, but dampening screens dropped all around them, turning the rest of the hangar into an indistinct, soundless blur. “What?”

“General, how old are you?”

The question seems to take her aback. “... six months,” she answered, a little defiantly.

That, in turn, appeared to surprise him. Replicants were engineered for specific jobs, command-level models no exception, so the traditional concept of seniority did not apply to the hierarchy of the Solarian armed forces. Still, six months, that meant this couldn't be anything but her first deployment. He speculated as much. Her scowl ensured him he's right. “What about it?”

“That makes you a Chi Null command model, I think?”

“You already know that. You've read my file.”

He shrugged. “I haven't. Call me old-fashioned but I think I owed you that much privacy at least. But I have been doing this for a very long time, general. If you and Ridley think you can do an end run around me, you might find yourself unpleasantly surprised.”

Her expression darkened noticeably. “Oh that's rich, coming from you.”

“General-” he began but she cut him off with a single gesture. A hologram popped up inside the bubble of distorted space. It showed a picture that was clearly the product of orbital reconnaissance, and Hank guessed he was looking at a part of the ruined surface of Thyiiluue. Except that what it showed was anything but ruined. A sleek black craft squatted on the bottom of an ancient crater, tucked half-underneath the slagged remains of what had once been a metallic Apexai superstructure of some kind.

“Would you like to tell me what that is?” accused Summers, pointing at the starship on the holo.

“I... don't know,” Hank replied. From his tone of voice it was obvious that this was something that didn't happen to him very often.

“Well, I don't either. But it sits right on top of whatever it is you want to take my marines down to. From the look of it, it's a custom job. It's got psioninc screens, Mr. Hank. The only reason we even saw it is because I ordered extra scans done of the region you were so bloody interested in. So. A customized stealth spaceship with psychic blinds turns up at the very spot you want to go and you want to tell me you've no idea what it's doing there, or where it came from? You take me for an idiot or something? What the hell kind of games do you think you're playing?”

Hank looked like he swallowed a bug. “Shit. They're early.”

Summers blinked. “Who are.”

“Gamma-Sigma. They weren't supposed to be here yet. I thought it would take them longer to figure it out.”

“What the hell are you talking about. Gamma-Sigma? You mean the terrorist group?”

“The very same. They stole something, something that was very important to me.”

The general obviously wasn't following. “And what does that have to do with my military operation?”

“The thing they stole, I believed it to be the hyperkey to the thrift I want to access down there,” he pointed a thumb at the floor, and the planet somewhere below. “Since they are here, it appears that belief was no mistake. They must have figured it out. If they have the key, we – I – need to hurry. They can't be allowed to access the thrift before we do.”

Summers shook her head. “Why not? We have a fleet in orbit. We can simply wait them out.”

“I don't think they intend to leave by ship.” Hank produced a datachip from his pocket and Summers got an impression of hyperwaves pulsing between the chip and his implants. “Talk to Ridley. Hand him this. It will put the both of you in touch with agent Liberty Kincaid, and clears you for secret level Claret Nine.”

“I'm not aware of the existence of such a clearance.”

“Which is precisely the point.” He tossed her the chip, which she snatched out of mid-air. “You wanted to know what was going on, General Summers? Well, looks like your wish came true.” He waved his hand and the bubble of force-distortions vanished. “Now if you don't mind, we have to seriously hurry here.”

Summers rubbed her chin. “What about Luther?”

He shrugged. “I'll take your man. Hell, I'll take anyone I can get right now.”

[Ryan Thunder]

Xena
Salvation Habitat Complex


A distant detonation shook the very foundations of the massive habitat. A trickle of pulverized materials puffed into occupied spaces.

[...]

Avenger Seven - Designated Expeditionary Command Craft

"Commander, you knew this was going to happen eventually."

"Yes, dammit, but that's why we're here in the first place! We need to move faster. Get me Yeslah, yesterday."

"Yes ma'am."

[Fingolfin_Noldor]

The Rally To Restore Anger Towards Byzantium
Co-Written by Siege, Shroom, and Myself

Midgar City, Planet Midgar, Midgar Sector, Midgar Space



Falafel Phil looked at himself in the mirror one last time. Satisfied that the millimeter of makeup caking his skin was evenly distributed, and of the exact composition was to give his flesh a healthy hue in the holo-cams, he turned around and faced the crowd of millions gathered at Midgar today. They cheered, so many angry throats ululating their outrage towards the traitors that it nearly overwhelmed Phil’s own voice as he shouted over their cheers and chants.

“Nation! Welcome to the Rally To Restore Anger Towards Byzantium! And boy, am I glad y’all could’ve make it here today. People from all over Shinra are joined by their brothers and sisters all over the galaxy, from all over the coalition nations, to celebrate our righteous indignation towards the Byzantine Imperium. Those yellow-bellied traitors who abandoned our nation, and everyone else in the coalition, to join the Bragulans and Chamarrans and those other aliens. They lied to us, and let me tell you, this won’t stand! That’s why we’re all here today, millions of us here in Midgar, millions more in all the other worlds of the Republic, and in worlds all over the galaxy. Heck, there might even be billions of us! This could be the largest mass demonstration in galactic history!

“Which is why I’m glad we brought all those Golden Thrones with us, if you get what I mean, cause oh boy, we’re gonna be needing them. I hope y’all finished up with your businesses ahead, cause we’re gonna put this show on the road!

“Today, we’re going to be joined in here and elsewhere by politicians, celebrities, religious leaders, people from all walks of life, across all boundaries, from any nationality, race, species, faith and creed. We will stand together, united as one, and with one voice we will condemn Byzantium for everything they have done. Betraying our coalition. Slaughtering innocents. Genocide. Mass murder. Religious intolerance. Speciesist intolerance. Their religion of hatred, their nation of hatred, must be stopped and we are going to be the ones who are going to do it. Because if the galaxy is going to be silent, if they’re just going to allow the Byzantines to do whatever they want to do without even a word of objection, then we’re going to be no better than them. Evil prevails when good men do nothing. And if we do nothing, Byzantium will prevail.

“We have to show the ‘verse that we aren’t like them. We have to show them that we’re different. That we renounce and repudiate the actions of Byzantium, reject them and condemn them, not stay silent and condone them! Because if we just stay quiet and meek... then how different are we from them?

“We have to do this because we’re better than them. We have to do this because we have values. We have morals. We have honor and integrity. We keep our word. We may talk about lots of things, but after talking about those things, whatever they may be, we’ve got the courage to act on them because talk is cheap and if we don’t do it, then all that talk might as well be for nothing! And coming from a talk show host, well, I’ve done nothing but talk and talk and talk. But now I’m done talking. Now, I’m going to start doing. We’re all going to start doing. And this is what we’re going to do:

“Right now, we are going to look Byzantium straight in the eye, stare down Heraclius and look into those two hollow sockets on his skull, gaze deep into the abyss, and we’re going to say ‘NO! We will not be like you! We’re nothing like you! And you’re nothing like us, you monsters. You may call yourself the God-Emperor of Man, but you are NOT a man. You never were. You were never a human being, and anyone who follows you down your path to hell has lost his humanity and everything good in it.’ Three words for Byzantium. “No. You. Won’t.’”





Buenos Diaz, Argenti Federation



Jeremiah XVIIX, Bishop of España came to the balcony to address the crowd in San Pedro’s Square on Argenti. The Square was merely a replica of the one on Earth, but it suited his purposes. He took out the the letter rimmed with gold no less. Such messages to the faithful of such gravity had to be preserved for austerity.



“Brothers and Sisters, in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost, I bid you welcome. Today, news from the far fringes of the galaxy has revealed that our so-called Brothers and Sisters who worship not the One True God, but rather worship their So-Called God Emperor, are waging war again. Their mad deranged Ecumenical Patriarch Innokenti, who has gone as far as declare us as heretics, and even declared our language heresy, actively supports the war, going as declaring it a ‘crusade’.

“Brothers and Sisters, I think we know ourselves where we stand, and where They stand. And now, they have gone on their so called Crusade against the MEH and have already started committing crimes against mankind. We have no doubt from their conduct of their Imperium-Tau war that this is but only the beginning. We have no doubt that they will do far worse things. Already Xena they have unleashed a murderous orbital bombardment of the surface, obliterating civilian habitation, and have no doubt killed millions of people.

“This is unacceptable.”

The Bishop let his words hang as he gazed around, looking into the eyes of every member of the congregation. He then continued, “Brothers and Sisters, the so-called God Emperor and his followers no doubt do not care about our opinion, much less our beliefs. They continue to spit upon us, regarding us as nothing more than ‘heretics’. To their eyes, we are practically not even human.

“I say that we should not let this slide. I say that even though we are meek and humble, we should actively spread awareness of their genocides. Spread the message. Do not let these thugs and murderers continue getting away with murder. The so-called God Emperor’s son Rus Komnenos is particularly known for his wanton butchery, even going as far as emulating the Byzantine Emperor Basil the Bulgar Slayer, when he had 9 out of every 10 Tau reduced to a bloody cripple, and having the remaining 1 out of ten dragging his compatriots back to the enemy camp. It was said that the Tau commander had such a shock that he had a heart attack and died. That ruthless Butcher resorts to the lowliest of the low tactics to cow a population in the most disgusting way possible. Now he leads the the Byzantine taskforce, and is no doubt planning some inglorious butchery to terrorize the MEH population.

“We must bring the fight to them at all costs! We must spread the message to all nations! We must pressure their leaders to pressure Byzantium to withdraw back into their begotten space! We must save the MEH civilians and prevent more needless slaughter! I urge other nations to cease this military misadventure at once! Failure to do so would warrant excommunication from the Church!”

The congregation erupted in applause, and it brought a small tear to the Bishop. Perhaps, the people of the MEH could be saved from needless slaughter after all.



Klavostan



“And I declare in this Fatwa that Byzantium should be condemned for their crimes against Humanity!” yelled the mufti to the cheering crowd. He was a minor mufti in the hierarchy, but he was a mufti and damn will he be if he did not say something about the on-going crisis. He hated unnecessary wars, and he was not altogether supportive of his own government’s efforts and participation, but he did what he could.

Today, rather than condemning the war in general, he instead condemned the Byzantines specifically, damning them for their infidel treachery, and to his surprise he found that his words resonated with the population quite deeply - both those against the war and the senseless bloodshed, and those who supported the war to end the MEH’s experiments on espers and their atrocities at Farthing. Both pro- and anti-war Klavostanis resented the Byzantine betrayal, and their rage found refuge in his words.

Millions marched towards any Byzantine embassy or consulate, should they even exist on the world in question, protesting the Byzantine actions. “Rus the Butcher! Rus the Dog! Rus the Xenophile Heretic! Stop the War! No more atrocities! No War!” yelled some. As one might expect, the Byzantine ambassadors treated the protesters with contempt. Some even went as far as projecting images of dead Tau from the Great Crusade, and graphic footage of humans from other faiths being purged by Byzantine Monodominants. It infuriated the crowd, but the void shielding around the embassies prevented them from entering. There were violent pointless scuffles at times, but most protests were peaceful.

The Klavostanis joined protesters and demonstrators in España, Argenti, Shinra, Miratia and many other worlds. The words of the mufti transcended barriers and borders, and together with Jeremiah XVIIX and Falafel Phil and a great many other prominent peoples, they emboldened even those from nations outside of the coalition to join the cause of condemning Byzantium.



Solaris



“I told you so.” The soft-spoken voice of senior senator Robert Space McNamara echoed over the masses, amplified digitally corrected by the cyberdeck that allowed him to speak to the crowd assembled here in the Laurell Hill district of Solaris, but also simultaneously address the millions of people who were present in cyberspace, attending the rally from farflung worlds, starships and space stations all across the Datasphere. The senator does not raise his voice, but there is an anger to him all the same. “Why is it that men think they can solve the ills of interstellar society with violence? Have we not tried, again and again and again over the whole course of human history, to bring what we consider civilization at the tip of a sword? And have we not seen, all those many times, that it cannot be done, that it is rejected, and that no matter how well-intentioned we may be, we end up doing more harm than good?

What have the people of the Multiversal Empire done to deserve to bear the full brunt of not just the Bragulan legions, not just Imperial zealots, but those of so many others beside them? Why do good men cry out in joy when they hear that a veritable armada of Orks has set upon them? How can we think of these things as good, and simultaneously consider ourselves to be above those we would subjugate?

What have they done? What has the average citizen, people just like you or I, done to be struck down by Byzantine lances or Bragulan atomics? If they deserve that, then surely so do we. But no, you might argue, they may not, but the goal is noble even if the means to achieve it are not. To this I say, how many would you sacrifice to achieve your noble goals? A thousand? A million? Ten million? And to do what? Liberate the populace? From whom? Face the truth: you are not helping them as you might desperately want to tell yourself. You are despots all, lashing out blindly against those you have made no effort to understand or even communicate with.

You delude yourself by speaking of peace whilst engaging in war. And since when do you trust Emperor and Imperator to be your allies in such an endeavour? They do not know the meaning of freedom! They loathe the very concept of open and democratic society! Yet these you turn to as your allies? What fevered mind has dreamt up this nightmare?

No. To all of those who are involved in this unjust war I say, you are unjust men, and the blood of all those who die needlessly in these days is upon you. Know then that history will judge you all, and you will pass into legacy as the peoples who stood by and quietly supported the worst atrocity in the living memory of this galaxy!”

His words rang out, across the assembled crowd - a large crowd, especially considering that this was Solaris, and to get anyone to pay attention to such dreary things as politics was a titan’s effort - but also across the Datasphere, bouncing from holosets in the neon spires of grand Solaris to small receivers set up in the teeming alien jungles of Kimanjano, and from dusty stripmining operations in the Helicon sector to the kanji-plastered rigs of Shin-Hokkaido’s cyberdecker underground, where McNamara was a legend, the first rebel against a system riddled with faults. The cyberdeckers sliced into mainlines and comms-boosters, proliferating the signal across the digital networks of the galaxy, where innumerable people were listening also.



Nova Miratia, Interstellar Union of Worlds

Recommended Listening

The Enclave was packed, Tau and blue-painted humans alike filled the arcologies. The wide urban landscape became packed with bodies. The concrete jungle resonated with vibrations emanated from floating subwoofer-zeppelins. Millions of beings writhed and moved as one to the music. Cocktails of chemicals were breathed in or drank up, neon holograms danced in the air. Revelry and decadence could be the only words to describe the scene. Yet, there was anticipation amongst the partygoers. The main event was on the verge of starting. Late comers rushed past the armored Fire Caste bouncers keeping the order. Females screamed in excitement. Ethereals who could barely contain themselves gave up and secreted musky pheromones from their glands. Finally, it was starting.

A Hammerhead gunship streaked down from the sky and hovered right over the crowds, air displacement from its passing blew away the nearest ravers. Its hull had been modified into a lowrider configuration, its cockpit was convertible and currently open to the air, spoilers were attached on its hull and it bounced with its hydraulic-enhanced repulsors. Its railguns and missile pods and pulse weapons had been replaced by boom boxes, hologram projectors, disco balls.

On top of the mean machine was none other than the main event himself.



Tau’pac Shas’kur. He spoke, echoing the words of the Pope, for he had converted to Catholicism after renouncing the Greater Good. A rosary was tattooed on his bare chest, which was glistening with sweat. He talked about what Byzantium was doing in the MEH and likened it to the Great Crusade, to the massacres the Imperium did to Taukind.

The plight of the Tau didn’t end with the Great Crusade. It continued on long after that. Welcomed only to two nations, one a cold and uncaring posthuman state of unsympathetic and nigh-robotic people interested in only ekeing out Tau technologies to increase their nation’s galactic prestige, another an apathetic and hedonistic nation barely that even involved itself in the current affairs of the galaxy much less keep itself posted on the state of its own people, the post-war Tau languished and degenerated while in the rest of the known universe they remained reviled and hated. Nobody condemned the Byzantines for what they did in the Crusade, and nobody would condemn them for what they were going to do to the MEH now.

It was a shame. Tau’pac Shas’kur lamented that. And it was with that lament that he began to sing from his blue blood-beating heart. He dedicated this to his fellow Tau, and to his honorary brother Pope Jeremiah.


Come on come on
I see no changes. Wake up in the morning and I ask myself,
"Is life worth living? Should I blast myself?"
I'm tired of bein' poor and even worse I'm blue.
My stomach hurts, so I'm lookin' for a purse to snatch.
Byzantines give a damn about an indigo? Pull the trigger, kill a Shas’O, he's a hero.
Give the crack to the kids who the hell cares? One less hungry mouth on the welfare.
First ship 'em dope & let 'em deal the brothers.
Give 'em pulse guns, step back, and watch 'em kill each other.
"It's time to fight back", that's what Shas said.
2 bolts in the dark now Shas’ dead.
I got love for my brother, but we can never go nowhere
Unless we share with each other. We gotta start makin' changes.
Learn to see me as a brother 'stead of 2 distant strangers.
And that's how it's supposed to be.
How can Byzantines take a brother if he's close to me?
I'd love to go back to when we played as kids
But things changed, and that's the way it is

Come on come on
That's just the way it is
Things'll never be the same
That's just the way it is
Aww yeah

I see no changes. All I see is speciesist faces.
Misplaced hate makes disgrace for castes we under.
I wonder what it takes to make this one better place...
Let's erase the wasted.
Take the evil out the people, they'll be acting right.
'Cause mo' blue than human is smokin' crack tonight.
And only time we chill is when we kill each other.
It takes skill to be real, time to heal each other.
And although it seems heaven sent,
We ain't ready to see a Tau President, uhh.
It ain't a secret don't conceal the fact...
The penitentiary's packed, and it's filled with blues.
But some things will never change.
Try to show another way, but they stayin' in the dope game.
Now tell me what's a mother to do?
Bein' real don't appeal to the brother in you.
You gotta operate the easy way.
"I made a G today" But you made it in a sleazy way.
Sellin' crack to the kids. "I gotta get paid,"
Well hey, well that's the way it is.

We gotta make a change...
It's time for us as a people to start makin' some changes.
Let's change the way we eat, let's change the way we live
And let's change the way we treat each other.
You see the old way wasn't working so it's on us to do
What we gotta do, to survive.

And still I see no changes. Can't a brother get a little peace?
There's war on the streets and the war in the MEH
Instead of war on bugs,
They got a war on Tau so the Byzantines can bother me.
And I ain't never did a crime I ain't have to do.
But now I'm blue with the facts givin' 'em back to you.
Don't let 'em jack you up, back you up, crack you up and Imp smack you up.
You gotta learn to hold ya own.
They get jealous when they see ya with ya battle suit.
But tell the Byzantines they can't touch this.
I don't trust this, when they try to rush I bust this.
That's the sound of my tune. You say it ain't cool, but mama didn't raise no fool.
And as long as I stay blue, I gotta stay strapped & I never get to lay back.
'Cause I always got to worry 'bout the pay backs.
Some buck that I roughed up way back... comin' back after all these years.
Rat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat. That's the way it is. Uhh.

[Force Lord]

Unknown Location, The Feelipeens
IN GODDAMN UNREAL TIME

In an isolated corner of the Feelipeens, a small group of Moros were waiting for a special guest to come. They were getting impatient.

"Where is this bastard? He's gonna be late...", muttered one.

"Wait, I see him. Let's go," said another.

The visitor had no face to show, being covered by a hood. The fact that it was dark made it even harder to ascertain his identity.

The leader of the Moro group began to speak. "You have the information?"

The hooded man simply nodded. He presented them papers and schematics for an embassy representing a nation the Moros despised with all their hearts.

Shepistan.

After looking at the papers, the Moro leader said, "Freedom Primes. We need proper tools to deal with them."

The hooded man finally spoke. "My benefactors can give you red and yellow paint to confuse those machines, as well as Umerian EMPs and heavy Bragulan weapons from second-hand sources. After they are taken out, I'm sure opposition will be less of a problem. You still intend to make a hostage crisis out of this, of course?"

The Moro leader nodded. "Yes. We need more funds. I'm sure the Shepistanis will pay handsomely for the safety of their personell."

"Just make sure they don't give you radioactive money. They're that paranoid."

The Moro leader frowned. "That would be a disaster if they trace the money to our hideouts."

"Well, I'll be sure to give you Geiger counters."

"This attack is risky. Martian Law means that security will be tight. There will be many casualties for us if we fail. Why are you willing to help us at all?"

The hodded man sighed. "Look, I hate the Shepistanis. My bosses hate the Shepistanis. You hate the Shepistanis. We are helping you because of that. If you screw up, well, shit happens. Shroomarcos can't stay in power forever."

"Yes. I'm sure we'll keep in contact?"

"As long as you live, maybe."

The hodded man and the Moros then went their separate ways, careful not to attact unwanted attention from their enemies...

[Force Lord]

Written with contributions from KlavoHunter.

---

Command Bridge, SRS Ragnaraok
Wolf 359, Multiversal Empire of Happiness
02 June 3401 8:00 AM UNST

Grand Admiral Gilad Pellaeon, commander of the Shinra Republic 9th Fleet, and head of one of the most, if not the most, powerful combined human fleets in history, was pleased. The destruction of the MEH Wolf 359 fleet had been quicker than he expected, and casualties were not serious. Already ground contingents of the Coalition were going down to secure MEH worlds, a few still infested with Ork concentrations. MEH planetary resistance was relatively light: the MEH Marines were too few in number and the planetary militias scattered when confronted in the field by superior Coalition armies. Even the urban fighting was not as bloody as it could have been. Only the local Orks seemed to put up a fight.

All in all, things seemed to be on schedule. If the recent success held in later campaigns, then Pellaeon expected to see the MEH’s Earth within a month. Speed was of essence: the alien coalition (with those shifty Byzantines) was already making progress inside the MEH as well. The Coalition needed to move as soon as possible. Pellaeon was already making plans to reinforce the Alpha Centauri contingent with as much ships as he could send without compromising the occupation of Wolf 359. Most of the commanding officers of the national contingents were receptive to the idea, with one notable exception: The Centralist Grand Admiral, Noslen Yeslah.

Pellaeon regarded Yeslah as a mixed bag. Yeslah at first seemed like the typical arrogant, egotistical, cowardly, and loudmouthed Centralist, who was also rumored to be lecherous. Considering that the same could be said of the Centrality’s scandalous Dictator himself, Pellaeon was not surprised. Yeslah was disciplined and measured when needed to be, but he took the principles of Dovan’s New Centralist Man a bit too seriously. Once in combat, however, Yeslah proved to be a quite competent commander, with a mix of caution and boldness, as the recent Battle of Wolf 359 showed. In that respect Pellaeon was surprised, since he had heard that Yeslah had been the Central Navy’s Chief of Staff only a few months before. Maybe paperwork had something to do with it, since he had overheard Yeslah loudly telling one of his subordinates that he hated “desk jobs”.

As to Yeslah’s position regarding the Coalition’s next move, he did support a move to Alpha Centauri, but he was opposed to sending in most of the fleet there. He argued that the Coalition had more than enough units to attack Alpha Centauri and Sol simultaneously, and that the Coalition needed at least to have a meaningful presence on the MEH’s Earth for political reasons. Pellaeon was suspicious: why was the Centralist so eager to get there? He recalled the meeting on The Planetoid, where Yeslah acted defensively over the Klavostani Admiral’s inquiries about his reasons to reach the MEH’s Leader first. Yeslah claimed then that it was a matter of principle, but Pellaeon believed that there had to be more than that. What did the Centrality want? Why they were so eager to attack the MEH before the Coalition itself even began training operations? The Centrality’s Dictator had claimed that the MEH tried to assassinate him when he was negotiating with them, but everyone knew the Centrality was never totally honest. What really happened between the MEH and the Centrality that made the latter so eager to fight the former? Did anyone even have a clue?

Perhaps the Klavostanis know something. Admiral Abu Bakaar looked like he knew what happened when he asked Yeslah about his reasons to attack the MEH’s Earth early. Looks like I have to arrange a private chat for both of them. After I finish the main briefing with all the national commanders, of course.

“Ensign, inform the Coalition commanders that we will discuss our next move. Preferably in a few hours. Also, send tightbeam messages to Grand Admiral Yeslah and Admiral Bakaar. I want to speak with them personally after the conference is over.”

“Yes sir,” replied the ensign.

Pellaeon began to stand up, but suddenly felt an intense pain in his chest. He gasped.

Damn it, how the hell this is happening, I'm not that unhealthy...

“Heart attack...”, he blurted out, before he collapsed to the floor, causing a great commotion on the command bridge. The last thing he heard was his Captain screaming for a medic...

---

Grand Admiral’s Quarters, CNS Steel Fist
9:04 AM UNST

Grand Admiral Noslen Yeslah was busy reading a magazine, or rather, admiring it. The reason? It was the latest Spaceboy issue. Yeslah was even a subscriber! Of course, only a select few knew the Grand Admiral even read such things in the first place. Yeslah had kept his stash of porn back home in the Centrality under lock and key, and brought only the latest issue with him.

“Ah, fine ladies I see here. Mang, dat ass...I’d tap it.”

A beeping sound threw Yeslah out of his reverie. Annoyed, he closed his magazine and tapped a button, activating the holo-projector on his desk. The image of the communications chief sprang up.

“What is it? I was entertaining myself.”

“My apologies sir, but this is urgent.”

“What? Another boring meeting?”

“Negative, sir. We just got word that the Shinran Grand Admiral, Gilad Pellaeon, suffered a heart attack.This is big, sir.”

Yeslah dropped his magazine. Pellaeon had a heart attack?

Poor bastard. He was old enough already, but the shenanigans pulled by that drunk fool Rus must have made things worse. Now who will command the Coalition now? Wait, why am I even asking this question? There can only be one.

A small smile crossed his lips. Yes, there could be only one person fit to command such disparate contingents, only one individual to keep the different national fleets under control. Only one commander to guide the Coalition to its ultimate objective.

Yeslah knew perfectly who that man really was.

“Sir?”, the confused communications chief said, again snapping Yeslah out of his train of thought. The Grand Admiral sighed.

“Tell the Shinrans that they have my support. Also, inform the other COs that I will organize an emergency Coalition-wide meeting on my ship. I want them here as soon as possible. We need to plan our next move.”

“Aye, sir,” responded the comms chief. His holo-image soon dissipated.

Yeslah chuckled. Oh yes, our next move will be the one I planned for all along. The MEH’s Earth shall be within my grasp!

Yeslah began to laugh. He fucking laughed.

Briefing Room, CNS Steel Fist
1:45 PM UNST

All available Coalition commanders had made their way to Steel Fist with remarkable speed, as the task of choosing a new Coalition Supreme Commander and planning the Coalition’s next move was something not to be taken lightly. The fact that it was the Centralist Grand Admiral who was calling up the meeting was not endearing to most, if not all, of the other commanding officers. Nonetheless, for the sake of the Coalition, everyone had to put up with it. The commanders of the Haruhiist, Hiigaran, Klavostani, and Tianguonese contingents, as well as the interim Shinran commander, were present in person. The Anglian, Miratian, Umerian, Belkan and Frodian chiefs, still busy holding off MEH warships in Alpha Centauri, were unavailable, leaving their chosen subordinates to represent them by hologram. Yeslah had refused to start the meeting until everyone was accounted for.

“Very well, now that everyone is finally here, let’s start the meeting. Pellaeon may be unable to command the Coalition for the time being, but he would not have wanted his health problems to interfere with military necessity. Now, as we all know, Wolf 359 is more or less under our control. There is no opposition left in space and the enemy planetary garrisons are falling one by one. Meanwhile, the forces sent to Alpha Centauri have done their work in pinning down the enemy where he stands. Now is the time to reinforce them, and destroy the opposition in space. Who wants to contribute ground troops for taking the Alpha Centauri worlds?”

Admiral Abu Bakaar stood up, despite not being the most senior Klavostani officer present. His superior, Fleet Admiral Sulaiman Ziane, was present, and merely smiled.

“Klavostan has its concerns about the inhabitability of the MEH worlds postwar. It is in our interest to not wreck the MEH too badly. We fear that... others... may not show the same restraint....”

Yeslah nodded. Technically, the Centrality only wanted Sasha dead, with her head as a trophy. Wrecking the MEH was not an objective, which Kierger had made clear. It was actually good, in a way, that the Byzantines were no longer in the Coalition: the alien coalition would be hard-pressed to keep the Byzantines’ genocidal tendencies in check. Not that the Bragulans were any less genocidal themselves.

“I am sure even our competitors in the alien coalition understand the need to keep collateral damage to a minimum. My only worry, which I’m sure you all share, is the Byzantines. But enough about that. I presume that the Klavostani forces wish to go to Alpha Centauri?”

“The Anglians and Umerians have been holding there for many hours now. Of course we wish to go, it would be prudent to relieve them as soon as possible.” Fleet Admiral Ziane left much unsaid here, as both Klavostani Admirals coolly, unnervingly kept their gaze focused on Yeslah.

“Very well,” said an uneasy Yeslah. “Anyone else wishes to go?”

There was much muttering. In the midst of all the discussion, Yeslah noticed that the Shinran representative was walking towards him. No doubt he wanted to discuss with him about his plans for Sol.

Yeslah waved to the Shinran. “I know what you want to say. No offensive towards Sol. Do we want to leave the MEH’s Leader solely at the mercy of the aliens? I find that difficult to accept.”

The Shinran did not flinch. Instead, he responded, “I merely came to tell you that there is a reason why Sol is off-limits to us. If you go there with whatever contingents wish to follow you, there is a probability we will disown you. We do want to keep our word-”

Yeslah angrily interrupted him. “Disown us?! What could possibly lead you to disown those who wish to capture the enemy’s capital? Do you Shinrans know something I don’t?”

The Shinran shrugged. “Perhaps. But I cannot speak with liberty on this matter. You should ask Pellaeon, once he regains consciousness, of course.”

The Shinran officer then walked away, leaving Yeslah fuming.

Why I was never told of this? Or was I told, but forgot?

Yeslah was so frustrated, and so absorbed in his own thoughts, that he did not notice the two Klavostanis plotting something...special. Something that was useful blackmail material, if it came to that.

Infirmary, SRS Ragnarok
Wolf 359, Multiversal Empire of Happiness
3:00 PM UNST

Napoleon had said that an army marched on its stomach, and a similar argument could be made for a fleet as well. Without its supplies of ammunition and fuel, a warship was little more than a decorated, immobile shell of metal. It’s crew needed food and drinks to keep working, unless they were literally machines. But then, even machines needed maintenance, and sometimes needed organic supervision in case there were problems. Last but not least, a space fleet needed supplies of air for crew survival, gravity to keep them firmly in the ground, and medicine in order to maintain the crew healthy. The Coalition fleet, dependent on many separate supply lines, understood all of this perfectly. Without replenishing its war materiel the Coalition could not advance safely, and a great effort was being made towards this purpose.

Grand Admiral Gilad Pellaeon, having regained consciousness a few hours before, had been informed of this. He would have left the infirmary immediately as well, but his doctors expressively forbade him to leave his bed until they were sure there was no risk of relapse. Unsurprisingly, Pellaeon was chagrined. And so he was bed-ridden, trying to make the most of his time. Not that there was much he could do.

“Nurse, this isn’t my place. I’ve taken care of myself in worse situations. I may be old by normal human standards, but with rejuvenation available, I’m not that old.”

The nurse was then busy checking out the instruments. She turned to Pellaeon, a serene look in her face.

“Well, you have been working hard lately sir. And let’s not forget the stress that Byzantines gave you during that chase,” replied the nurse.

“Yes, there was that. And I’ll admit that the effort in getting this Coalition to leave on schedule led me to ignore my health. But I’ll be fine.”

“Well, you’ll have to wait for the doctors’ verdict before you can even leave bed, so be patient, sir.”



Pellaeon sighed. At times like this, he could not help but feel envious of little girls’ reputed ability to get what they want by putting a face. A very sad face. Pellaeon, though, had seen enough in life that rendered him difficult to feel real, honest sadness. It frustrated him sometimes.

“I must be going now, sir. Lord knows how many of our people are in real need of my help. Just relax, sir.”

Pellaeon smiled at the nurse. “Of course.” He saw the nurse leave his room.

Now’s my chance! If the doctors complain, well, they can stuff it. I’m not letting a heart attack prevent me from preventing some uniformed fool from deciding strategy.

But before he could even start his escape, the door opened again, revealing none other than Grand Admiral Noslen Yeslah. He immediately saluted, a little too stiff and formal for Pellaeon’s taste. Pellaeon, out of professional courtesy, saluted himself, but he was visibly surprised at Yeslah’s presence. Nonetheless, Pellaeon realized that he could finally fulfill what he was planning to do in the morning. But he still wondered why Yeslah would come to him, in person of all things.

“Grand Admiral Yeslah, your presence is... unexpected. Still, it’s good that you’re here. I was meaning to ask you about something yesterday, if not for my heart attack.”

Yeslah did not move. “Coincidentally, Grand Admiral Pellaeon, I was also wanting to ask you some things as well. You may have some... experience with them.”

Pellaeon frowned. So his suspicions were correct. “I presume we’re talking about your wish to capture the MEH’s capital?”

“Correct,” Yeslah confirmed.

Pellaeon sighed. This was going to end up like last time. Which meant nowhere.

“Yeslah, how may times are we going to talk about this?”

“How many? As many as I can! Until I convince you of the rightness of my position!”

“And what is your argument this time? What things will come out of your mouth now?”

“Let me tell you something, Pellaeon. The position of my government is simple. We want revenge for the MEH’s attempt to kill our leader. I hope you understand this, because attacking the leadership of a foreign nation without provocation leads instantly to war.”

“I doubt the MEH would be competent to pull off such a thing. Or be even willing to do so.”

“This is the MEH we are talking about. They think the sky is the limit, and are too stupid to realize that they can’t fly. Who else reveals their intentions so openly? That is the reason we are all fighting here, aren’t we? The MEH is too stupid to exist.” Yeslah cleared his throat before continuing, “Now, your representative mentioned something about a deal. I vaguely remember some discussion about that. Would you mind refreshing my memory?”

Pellaeon restrained the urge to laugh. How did this man get to be Grand Admiral? Certainly even the Central Navy had to have some standards.

“I don’t know what made you lose your memory, but I will tell you again. My government made an agreement with the Chamarrans to divide the MEH between the Coalition on one side and the Chamarrans and their allies on the other. Hence why we aren’t going to Sol. At least, not if some sort of arrangement is made with the Chamarrans...”

“Then that is what I’ll do!”, Yeslah suddenly declared. “If you’re worried about ticking off the catgirls, then we’ll just give them many fluffy balls of yarn as a bribe and so go on to Sol! Not with you, though. In any case someone needs to watch over Wolf 359 and protect our damaged ships.”

“At least you do have a bit of sense. My fleet will not go to Sol in any case. But who will be sent to Alpha Centauri, then?”

“Why the Klavostanis. of course! With their help, the Alpha Centauri force will destroy the MEH forces there in short order. The rest will march on Sol, provided the negotiations with the Chamarrans go through. If not, well...I dunno.”

Pellaeon was about to respond when a beeping sound emerged. Yeslah felt something vibrating in his pocket.

“Oh, my apologies. Must be my comlink.” Yeslah pulled out his black comlink, and began to speak. “This is Grand Admiral Noslen Yeslah. ...We have guests? Who? ...I see. Have they said what they want? ...Speak with me? About what? ...They didn’t tell? So why are they asking me? ...It’s urgent? How...tell them I’m on my way.” Yeslah then put away his comlink into his pocket.

“What was that all about?”, said an confused Pellaeon.

“Nothing you would care of! Centralist business! By the way, the CIS and other intelligence agencies suspect that your heart attack was anything but natural. Perhaps there is an assassin on the loose? Who knows?”

“An assassin on my ship?! Wh-” Pellaeon was cut off by Yeslah.

“As I said, just suspicion exists. The doctors have not said anything yet. Now I have to get going. Toodles!”

And with that, Yeslah left Pellaeon’s room in a hurry.

Observation Lounge, CNS Steel Fist
4:00 PM UNST

A person that was in the Observation Lounge of the Steel Fist could see the hectic work of supply ships zipping to and fro amongst the great ships of the Coalition, ensuing that these mammoths (and not so mammoths) remained with fuel, ammo, and other needed materials. One would also witness new Coalition movements, as fleets made ready for their next destination, either Alpha Centauri or...some other place. Aside from the Klavostanis (who were soon moving to reinforce Coalition forces in Alpha Centauri) and the Shinrans (who had chosen to stay put and guard Wolf 359), the Coalition contingents in Wolf 359 had no clear idea where go to next. Sol was the obvious target, but no serious planning for such a move was available. Only the Centralites had the plans ready and the will to go to Sol, but they preferred to have the most help possible. Already Centralist officers were being sent to the Hiigaran, Haruhiist and Tianguonese fleets to ask their commanders that if circumstances allowed, they would join the Centralist First Armada in a strike on Sol.

Of course, nothing could happen if the Coalition did not make some agreement with the other coalition, now occupying Xena. This was the thought uppermost in Yeslah’s mind when he entered his flagship’s observation lounge. Besides the identity of the men who wanted to speak with him. He could already sense their presence, in fact, but not their minds. Something was up. He walked up to them, and realized who they were.

In front of Yeslah were Fleet Admiral Sulaiman, and his deputy, Admiral Bakaar.

“Ah, it’s you. What is it? Last-minute changes to your plans or something? Something else I was not aware of?”

Sulaiman had a grave expression on his face. He briefly looked at Bakaar, who simply nodded. Yeslah was confused at this move. He would have spoken if Sulaiman had not beaten him to it first.

“Since it appears you wish to be Supreme Commander of the Coalition fleet, we figured it was about time to let you in on the secret of whom is in charge. Your Centrality owes us a starship, and the life of your Dictator!”

Yeslah was flabbergasted. What was this Klavostani talking about? It didn’t make any sense...

Unless...unless they know something about...no, it can’t be! It must not be!

Gesturing before himself, a holographic display appeared in the space between the men from Ziane’s turbanputer, depicting the important parts of the Jaffar’s blackbox transmission upon its death. Their earlier detection of the Datton, and the all too clear demands the MEH had made of them. But the dogs of The Leader had then instead caught the Jaffar’s scent, and run the Klavostani stealther down instead...

Yeslah felt a chill up his spine. Anxiety took over him. He knew this would happen. That a foreign stealth ship would catch wind of what the Datton was doing, and excite suspicion on what the Centrality was really doing with the MEH.... By Dovan’s Fist, what should I do now? What can I tell the Dictator? He would go into a rage! Fortunately, he was pre-empted by the Klavostani Fleet Admiral again.

“The public release of this would be rather problematic. Fortunately, this can be easily avoided with certain... concessions, that fortunately we believe the Centrality will have no trouble accepting. You wish to take the war to the MEH Sol System and bring whatever fate you wish to the Empire’s Leader. The Sultanate can accommodate that wish, too. All we ask is your total support at the postwar negotiating table.”

Yeslah let Sulaiman’s words sink into his mind. Under the circumstances, the Klavostani conditions seemed...reasonable. After all, there was no imagining what would happen after the MEH collapsed. One thing that was certain was that the Centralist forces would have to stay in MEH planets for some months at least, as part of the occupation forces. Backing Klavostan’s claims would make the Sultanate more cooperative, at least in keeping the logistical train more manageable. On a more immediate note, if the Sultanate could help him go to Sol with minimal hitches, then so much the better. Yeslah knew, however, that the Centrality, more specifically Kierger, would have no choice but to agree to the Klavostani demands, as the PR and political consequences of Kierger’s secret diplomacy with the MEH, and its disastrous result, would be tremendous.

Yeslah took a deep breath, and said, “I believe my government will understand what is at stake here. They will agree on all your points. Your help in getting us to Sol will be appreciated. My only worry is in garnering support from the remaining contingents for a move to MEH Sol, though we are working on that. There is also the issue of the Shinran deal with the Chamarrans. If we act unilaterally, there’s no telling what will be the response of the alien alliance. I expect a hostile reception. If we can convince the Chamarrans that we only seek to strike MEH Sol in order to punish the MEH’s Leader and not play a part in the actual occupation of that sector, then everything will work out fine. Do you agree with this?” Yeslah waited nervously for Sulaiman’s answer.

“If you can come to an understanding with them, that would be best. If you wish to arrive at Sol in time to match the other Coalition, however, you must hurry in convincing others to join you, for it will be quite some time before those of us at Alpha Centauri can possibly reinforce you.”

Yeslah nodded. “Yes. Time is of essence. Though I do expect the other coalition to be held up if the Chamarrans are busy negotiating with us. Diplomacy is not something usually done overnight. I fully expect that someone in the Central Government will have to pay a visit to the Hierachy. But then, that’s my pessimism talking.”

Yes, someone who can sweet-talk the catgirls into agreement. Wait, am I thinking of...

Upon that thought, Yeslah sighed. The last time he tried to sweet talk a female head of state resulted in this.

The officers continued discussing their plans for several more minutes, before bidding a farewell and returning to their fast shuttles to rejoin their outbound fleets...

[Siege]

Long Range Hyperburst
Wideband, Public Channels

The United Solarian Sovereignty offers the right to seek and to enjoy asylum to all persons civilian and military fleeing the Multiversal Empire of Happiness. Those capable of reaching its sovereign territory will be protected from any and all persecution by coalition belligerents.

This offer extends to organic as well as robotic and computronic lifeforms.

The warp flux coordinates of the Tannhauser Gate can be found attached to this message...

xOLYMPIC

Earth
Multiversal Empire of Happiness



That is how the exodus began. Wolf 359 was falling, so was Xena; the enemy was already harrying the forces at Alpha Centauri and everybody knew it was only a matter of time before they would strike at Sol itself. The imagery of the ground war on Xena shook the Empire to its core: millions dying in the fires of lance strikes or Bragulan atomics, suffocating in the ash throw up by titanic shockwaves or crushed in collapsing arcologies; the Goddess' brave defenders scythed down mercilessly by enemies void of compassion, devoted to bringing about the utter ruin and destruction of the Empire.

Why? asked the desperate citizens of the Empire. What have we done to deserve this? But no answer was forthcoming, cries for mercy went unheeded, and the culling continued. Their leader had locked herself away in her palace; the military leadership remained silent. No-one understood why, but the destruction of the Empire was inevitable, that was obvious now to even the most sedate of its citizens: even the awesome firepower of its strongest battleships could not compete with the stunning display of force arraigned against it, grinding a way through its sovereign space toward the heart of the Empire.

But now there was a glimmer of hope. A means to escape inevitable subjugation at the hands of aliens and xenophobic humans. One distant place, tucked away in the recesses of the Perseus spiral arm, had offered refuge. Intelligence on this 'Sovereignty' was sparse, but it could hardly be worse than living through the Bragulan holocaust...

***

With a flash of otherworldly light dimensions realigned into new, dizzying geometries, bending and folding to bring two formerly distant points in space and time closer together. An alarm blared and the countdown began, measuring the increments of time until the 38th minute when the gate would have to power down and cycle its capacitors before it could attempt another connection.

A stream of small ships swung forward, small yachts and intrasystem barges, plodding factory-ships, junkers and star-haulers and a myriad others. Their cargoes were all the same: women and children, the elderly, the wounded and the infirm. Across the orbital platforms and space elevators of Sol similar scenes played themselves out: tearful goodbyes between loved ones who did not expect to see each other again, vows to meet again belied by the agonized expressions, children crying because they were unable to comprehend why they had to leave their fathers behind, anguish and bottomless emotional suffering as marines separated families, triaged the countless refugees in the way their Goddess had ordered them to do: men remained behind to defend what little there would be left to defend after the inevitable bombardments, the others could go on to - hopefully - safety.

In the chaos of the docksides a handful of droids managed to sneak aboard those ships, but they were few and far-between. They stood unmoving amidst the weeping, tightly packed refugees, the digital equivalent of what passed for relief and even hopefulness circulating through their circuits as the ethereal light of the warp gate drew inexorably closer.

Then the familiar jerk of the dimensional transit, the star-streaked rush through tunneled space, and the emergence on the other side. No weapons opened fire; no coalition warships greeted them, as some had feared. Instead the first wave of refugees were greeted with orders to berth at one of the myriad orbital docks that threaded space in the Tannhaus system. CBI customs cutters weaved between the progressing line of rag-tag ships, indexing them and keeping a close watch at the proceedings. If they bothered to look outside some of the refugees might spot, in the near distance, the strangely familiar dagger-shapes of warships -- not MEHN ships, but Solarian strikestars, hanging back to handle any potential calamities.

But there were none. When the gate finally shut down several hundred ships had made the transition, all of them civilian, all of them loaded to the brim with refugees. They were shepherded to areas designated as refugee collection points, made to feel comfortable as Solarian personnel checked the wounded and provided food and beverages. Soothing holograms brough information and and memetically induced calm to the bewildered crowds. Then, finally, they began to realize they had escaped the nightmare that been coming for them. Profound relief mixed, yet again, with grief for those who had been left behind. But ultimately, for the first time in months, the escapees knew a quantum measure of Happiness again

Almost unbeknowst to the shell-shocked refugees Solarian robots separated any droids that came along from the humans and began checking them for the sort of slave programming that was highly illegal in the Sovereignty.

In space, the CBI readied itself for the second wave.

[Fingolfin_Noldor]

The Faustian Bargain

She was now panicking. The Enemy was now at her doorsteps. They have begun brutalising her people, using all manner of weapons against them, from biological weapons, to planet killers. Already, the forces of the Warrior God had already begun using heavy plasma munitions on Xena, and they were no doubt withholding their best weapons for the last. She was faced with a major conundrum. She had no where to go, and she was now forced to the corner, with no way to escape.

”You still have us, my dear. We will be there for you, take the leap, the plunge, and we will be there will be there with open arms.”

She cringed. Some part of her screamed that she should not, as it was akin to selling her soul. But her survival instinct said otherwise. Where would she go when the enemy was here? The Warrior God no doubt wanted her soul, and she was utterly petrified at the thought of utter oblivion.

”Come on dear. Stop thinking. Take the leap of faith!”

Faith, she thought. How ironic. That she was the source of faith for billions, and now she had to place her trust and faith in a faithless foe who would no doubt simply turn her people into nothing more than mindless drivel for servants.

”There’s no more time left. The Anathema, the Warrior God as you call him, will soon be here, for you. He will show you no pity and he only regards you as another stepping stone to greater power. Would you aid him? Where is your pride?”

Appealing to her vanity now, she thought. It was working in some ways. Some part of her loathed being regarded as an object of power to be used and squandered. Some part of her just wanted to commit suicide to deny the victory the other powers wanted. But yet her pride was against the idea of an ignoble end, where her grave would be nothing more than a small piece of earth in the ground, to be spat on by her victorious enemies. She would have none of that.

”We will grant you incredible power. Power beyond your wondrous dreams! You will continue being a God to your people, who are yours to command! What say you?”

Now, they offer ambition, she thought. It felt tantalising. Power to change the universe, power to control her destiny. To transcend the petty pathetic lot of mortals that now sought her destruction. Perhaps, perhaps. She was forever intoxicated by power and the thought that she could wield it with impunity. No one to stop her. No one to deny her. And then she would bring more beings into her control and then further increase her power.

”Yes yes! That is the idea! You know what to do!”

Yes, I do. She felt a moment of release; she was released from her worries, from her fears, and she was now ready for her enemies. They will be utterly surprised when they arrive thinking that the MEH was merely a ripe fruit ready to be plucked and eaten.

And then, somewhere in the greater universe, a being smiled with bared fangs.

[Mayabird]

Near MEH Space

The Theological Defense very light scout Look at Me; I'm Invisible! had arrived at the Inhumanist staging space with the very first group that came by warp gate. Her mission and the mission of her crew was simple: monitor the unsoundness emanating from the Multiversal Empire of Happiness. They watched the four points of taintedness, the four systems of the MEH, and observed the faint but distinct traces of wrongness. The readings flickered as the campaigns were waged; could it be that this threat could be annihilated by ordinary warfare alone?

But then, at Locus One, the system tentatively designated Sol Two, the strength of the signal increased suddenly and dramatically. They sent the alert to the Refuge Armada:

PROBABLE INCURSION IN PROGRESS AT LOCUS ONE. APPROVE TO READY SCENARIO SILVER COMMODORE'S FINAL CHARGE. WILL CONTINUE TO MONITOR FOR SITUATION CHANGE.

[Agent Sorchus]

Sol-Meh
OMINOUS combat Channel One-Three

Eoghan Fleet Force Group Alpha requests OMINOUS Assault group make haste towards Target Prime. Chance of continued containment beyond 120% Travel time low. Reinforcements would be appreciated.

ADM Sakti

[Mayabird]

The Consortium of Minds quickly agreed to the first step of the Promotion of False Religions. After all, their offer could very well be rebuffed, and then it would cost them little more than a few seconds of transmission time.

And so...

[Master_Baerne]

NSA Lady Sikala II
Lady Sikala II-class Battle Carrier
Flagship, Ascendant OMINOUS Forces
Xena, Multiuniversal Empire of Happiness

The Eoghan transmission reached the carrier and, carrying an OMINOUS priority encryption, was passed directly to Admiral Josbek, who'd shifted his flag to the carrier to take advantage of its more modern flagbridge. Within minutes, he was in communication with the other OMINOUS commanders in-system.

"Gentlebeings," said Josbek, "I am taking most of my force to reinforce the Eoghans at Sol. My troopships will remain here, as well as 12th Cruiser Squadron. In the event of an emergency, the dispatch ship IE-417 will be standing by to carry any messages. Josbek out."

The ships of the Ascendant Starfleet, the familiar dagger-shapes capital craft and the cannon-studded cones of the cruisers sharing space with the blocky carriers, turned towards their target and disappeared into hyperspace.

[Siege]

Tannhauser Gate
United Solarian Sovereignty



The Tannhauser Gate was more than just a warp gate. It was a fortress, a fleet yard, a spaceborne arcology home to millions of people. It bristled with weapons even as it flickered with three-dimensional advertisements of Solarian megacorps and the million twinkling lights of the hab-zones; Star Force patrol ships intermingled freely with titanic freighters and thousands of personal small-craft, each going about their own business. On the outer edges of the hyperconstruct rows of dormant autolaser batteries could be seen from the green avenues and public parks that wound round the edges of the Gate and trailed off into space: the Tannhauser Gate was wrapped in barriers of impenetrable force that kept the atmosphere in and granted any passers-by a spectacular, unobstructed view of space.

On a bench under an old oak in one of the parks sat Gerro Ors. He had once been a rotund man but that was months ago, before he had been displaced across the boundaries of dimensions... Before the End War. Now there was a tightness in the corner of his eyes, and a haggardness in his posture. Hollow eyes stared out across the vastness of space. His thoughts were a million miles away, so he didn't notice that someone had sat next to him until she spoke.

“Nice view hey?”

Startled, Gerro looked up. There was a woman sitting next to him. She wore a black suit and tie over a white shirt. A pair of reflective sunglasses was stuck at a jaunty angle into thick white hair pulled back in a ponytail. If Gerro Ors had been born on Solaris he would be freaking out now, much like the other people in the park who were making very sure to stay well clear of the CEID agent. But Gerro had been born far from Solaris. He wasn't familiar with the Directorate's sordid reputation. All he knew was that the woman's eyes were huge, and her irises a startling shade of gray. He could almost picture himself falling into those pools of smoke. Falling, just falling forever, and forgetting...

He shivered and pulled himself back, gripping himself like he felt suddenly cold. “Oh. Yeah. Very nice.”

She smiled. It was a warm and affectionate smile, the smile of someone you could trust. “You weren't looking at all, were you?”

Gerro Ors sighed heavily. He wanted to politely tell her he'd like to be left alone, that he wasn't interested in small-talk. That he was confused and stressed and hurt in ways she couldn't even imagine, that he was feeling extremely conflicted about being here, safe, even as his countrymen died; that he'd seen things, terrible things that he himself didn't even understand...

And then he suddenly realized he did want to talk. That, in fact, he was quite desperate for someone to talk to, and had been for some time, ever since... He sighed again. “No, no I wasn't. I was thinking of home, actually.”

“You one of the new guys? The ones from the, the what's it called? Multiversal...”

“Multiversal Empire of Happiness.” He chuckled mirthlessly. “Hell of a misplaced name, that.”

She shrugged and continued to look at him with those big eyes. For some reason her eyes reminded him of that little icon they used to have back home, on the small family shrine. That small golden portrait of Her, the one Tess always teased him about... He swallowed and blinked rapidly, trying to drive back the tears.

“Well, you sure don't look very happy,” she said.

“No,” he quietly confessed. “I haven't been for some time.”

“Wanna talk about it?” She seemed sincerely interested, in him and his story, yet at the same time hesitant, as if she didn't want to pry and be thought an indiscreet meddler. It looked like she really cared, and what Gerro Ors needed right now was someone exactly like that: an outsider to talk to, someone unlike his fellow refugees, who were all too wrapped up in their own losses and misery. She was the first person here who actually saw him like a person, not like an imported commodity to be stamped and indexed and filed away in a giant hall with thousands of others just like him. He now knew that he did want to talk about all the things that had happened, to anyone who'd listen but most of all to her.

So he started talking. About Tess. About their marriage, and how they'd made a small business as robot builders. He even smiled a little when he described their small, junky workshop. The kids in the neighborhood had loved that little shop, and Tess had built them tiny automatons to take home as playthings. They'd talked about kids of their own, that last time, before... His expression darkened again. Inhofer that world had been called, he said. High Inhofer.

The smoky-eyed girl – she wasn't a woman, not really, he could see that now: she couldn't be much older than 20, and her skin was so pale! – knitted her brow when he mentioned that name; asked if that was a world in the Empire. “Not anymore,” he said, and couldn't keep a tremor from his voice. He scraped his throat, briefly found it difficult to continue, but something in her wide-eyed expression helped him along. It was a fluke of coincidence, he explained. His aunt was unwell, her heart was poor – a common illness in the Empire – and so he had gone to visit his family. A small trip, he wouldn't be gone for more than a couple of days. Tess had stayed behind to manage the shop.

The attack had come just as the liner made orbit. A terrifying creature had descended on High Inhofer. Udulating, he said with a failing voice, it seemed from some unseen corner beyond normal sight: a congeries of iridescent globes, stupendous in its malign suggestiveness, great globes of light massing toward a writhing opening, primal and titanic and wrong. Gerro's forehead beaded with sweat as he recalled the descent of that tentacled amorphous horror and the hideous cries of his fellow passengers. Some had lost their minds then and there, he told, and maybe they were the lucky ones. The liner had effected its escape, chased through hyperspace by the howling madness of High Inhofer's eight billion inhabitants as they were devoured by that nameless terror.

One of those victims, it went unsaid, had been Tessa. Gerro's wife.

He had arrived at Wolf-359 barely sane, only to learn there had been many of these attacks all over the Empire. But the Goddess, his family had said, was working a great miracle to save them all. They had spoken of Her with hushed tones, the reverent glint of true believers in their eyes. But he couldn't drive the sight of that noxious, eldritch thing from his mind. And each night, when he awoke from his nightmares screaming and bathed in sweat he had wondered why She had not done so earlier. Why had she not saved them sooner? What had his wife and all those others done to deserve so horrible a fate? For days he had raged at the prayer shrine, demanding an answer, but the Goddess had remained silent. That, he said quietly, was when he lost his faith.

She shook her head as if lost for words. For a minute they simply sat there on the white park bench. She didn't press him to carry on. He did anyway.

The Displacement, he said, had been heralded by the inhabitants of the four chosen worlds as a great miracle that proved their worthiness to the Goddess. But to him it had only betrayed her unworthiness. The Empire reached far and wide. Gerro knew how many worlds were being left behind – and worse, he knew what they were being left behind to face. There would be dozens of High Inhofers, billions stranded to face nameless horrors that should not be. His throat filled with bile and his voice went ragged as he talked of how he couldn't stand his family anymore, the way they sang vapid praises to their so-called goddess. He became a recluse, withdrawn and bitter, plagued by nightmares. His sanity was slipping, he knew, and he didn't care. What use was sanity in so uncaring a cosmos?

Wen he had been summoned to Earth he thought it was to atone for his lack of faith. He had whimsically dreamed of being hauled in front of her and denouncing her in front of all her high priests. He'd be struck down, he imagined, but maybe it would be worth it. But there had been no reckoning, no remonstrations for heretical thought. Instead he had been put to work in one of the many droid factories to help design new warmachines for the Empire.

Gerro hadn't known why until Wolf-359 had been consumed by Orks. The event had unmoored him, he said quietly. What remained of his family had died, slaughtered wholesale by one of the first waves of greenskins to hit planetside. They were defenseless, armed with nothing but their prayers and their faith in their goddess, and the Orks had massacred them. The imagery had been everywhere: streets running red with blood as marines fought to retake their world – 'valiantly' it was said on the news. Gerro spat on the freshly cut grass. Even the newscasters hadn't been able to keep the fear from their voices. It was clear that the 'goddess' couldn't even protect the paltry few worlds that were left to her. Perhaps he had been alone in his unfaithfulness before, but now he was no longer. There had been many who had looked at the reports on the news, learned of the impending war, and despaired.

So he had begun to look for a means to escape. He had built an astromech droid capable of hijacking a small yacht and then, when the naval forces guarding Sol had been distracted by harrying raiders, he had effected his escape through the gate and into the great unknown. That, he said, was how he'd ended up here, beyond any frontier the Empire had ever explored, on a park bench talking to a complete stranger.

The girl smiled at him as if he'd said something incredibly funny. It was the most beautiful thing Gerro had seen in a long, long while. She put a hand on his shoulder. “Don't you feel better now?” she asked.

It took him a long moment to realize that yes, yes he did. In fact he felt incredible. It was like a massive weight had been lifted from his shoulders, as if a veil had been drawn from before his eyes. For the first time in a very long while he didn't feel crushing despair, wasn't burdened by the trauma... Felt, in fact, as if his losses were something he might not mind carrying around so much. And then, suddenly, Gerro remembered his wife, on a sunny day in the doorway of their little ramshackle shop. She was smiling and laughing as a little flying trinket she'd built cartwheeled through the streets, chased by a crowd of excitable pudgy kids. “I didn't know I still had those memories,” he murmured, grateful and bewildered.

He turned to the woman in amazement, caught those smoky gray eyes smiling at him. She stuck out her hand, holding a small item. He took it. It was an old-fashioned business card, printed with an antique typewriter font. It only said, JUNE, followed by a long string of numbers that he guessed were the key to a means to contact her. “Thank you Gerro, for your story,” she said. She sounded genuine and affectionate. “If you ever need someone to talk to,” the agent said and stood up from the bench, “don't hesitate to call.”

It was only when she had long disappeared that Gerro Ors wondered, how had she known his name?

[Tanasinn]

Federal Building
Elysion City
Elysion
Humanist Union

Stein drummed his fingers on his desk as he shuffled through the intelligence reports on the ongoing coalition offensive in the Multiversal Empire of Happiness, looking for anything that might change his perspective on what had to be done at this point. It was no surprise to him to find nothing that would sway him. Tossing the stack of papers down with a frustrated sigh, he turned to his assembled subordinates, "We'll go ahead with it."

"Sir," this was Director Bryce, "With all respect - you're letting your ideology get ahead of your better sense. This will be seen as an act of provocation by at least two of our neighbors, and relations are only now improving with the Centrality. Our situation is different from the Solarians', more delicate."

The Coordinator looked stonily at his subordinate, face betraying no emotion before finally speaking, "William, by now I expected you knew the difference between political cowardice and practicality,"

"Roland-"

Stein kept speaking, ignoring the Director's protestations, "In human terms, ignoring the atrocities committed is a crime of its own, particularly when the Bragulans and Byzantines have demonstrated quite thoroughly how they intend to conduct this war. In political terms, ignoring this undermines international socialism and new humanism specifically. We can hardly be taken as serious or reliable internationalists if we stand idly by while aliens and theocratic vermin murder millions or billions wholesale. Such two-faced behavior will affect our relations with the greater galaxy."

Bryce pointed an accusing finger at his Coordinator, undeterred, "Bullshit, Roland, if I may. Politics thrives in two-faced behavior. Meanwhile the threat to our relations with the Centrality and Eoghans is actually legitimate. I'm sure Director Bishop will agree with me on that."

The younger man shifted uncomfortably before answering, wondering how it was going to affect his office to contradict Bryce - after all, Foreign Relations were subordinated to the Department of the State, "To be honest, Director, I don't. The Eoghans will certainly be incensed, that I will grant you. The Centrality - all of our intelligence indicates that, at this point, their primary target is Sasha."

As Bishop had feared, Bryce's expression told the story of a very, very angry man.

"My objection stands, Coordinator," Bryce said, finally.

Stein didn't seem surprised at the answer, "And it is noted," Stein turned to his Department of War Director, Tabanov, "Vasily, I expect the New Haven sector would be an ideal location to receive the refugees."

The man nodded, slowly, "FCPS presence is high there, of course. As is Federal Army manpower. And of course Fifth Fleet is close at hand - I expect Fleet Admiral Yale will want Fourth Fleet on-hand to reinforce the sector in the case of the unthinkable," the latter man nodded in response to Tabanov's analysis, "The sector also has the advantage of high DII assets," a meaningful glance at Director Agatha Masterson, "Finally, using the New Haven sector will provide ideal camouflage for wrapping up the case of Amos's assassination."

Stein nodded thoughtfully, "I'm sure we can put the local resources to good use, yes. We don't want any undesirable elements using proletarians for camoflage. I'm sure we can expect that."

Masterson smiled thinly, "By all indications, the Empire's leadership is anything but subtle. If there are jackals among the refugees, we will find them."

Stein nodded, then turned to the Director of Foreign Relations, "Mr. Bishop? Have an announcement drafted. See to it that it sends a message."

[Force Lord]

Unknown Location
MEH Earth, MEH Sol System
Unreal Time/After fall of Wolf 359

Dr. Androidbik's work was at long last finished...

Well, almost finished. He had hit an seemingly insurmountable obstacle to total completion.

He could not find a suitable way to power the weapon. It's power requirements were so great that even hypermatter was not enough. He was stumped, and began to fear that he had just designed his first true failure. What would the Goddess think of him now?

Thus, when said Goddess appeared all of a sudden in his lab, he panicked.

"M-My Mistress! W-What brings you here?"

Sasha merely looked at his device. Androidbik noticed that something about her was...off. As if she had changed somehow. She certainly didn't look like her usual perky self.

"M-My Lady? F-Forgive my boldness, but are you fine?"

Sasha finally turned her head to look at him, staring at him blankly. Androidbik found this expression more frightening than her anger, and she had thrown serious tantrums before.

At last she spoke, her tone very deadpan. "Is your project finished?"

Dr. Androidbik gulped. It was now or never.

"W-Well, there has been one final complication. I...I have been unable to procure a power source powerful enough to make it work... I don't know what to do...."

Androidbik expected the Leader to yell at him for not forseeing such a difficulty and order the termination of his project, which would destroy his career, even if the invaders somehow decided to give him a job...

But nothing happened. Sasha had simply returned her gaze to the device.

"You...need a massive power source, correct?"

Androidbik, not wanting to irritate his Leader, nodded.

Sasha then said, "Wait a moment." She suddenly disappeared, how she did it Androidbik could only guess.

She reappeared just as quickly as she had left, holding in her hands an ancient-looking chest.

Dr. Androidbik raised an eyebrow. "My Lady, what is this you are giving me?"

The "Ballman" noticed that a tinge of sadness had entered his Leader's face. Was this something of great importance to her?

She spoke, "Inside this chest, are seven gems that contain power beyond your dreams, Doctor. In an... earlier time, I had access to many of these, which amplified my already formidable power. Now, only these remain, as well as a larger one, but that is hidden somewhere else. I will tell you later of it."

She then opened the chest, and a flash of light came out, forcing Androidbik to cover his eyes with his hand. The light eventually died down, and the Ballman could see the jewels first-hand. The first thing he noticed was that they were all of a different color. They looked like emeralds, but only one of them was green.

"You are giving these to me?"

"Loaning them, in fact. I expect these gems to be returned to me once your weapon is used. And it will be used soon. So take care of them." She then placed the chest on a nearby desk.

She began to turn away, but Androidbik shouted, "My Lady! What will you do now?"

Sasha turned one last time to Androidbik, and he saw that her face was now clearly showing distress and...fear?

"I-I don't know."

She then disappeared, leaving a shocked Dr. Androidbik behind.

Those three words...they shook him to the core. It could only mean one thing.

Defeat was inevitable.

Looking at the gems left at his desk, Dr. Androidbik, the notorious Dr. Ballman, realized what he needed to do. Picking up the red gem, he scrambled to his work station.

After a couple of hours of measuring the gem's power level, he found that the power was off the charts. Enough to power his weapon. If one of these gems had that kind of power, what would be the result of having them all together? And there was the fact of the even larger gem that the Leader told him, the gem that must be the most powerful of them all...and hidden somewhere. If he could have all of that power....

He suddenly realized that the fall of the MEH wasn't such a bad thing after all. For too long he had toiled in the service of a so-called "goddess" who now was about to lose her empire. Soon, it would seem that the Leader was going to lose her own freedom, perhaps even her life. All the while he was making his own plans for the future. A future that did not include her and her lost dominion. A future where ultimate power was in his grasp. He was going to take these gems, flee the sinking ship that was the MEH, and create his own realm. A realm where his word was law and the law was his will. He only needed to make a deal with the right people, perhaps the more reasonable of the invading hordes, and those who refused to invade. After all, the invaders would not remain here forever.

Of course, he had to make his escape after acquiring the big gem. And he had just the way to do so. A parting gift to the invaders...and perhaps the MEH itself. He only needed time.

Looking again at the red gem, Dr. Androidbik smiled.

[Mayabird]

Planet Sayam
Goddamn Unreal Time



“And they provide a meal with our entertainment!” stated the delighted Epaulette. “What do your cart's needle probes say about the safety? I certainly hope I can eat these roasted grains and insects; they smell most delectable. 'Twould be a great shame if I could not digest it, or even worse, if someone intentionally tried to poison me!”

Secretary's cart's arm picked off a fried beetle. “Aside from this one, you should be fine with the rest. This specimen might give you indigestion but I would be fine with it.” He crammed it into an analysis pocket on the cart.

“Something interesting?” Epaulette queried, before he tried to scarf down an entire fattened grub whole.

“Could be,” said Secretary. The cart arm them grabbed one of the provided knives and proceeded to cut the rest of the insects into more manageable chunks.

“Hrrraoaaoghhr hgggo ooaaag hooag,” Epaulette attempted to exposit, or possibly just chide; it was hard to tell with the grub sticking halfway out his beak. He managed to swallow the entire thing and stuff it down into his crop before proceeding, “At any rate, I must congratulate you again on not just getting us into all of Bart Blade's lectures, but also getting us this delightful little booth! However did you manage this as well?”
Spoiler

The CI worked for a second. “Done. Any special arrangements we should make?”

“Is there such a thing as a 'Very Important Person' section for these lectures?” Secretary asked.

“Affirmative. I will reserve a VIP booth for both of you.”

“Perfect. Can you put in some extra ventilation as well? His excellency is overly fond of his new habit of 'smoking' but most other people cannot stand the smell.”

“Affirmative. It will be done. Any other considerations we should take?”

“I have my ways,” Secretary said cryptically.

“You are a clever and sneaky character and I commend you for it,” opined Epaulette. “And now for the grains...oh, but the lights are dimming. It must be time!”


Bart Blade had been devastated by the potential loss of tens of thousands of Shepistani curies (the currency, not radiation) from the pirating of his magnum opus. All his work, ruined no doubt by some fundamentalist McNamara who disagreed with his subject material. Even ordering some fat journalist he didn't like to be killed by being stuffed into a spin-drier (which he thought was an ironic death because he did not fully understand irony) did not cheer him any. But it did not matter. Bart Blade would show them. He would get them all back!

But first, a vacation. He'd earned one after all his efforts at staying in power and influence.


Epaulette commented, “It is a packed crowd in this frigid auditorium. For humans, does the bitter cold indoors counterbalance the punishing heat outside if they are both equally uncomfortable?”

“Epaulette, shh,” said Secretary, in colors.

“My apologies. I will speak more quietly. But I do hope that my sessions won't be nearly this chilly. Secretary, could you check on that?”


Some local gave the long self-congratulatory introduction he had written, and Bart Blade emerged, to polite applause (not because the Sayamese did not appreciate him, he knew, but because they were polite even when they stabbed you in the guts). He began his lecture on variation between the different sentient races.


“You know, he is exactly the size I imagined him to be, but then, I did see his vital statistics,” Epaulette said to himself as he pecked away at his data slate. “However, he is said to be an expert on heavy weaponry, weaponry systems, and weapons delivery, not biology. I find this lecture of his to be perplexing. In fact, I think this graph is completely wrong! It is based on incorrect data! And that is a misrepresentation of Apexai evolution, too. Oh, this is disconcerting. Secretary, if you please, could you...? And here your robotic arm comes with another cigar, pre-cut. You know me well! No, no, I can light it myself, makes it more personal that way.” Epaulette bit down and smoked meditatively. Eating and smoking were the two times his chatter slowed down, which is why Secretary was always ready with a cigar.


After a hot flash-free hour and odd minutes in which he demonstrated the superiority of the human form by it not being superior at any overspecialized point but simply being generalized and adaptable, the same local came out to ask the audience if they had questions. It was merely a formality...but then a light blinked in the VIP booth. Epaulette raised one wing and tapped the speaker. All attention turned toward the Avian.

“I AM THE KING!” a random audience member screamed, and then he ran off cackling and clutching his head as if he had a migraine.

Said Epaulette, “...yes. Yes, I have some questions for Mr. Blade. To start with, I found an error on Slide 47, Graph 36P. If the person in charge of the projection could pull it up? Thank you. Now, as you can all see, it says-”

“There are no mistakes in my lecture or graphs,” stated Blade.

“And yet there is an error, a most basic one here. On this comparison of cranial sizes, you show several incorrect statistics (ignoring the fact that this comparison, even when correct, is disingenuous at best)-”

“Actually it is not, because cranial size is a proxy for brain size and thus intelligence-”

“-But it is not, because it completely ignores the wide variation in brain structures and development. I for instance probably have the smallest brain of anyone in this room – please feel free to make jokes; I will not be offended – but my intellect is on par with anyone else's because I my neurons are smaller and more tightly packed, plus...”


This went on, back and forth, for two goddamned hours, even as the audience members trickled out, the room filled with smoke, and the janitorial staff came in, cleaned, and left before they were done because the mess would still be there when they shut up.


“So you see,” Epaulette continued after some digression about Slide 86, “I think the real problem here is your lack of objectivity.”

Bart Blade had started out perfectly calm, assured that as usual with a single explanation his opposite would be instantly convinced of his complete correctness, but now he was enraged. Enraged! The stupid bird had been taunting him – him! Bart Blade! - with full knowledge that he could get away with it, and now dared to accuse him of lack of objectivity? He made a mental note to calculate the benefits of abolishing the concept of diplomatic immunity in Shepistan.

Epaulette of course went on without a pause. “You want to believe that humans are superior, since you are a human, same as I want to believe my niece Brrunk is superior to all the other little fledglings because she is my niece (but also because that is a fact). You mask that by trying to be modest, claiming humans don't have their own particular strengths, but then ignore your species' obvious weaknesses, like your lack of an innate ability to think effectively in more than two dimensions, your terrible diplomatic skills (even amongst others of your own kind!), and this behavior I have observed (though I have not read of – is it so embarrassing that none of you dare admit it?) in which random persons suddenly have delusions of grandeur for no apparent reason and run off in a fit of insanity, like that fellow earlier today. This leads to issues like in Graph 38A, in which your bias clearly shines through in your assumptions by – where are you going?”

“I have another lecture in a few minutes,” Blade said, storming off. It was true, and he hadn't time to prepare either, since that bird was distracting him.

“Ah! Well then, 'break a leg' as they say! I don't even understand that idiom. On a completely different note, Secretary, would you mind...”


Blade fled, exhausted and sweating (but not sweating too much!), to the next hall, which of course had to be on the other side of the building. He wondered whose idea it was to not let him stay in the same place, and considered having one of his minions assistants have the series planners killed. But then, if it had been in the same place, he'd still have to see that damnable bird; maybe the planners could be allowed to upload a backup after they died.

He washed his face quickly, adjusted his toupee, next introduction, the next crowd of polite people...a thin line of cigar smoke streaming from the VIP booth. Blade suppressed the urge to swear.


“There you are, Secretary! It must be much slower for you to travel by ground than me to travel by air, ducking around people's gangly large legs like you must when I can go right over their heads!”


He finished his lecture on cost-effective simple terraforming, not the over-elaborate silly “make a full biosphere” nonsense that pansy liberals with their love of stupid animals wanted but simple making a planet walkable and breathable. And then the dreaded, “Are there any questions?” Speaking of stupid animals, a wing went up.

“Yes, Mr. Blade, Epaulette of the Refuge again. We didn't finish our previous discussion, but I can put that off for now as I have a more basic question. I do not understand why Shepistan utilizes planets so much. Your society is far better be suited for an entirely spacebound culture in orbital habitats and stations. You could 'nuke' others or even internal problems with impunity and not have to worry about the physical fallout contaminating yourself at well, plus you would have complete control of environmental conditions. Why don't you leave the gravity wells behind?”

“No, you see,” Blade said, “Our way makes more sense because...”


What followed was another hour of back and forth monologues with increasingly terrible justifications (plus a sales pitch from Epaulette for pre-made habs from the Refuge) which will be skipped for the benefit of the reader.

“It's too bad that we cannot continue our dialogue,” commented Epaulette, “for I have my own lecture to give shortly. Nevertheless, we will meet again! ...at your next lecture, for I have a booth at that as well. See you tomorrow!” And then Epaulette flapped away, cigar still hanging from his beak, and Secretary in his shiny cart followed, beeping frantically for people to get out of his way.


Blade dreaded the next day. It was true – the feathered windbag had a reserved spot at ALL his lectures, and the planners would neither kick him out nor allow the lecture times to be changed! He sat at the little diner table, sipping at the tea and picking at his food, plotting revengeAAAAAGH!

“Good morning, Mr. Blade!” said Epaulette cheerfully. “I hope you don't mind me perching on the edge of the table like this. Secretary is bringing our plates. And here he is, balancing both in his robotic arms. Secretary, this is the great Bart Blade of Shepistan! Sorry that I did not introduce you two before but I was quite caught up in our delightful debate. Mr. Blade, this is my personal assistant, Secretary!” A bunch of little eyes looked up from the blobs inside, and the cart arm waved half-heartedly. “There's no need to be shy! Oh, but could you hand me my slate? While he's doing that, I wanted to say that I missed seeing you at my lecture on my observations of interspecies interactions. I have several more coming up and our times do not overlap at all so I cordially invite you! Thank, you Secretary. Anyway, We still have points left incomplete from yesterday. Particularly, I wanted to bring up the graph on average lifespans that was on Slide 20, Graph – Mr. Blade, where are you going?”

“I need to review my notes before the next lecture. Excuse me.”

“Oh, of course! Ta for now!”

He escaped! He tried to console his ego by remembering the graphs he had cranked on the estimates of the Refuge's military forces, which he determined must be far smaller than what they were pretending to have. Clearly they were bluffing, trying to look more powerful than they really were, like puffed up birds trying to look bigger! Ha! Since the next lecture was about comparisons of military forces, he could use that line! Onto the next stage!


The next hour and a half were rather cathartic. He had originally planned an overview of all the major galactic powers, but adjusted his speech to throw jabs at Epaulette and the Refuge. The ambassador, for what it was worth, spent most of the time heavily puffing on his bound tobacco, pecking at his slate, and making sideways chirrups and tweeters at his robot servitor thing.


“I hate stubbing out my cigars,” Epaulette said, as he put one out, “because it ends the meditative mood I enter when I can relax and turn my monologue inward while smoking. It makes me ponder upon the same things I normally ponder during the day, but faster since I don't need to slow down to breathe. For instance, here I have been considering the previous two lectures of Mr. Blade's and their characteristic incorrectness, and now this one in which he seems obsessed with pointing out the supposed small size of our military. Of course I have absolutely no idea how large our military actually is but...

“...Secretary! It has just now occurred to me! I know Bart Blade's secret! It's not bias or lack of objectivity – he genuinely has no idea what he's talking about! And yet, such a conversationalist that he is, he won't let such a trifle as complete ignorance stop him from expounding upon any topic! Such dedication to what is described as 'the gift of gab!' A marvel! He is a paragon up to whom I can look! Surely this is why we left our hidden space and ventured out into the great vastness of space: so that we could behold such greatness!

“Oh happy day! I have discovered my new best friend!”

[Shroom Man 777]

Dedicated to Ford Prefect

Several Fort class system defense cruisers dropped in on the other side of the Belkan formation, sandwiching them against the defensive platforms as they opened up with their own guns and spat out their own considerable fighter complements. The Belkans soon found themselves mixing it up with their MEH counterparts, all while they were trying to make it through the massive torrent of enemy fire being poured out all around them. It was a truly grim situation for many of the surviving pilots, but they all had the determination to keep going. They would do their part for the Coalition, and they were more than willing to fight to the last man in order to achieve their objectives. The only question that remained was how long they would hold out.

IN 3401 A.D. WAR WAS BEGINNING...

Alpha Centauri
Multiversal Empire of Happiness
June 1, 3401



The Gundamns of the FROD Force launched for great justice. The Belkan mercenary aces struggled against the massive MEHN superfighters and their Fort-class Heimcruisers. From afar, the pinprick dots of Belkan fighters weaved dizzying ion contrails in the blackness of space, trailed by emerald turbolaser bolts and the silver forms of MEH interceptors. Occasionally, explosions would blossom like deadly flowers, marking the loss of either Belkan or MEH spacecraft. The mercenary aces had blitzed through the MEH lines, striking deep to take out enemy superweapons platforms, but the MEHnoids had finally caught up with them and they were paying for it. Now, it was up to the FROD Force to back them up. The Gundamns were the cavalry, and they redlined their drives so they could arrive on time. So that there would still be Belkans left when they got there.

Curses, screams and cries filled the hyperwaves. People were fighting and dying out there and Kiro Kurosawa could hear them all from inside the cockpit of his Gundamn. The sound of battle resonated in the inertia gel that englobed him like the embryonic fluid of a steel womb, mixing with the thrum of the Gundamn’s ion drives and the rhythmic beating of its quantum engine. Counters ticked off the distance between them and the combat zone. They were nearly there. Kiro tensed his muscles, in turn causing the hydraulics and artificial musculature of his mech to contract. He relaxed, tried to ease himself and center his mind. The bond Newtype body and Gundamn machine shared was more than a simple neural link, there had to be harmony between orga and mecha for both natural and artificial beings to become each other’s extension.

Kira looked around, with both his eyes and the multi-sensors of his mecha, and saw the other Gundamns in his formation. They were his compatriots, some more seasoned than he was, others new in the ways of war just like him, and together they would join the Belkans and the MEHnoids in their dogfight. A lot of them wouldn’t be coming home. A lot of them would die here. It was ironic, Kiro thought, that despite being biologically optimized for the prosecution of combat, he still felt like how any other lesser being would in his situation.

But why?

“Because it’s my first war,” he said quietly to himself, realizing the mundane reason for that.

“Take it easy, kid.” Mike “Man Meat” McKenzie reassured him. Mike was a veteran of many FROD operations and had seen his fare share of combat. Kiro was lucky to have McKenzie as a friend to help him out and looked up to the man like a big brother. “Don’t think too much. We’ve got a job to do, and we’re here to do it.”

“Thanks, McKenzie-san.” Kiro took his advice and concentrated. There was nothing else but the mission, so he erased all other unrelated thoughts. There was only the mission. That was what he was here for, and that was why they were all here. Completing the mission was the only thing that mattered, Kiro reminded himself.

“There they are,” McKenzie said. The dots and lines might have still been dots and lines, but the distance counter gave an irrefutable argument. Sensors showed enemy targeting systems converging towards them, along with the spacecraft they belonged to. No weapons locks yet, but it wouldn’t be long. “Turn on your Minkowski emitters. Arm all weapons systems. Intensify forward shields. We’re going in hot. Prioritize MEHN assets engaging the Belkans. First priority is to pull those guys out.”

“Hai! Copy that, McKenzie-san.” Kiro stuttered as he quickly activated his jammers before the enemy could track him. He tried not to forget anything. Laser rifle, missile launchers. Beam sword. Gatling gun. Shields. Plasma cannon. Check. He could feel the Gundamn’s reactor output increase as additional energy was shunted towards the weapons and shields as they went online. He could feel himself become stronger. The Gundamn’s steel fingers tightened around the grip of its buster rifle. “Yes, I can do this.”

“Here they come!” someone shouted. The Belkans were heading towards their position, bringing the MEH forces with them. Radar spikes were intensifying, the enemy was trying to burn through their jamming. Turbolaser bolts streaked by inaccurately, followed by blindfired missiles. It was an attempt to break the Gundamn formation, but they held. The Belkans were close now, wildly dodging enemy weapons fire. Any second, Belkan and Gundamn formations would merge, and then the Gundamns would engage the MEH pursuers and the Belkans would break off. As they came nearer, enemy fire grew more accurate. Kiro had to dodge some bolts that came too close.

“Remember, there’s only one rule in the battlefield,” McKenzie calmly said. The Belkans were right on top of them now. The lead fighters zipped past the Gundamns, moving like elegant dancers, banking gracefully to avoid the mechas. In that instant, with the Belkans clear, the Gundamns joined the battle as one - unloading their malletspace missile pods, sending swarms of projectiles towards the incoming MEHnoids. Lasers were exchanged by both sides in a dazzling display of lethal light, coherent beams cutting shield and steel alike. Despite the sounds of battle, Kiro could make up what McKenzie said next... “Survive.”

And then everything went to hell.

A burning Belkan fighter nearly sideswiped Kiro. One second, it was on the verge of breaking away from incoming fire, the next second it was breaking up into a million pieces. Shrapnel peppered Kiro’s Gundamn, the ray shields lit up like polygon glass as fragments of fightercraft shattered against crystallized energy, while the bulk of the fighter’s molten fuselage nearly collided with his mecha. He dodged reflexively, backflipping while the verniers on the Gundamn’s legs - his legs - flared up and kicked him away from his previous trajectory. The Belkan fighter missed him by a mile, no small distance in astronomic terms, but the momentum of his evasion also took him away from his formation.

Shields flashed once more as a disruptor bolt struck right at the Gundamn’s center mass. The Dominator fighter that had downed the Belkan craft was now bound for Kiro. Each bolt hammered away at his shields, pushing him back. He tried to bring up his weapons, but each strike sent him reeling. Space spun around Kiro as he was buffeted inside his cockpit, as his body was thrown like a rag doll, saved from liquefaction by the inertial gel. His Gundamn too hurled through space as it was on the verge of being exploderized. His field of vision was overwhelmed by displays warning him of imminent catastrophic shield failure. And death.

“Kiro, remember your training” the voice of Mike “Man Meat” McKenzie rang out in his mind. Whether it was from the comms, or from his subconscious, he knew not. But upon hearing it, he reacted instantly.

“Hai! McKenzie-san! I hear you!” Kiro shouted. He focused, centered himself and his Gundamn. Hydraulic arms swept sideways, shifting mass and weight. Knees bent, verniers pulsed, legs then kicked out and another pulse of thrust sent him somersaulting in space away from the Dominator’s barrage. One-handing his laser rifle, he sent counterfire at the fighter, pulse beams impacting its shields but otherwise doing no damage. He couldn’t outrun the Dominator, and his laser rifle was too weak. So there was only one option. “LASERU SWORD IS GO!”



The Gundamn launched itself towards the incoming fighter, glowing laser sword in hand. Disruptor bolts were spat out in rapid-fire succession, some glancing at his depleted shields, but most missing as he nimbly dodged them with deft impulses from his wing-thrusters while he flew straight towards his attacker in a hypervelocity banzai charge. The fighter tried to break at the last moment, but destruction was in its path and it couldn’t make its time.

Time slowed down. Kiro screamed as he brought the burning blade down on the Dominator’s prow. He could feel the hilt in his hand recoil as solidified energy made contact with hyperalloy fuselage. Sparks erupted as the blade cut into the steel. The Dominator melted like butter. Kiro could see its pilot through his clear glass canopy. The look of horror in his face, his silent screams. Then the blade bisected his cockpit, vaporized his entire being, and went through the rest of the spacecraft in a microsecond. It split into two and exploded by the time it got behind Kiro. Steel turned into flame, embracing him in its deadly radiance. Laser sword was still clenched firmly in his hand, metal fingers squeezing tight. It was a baptism of fire. His new life as a warrior, as a Gundamn pilot, as a weapon of war annointed by the death of his enemy.

But the question still rang in his mind.

But why?

He looked around, searching for answers, but he saw only the scenes of war. Belkan fighters fleeing, Gundamn mechas charging, MEHnoid craft pursuing, everyone fighting and dying. But why were they dying? The stars were bright tonight, but those pinpricks of light weren’t from celestial bodies, rather they were from attack ships on fire and energy weapons blazing in the black. Was this what life was as a soldier? Was this the mission? Replacing the natural order of things and the cosmos themselves with systematic mechanized death? Was this what he was destined for?

Without time to ponder or pontificate, Kiro threw himself into the fray once again, following the orders of his comrades. They danced like angels, flying around a stricken MEH fighter while striking at it with their weapons. Its shields flickered and died, and soon it died too. Yet even as it did, more Dominators came with their weapons hot. Kiro broke away from them, but other Gundamns were not so lucky and they met their demise at the end of searing hot disruptors inducting them to their cold graves in space. They joined fallen friends and enemies in the ranks of death. But even then, the fighting continued, for in war life and death were but things to be counted, as even in death the mission may not end and life was not corollary to its accomplishment, since its shedding may very well be a necessity thing as it usually was.

Death screams echoed in the hyperwaves. Kiro recognized them as belonging to his friends, his keen Newtype hearing identifying their voices with ease even as they choked or gurgled or cried out one last time before becoming silent. Even as he listened, he continued on killing. His eyes narrowed, as did the Gundamn’s targeting reticule, he blinked when it turned red and let out an incandescent bolt of plasma from his cannon, which tore right into the center mass of an incoming fighter. Secondary explosions ripped the Dominator to pieces, and even as it exploded, Kiro emerged from the burning wreckage. A laser sword impaled the exploded Dominator’s wingman while Kiro levelled his plasma cannon at the third fighter, which was breaking off and trying to escape.

The plasma bolt struck the fighter in the rear. Its engines ruptured and the resulting blast consumed half the ship. The frontal fuselage, which contained the cockpit, snapped off the main body and drifted off into space. Where another plasma bolt promptly vaporized it.



“WHY DO I HAVE TO KILL?!” Kiro screamed at the insanity of it all, his voice borne by hyperwaves to the uncaring heavens. He trained his smoking plasma cannon at the approaching fighters, which sent more disruptor bolts at him in a feeble attempt at downing him, and like the uncaring universe itself he struck them down one by one. Despite his question, he knew the answer in his heart. He had to kill in order to live, and he had to live so that he could kill. That was the life of the soldier. That was the purpose of the Gundamn. That was the truth of war.

The crushing revelation of the futility of all things, the pointlessness of everything, the intertwining nature of life and death in war and its necessity to perpetuate their existence that in turn was predicated to ending others, ate away at the core of Kiro’s soul. He wanted to know why, and now he knew. But he couldn’t handle the truth. That was why he activated his Gundamn’s afterburners and raced towards the swarm of Dominator fighters. They were coming to end him, in retribution for all of their comrades he killed. And likewise, he too reciprocated the sentiment and desire to end them. It was a duality, they were like two sides of the same coin in that they were much alike, but would never see the same side of things.

“Why are we even fighting?!” he cried. Buster missiles impacted with the closest Dominators, crumpling against the fighters’ shields before initiating their impact-fused plasma warheads. Everything went white, bright light from the explosions like supernovas temporarily blinding sensors too close by. Kiro didn’t need to see to kill. He knew where the others were, recalling their trajectories, likely reactions, and projected positions. He sidestepped and used his laser sword to carve two more fighters into pieces. The nuclear flashout faded, they could see again, and Kiro found himself amidst burnt wreckage.

“Why did they have to die?!” he asked, his voice now audible on all channels. He wanted to know what the others thought, what both the Coalition soldiers and the MEH enemy made of all this. He wanted to know why they wanted to die before he killed them. Above all else, he wanted them to realize and know what he now knew, so that enlightenment would shine upon their black war-stained hearts, so that this night would finally end with their last moments. It was a challenge of dawn.

Suddenly, his whole Gundamn shook as though it was struck by an equal and opposite mass. Another Gundamn trackled him, sending them both tumbling in a tangle of mechanical limbs.

“Kiro!” it was Mike “Man Meat” McKenzie. He was still alive. “What are you doing?! Are you trying to get yourself killed?!”

“McKenzie-san...” Kiro stuttered, taken aback and hesitant. “No... I don’t... Help me, McKenzie-san. I can’t... I can’t do this anymore!”

“C’mon kid, let’s take you home. Those Belkan fighter jockeys have pulled out of the furball, so it’s about time for us to RTB. C’mon let’s -” before he could say anything else, Kiro saw the incoming form of a Dominator. Alarms blared inside his cockpit. He screamed at McKenzie to get out, but - “Kiro! Get down!”

“No!” Kiro screamed. Before his eyes, McKenzie’s Gundamn spun around to face the attacker and block its firing line from Kiro. Disruptor bolts rammed into McKenzie’s shields, sending his mecha reeling back and slamming into Kiro’s. Both their Gundamns spun out of control. The Dominator swept past them before coming around for another run, and this time it wasn’t alone. A flight of them came down at McKenzie, and the veteran pilot met them head on - igniting his laser spear and hurling it at the closest fighter, harpooning its pilot through the fuselage. The others opened fire on him, shattering his shields like glass, and ripping his armor to shreds with their endless torrent of disruptors. McKenzie unleashed a final salvo of buster missiles, launching from the shoulders of his mecha and leaving behind white contrails that silhouetted his Gundamn and gave it the appearance of a winged angel. The burst missiles detonated and vaporized the MEH fighters in the same second that McKenzie and his Gundamn exploded. “MCKENZIE-SAN! NO!!!”

Why did you have to explode?!

Shock overwhelmed Kiro. His old comrade, his mentor, his brother in arms was gone. Dead. Like everyone else. Killed in a pointless war at the ass end of space, a war orchestrated by politicians lounging safely back at home while soldiers on both sides fought and died at their beck and call. For some nebulous purpose, undefined to those doing the real killing. All for what?

“All for what?!” Kiro found himself shouting, spittle flying out of his mouth. His Gundamn was now in the middle of a MEHnoid formation, on top of a wingless Dominator. Kiro eschewed the laser sword in his one hand, and instead brought his other fist down into the cockpit of the fighter - shattering transparisteel and smearing the pilot in one fell blow. “All for nothing! NOTHING!”

He threw the fighter away, its bulk blocking some of the incoming disruptor bolts, at least until it finally disintegrated. Other fighters dove away or pulled up to avoid the wreck. Big mistake. Kiro brought himself on a course that would intercept the breaking fighters. Dual-wielding a plasma cannon and a laser rifle in each hand, he continued the very same process of elimination he had so decried, knowing no other recourse but the sanctuary of atrocity. On one hand, he welcomed death. On the other, he dispensed it with a fury unmatched.

“MACRO LASERU FIRE!” his words of death echoed through space with each and every kill he claimed. He recited the name of his weapons like a litany of fury, the deadly devices themselves discharging at countless targets as the Gundamn spun around in a graceful pirouette, strangely serene whilst surrounded by a halo of destruction. The flames resembled birds of fire coming to devour the pilots trapped inside the deflagrating detritus.

At last, he relinquished his weapons. The plasma cannon and laser rifle had overheated, the material composing the weapons themselves had melted. An enemy fighter took this chance to strike from behind Kiro’s Gundamn, but instead it received a hydraulically-powered kick to its nose cone, crumpling its fore fuselage. The pilot tried to eject and did, only to find himself caught in the grip of Kiro’s metal hands.

He looked down at the pilot, and the pilot looked up at him, knowing what was next. Kiro saw him close his eyes and accept his fate. Kiro nodded and obliged. The Gundamn squeezed. The pilot burst in an eruption of decompressing blood and organs that drifted in the vacuum and gradually froze.

“That was for McKenzie-san,” Kiro said quietly, realizing what he had just done. Only now, in the end, had he completed his training, and by avenging his mentor he had become the soldier he was meant to be. The only eulogy he gave for his fallen brother was that of his name, which Kiro spoke for one last time. “Mike. ‘Man Meat’. McKenzie.”

With that, everything came to a full circle. He deactivated his shields and diverted the power meant for them to his propulsion and weapons systems. He looked away with the multi-sensors in his Gundamn’s eyes and saw the countless enemy fighters and spacecraft still fighting, still alive. There were so many of them to kill, and so little time. So he embraced his evolutionary birthright.

“I’ll cry when I’m done killing,” he said.

With enhanced speed, the Gundamn streaked towards the innumerable enemies who were not yet dead. No longer burdened by the unastrodynamic burden of its ray shields, the mecha moved faster than ever, dodging and rolling around incoming weapons fire with ease. Bereft of cannon and rifle, he pulled out his laser sword and recited the oath of all Gundamn pilots. The very first words he spoke as a soldier that might very well be his last.

“This is my sword. There are many like it, but this one is mine. And there can only be one.” Kiro recited as he buried his laser sword up to the hilt in a fighter’s fuselage. But before he could even properly bisect the enemy fighter, the other Dominators opened fire at him and his prey, not caring if they vaporized their comrade as long as they also killed the Gundamn before it killed the rest of them. Kiro leaped off the doomed fighter just before hundreds of disruptor bolts annihilated it. “That’s the spirit!”

The fighters were all coming at him now, rightfully judging him to be the greatest threat out of all the FROD Force’s mechas. They were all coming to kill him. And he was there to kill them.

“BUSTA WOLF CANNON!” Kiro shouted as he brought up his ultimate weapon.



He was charging his lasers. The energy built up around the tip of the weapon, culminating in a sphere of brilliant light that grew larger and larger with each passing second. Disruptor fire whizzed past him as the enemy came closer. But the Minkowsky particles accumulating in the Busta Wolf Cannon emitted an exotic quantum field resonance detrimental to sensors. The energy sphere continued to grow, slowly progressing to its peak resonance zero-null point. Upon reaching thermodynamic equilibrium, it would be ready, but it wasn’t there just yet. Tiny pearls of energy appeared spontaneously around the main spheroid of light, swirling around in a transfixing dance before coursing into the spheroid itself. Its slow accumulation was a microcosm, Kiro decided, of the progression of war - of how this particular conflict began with a months-long buildup of cosmopolitical tensions between nations, peoples, creeds and ideologies of their respective zeitgeists that gradually culminated in this single, violent moment. Just as thousands of scintillating particulates were now gathering around the main mass of the beam-sphere, which was itself half the size of Kiro’s mecha. Debris rose up and drifted towards the Gundamn, as if drawn by some magnetic force, by the same gravity responsible for the revolution of worlds and the frenzied freefall of galaxies through the universal void. For it was the epicenter, the event horizon, a metaphor for how all the months of slow but steady linear progression would finally lead to an explosion that would kill millions, possibly billions, in an exponentially geometric expansion of annihilation - the first casualty being the innocence of single beings and entire nations alike, then cascading into the wholesale slaughter of countless peoples, places and events, the untold destruction of entire concepts such as nationhood and godhood, religion and salvation, nothing was sacrosanct or sacred in the profanity of oblivion. Death of all things. Until the only thing left was... nothing.

“BUSTA WOLF CANNON WAVE MOTION ENERGY BEAM ATTACK!”



The energy sphere, which had grown to thrice the size of the Gundamn, exploded into a rainbow beam of all colors and no-colors, from those visible to the naked eye to those of untold spectrums beyond the corners sensible to the human sensorium. A massive trunk of destruction roared towards the incoming MEH fighters like a freight train made out of raw coagulated power. So much was its mass that it could no longer progress at lightspeed. The MEH fighters dodged it nimbly, evaded it easily, and continued their attack.

But then like a world-tree the beam branched off into innumerable smaller lines and veins, some pencil-thin, others a molecule in diameter yet all as destructive as an atom bomb. They spread out like tentacles of light, tendrils of a prism-vine, and the very many smaller beams activated their terminal guidance and homed in on the MEH fighters. Their contemptuous evasion quickly became a frenzied race between life and death as the smaller beams moved frighteningly fast, no longer burdened by the sheer mass of their parent beam-tree. They arced and lashed after their targets relentlessly, cutting them down one after the other until their scattered explosions adorned the branching beams like leaves of fire.

The light from the constellation of burning debris was dying. Like entire worlds, and the billions of people on them, they were dying. Silently, they drifted lifelessly. In the end, Kiro stood alone, surrounded by the smoking husks of his enemies. Embers drifted around him like cherry blossom leaves in autum. Out of all of them, only he had obeyed the fundamental law of the battlefield: Survive.

“The contrarian nature between the purpose of life, that is to continue, and that of the soldier, that is to end life. I am become the destroyer of worlds.” He said with finality.

[PeZook]

Xena
Salvation Habitat Complex


The roar of liquid plutonium engines resonated amongst ruined buildings. A massive armored collumn was advancing along an elevated thoroughfare. The road was gigantic, constructed using technology far in advance of anything the Brags driving over it have ever seen.

Not that it stopped them. The gigantic Dredka overtank leading the collumn shoved destroyed vehicles aside with its sheer bulk, or just flattened them. Dead bodies literring the road didn't even slow the collumn down and were run over without a second thought.

The unit advancing along that road - desginated merely North A45612 by Bragulan staff planner - was a fresh one, having unloaded from their landers barely three days ago. They were detailed towards mopping up isolated pockets of resistance still offered by some MEH troops throughout Xena's absurdly complicated cityscape. They were hard at work since then, rooting out random groups of battledroids and surprisingly tough hastily armed civilians.

Their next target was a huge habitat complex hovering above one of Xena's oceans. The arcology was gigantic, but - according to the IBGV - undefended.

Colonel Gargyl Kuleseyev remembered the teasing other officers gave him upon opening their orders. While his colleagues from the War Academy would all go out to fight real troops, he'd be stuck mopping up civilians and kiling the occasional battle droid. Bah.

Then again, he'd heard a thing or two about MEH Marines, and wasn't sure his bears were ready to face them in combat...

The collumn stopped suddenly. The massive living complex towered over them, scarred and crumpled in places due to extended atomic bombardments of the surrounding city, but still mostly intact. The road disappeared below the bulk of the arcology, blocked off by massive metal doors.

"All troops disembark! Establish perimeter!", colonel Kuleseyev could hear his officers yell on the radioski. He used his commander's cupola to observe the brigade's deployment - the road was actually large enough to allow a unit this big to take proper positions. It was kinda impressive.

Kuleseyev grabbed a mouthpiece and mumbled through his gas mask, "Talustyj! Get the engineers up front, have them open that."

Major Grog Talustyj squeezed his...well endowed belly from a transport, and ran up to the door. His microphonski was hot - thus, everyone in the brigade got a good earful of his tortured huffing and puffing as he did so.

"For the love of Byzon, Talustyj!", Kulseyev groaned. If the major wasn't such an excellent combat engineerski, the colonel would've made sure he was sent to de-education long ago. But so far, despite his girth, the major was instrumental for the brigade to have moved as fast as it did.

"Oooh!", the major sounded excited, "Reinforced Material #45!", he said, referring to a number from an IBGV-composed catalogue of known MEH construction materials, "It can withstand a lot of punishment, da. Allow me to try Standard Demolition Charge D, and go up from there, sir!"

"Approved.", Kuleseyev said into the radio, and then turned towards his XO, "Tell the brigade to button up!"

The engineerskis worked fast, affixing a modest twenty kiloton demolitions mine to the door. Vehicles engines fired, when the transports and tankskis withdrew to minimum safe distance.

"We're ready. Initiate!"

"For great justice!"

[Shroom Man 777]

Xena
High Orbit
Multiversal Empire of Happiness



The Discovery-class Research Stations were amongst the prizes Bragule had won from Xena. After securing space control over the system, the Bragulans immediately set upon capturing the enormous science vessels no doubt replete with all sorts of technological wonders from the hyper-advanced Multiversal Empire. Fighters, gunships and gunskimmers were sent to deactivate the stations’ remaining defenses, before Space Troopers and elite Navy BEARS stormed them and took them.

It was a relief to Bragulan commanders that the expected heavy fortifications, well-armed defenders and contingents of MEH Marines were not on board the stations. Intel showed that the MEH had instead assigned its precious few crack soldiers to guard their civilian population centers down planetside, leaving the orbital assets ripe for the taking. The few scientists on board were no warriors, and neither were their laboratory assistant droids, and save for some foolhardy humans and unexpected prototypes and experiments gone rogue in a few of the stations, the science vessels were successfully seized and secured. And now, they were in the process of being systematically dismantled, their interiors stripped clean and their contents removed and placed in cargo ships bound for Farthing or Kitty Litter.

On the planet Xena itself, a similar process was taking place, with the Shock Armies and Storm Detachments hunting down planetary repositories, but they had slightly less success as their objectives were not conveniently located in specialized space stations and were instead somewhere in an unending urban sprawl crawling with enemy droids, MEH Marines and resistance fighters.

“Progress is good, tovarisch admiral.” Captain Illyan Razyr approached his superior and old friend. “We have obtained thirteen out of seventeen research stations intact, and of the four uncaptured ones, two were rendered worthless due to Space Trooper nuclear breaching charges turning the whole thing into an irradiated hulk (these were the first two attempts at capturing stations, I might add), one had inside it biological specimens which got loose and killed both boarding teams and MEHnoid scientists and you can guess what happened next, and the last was lost because its crews initiated self-destruct before they could be stopped. Of the thirteen we have captured, nine have been disassembled and taken to forward sites along with the scientists found on board, who are currently in IBGV custody. Four are in the process of being dismantled. The Refugees’ division for ‘Defense Against Divine Technologies’ has asked permission to help examine some of the MEH’s more esoteric technologies.”

“Relay their request to the IBGV, those paranoid spooks will know how best to deal with the birds since they’re our diplomats here, anyway.” Front Admiral Nykolai Gearsmyoviych Bragznetsov replied before taking a sip of his vodka. “Anything else?”

“Well, everything else for Operation Staplewire is going smoothly. We are way ahead of General Braganov, in any case. They’re still encountering enemy resistance down planetside.”

“I don’t care about dirty things, Illyan. How about matters concerning to space operations, anything interesting?” Bragznetsov asked.

“Well, it is less exciting up here than it is down there, that’s for sure. There was a stealth ship, MEHnoid, spotted by our aggressive arrays headed for the Byzantine operation zone. It disappeared shortly after striking a cargo craft,” his friend replied.

“What happened to it? And, more importantly, how did it get through our screens? It could’ve just as easily gone after one of our troop ships and killed our men.”

“It didn’t go through our no-fly zone, but the Byzantines’. Either way, it’s academic now. It didn’t get the chance to vanish away under cloak. A Titan that was inside the cargo ship, well, survived the cargo ship’s destruction, drifted into space and engaged the stealth ship and struck it down.”

“You must be kidding me,” Bragznetsov said incredulously.

“I’m not. Sensor readings confirm it, and the Byzantines are boasting incessantly about it.”

“Ridiculous,” the Admiral snorted and went on to finish his vodka. “Anyway, how goes the progress of Kosmoflotts Bragotyomkin and Sagatantron? They are still in the system, along with the rest of the OMINOUS. They’re supposed to have left us, gone on to Sol to take all the vainglory, and win the war by now.”

“The Ascendants are proceeding with their hyperjump to aid the Eoghans.”

“And the Bragfleets aren’t? Why?” Bragznetsov wondered.

“Because... the Chamarrans haven’t given the word yet.” Illyan conceded. He looked at his friend, and at the empty bottle in his paw, and wondered if something was wrong with him. “Is there something bothering you, comrade?”

“Da,” Bragznetsov sighed and looked out of the viewport, which wasn’t actually a window but was in fact a monochromatic telescreen bolted on a bulkhead. In its cathode ray display, it showed countless Bragships moving in space like a herd of blocky metal things. “The sooner we are done with this charade, and the sooner we are in bragspace where we belong, the better. Have you ever wondered, Illya, what is the point of this war we’re in? We send half our navy to the edge of space and engage in a war with a nation that hasn’t even wronged us yet, except for being guilty of the supposed crime of being human, while bragspace itself lies with minimum defenses. Even now, the Solarians take advantage of our momentary weakness and we are forced to rely on our allies to help secure our borders. War is done to either strengthen a nation or defend it, and here we are doing neither.”

“I know how you must feel, comrade. Nykolai. It is frustrating to be so far from home, to be undertaking this errand even though Bragule is threatened by its eternal enemies. After all, we were there at Nova Genoa battling the Solarians and the Imperium mere months ago, and now we fight side by side with the Byzantines? It is absurd, I know.” Illyan consoled his friend because, in truth, he agreed with him. Such talk would have been unacceptable amongst the lower ranks, and commissarial discipline would surely put an end to any conversation expressing doubt towards the Imperial cause, but rank had its privilege. “The rationale for our intervention in the antispinward is twofold, to aid our Chamarran allies because they wanted to eliminate a threat to their territorial integrity, and to aid our Refugee allies because somehow they have a pathological hatred towards the MEH. I do not get their theology, it is unlike any other religion or lack of thereof I have studied, but that is that.

“In aiding them, we gain two powerful military allies, and by working together in the OMINOUS we have also gained the friendship of more inhuman nations in the last few months than we have had in the last centuries of the Star Empire’s existence. Surely, this strengthens our nation and cannot be discounted.” Illyan continued his explanation. He had the same doubts as his friend, and had spent many sleepless nights trying to make sense of the contradictions and nonsensicality of current events. “And yet, this war poses little risk to us because of the overwhelming power the OMINOUS and the human coalition both array against the MEH. We earn the favor of comrade-nations, and liberate the Farthing Worlds, and achieve great but easy victories here.”

“Working together with all our new comrades certainly has its positives, I agree.” Bragznetsov conceded. “But I still think we sent an overlarge force here, considering the intangible gains of friendship and internationalist camaraderie and all that stuff. We’re Bragulans. We don’t do that sort of thing.”

“Then consider this, my dear admiral,” Illyan pulled out his last weapon. “The MEH is a nation unlike any other. It emerged in our galaxy all of a sudden, and unlike any cosmic anomaly, they did it through entirely technological means, esoteric and unfathomable means to our science, but nonetheless they possess scientific prowess perhaps even more advanced than that of the Apexai. As far as we know, those annoying arrogant grey shits have never bridged the barriers between realities, between dimensions and universes. This is something unheard of, and despite all our skepticisms, we are now hauling samples of their technology in our cargo craft, disassembled and ready for analysis when they reach our labs. And we’re still faring better at that than General Braganov and his dirty business.”

“Da,” Bragznetsov couldn’t help but chuckle at that last comment, the joke at the ground-pounder’s expense. Planetary operations were often called dirty jobs by the officers of the Space Fleet, much to the discontentment of their lithocombat-oriented comrades. “What you say is all true, comrade, especially when it is at Braganov’s expense. Hah. I will consider what you have told me. No wonder I keep you around, Illya. You are the sole voice of reason in these most interesting, and mad, times. And I feel that things are about to get even crazier soon, if that is somehow possible. Ah, come, share a drink with me.”

“Uh...” Illyan pointed at the empty bottle.

“Oh, da. I have run out of vodka. How silly and un-Bragulan of me.” Bragznetsov chuckled.

“Have no fear, admiral. I’ll get you a new bottle and a glass for myself as well.” Illyan said as he went out to fetch a bottle and glass for both of them. After the battle of Xena, they certainly deserved a good drink. He returned and poured a glass for both of them. “A toast?”

“To our new comrades, and to victory.” Bragznetsov raised his glass.

“To our new comrades, and to victory!” Illyan agreed.

Glasses were clinked, vodka was downed, and they laughed.

[Darkevilme]

The Hierarchy Palace, Chamarra Prime. Hierarchy space.

“Well I think that went well don't you?” Tia said as the threesome settled in amidst the pillows, three sisters once again to discuss the fate of worlds.
“I still would have been more comfortable with you handling it Tia.” Kara replied as glasses were filled.
“Sister, you're head of state. You cannot delegate all diplomatic engagements to family, especially under these circumstances. He might of seen it as a snub.”
“I know Tia, sometimes I wonder how things would of gone if mother had chosen you as her successor though.” Kara said contemplatively, gazing into her blood wine.
“Probably Tia wouldn't of trusted me as Shadowmistress, but I won't hold that against her.” Mela said.
“You did well Kara if that's what you're worried about. He was in a great hurry and you took advantage, we have the Centralist's support for our claims and that's what matters.” Tia said with a smile and then added “Can our fleet beat the Ascendancy to Sol now they've been given the go ahead?”
“No but if they let the Bragulans trail behind they won't arrive too much behind the Ascendancy forces. We're not that much faster in hyperspace than they are so Melusine tells me.” Kara explained and then glanced to Tia “What do you think of the message from the Pfhor? Should we let them dispatch this 'embassy' force to us?”
“It'll sour our relations with the Holy empire somewhat but manageably I believe if we play up the line that the Pfhor empire is reforming.” Tia said after some consideration.
“And what of our own people? I need not remind you that the slave trade in Chamarrans still exists and for all their protests of reform the Pfhor empire still has a slave trade running through its territory.” Mela said.
“Well we can hardly act to diminish the trade as things stand. Short of open warfare we have no diplomatic tools open to us where the Pfhor are concerned. By letting them open an embassy we can always threaten to return things to how they were among other forms of leverage. The Pfhor need to foster friendly relations just in case the Holy empire sees them poking their head out of their hole as an excuse to stomp on their neck.” Tia said and concluded with a smile “Soft pressure is the best kind when dealing with hard shelled beings.”

“You make a compelling case Tia...Mela?” Kara said looking to Mela to see if she had a rebuttal
“The clans might not like it. But I reckon you could sell it well enough to be going on with. Just so long as we're not seen to endorse their actions.”

“Then it's settled. We will allow them to establish this embassy on the homeworld.” Kara said and took a long drink from her glass to indicate the transition of the conversation to less serious matters..

HSF Ascendant Star, Hierarchy battlefleet

“What does it say?” Melusine's aide asked, breaking protocol to be a curious kitty when it came to messages from homeworld that were for the battlemistress's eyes first.

“It says we've got the go ahead. Transmit message to all battlegroups and coalition forces, it's Hammer time. Also advise that Centrality assets are enroute to Sol and are to be considered friendly, hopefully they'll try not to get in anybodies way. Her majesty cut a deal so the Centrality gets first dibs on Sasha, something about a grave insult to their leader and pink manacles.” Melusine commanded, smiling as she gets up and starts walking to the bridge “Oh leave the part about the pink manacles out of the intership broadcast.” she said, pausing momentarily to look back at her aide. Melusine's aide nodded “Would be best battlemistress.” she said and went to the intercom, by the time Melusine reached the bridge the titanic hyperdynamic motors that would propel her flagship to Sol were emitting a rumbling tone that slowly rose in pitch. Minutes later the ablebodied vessels of the Hierarchy space fleet flashed into hyperspace followed by the rest of the Ominous onslaught that was to descend on Sol and end the multiversal empire of happyness.

[Force Lord]

Presidential Center, Centrum, Centrality

"Gah, note to self, have better self-control when around sexy catgirls. At least they seemed polite," Kierger muttered to himself as he made his way towards his office, not stopping even to return salutes. "They even accepted those yarn balls I brought! I'm getting my groove back. I know it."

Upon entering his office, Kierger made a beeline for the holo-projector, and after some setting up, contacted Grand Admiral Yeslah. The image of the Grand Admiral appeared.

"Yessie, we have a go. Tell everyone to lock and load."

"At once, sir!"

Yeslah's hologram disappeared.

Kierger then sat on his chair, relaxed. He needed it.

But first, one last thing to do...

Unknown Location, The Centrality

The Supreme Lord was laughing.

The time had come. The Central State would make its move now.

Thus when he was informed that negotiations with the Chamarrans were successful, he sent coded messages to OBS agents inside the First Armada that their mission was about to begin.

Order was to be defended. Order will prevail!

[Force Lord]

Command Bridge, Tianguonese Flagship
02 June 3401 4:10 PM UNST

“No,” stated Shang Jiang Ting Wei Jun, the Tianguonese commander of her contingent, the 1st Expeditionary Fleet.

“Surely you cannot be serious?”, asked Vice-Admiral Guring Kordis, a visiting Centralite officer. His attempt to convince the Tiangounese to join the Coalition force tasked to attack Sol was not off to a good start.

“I am. What gain is there in pushing into the enemy’s capital? The MEH is all but finished.”

“But the aliens will get all the glory!”

“Yes, but then it is not a great glory. The MEH was never a real threat to this Coalition or the alien one. No glory comes in easy victories.”

“Then I suppose you do not care about this, then?”

Kordis soon showed a holo-projector, and an image of a strange battleship flickered to life.

“What is that ship? And how is it that it looks familiar?”, asked the surprised Shang Jiang.

“Ma’am, Klavostani stealthships have gotten close to an area of space between the MEH and the Emissaries of XylyX, and this is what they’ve found. We believe the Emissaries are planning a stroke of their own towards the MEH’s Sol Sector. We don’t know if the aliens are aware of this, but clearly the robots have their plans for the MEH. Now do you care?”

After a moment of thought, Shang Jiang declared, “We will not allow ourselves to be upstaged by insane machines. Tianguo stands with you.”

Kordis smiled. “Then we are in agreement.”

CNS Steel Fist, Centralist First Armada
MEH Wolf 359, MEH
04 June 3401, 11:00 AM (UNST)

"Yessie, we have a go. Tell everyone to lock and load."

"At once, sir!"

After Kierger's image disappeared, Yeslah turned to his communications officer with the biggest grin he could muster.

"We are go for Operation Guillotine. Inform the other coalition forces in this sector that we move now!"

"Yes sir!"

In the next few seconds, a flurry of confirmation messages were sent to the contingents that were earmarked for their designated sectors. Soon, fleets began to move, in preparation for their coming campaign.

"Sir, all intact and functional ships report excellent readiness. We can go for broke," said Admiral Tardis.

"Thank you, Admiral. Status of hyperdrives?", Yeslah asked.

"Operating normally, sir."

"Then our wait is over. We jump now!"

The Centralist Armada swiftly disappeared into hyperspace, followed by the Hiigaran, Haruhiist, and Tianguonese fleets, towards their target: Sol. Meanwhile, the Klavostani fleet made its jump towards Alpha Centauri, with the Shinrans remaining behind to defend Wolf 359.

The end was not long in coming.

[Force Lord]

Unknown Location, MEH Earth
Unreal Time/After fall of Wolf 359 and Xena

Dr. Androidbik was marvelling at the great weapon that was now in front of him, a weapon that would decide the fate of the Empire. Worker bots were busy making the finishing touches, zipping around the metallic structure. With the gem inside providing it the power necessary to work the weapon, the device was likely to cause major damage to the invaders. It had no obvious weakness, as far as the Ballman was concerned. Only sheer firepower could bring it down... if someone didn't find a weak point he failed to account for. As for the gem itself, he made sure of developing a mechanism that could bring it back home safe fast, once the superweapon was becoming too damaged to be useful anymore.

The Ballman laughed. Of course, the only purpose of the superweapon was to buy time. Time he could use to further his schemes, and take the Leader's gems for himself. For now, he was loyal, at least until he was shown the big gem itself. Then he could make his escape, to someplace safe. The invaders would definitely want his knowledge. They will know nothing!

"Yes, I shall give them... DEATH!"

[Shroom Man 777]

Xena
High Orbit
Multiversal Empire of Happiness



Kosmoflotts Bragotyomkin and Sagatantron had been waiting for the word for days, and now finally it had been given. The purpose was clear, the destination was near. The plan was set long before the forces had even touched the Xena sector. There were no contrivances, politicking, or negotiations. No hastily changed plans or last minute contingencies. The Bragulans came for a single purpose, that of war and premeditated violence, and now they were going to fulfill it.

When the signal came, they were able to move without delay, without need of clarifying or passing down commands or nebulous orders and plans haphazardly changed at the last minute. Everything had been readied for some time. The OMINOUS fleet, already parked near the hyperlimit, engaged their drives - already charged and ready and waiting. The Eoghan-Atlantean force would no longer have to wait for long. They were coming.

Bragships redirected atomic energies at the right angles of reality and shattered the barriers of realspace. Intense radiations glanced against the geometries of the warp and induced a flash cascading gamma rays. Space seemed to glow with nuclear energy. A maw of non-real space opened before the bragfleets like a gaping aperature.



With pulses of subnuclear drives, the warships of the Bragulans plunged themselves into the torrents of hyperspace. Onwards to Sol.

[Fingolfin_Noldor]

Byzantine Navy at Xena

Analysis of the data recovered from Xena indicates that subject Empire has had contact with [redacted]. The God Emperor is correct. Further investigation is needed and required to determine the reasons [redacted] took such interest in subject Empire. That subject Empire was fleeing from the forces of [redacted] and had now arrived here. The method the subject Empire had used to escape [redacted] must be determined. The threat of [redacted] is indeed real, and we must gain as much knowledge from the subject Empire, even taking it from its own dying hands by force if necessary.

Ave Imperator
Adeptus Mechanicus Xenos Specialist Senior Magos Xevius
Lord Inquisitor Severus (Ordos Malleus)

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

The fleet made ready. Mobile drydocks had arrived after the Xena fleet had been dispatched to make repairs for various ships that had been damaged. Some ships had been utterly destroyed or deemed unrepairable. These ships were simply dismantled and stripped for parts and then converted into raw materials. The Byzantine navy suffered approximately 2-5% losses in battle. Not too bad a figure, considering the opposition. Similar losses were suffered by ground forces who participated in the boarding actions on some of the space stations orbiting the fleet, and on the ground fighting. Aside from the slip up involving the cloaked MEH stealthship, operations proceeded smoothly. The errors that led to the slip up was investigated, and it was determined that there were some malfunctions in the gravdar of the Scutum class ship Solar Flare that was monitoring the area. These malfunctions were determined and rectified. The incident will not happen again.

Once the ground troops returned to space in the most expedient manner possible, the fleet moved towards the Warp jump point, and made the warp jump for Sol. The final battle awaited, and all were eager to complete the task laid out by the God Emperor.