SDNW4 Story Thread 2

[Force Lord]

Unknown Location
MEH Earth
Unreal Time/Early-Mid February 3401

It was supposed to a simple matter of control, of trying to guide this thrice damned droid to where he wanted to go, but for some reason, the blasted machine remained stubbornly wedded to its programming. A programming that Kierger was about to find out.

"Hey, my ass is bursting. Where's the nearest enema bot?"

"Well, there's one down on the floor. Something wrong with its legs?"

In his attempt to control the enema-bot, the best Kierger could do was to trip it. And it cost him a major effort to do so. Thank Dovan the MEH had no means to detect such output of ESP power!

"Hey, enema-bot, c'mere, will ya? I can't take a shit because I have too much shit inside!"

Shits! I'm fucked!

As the enema-bot advanced inexorably towards the fatty, Kierger panicked, and made a last-ditch attempt to stop his "disguise" from advancing any further. Again, he only succeded in tripping it, and the bot kept lifting itself up.

"That thing must be malfunctioning. How many times it fell already?"

"As long as the enema process works, I couldn't care less."

Oh I care. I don't want to eat your shit, asshole!

The bot again fell to the floor, but it was close enough to the fatty that it extended its syringe. The fatty's hover-chair opened a rear hole so it could fit.

"There now. Easy..."

Fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK!

Before Kierger could experience the "wonders" of MEH shit, there was a loud noise.

"What the-?"

"I am Lord Redav. I have your solution for your calories!"

"Hey, someone who isn't fat-aaaahhh!"

Kierger could swear that he could hear flames.

"Hey!", he shouted, despite the din produced by the screaming fatties. "Get me out of this thing!"

As if on cue, a red light pierced through the machine, making a circle. Kierger punched out the now-unattached metal and quickly came out.

"Red! Glad you came on time! I nearly ate MEH shit!"

"Their excrement is burning along with them now, President," Redav responded, pointing out the burning fatties still flailing about. "Though I'm surprised that they have a lot of blubber to burn through."

"Who knows how long they've been fat. But then, fuck 'em. I won't use an enema bot to hide in again."

"Enema bot? So that was the reason for the disturbance I sensed."

"...This never happened, understood?"

"Yes."

"Now let's get the hell out of here before more security bots show up."

Both men ran.

[Shinn Langley Soryu]

Komuro, Help Vasquez Do Something!
Fujimi High School, Seize, Gorasnaya
Risea Sector, Holy Empire of Haruhi Suzumiya
MOTHERFUCKING BLOODY UNREAL TIME, HARUHI DAMN IT

"It's still better than nothing," Saeko retorted. "As much as I'd like a rifle of my own, there simply aren't enough to go around. Most of us still have to make do with pistols and blunt objects against those...things."

They usually come out at night...usually.

That was the word being passed around Seize regarding the Chimaerans and the Schismatics. Lieutenant Heidelman learned about it from Sergeant Hale, and Lieutenant Vasquez learned about it from the stranded students of Fujimi High.

"We do most of our scavenging and exploration during daylight hours, when there aren't as many of them around," Rei explained to the Guardsmen. "Once the sun starts setting, we go back, seal the gates behind us, make sure all the doors are locked, and hope for the best."

"For a bunch of high schoolers, you seem to be doing quite well for yourselves," one of the Guardsmen, Color Sergeant Mark Griggs, remarked. "You sure you don't want to join the Guards or the Marines?"

"Believe us, we aren't in this by choice," Rei said. "We just wanna go back to our regular lives when this is over. Joining up just ain't in the cards for most of us."

"I see," Griggs replied as he and the other Guardsmen entered the main school building. The interior of the place was still more or less well maintained, though the school hadn't been abandoned for too long before the students remade it into their stronghold.

"Right this way to the main office, gentlemen," Shizuka said as she guided the Guardsmen towards their final destination. "You'll be meeting our fearless leader soon enough."


Kohta Hirano (left) and Takashi Komuro (right) sorting out weapons and ammo the day before

Upon entering the main office, the Guardsmen were greeted by a stout, bespectacled, and relatively homely young man who was busy tending to the weapons cache that had been scraped together by the other students. "Holy shit, Imperial Guards! About damn time you guys got here!" he exclaimed. "Hey, Takashi! We got visitors!"

Another young man, considerably thinner and more classically handsome, shuffled out of the principal's office with a shotgun in hand. He yawned. "Yeah, what is it, Kohta?" he asked.

"The cavalry's here, Takashi!" the fat kid, Kohta, replied. "We're fucking saved, man!"

"Whoa, save your breath there, kid," Lieutenant Vasquez spoke up. "We aren't exactly out of the woods yet. Our comms equipment got trashed before we found our way here, so it'll still be some time before reinforcements can actually come in once HQ realizes they've lost contact with us. We'll all have to hold out here for now." He gestured towards Takashi. "I assume you're Takashi Komuro, right?"

"Yep, that's me, all right," Takashi replied. "I see you've already met the ladies of our ragtag band. Say hi to Rei, Saeko, Saya, Shizuka, and Alice if you haven't already." He gestured accordingly towards each of the females. "Also, the fat guy's Kohta Hirano, same as the author. He's usually skinner than this, but he hasn't taken his meds in several days."

"Hey, join up with the Guards, and we'll pay for all the medical treatments you'll ever need," Sergeant Jackson spoke up.

"I'm already in the Guard JROTC program here," Kohta said. "Best marksman among all the cadets, or so my instructor says. I wonder how they're all doing, in fact. It's been a week since we got left behind during the evacuation."

"If we get out of this alive, I'll make sure to put in a good word for you to your instructor," Lieutenant Vasquez said. "Hell, I'll even write you a letter of recommendation if you want to go to the academy."

"You'll really do that, sir?"

"Guardsman's honor, Kohta, Guardsman's honor. But like I said, we gotta get out of this alive first. So, let's get down to business. What have you guys got to defend yourselves with?"



Kohta led Lieutenant Vasquez over to the main weapons cache. "It ain't much, but I'd like to think we're pretty well off," he explained. "Right here, we got a DeBarros M11A rifle, a Seburo DTM/LE shotgun, and even an actual, honest-to-Haruhi AB-185 Assault Blaster. Takashi's holding the other DTM/LE, while you've already seen Rei with her own M11A. As for sidearms, Saya found a Volkslander laser Luger lying around in the neighborhood, Saeko snagged an M17 from a dead policeman, and Takashi somehow managed to dig up an authentic Tokarev laser revolver from somewhere, as well as a Shit & Blesson .38 snub. Takashi also keeps an M74 shotgun and an M18 SMG stashed in the principal's office."

"Pretty nice firepower you've all got," Lieutenant Vasquez remarked. "You'll definitely be needing it until we can get extracted from here."

"We got enough food, water, and other supplies to hold out for another week if we need to. I just hope it doesn't come to that," Takashi spoke up.

"As Lieutenant Vasquez said, it's been two days since we lost contact with HQ," Sergeant Griggs said. "The real cavalry will be here soon enough. We just gotta survive until then."

[Master_Baerne]

February 3401
Sector CC-21, Former Outlander Commissions
Task Group 17, Federated Ascendancy Starfleet
Vice Admiral Tav Josbek commanding

It had been a long flight, made even longer by the necessity of going around the Hiigaran Control Zone - almost two months since the ships had set out from Sklack and Firmament, most of that time filled with tension between the Formic and human parts of the fleet and, at least for the senior officers, with the fear that the two hundred years of Ascendant history might come to an end before the month was out.

That hadn’t happened, yet, but the news from the Convocation on Firmament wasn’t promising. Nobody had expected choosing the next Lord or Lady Ascendant to be easy, but the delegates had coalesced around four main contenders and nobody had enough of an advantage to force concessions from the others. The selection process had, for the moment, ground to a halt - not a good sign, since it had mostly been the visibility and charisma of the Ladies Ascendant that had kept the disparate factions that made up the Ascendant nation together for so long.

Admiral Josbek sighed heavily, leaning back in his luxurious chair and placing his hands behind his head. . Rank had it’s privileges, after all, and Josbek’s favorite was being able to replace Starfleet-standard furniture with private models, at least for private spaces like the Admiral’s day cabin. Men as… substantial as Josbek had allowed himself to become simply didn’t fit very well into the Spartan designs favored by naval architects.

His repose was disturbed by a chime at the door. “Enter,” commanded Josbek, not bothering to sit up. It was his flag captain, a short man with a permanently unhappy expression named Boulanger. He saluted with the same dismissive languidity he did everything, and spoke before Josbek had decided whether to reprimand him for it.

“Admiral Josbek, Temeraire” - one of the five carriers with the task group - “just received a signal from the corvette IE-417, the dispatch vessel assigned to our embassy on Bragule.” The Admiral snapped upright, the violent motion throwing the eyepatch that covered the upper left side of his face slightly askew. He adjusted it as quickly as possible.

“Well, put them through, Captain! I’ll take it here.”

“I’ve already seen to it, no need to trouble yourself. Sir.”

“I don’t like your tone, Captain.” Infuriating man.

“My apologies, Admiral. In any case, I received the message; the details are all here,” Boulanger produced a data crystal from his pocket, “but it boils down to this: The Outlands situation has more-or-less blown over, and our force is no longer authorized to intervene.”

Josbek’s face grew red with fury. “Those - after two months’ voyage! Not even the courtesy to send us a hyperwave so we could get started back sooner! Was there anything else, Captain?”

“Actually, yes there was. The reason the embassy dispatch ship was sent is that we have new orders which the Admiralty didn’t want transmitted by hyperwave; we’re to coordinate with Chamarran, Bragulan, and other forces against the Multiuniversal Empire of Happiness. Apparently they’re reinforcing us, too - the rest of Battle Squadron 16 will be there, as well as some more escorts.”

“So, action at last - and a good way to field-test our carriers.”

“That was the plan, I believe, sir.”

“Excellent. If you’ll excuse me, Captain, I need to think about this latest development.

“Of course, sir. Wouldn’t want to disturb your… thought process.”

“Captain Boulanger, I shall not caution you again!”

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.” The infuriating man left the cabin, and Admiral Josbek leaned back again, an anticipatory smile on his face.

[Force Lord]

Arpad, CIS Black Site
Sector BB-24, Outlands
10 March 3401

"Welcome. The Arpadians were hospitable enough to allow us to resettle our main intelligence facilities in the region on this planet. But that is not what I will talk about. You may be wondering why you're here."

The Head of Operations was speaking to a group of agents, chosen for the mission that was about to be discussed.

"Remember our ongoing operation to capture or kill Morel Francus? Well, his location has been confirmed. Our undercover agents have reported that he will be present at the Shroom Fighter competition that will take place at the so-called Peoples' Republic of Killynyn, a Bragulan commie sattelite. He will specifically be at the McCarthyville Arena. There are two plans: one is to disrupt the proceedings of the tournament, scaring Francus and thus lure him into a trap, while another is to simply snipe him from afar. Both require infiltrating the Arena first. It will be difficult, due to the fact that the spectators will be mostly, if not only, Bragulan. My intention is to combine both plans for maximum success, so we can bring Francus back, either in chains, or in a bag."

There was scattered mutterings and whispers in the room.

"Of course, the decision will be left to the discretion of the group leaders on the spot. There is another problem, however. Our undercover agents have gone dark. Whenever this means they have been captured or lost the ability to communicate safely is unknown. It is entirely possible that the enemy may be ready for us. Extra caution is to be taken once the mission starts in earnest. Transportation to the target will be the responsibility of the stealth carrier Relentless and its small craft including shuttles, modified Fireballs for intelligence work and Black Hawks, which will be supported by two stealthed frigvettes. Teams Whiskey, Tango, and Foxtrot are obviously from the CIS, while three black ops squads from the Special Corps of the Central Guard are confirmed to be participating in this mission. I'm told they're augmented, ergo they have been reinforced, so we have reserves to call upon. Once all groups are on the ground, detection is to be avoided at all costs, otherwise Francus may escape early. Once you are in range of Francus, all options are available. Just make it quick, and don't get killed."

"You might ask yourselves why this is happening when the MEH has high priority. Well, the President has given us extra time for the moment, given that MEH operations will start in earnest later this month. We have only one shot at this, so we have to make it count. And one more thing: overall command of this mission has been given to some guy called Redav. Considering he was in charge the last time we searched the area, I'm not surprised. We go out in a few days, everyone! Hail the State!"

"HAIL!"

[Steve]

First segment co-written with Rogue.

Unnamed NDS-3200
Layin System, Sector BB-23
17 March 3401


Stephen found that a number of the Espers were trained, or at least knowledgable, in basic starship operation. He had drawn up a three watch rotation in response, using them to man main engineering and the command bridge, with Jaina and Father Ricardo - one of the Catholics of the Order of St. Michael - as the other watch overseers (recognizing their seniority).

It was his watch when the appointed rendezvous time came in Layin. They were meeting at the pole of one of the gas giants, just another pair of ships in a suspicious transfer if a patrol from a concerned power might happen by.

When it arrived, the Sulaco was quite the contrast in appearance. Older and grittier, it lacked the "state of the art, new ship" look of the NDS-3200... but Stephen suspected it was quite capable underneath that aged exterior. "Receiving passcode from Sulaco." At one of the stations, modified to be a comm station, a male Dorei of teal complexion was listening in on all wavelengths.

"Send them the reply." Stephen leaned forward in the seat slightly, preparing to get up. "We will come along and extend latching arms."

He didn't stay to watch the Sulaco slip alongside and extend its docking arm. The NDS-3200's modular unit shifted to fit it as the two ships latched onto one another. By the time he got to the airlock the light was flashing yellow, showing the safety systems were confirming atmospheric containment and pressurizing. When the light flashed green the doors on both ends slid open.

Sidney's mercs moved over in quick precision, following Brother Drama to their bunkings. It was only after they were across that Nisa approached him, a figure behind her. She gave him a hug and said, "It's good to see you."

"And it's good to see you," he answered kindly, accepting the hug. He looked to the unfamiliar stranger behind her. Unfamiliar, that is, until something about the hair and eye colors and features triggered ancient memories. "And you would be the mysterious contact Sidney would not speak of."

The man nodded. "Seems to be the case, yes. Given Nisa's reaction, I know who you are. My name is Vincent Arrowny." Somewhere, some part of him was curious to see if he would pick up on it, and thus he did not elaborate.

For a brief moment the name hung. Centuries of memories required time to sift through, but there was a tickling there in his head. After several moments a thin smile came to his face. "Ah, Mr. Arrowny. Of course. You always did favor the pizza makers of Adams over Midgar."

Vincent smiled. "I know you would prefer to think that, as a boost to national pride. But you know that was not the case at all. Midgar was superior in that regard. And despite what you might have thought, there were never any government funds to ensure their continued superiority."

"Not counting the endless orders you gave to pizzarias across Midgar?"

"That was personal money," said Vincent. "So, clearly you know who I am after all. What gave it away?"

"The look, and the names, of course. The associations were always strong with you." Stephen put a hand on Nisa's shoulder. "Nisa, this is an old friend of mine. In a prior life he was Rufus Shinra."

"We were acquainted on the trip," Nisa said.

"From what SIdney told me I'd suspected he found a MESS leader," Stephen continued, leading them onto the NDS-3200. "So, how did your meeting with Sidney go? He was never a big fan of anyone from that alliance, as I recall."

Vincent shrugged as he walked with the pair. "Well enough. 1400 years was apparently enough for him to not care anymore. And, as he said, he watched us all die. Kind of pointless to hold a grudge after all this time."

"Haha... true. Right now Sidney has far more deserving people to hold grudges with." He stopped for a moment at a wall-station, which he pressed. "Bridge."

"Yes?"

"As soon as Sulaco confirms transfer, detach and prepare for hyper transit. We're heading for Killynyn, Sector AA-25."

"Acknowledged."

""Well, this should be interesting. So, while we have the time... Sidney gave me an overview of your time back, but I was wondering about more. Have you been around for all the years of your body, or did you get a phase in like me?"

"i've never been sure." Stephen looked back to Nisa with an uneasy eye. There was so much more he wanted to speak to her on, but he didn't know how to put it that wouldn't sound completely insane or, alternatively, undermine her sanity. "I suspect there was no prior occupant to my form, though."

"Interesting," Vincent replied. Well, guess that answers whether or not Q gave him his powers... "So, what did you do before getting in touch with Sidney then?"

"That is a very, very long story," Stephen answered darkly, though he lightened when he looked over at Nisa. "And one I'll tell you shortly, as soon as I arrange a new watch on the bridge. It's about time for dinner, I imagine." He smirked. "Sadly, even in this brave new future, we have yet to develop space pizza delivery."

"That's a real shame. Somebody needs to fix that."



Dinner from the ship's fabricators was, indeed, pizza, an exotic dish to Nisa that she had tried a few times before. Unfortunately, computerized fabrication systems could not quite match the quality of a skilled cook; it was filling, but hardly satisfying to people used to the Real Thing.

When dinner was over, Nisa excused herself to do her nightly training. Even without telepathy Stephen knew she was getting more and more nervous. The incidents on Toutaine were one thing, but this rescue mission was a highly dangerous one, and he felt her apprehension as to her readiness for it. He watched her go and let out a sigh.

"So, now that she's gone to train... I sensed there was more to tell of your time before meeting Sidney. And, I suppose, it's not the sort of thing you wanted her to know about?"

"I must tell her one day. But I fear her reaction to know the truth. Since she lost her father... the man who raised her as his own... I have been the only father figure she's known. I am the only family she has left, Vincent. And I'm not sure how well she would do if something came between us."

Vincent nodded. "Understandable. She is quite...innocent. I didn't exactly tell her how Vincent used to make a living myself."

"It is a mix of innocence and worldliness. Toutaine was... not a gentle world, Vince." He leaned back in his seat. "I suppose I should start from the beginning.... I have been alive,, 'again', for over 230 years now."

Vincent listend to his old friend's story. "Well. You know, when I told Nisa about Q, she thought him some kind of demon, for what he did to us. And she worried that he might have had a hand in your powers. I thought that to be the case, though I downplayed as I could. Now it seems that my speculation is confirmed."

Stephen folded his hands together. He resisted the temptation to ask what else he told Nisa, but he suspected it wasn't much. Nisa would have directly asked him more if such things had been let out. "My first century and a half on Earth was rather peaceful, until..." He outlined the disappearance of Clarice, his investigation, and the ultimate discovery of the horrifying experiment lab he'd found, including his brain-dead student. And, of course, the second visit by Q - ostensibly saving his life - and the first sign of the powerful ESP energies Q had inflicted upon him.

"Well, it's good to know Q is keeping an interest in all of us, and not just me," Vincent remarked drily.

"Yes, and it is why I am very suspicious of the timing here. Nevertheless, to continue..." He laid out in brief his travels across the galaxy, barely mentioning his presence on Salton when the Karlacks attacked there, and moved on to Kanton and the fateful destruction of Redwood City. In hushed tones he tried to recall memories of when he'd lost control, of when the power had overtaken him and caused him to, ultimately, annihilate an entire city. And, of course, what Q had told him afterward... with it the confession of his role in the destruction of Astaria so long ago.

Vincent just sat in silence for a moment, digesting everything that he had heard. "Well, I guess you breathed a sigh of relief when Shep was 'killed' shortly after. No risk of being exposed?" He saw the look on Stephen's face darken. "Oh, not to worry. I suppose, as we're confessing, I might as well tell you that yes, the MESS did in fact install Sheppard as CATO alleged. And no, to my knowledge he never outed you. Then again, the only one to have real contact with him was Lonestar." Vincent shrugged. "If you're wondering, he was kept alive by use of that HERV thing Marina was infected with. So, I went along with it because I figured it was an Act of Q, so there was nothing to be done about it."

Perhaps to Vincent's surprise, Stephen smirked. "Oh, I was quite certain of it. I'd met Shep as well, when Stas hosted us to discuss 'the Astarian Problem'. I knew it was him. I just wasn't sure what game was up, and I was well aware that Lonestar was, for all intents and purposes, his own man in MESS."

Vincent nodded. "In many ways, yes. But that's water under the bridge, as Sidney put it. I'm more concerned with the here and now." Vincent cast an aside glance at Stephen. "You do realize if I get the feeling you're working into a righteous fury, I may have to stop you. By whatever means."
Not that I'm sure I even could, he said to himself.

"Indeed? Since you have no ESP, I presume you have other... talents?", Stephen asked cautiously.

"Yes. Let us just say that, before I showed up, as it were, Vincent Arrowny made his living by ensuring others did not live. And he was apparently fairly good at it."

There was silence for a moment. "So...." Stephen finally broke it. "Q turns me into a walking weapon of mass destruction, and he puts you inside an assassin."

"Yes he did. And from what I understand, Shady is a Karlack Aspect. Sensing a pattern?"

"Many potential ones. But it does make me ponder just what Q is up to. Anyway..." In broad strokes, Stephen filled Vincent in on his exile on Toutaine. "I have spent over twenty years refining my control, working to ensure I never lose myself such that I repeat Redwood City."

"That's good to hear. I certainly would not want to be anywhere near by if you lost yourself again. Though from what I've been hearing recently, quite a few nations might find you handy out in some place called the MEH..." At the withering look from Stephen, Vincent quickly continued. "I was joking."

"Of course..." There was another period of uneasy silence. "Sidney told you about Shroom?"

"Somewhat, yes. Including mentioning that he is not entirely sure it is Shroom."

"Even if he's not, the coincidence is too much for me. Q's hand is here. And if we're to find out what's going on... we must act."



McCarthyville Peoples’ Arena

The Bragulans were roaring with anticipation when Zara was escorted by Julia’s armed men into the arena. She was introduced in full yet again, R. Julia flaunting his capture of her as always, and the Bragulans showed their disapproval for Humans as they always did.

"And the highest ranked fighter in history, the pride of Shadoshroom... the brutal Shroomka!"

The Bragulans roared approval as the green-skinned humanoid came in. They apparently believed him to be non-human, a perception that R. Julia was openly encouraging from the looks of things. Here he was not the sedated being that Zara had always seen. He bellowed an inhuman roar and bared his razor-sharp teeth.

Her de-powered beamsaber was at her waist. She wasn't sure what use it'd be against Shroomka; he didn't seem the type to mind a burn.

"And now.... BEGIN!"

Shroomka wasn't a cautious fighter, that was certain. He lunged right at her, electricity beginning to crackle over his muscled form. Zara slid away and attempted a low kick, just to find his legs were too strongly planted even for her augmented strikes. He reached down and dug his claws into her bare shin, drawing blood. Zara lost her footing as he lifted her up by her leg and sent her flying into the far wall, against which two of her ribs cracked when she hit.

With pain shooting through her chest and leg, Zara turned in time to see him bounding toward her, the crowd above roaring. She lashed out with her mind, snaring at his legs. This time he lacked the balance to resist and tripped over, at such speed he skidded toward her. Zara piroutted out of his way and brought her beamsaber out in a flash of purple energy. Hoping it might at least be incapacitating, she swung it down over him. The beam lacked the power to cut his flesh due to the sabotage of Julia's technicians, but it did leave a visible burn as it moved over his side.

A pained roar erupted from the creature's throat. One of his powerful arms lashed out; Zara tried to use her mind to deflect the blow but was too slow to stop it completely. Another rib cracked and she was thrown backward into the sand. Shroomka's recovery was swift. Before she could begin to get up he was on top of her, his knees pinning her legs to the ground. His roar deafened her ears as he went for her jugular.

Her hands came up and grabbed his head, trying to stop him. It was desperate, and his claws began to rip the flesh off her arms, but stopped him from ripping her throat out for the moment. But as her arms began to weaken from the pain of getting shredded, she knew she was almost out of time. Death was close at hand.

For all the things that had happened in her life as of late, death would have been a sweet release. But there were higher stakes now, and Zara would not let down those trusting her by giving up. She had one last card to play.

Focusing everything she had, augmented by the physical contact, she used her very mind in a last second strike, telepathically stabbing at Shroomka's. The progamming she'd felt, that made him a wild beast more than a sentient being, was there, refusing to bend, refusing to stop... but she felt there was something beneath it.

And so she pushed, with all she had.

Suddenly she was through the programming, into the mind within. A barrage of images came to her.

A meeting, a plate of donuts, a man in uniform being shot in the head by another...

Atomic detonations across a cityscape...

A lovely brunette slipping out from under the covers, the name Allison in the thought...

Suited, laughing men, fireworks in the night sky...

A blond woman, a gun in her hands and an intense look on her face...

A great ship in space moving away, children everywhere, a man's voice speaking. "God damn, Shroom, how are you keeping up with those kids at your age?"

The same man from other images, older, standing beside a hospital bed. A voice, raspy with age and dying lungs. "Don't worry, Sidney. We'll see each other again! I'm not going to leave you alone, mang!"

Shroomka screamed. It wasn't his animalistic growls and roars from before, but a human sound. He pulled away from her throat and rolled off her, stumbling to his feet.

Zara began to stand, very shakily, and watched as Shroom rolled about on the ground. She felt the turmoil in him telepathically, the programming kicking in and trying to suppress the memories. But having felt a mind beneath, Zara didn't want it to be subsumed again by the bestial programming imposed upon it. She went up to him and reached out with her mind again, touching his head so the contact was stronger.

There were more images, more memories. Names she didn't know. Sidney, King Paul, Stas, Shady, Heraclius... She saw the bright lights of Farbanti - how did she know it was Farbanti? - and the sprawl of San Dorado.

She could feel the programming was failing, but she didn't get a chance to finish it off. A powerful pain surged through her body. She screamed and fell unconscious on top of Shroom.



The Bragulans in the crowd were roaring again. But this time it was disapproval. They had wanted to see the Human woman gored and slaughtered like the other one Shroomka had fought, but instead they had been treated to something else. The Human had cheated! She had used psyker mind powers to break the inhuman champion!

From his seat R. Julia lowered his hand, energy still crackling from where he had struck Zara with a full electric blast. Snarling, he looked to Sadat. "Don't just stand there! Get the attendants, you one-eyed fool! We have to get Shroomka back into sedation!"

"And what about Zara?"

"Give her to Granny Goodness," the crime lord hissed. "I'll make an example of her."

[Force Lord]

Rendevous Point, Deep Space
Sector BB-24, Outlands
17 March 3401

The Tetra-class shuttles of the CIS hung lazily in space, awaiting the three stealth ships that were to arrive any moment now...

"Ma'm, we're receiving a message. It's in code."

Newly promoted Vilyn Corbas said, "Decrypt it."

"Ma'm."

The message was the following:

Code: Select all

CNS RELENTLESS REPORTING

WE HAVE ARRIVED AT RENDEVOUS POINT. RELENTLESS AND THREE STEALTH BLITZES UNDER COMMAND OF REDAV. TELEPATHS WILL GUIDE YOU TO ONE OF OUR HANGARS.

"Three stealth Blitzes? I thought they were supposed to send us two," said the baffled pilot.

"Just to show you how important this mission is. If we fail to get Francus now, we probably won't get another chance for a long while. Now those telepaths will show us the way to the stealth carrier."

The CIS shuttles made a single file, and disappeared inside the Relentless.

CNS Relentless

The four ship captains were arguing when to begin the operation. Three of them were speaking as holograms.

"We attack at this date!"

"Too early! I recommend this time!"

"Too late!"

Lord Redav growled, "If you cannot agree on a date soon, it will be my decision to take. In fact, I allowed you to bicker because it amuses me. Is this the quality of our commanders?"

The ship captains went silent with fear. "We apologize, sir," they said in unison.

"Get out of my sight. We'll discuss this later."

The captains bowed, and left or disappeared.

"Looks like you have some difficulties," said an arriving Vilyn Corbas. "We don't have a date for the operation?"

"No. If those captains had kept arguing, I would have taken their apology and stuff their throats with it! I can only take such things so far. Anyway, besides the date, I assume we are properly prepared in other matters?"

"Yep. We have more than enough operatives for this mission, just in case we need plan B and C. Heck, I'm surprised they sent us a stealth Gallant. What gives?"

"The CIS leadership wants to make sure of success, perhaps too sure in my opinion. I suspect they just want to upstage the CSB and secure greater funding. It always comes down to the money."

"Well, it's not that it's unprecedented."

"Yes." Redav then said, "You should prepare your teams. We may go in sooner than you think."

"Yes, sir."

Vilyn Corbas left, leaving Redav with his thoughts. Truly, his presence wasn't really needed for the capture of the scum Francus. He had his own reasons.

Before contact with them was lost, the undercover agents had revealed that the participants of Shroom Fighter included a significant number of ESPers. One of them was a Sister of the Order of the Silver Moon.

Silver Moon, Redav thought bitterly. They, alongside other accursed orders, had been responsible for destroying the Black Star chapter that intended to establish a foothold for Centralism in what spacers called the "Lesbo Zone". He had been there, with his master, when they came. The chapter was destroyed, and the Order of the Black Star's existence nearly discovered. Redav himself lost many important things that day...

Redav touched his mask. The price he paid in those moments, was something he didn't want to think about. He lived it all the time.

Is this really living, to forever be a walking coffin?

Ever since he was forced to live in an armored life-support suit, revenge has given him purpose just as great as his belief in Centralism. Oh, how he longed to burn the Sisters' main temple to the ground! How he wished to feel their suffering, their total humiliation. A wish he wanted to extend towards anyone who had helped the Silver Moon in their history. But he knew it was impossible, as much as it burned him.

If he could not have his fondest wishes, at least he could try and show that unlucky Sister his...appreciation.

A taste of his suffering.

[White Haven]

Deep Space
Scylla Sector
Near HMS Canis Arctis

"Test run seven, coming up on Heim initiation point. Canis Arctis control, can you verify my flight path is clear?"

Wing Commander Francis Jackman's voice was calm and clinical, a far cry from the joker who'd twitted his hosting ship's CAG upon arrival. Partly that was simply due to training; any sort of a test run requires total focus. The other half, of course, is that having the Hermes evaluation program go off without a hitch would be the ultimate egg in Warlow's face. That thought was enough to bring a smile to his face inside his flight helmet as he waited for the carrier's reply.

The reply crackled quietly in Jackman's earpiece, "Hermes One, Canis Arctis STC confirms your flight path is clear. You are go for test run seven."

"Roger. Projected Heim activation in thirty seconds. Oars unshipped and ready."

"...Say again your last, Hermes One?"

"Heim coils charged to full power. Getting some comm interference off of them, could use some tuning." You heard me, and so did Warlow. Oars indeed...

The comm fell silent after that, the throbbing hum of the charged Heim coils pulsing through the gunship's spaceframe. Floating along the bottom right edge of his flight suit's helmet viewplate, Jackman watched the countdown spinning towards the otherwise-unremarkable point in space he'd designated for this test run.

3

A thumb flipped up the transparent cover over the Heim activation control on the throttle.

2

Eyes flicked to the icon representing the running flight data recorder.

1

As the counter disappeared entirely, his thumb jabbed down on the activation button and the speed indicator projected in his helmet heads-up display went wild. Another counter began to spin down towards the preprogrammed deactivation point, seconds bleeding away until the high-pitched whine of the active Heim system died away once more.

"Canis Arctis STC, Hermes One. Test run seven complete, please record my position and stand by to receive flight recorder upload..."
___________

Later that day
Canis Arctis flight maintenance bay

"There's just way too much spread dropping sublight, chief. It's either a flutter in the Heim coils or the navcomp can't hack it a Heim speeds."

"It's gotta be the navcomp. Heim drives are too old, it's not like this's a new design." The man in the shapeless gray coverall passed a sandwich over to the man in the wrinkled flight suit at a gestured request, "I mean, this is mostly hardware designed for sublight, where you don't need that kind of precision, or hyperspace, where you have a whole different set of navigational markers and you still don't need that sort of precision."

A few seconds of voiceless chewing passed, followed by an audible swallow, "Still, this is a really, really small Heim system, that's unusual enough that it could be the drive itself."

"Naah, I grew up working on dinky-ass Heim shuttles with my family. They weren't built for precision work, but I'm not seeing any flutters in the FDR feed." The chief's eyes drifted over to the parked figure of the experimental gunship, a frown across his face, "It's gotta be the navcomp. But shit, I've never even heard of anyone who builds systems like that."

"Worst comes to worst, I can just put that in my report to DuValle, but I'd rather have a solution to put next to it, chief. I'm the test pilot. You're the miracle-worker. Work me some miracles."

"Do I fucking well look Scottish to you?"

"I don't know," Jackman cracked a grin and gestured at the baggy overalls, "You could be hiding a kilt under there."

"Fuck you, Frenchy."

"Oh come on! Francy I could see, but that's just...well played, you bastard."

A rude gesture was met with laughter as the two finished their meal in the shadow of the gunship's drive pylon.

[Shroom Man 777]

THE QUICKENING

Planet Eretz-Nod
Former Outlander Commissions, Sector AA-24
IN GODDAMN UNREAL TIME/Early 3401



The underflight of the Bragulan recon gunskimmer had most definitely not gone unnoticed by the Scron on Eretz-Nod. It was a sign that they had been detected, and while having their activities found out by any other normal nation would normally be a cause for concern, the ones who detected them was no normal nation. It was the Bragulan Star Empire. The very same nation the Scron had invaded centuries ago in an attempt to pillage their copious rubiconium deposits, amongst the galaxy’s greatest, to feed the Scron species’ insatiable appetite for green gold.

Yet the Foremen in charge of that ill-fated expedition into Bragspace had made a fatal error, mistaking the brute technologies used by Bragule for primitivism and weakness. That mistake doomed the Scron then, when those same brute technologies came down upon their rubiconium-drenched visages like a boot stomping on a non-human face. Forever. The Bragulans had thought they had done the job then. Now, they knew that they had literally missed a spot.

The Scron knew that it would not take the bears long to... rectify their oversight.

Knowing full well what was to come, the Scron greatly accelerated their harvestation operations. Rubiconium fields throughout Eretz-Nod were denuded hastily, and the byproducts sent to the Thresholds for transportation. Meanwhile, it was decided that all resistance was to be terminated with extreme prejudice, so that the indigenous lifeforms of Nod would no longer pose a threat to Scron operations or otherwise inconvenience the harvestation of their precious rubiconium.

The Centralists, Communards, Orthodox fanatics and inhumanists had been galvanized by the initial Scron invasion, and had unified under a so-called Defense Initiative of the Globe to defend the planet Nod from the invaders. With their initial successes against the invaders, thanks to their new surplus Umerian weapons and creative use of guerilla tactics, the DIG pushed its offensives further, in an attempt to dislodge the aliens from their world.

However, they were met by intensified Scron counterattacks, as the invaders struck back, exacting retribution on Nod’s civilian population centers. This forced the DIG to abandon its offensive efforts and go on the defensive, protecting the planet’s populace and falling for the Scrons’ scheme. By congealing their resistance forces to defend the hapless civilians, the Scron could then easily move to terminate them all with extreme prejudice.

[Simon_Jester]

Recommended listening

Eventually, the vulture grew out of his hesitance to sell his items for cut down prices. The only item he was slightly reluctant to sell were the damned Umerian ‘smart’ grenades, not knowing what to make of them, and knowing only two things about them: That the design was created by the legendary Umerian scientist Dr. Ulrich von Murderstein... and that his Bragulan contact described them as "politically unreliable hand grenades." Whatever that meant.

...However, they were met by intensified Scron counterattacks, as the invaders struck back, exacting retribution on Nod’s civilian population centers. This forced the DIG to abandon its offensive efforts and go on the defensive, protecting the planet’s populace and falling for the Scrons’ scheme. By congealing their resistance forces to defend the hapless civilians, the Scron could then easily move to terminate them all with extreme prejudice.

Fire in the Hole!

Planet Eretz-Nod
Former Outlander Commissions, Sector AA-24
IN GODDAMN UNREAL TIME/Early 3401



Reyes, the cherry, well, not quite cherry, yesterday he’d been OK, grunted. “Gotta say, I like the ray guns better than the old minirifles. You can fire all week and reload on Sundays...”

“Fuck reloading on Sundays. Reload when you get leave- to celebrate. Thank God for disintegrator cells.”

Sergeant Salt grunted. “Stopping power’s shit.”

“Yeah, wish we could use ‘em against those fucking mecha instead of having to wait for the plasma teams to come up.”

“Those things are sweet. They should pass those out to the grunts.”

“I hear they cost damn near as much as a light tank. Fuckers’re holdin’ on to the things tight.”

“Hey, at least we got the grenades!” That was Hoffman, who was... a little too enthusiastic about the unpredictable weapons.

“You sure about those things, Fred?”

“They kick ass!”

“I don’t like a hand grenade with a mind of its own...”

“Bullshit. Did you see Fourth Platoon take out the walker with those things the other day?”

“Yeah, and I hope I never do again. I didn’t know those things had... you know.”

“Well, whatever the grenade went for, it sure made the thing curl up and fall over in a hurry.”

“I know, I know! Just... uurgh.”

“Shut up, everybody! Drone-cams got a quick look, infiltrators are coming our way.”

That put an end to the crosstalk. The squad of Defense Initiative troopers stood to with more attention than usual, sweeping the square from the burnt-out building they’d garrisoned as part of the division’s stand. Hastily retrained and equipped on the off-planet weapons- happily, easy enough to use- they’d been thrown into the line to block a Scron ground offensive pushing up the Pratt River valley. They’d hang on here, hang as long as they could... and with any luck, buy time for the rest of the army to get ready with the new, improved weapons.

But that was what the colonel’d said two days ago touring the front. The brass’s picture. As far as anyone on the ground was concerned, their job was to hold what must have once been part of archives of the municipal government- a scorched, half-melted brass plaque over one of the doors called it the “Stull Building.”

The place had gotten righteously wrecked just as the lead elements of the division came in- those of the squad who’d been there at the time remembered all too well. The Scron bombardment hadn’t been too carefully aimed, but a stick of energy bombs from a Devastator in atmosphere-grazing orbit had blown eight big craters along where Parker Avenue used to be, neat as could be. The blast took down two dozen major commercial buildings went down on the west side, collapsing into an impassable tangle of shattered rebar and concrete. Sparks and sidescatter had flown as much as five blocks, starting fires that the waterworks down by the river were in no shape to put out.

One of those fires must’ve spread to the Stull Building. The structure, made of refractory brick and ferrocrete, had held up more or less, but the fires had gutted the paper, the office dividers, pretty much everything but a layer of ash and assorted electronic junk strewed across the floor. The smell of smoke was starting to fade.

Reyes’ sector to watch was to the east, the facade of another, similarly burned out building across the wide square. The new replacement trooper spoke in a low voice. “I got move... AHH!” He collapsed, screaming and clutching at the wreckage of his shoulder. Something’d chewed away the armor plate and burned away half the joint, then carved a bubbling track along the outer liner of his helmet; Hoffman dragged him further away from the window.

“Fuck! Return fire!”

Half the squad sidled up to the east face and did something that would’ve gotten their asses kicked royally in Basic. You never stuck a gun out a window and fired without looking at what you were shooting at. Never... if there was any such thing as wasting ammunition.

Here, four men panned their beams across the facade of the building across the square, aiming by guess more than anything else. But at least they were hitting the broad side of a barn that way; crackles of popping brick joined the distant sounds of artillery fire and roars of aerospacecraft overhead. That wasn’t going to accomplish shit in the long run, but it discouraged the aliens... long enough for a few more men to kneel and look through chinks in the wall , to fire slightly more carefully aimed blasts through the other building’s windows.
“Where the fuck are they?”

“Was that a sniper?”

“I see... Burned one. Looks like one of those big sonsabitches.”


“Ah, shit. Is he down?”

“Dunno.” Those shock troops were nasty, tough to kill and heavily armed with lasers and the Scron’s own plasma guns. Traveled in small packs, but even so, they probably had the Defense Initiative troops outnumbered, three to twelve.

“Watch those windows... Hoffman, try a grenade.”

“Gotcha.” Hoffman twisted the cap as the ten ray-gunners hammered away at the windows of the opposite building with continuous fire. More bricks popped and cracked, and a few fires started in the interior, but it wasn’t clear if they were hitting anything.

He disengaged the safety interlock to wake up the electronic fuze and targeting suite. “Frag out.” The Eretzer gave the grenade a good hard toss, aimed as best he could for a window he thought he saw movement at- but the things were awkward heavy, and it was pretty much up to the active guidance to get the them through the windows. The grenade coasted on a ballistic arc up, out, and down... then hopped, turning the downward curve of its parabola into level flight, weaved back and forth, and then dashed for a part of the Scron-held building nearly ten meters from Hoffman’s aiming point. A flash of light and several large pieces of debris burst out through the surrounding windows, then half a beat later...

BOOM!

That was followed by a terrible, gurgling scream: Glurk... glarg... glllg...

“Think that got ‘em, sarge?”

“Too soon to tell. Probably fried one of the things, anyway- quiet!”

A thin, ominous hum made the veterans hug the floor, then a flash of actinic violet reflected off what was left of the paint job on the walls of the archive.

BLAM! One of the garrets on the building’s roof exploded- no one’d been up there, but the Scron heavy weapon gunner was taking no chances.

“Motherfuckers! Plasma! Stay down!”

BLAM! The other garret collapsed; the ceiling bellied downwards, probably from a hunk of roof supports collapsing.

“I got this!”

Hoffman prayed, popped up, and hurled a smart-grenade. He couldn’t help himself- he kept his head up to watch. This is gonna be... FUCK!

The grenade stopped mid-air, popped up, popped down, darted back and forth a little... then came right back in through the same window it’d flown out of and landed spinning on the floor.

<Beep. Beep. Beepbeep. Beepbeepbeepbeepbeep...>

“Oh, shit. RUUUN!”

The squad set an all-time record for the Five Second Scramble, diving out doors and windows on the west side, even leaping from the second story to get away from that grenade. They scrambled around parked cars, awkwardly tripped and skidded on bits of rubble in the street, and dived through the opposite window.

There was a faint “pop” like the burst of a training grenade. Barely a firework.

“HOFFMAN, YOU DUMBFUCKING SON OF A SHITWO-”

The sergeant’s tirade was cut off when a tremendous beam of light, howling with the tornadic shock waves it punched through the air, carved into- and through- the archive from the north. Meter-long sections of the building’s structural members flashed to vapor, obliterated by a beam meant to gut main battle tanks. The building collapsed inward on itself, the roof and much of the third story crashing through to the ground floor.

“Fuck fuck fuck, I can’t see...”

“VISORS DOWN! Carver, check him out!”

The rest of the squad had anti-flash visors from their helmets down by the time a second blast from an Annihilator tripod six kilometers away struck home. The beam stabbed through the ground floor and basement of the structure; fragments of spalled brick and rapidly cooling blobs of half-molten metal belched out of the pit. The troopers started cross-talking.

“Where the fuck did that come from?”

“Oh shit, they brought up the heavies!”

“Everyone, hold fire. They think we’re dead.”

“If that grenade hadn’t...”

“...How did it know?”

“Did it know?”

Grenadier Hoffman, looking at his trembling hands, stammered. “I... I... I don’t want to find out.”

[Master_Baerne]

NSA Droits du Citoyen,
Sabre-class Medium Cruiser, M. le Capitain Louis de Treville commanding
Interstellar Space, Sector Z-12

Aboard Droits du Citoyen, the word ‘patrol’ had staged a successful coup against the more typical profanities and installed itself as the highest curse and the foulest oath. It had started among Commander Mathieu’s engineers, with phrases like ‘go take a patrol,’ and ‘you’re a real patroller, aren’t you’ gaining popularity, while traditional swearing fell into disuse. The commander had considered ordering a return to the words and phrases he’d grown up with, but hadn’t been able to convince Captain de Treville that the Starfleet’s cultural-improvement regulations stretched that far.

It made sense, really. Manure had many important agricultural uses and was apparently an important part of the cultural practices of some Shinran-descended subspecies from the Koprulu Zone, while fucking was really quite pleasant when done properly - neither was really an appropriate subject for curses. Patrols, on the other hand, were almost invariably mind-crushingly dull and long enough to tax the aging cruiser’s systems to the breaking point. After a memorable instant involving the ship’s waste tank venting directly into the path of a main-battery flak burst exercise, the engineers had succeeded in exporting their verbal tick to the Gunnery and Regulatory branches, and from there nearly the entire enlisted complement had picked it up. Even Commander Mathieu could understand the reasoning, though he didn’t approve at all – patrols were the bane of naval life.

Still, somebody had to do them, and the medium cruisers were the best-suited for it. Smaller ships, the corvettes and light cruisers, didn’t have the stores to spend months away from base, though they did well enough for convoy escort. Conversely, heavy cruisers and battlecruisers could operate independently for years, theoretically, but sending a 150-Interstellar Standard Value ship out to fly aimlessly between systems looking for stranded merchants or pirate hideouts was a tremendous waste of resources. No, the Sabres had the job and would be keeping it for the forseeable future. This did not mean that the crew of Droits du Citoyen, newly transferred from Capitol Fleet and therefore not used to endless patrols, were anything other than disgusted at their lot in life. It was almost a relief when Lieutenant-Commander Rouen, the thin, pinched-looking man in charge of Com/Scan, reported an anomalous contact on long-range scan.
*****
The call caught Captain de Treville off guard: he’d just taken off his boots and laid his uniform jacket across the back of a chair, and wasn’t expecting to have to deal with anything official until the next day. Still, he answered as quickly as he always did.

“Captain speaking.”

“Sir, this is Rouen. My instruments just picked up something I think you should see…”

“On my way.” Back on with the boots and the jacket, and de Treville strode quickly to the lift. Ascendant ships usually set bridge officers’ quarters aside, with a dedicated lift to the bridge - it saved significant amounts of time in emergencies to have the command staff only a few seconds away from their posts.

Arriving on the cruiser’s cramped bridge, de Treville walked quickly to the sensor station where Lieutenant-Commander Rouen was leaning over the shoulder of a Com/Scan petty officer. They both saluted as de Treville approached.

“As you were. David, the situation?” Rouen called up the sensor display on the main holotank.

“As you see, sir, there’s nothing around here, just empty space and interstellar debris. The last time anybody was around here was during the War of Self-Determination - there was a French listening post there -” he highlighted a point about a light-hour from Droits du Citoyen’s current location - “that was destroyed by a Formic battlecruiser in 3221, but that’s all.”

“I’m well aware, David. It was in the mission brief you so diligently prepared.”

“I know that, sir, but I wasn’t sure if anyone actually read those.”

“Back on topic…”

“Of course, sir. Anyway, why are we registering drive activity where the listening post was now?”

“Damn good question.”

“I certainly thought so. I can’t think of any good reason for there to be something there, but what we do about it is your call, sir.”

De Treville stroked his short beard. “Well done spotting this. It might be a smuggler base, or pirates - we need to investigate more closely. Can you get me any more data from here?”

“I can tell you they haven’t spotted us and that there’s at least one yacht-class sublight engine active, but that’s it, Captain. Scan resolution‘s too poor for anything else.”

“Right. Launch the gunboats; I want a search net around that listening post. Helm, plot a Heim Drive course from here to about a
light-minute out. As soon as we drop out of Heim Drive, Commander Rouen, full active sensors on the listening post. Get Commander St. Jacques up here, too - if we need to shoot something, I want our best man doing it.”

“Aye, sir!”

Five minutes later, the ship’s half-squadron of recon gunboats had been launched and proceeding under Heim Drive to positions around the listening post. Their job would be to make sure nothing escaped unnoticed, whether it was a pirate corvette, or a smuggler’s fast transport, or (if they were especially unlucky) a French stealth cruiser. That last was unlikely, but always a possibility in this region of space.

“Course laid in, Captain.” The lieutenant and the helm was a fresh-faced young woman from Windmill Sector, just promoted. She had a certain innocence about her, which meshed oddly with the clear anticipation in her voice.

“Execute.” Droits du Citoyen leapt into Heim Drive in a flash of exotic radiation, and dropped out only moments later, the port graser cannon already tracking the nondescript yacht floating next to the listening post while Commander Rouen hammered the area with active sensor pulses and Commander St.Jacques, the gunnery officer, reported missile locks on the listening post.

“Commander Rouen, transmit this to the yacht, please: ‘Unidentified vessel, this is Captain Louis de Treville of the cruiser Droits du Citoyen, Ascendant Starfleet. You will power down your engines and shields and await further instructions, over.’”

The response was delivered in a cool female voice that carried an odd mix of panic and arrogance. “Captain, this is Sophie Pax,
aboard the yacht Vivace. We are unarmed and peaceful in nature. What is the meaning of this, over?”

“Madame Pax, you are in a military exclusion zone -” not strictly true, but the triple 30cm grasers trained on the yacht would support the claim - “and appear to have been aboard that listening post. Explain yourself, over.”

“We are peaceful! You have no right to threaten us, Captain!” Panic was definitely winning out.

“Madame, unless you can explain your presence here I will be forced to board your ship for inspection, over.”

“You can’t! The Duke - you can’t! I’m leaving this place now; don’t try and stop us.” The little yacht’s engines powered up and the ship started to pull away, angling around the listening post as it ran up to hyperlight speeds. De Treville nodded sharply to Commander St. Jacques.

“Warning salvo, Commander. If they don’t stop you are authorized to disable their engines.”

“Aye, sir.” The cruiser spun on its axis, bringing the port cannon to optimal firing position. Green needles stabbed the space around
the yacht, but it didn’t stop; that changed when the second salvo burned through the engine assembly. Secondary explosions made the little ship shudder and shake, but it stayed intact. A new transmisison came through from the yacht:

“Cease fire! For the love of God, cease fire! We surrender!”

De Treville’s voice was cold. “And if you’d done so a minute earlier, Madame Pax, lives might have been saved. You will await my boarding teams, with whom you will cooperate fully. Any resistance will be met with lethal force. You have been warned.”

“We’ll obey.”

“Good. Do not test me, Madame Pax. Droits du Citoyen out.”

*****

Two hours later, Captain de Treville glared across the briefing-room table at a broken woman. Sophie Pax, according to her ID chip an aide to the Grand Duke of Zephyr. One of the five survivors of the yacht’s seven-man crew - the other two had been killed in the explosive decompression caused by the destruction of the ship’s engines. The captain had just finished speaking with the lieutenant commanding the detachment aboard the listening post; she’d had quite a few interesting things to report.

“Madame Pax. A Grand Duke’s aid, this far outside our borders? Ignoring Starfleet orders, resulting in the senseless death of two of her crew? Their ghosts must be asking what it was all for. I certainly am.”

“I can’t tell you anything.”

“Yes, you can, Madame Pax, and you will. Do you know why?” The captain leaned forward across the table, his space-black uniform lending him an air of menace, like a Centralite interrogator from a holofilm. “You’ll tell me because I, unlike the people at Naval Intelligence who’ll ask these questions if I don’t get answers, I’m unlikely to simply kill you and rip the answers from your brain. At the moment, at any rate. That eventuality grows more and more likely the longer you wait to tell me what U’ll find out anyway.”

“I can’t tell you.”

“You can, Madame Pax. Do so, now.”

“I…”

“NOW, Madame Pax!

“Alright! I’ll talk. I’ll talk…” Her voice trailed off into a sob. “We’re here to clean things up. There was a meeting here, a few months ago… we were supposed to make sure there weren’t any traces left, then blow up the listening post.”

“Yes, I know. We found the bomb - don’t worry, it’s been disarmed. Who was at the meeting?”

“The Grand Duke, but that’s all I know, I swear!”

“Don’t worry, Madame Pax. I believe you.”

“It’s the truth! Please don’t kill us…”

“I won’t. We follow the law, even if you and your employer don’t seem to see the need. What was the meeting about? Black-market
deals? Giving information to pirates? Is the Duke a traitor working for the French? I need more information, Madame Pax.”

“I don’t know!”

“Very well. I’ll leave you in the brig to think about it. Guards, take her away.” As the two graser rifle-wielding spacers marched the woman out the door, Captain de Treville rubbed his temples vigorously. He knew it would take a while for his disgust at the role he’d been forced to play to wear off, but he had valuable information now. Enough to pass up the chain of command - but to who? Whatever was going on involved a Grand Duke. If they couldn’t be trusted, who could?

The Fleet, of course. The Fleet swore oaths to the Ascendancy, not to an aristocrat. His CO would know what do to. De Treville raised his commlink to his lips. “Captain to bridge: Reel in the gunboats and set course for home. We’ve got information Admiral Seagrace needs to hear.”

[PeZook]

Killynyn system
Sector AA-25

There, a thought raced across the network, twisting and bending the datastream to bring a certain point to everyone's attention. The spot exploded with color, standing out from maps of the system's stellar bodies, electronic emissions and patrol patterns assembled over months.

Another thought responded within a microsecond, I see it. It's a bit too small.

Something else appeared to butt in on the short exchange...something carrying the tell-tale signs of tremendous power. Its transmissions induced the feeling of being watched in everyone connected to the network, I have evaluated this option, Agent Friday. The margin of error for extraction is too small.

The defence station is a critical point. If we manage to shut it down, we get hours to exfil with what we need.

Stand by. There is an opportunity.

Dots of color swirled over the complex patterns of the system's defences as two powerful CIs suddenly found a target. Killynyn was a Bragulan satellite, and infiltrating (or, more precisely, infiltrating and getting our alive afterwards) the system posed far more risks than Zubrich ; But then again, it was also nominally independent and took some civilian traffic. One of those ships, a massive superfreighter hauling some utterly unimportant and unremarkable bulk cargo, just slid into the system, a navigational error putting it slightly off target and momentarily beyond the system's sensor networks. Momentarily, its computers were assaulted and broken, and its logs extracted. The vessel would remain in orbit for two weeks as it unloaded. Perfect.

This is our exfiltration method, Agents. I am dispatching Entity ZTT-19A to initiate the operation.

The enigmatically named CI was in fact controlling one of the tiny Wasps that were hanging in close formation with the Blackjack, safely hidden inside the system by complicated stealth systems. The small craft slid out of formation and pounced, approaching the superfreighter completely undetected, hid by the larger ship's emissions.

It delivered its payload: a programming package and effector device that would, in proper time, hijack the freighter's navigtation systems. The device was tiny, and upon latching onto the hull immediately camouflaged itself as a miscellaneous piece of equipment. Nobody would know what to look for, as it was not galstandard technology at all.

Mission complete, the patrol craft reported dutifully.

There was no response ; Just a dry acknowledgement, Begin primary operation phase, Agents.

Only tiny data packets acknowledged the command. Small private vessels soon began entering the system, each carrying individual agents. Somewhere down there, Legion was attempting to win enough untraceable funds the escape Wild Space for good ; With any luck, he'd never get the chance.

[Siege]

GRID WORKS
Unknown location



The dark and airless world orbited a sullen stellar revenant, a decaying star whose death spasms had taken whatever life had existed here into oblivion before sinking back into a cooling ember. A handful of planetoids had survived the ancient nova, slagged and scarred, their history sketched in capricious spans of time.

The system had been surveyed by UN deep-range explorators centuries ago, and ended up a footnote in the endless archives of the United Nations Space Probe Agency HQ on Mars. Millions of years ago vast, membranous creatures built strange castles in the dense clouds of a nearby gas giant, before the stellar cataclysm consumed their world and erased all evidence of their erstwhile existence. During the diamond age of Apexaia, millennia before the dawn of human spaceflight, the diminutive grey aliens had charted the region also, and were so aghast by its banality they had not even deigned to record its existence. And now it was claimed by the United Solarian Sovereignty, if barely – though owned by some corporation or other, as far as Star Force records went no-one had actually ever visited this place on the outer edge of the Perseus arm.

The records were wrong. Cloistered from regularly plied starlanes, inhospitable, the peculiar way the primeval nova had warped local hyperspatial flux into not quite shoals but close enough – here was a perfect place to hide.

And some have more to hide than others.

Word gets around. It does that. It is one of the paradoxes of secrecy: the greater the secret, the greater the chance it gets out. Three can keep a secret if two are dead and hell, as Sartre said, is other people; so what if a plan requires the cooperation of millions of people, over a span of a thousand years? How would you keep such a thing secret from a seemingly omniscient creature?

The project's origins were utterly banal – the silly wish of a lonesome man, staring out over 21st century Nova Terra. I want to stay alive. It had seemed an absurd ambition, until unexpectedly it wasn't. He awoke in a new body, heady and exhilarated, and suddenly he'd wondered... If this is possible, what else can I do? I can live forever. I can do anything I want. What do I want?

The answer had come easy. Power. No, not simply power. It wasn't enough to command armies or nations. That was just sort of easy. Unlimited power. The ability to bend reality itself with a snap of your fingers. Now that was power. That he wanted.

Could it be done? Of course it could be done. He'd seen it done. He had no idea how, or even why, but it was definitely possible. And now he had an eternity to work with.

The thought was giddying.

Centuries passed, and admittedly it had been more difficult than expected. Even so slowly but surely pieces began to fall into place. Science progressed. Milestones were reached; breakthroughs were made. Technologies previously thought inconceivable were conceived. The speed of light, once an unforgiving cosmic barrier, was broken. The walls of dimensions were next, when hyperspace travel became a reality. Formerly far-fetched horizons drew nearer. And here, down below the titanic rifts in the surface of a dead world, progressive generations of esoteric machinery were puzzling together the final clues to the mastery of actuality.

Energy cores to generate supra-stellar energy densities. Motors to compel fundamental forces. Hyper-Euclidean engines to implement space-time bending on the lab bench. Gears grinding at right angles against the barriers between dimensions. Fourth, fifth, sixth-order manipulation. Always there was one more level. Larger and larger the subterranean labyrinth grew, until its machinery was not merely excavating planetary mass but the fabric of space-time itself, exploiting obscure physics to cheat the traditional limits of dimensionality, extending the complex into hyperspace and less well known realms. Grid Works was a stable zenith of closed space, burrowed into the skein of the universe for a single purpose.

It wasn't working.

The planet-construct could bend incomparable energies to its will, could break the barriers between hyperspace and actuality at will, but it was not enough.

Code: Select all

GRID WORKS
Initiate: 12.0.45.vv1
Set: Zero node
Set: Zero state
Start: Systems subset
Start: Startup operations
Begin: Feedback enabler
Begin: Anti-mass spectrometer subroutine
Status: Anti-mass spectrometer to 80 percent
Begin: Stage 1 emitters
Status: Stage 1 emitters online
Begin: Stage 2 emitters
Status: Stage 2 emitters online
Begin: Overhead capacitors
Status: Capacitors to 105 percent
Begin: Transcendence module
Status: Transcendence module initiated
Begin: Dimensional fold
Status: 6-sphere temporal curvature established
Test back subloop: True.
Confidence: High
Begin: GRID WORKS actualization

Dionysus took the powered-up machineries of the Grid Works project like a sledgehammer to the walls of reality. In the deep test chambers, objects appeared and disappeared because the CI said they should or shouldn't exist. The fucking sky began to change as the vast computer intelligence started rewriting cosmic rules. The jagged mass of the entire planetoid vanished because Dionysus said it wasn't there, leaving arcane buried machineries for all to see.



It didn't last. Space-time buckled in groaning protest against the man-handling. Reality twisted, raged against the new rules imposed on it. Symmetries disintegrated. Recently altered physical laws began to break down. Incredible forces seeped in from misaligned dimensions, throwing esoteric calibrations out of whack. And amidst the fundamental chaos something clawed at the gates of actuality, looking to tear its way in.

Code: Select all

Alert: Anomalous Cheshire charge detected
Alert: Condition: YELLOW KING
Alert: Reactor bleed flux ratio: +/- 00.189%
Alert: Atypical break
Alert: Anomalous hyperdimensional tensor detected
Alert: Non-contiguous temporal flux [error +/-8% sustained]
Alert: Atypical outside influence detected
Alert: Condition: RED KING
Alert: Temporal curvature destabilizing
Alert: Broad spectrum dimensional coherence failure
Alert: Resonance cascade imminent
Power shunt
Start: Emergency shutdown

Space coiled, shuddered as the rules of the greater galaxy ground back into coherence. Euclidean rules reasserted themselves. Energies dissipated. The planet was a planet again.

The reality-altering engine shot a single Q-pulse to its owner.

Code: Select all

12.0.45.vv1
Status: Report cascade failure

Inside his opulent orbital villa a madman suddenly looked up from his afternoon tea and scowled.

“Shit.”

A hologrammatic window breezed into mid-air existence. “Connect me to the Dealership, please.”

***

The Dealership
Zedath-Kalesh



The elusory Silver Shield. Equal parts trade union and occult sisterhood, a transmundane secret society masterminded by the universally psionic Apexai race and headed by its enigmatic Regeneratrix. Its headquarters, deep inside the Apexai state of Zedath-Kalesh, was known by those who knew of its existence simply as The Dealership. It had another name, too, but it was not one pronounceable by the human or any other tongue -- a name in telepathy only, a figment of the mind, much like the Shield itself.

Inside the Dealership were many rooms, some of which did not exist all of the time. One of the few that did was the Scrying Room. A circular amphitheater, its featureless walls danced with flickering psychic half-visions. There was a faint hissing sound, the kind of sound that in this age of digital high-fidelity was unheard of unless something really peculiar was going on, and two very different figures manifested in the middle of the otherwise empty room. They weren’t holograms, not quite, but rather telepathic apparitions, specters of thought materialized by the psychogenically resonant room. One of them was the reflection of the caller, a chimerical apparition in a black suit. The other a diminutive grey alien, for once not wearing a bowler hat.

“Twennysex?” the caller began, focusing on the Apexai.

“I am here,” the alien replied.

“Who else is listening?”

“There's nobody else.”

The madman sneered. “With the Shield there's always somebody else listening. That you, Charlotte?”

A third apparition coalesced into existence, equal distances apart from the alien and the man in the black suit. She was a rail-thin woman in a white dress. Strands of blond hair framed the diamond-studded mask that covered her face. Charlotte Vandemir-Garcia, Regeneratrix of the Silver Shield and one of the two most powerful hybrid psions in the Sovereignty. “I am listening.”

The man nodded wordlessly and focused on the alien. “The experiment failed.”

“I told you it would.”

“I know you did.”

“You are brash and heedless. These things should not be rushed.”

“If I had time to wait another decade before commencing tests then I would, Twennysex. But the time for patience is over. The game is on. All signs and portents point to it. You know this as well as I.”

The Regeneratrix shook her head. There was an eerie resonance to her voice when she spoke. “You are meddling with forces you do not understand.”

The man looked at her. “May I remind you that neither do you.”

“You like to remind us,” the Apexai stated flatly.

“Of course I do. And these ominous warnings stopped being scary some time ago.”

The alien cocked its head. “That’s what we said. And then a moon fell on our world.”

“What am I supposed to make of that? You know what we agreed on. The promises I made. Do you want me to quit regardless?”

“No,” the woman answered. “Just... Proceed with caution. And beware your motivations.”

A shrug. “I investigate to complete my knowledge. My complete knowledge makes my thoughts sincere. My thoughts being sincere, my heart is pure.”

The Regeneratrix turned her head toward him, and the man was suddenly uncomfortably aware that she could see him perfectly despite the mask. “You don't have a heart.”

A hint of a grin. “So I've been told.” He looked at the alien. “I’m running diagnostics on the experimental data as we speak, but these incursion stability issues are harder to resolve than I hoped. You’re sure you can’t-”

“Yes,” Twennysex interrupted him. “That technology was lost to us a long time ago.”

“I suspected as much. Then Thyiiluue really would appear the fastest way to resolve this. Assuming the matriculatories are as intact as you seem to believe.”

“They have to be.” Twennysex seemed categoric. “Because the planet is still there.”

“Don’t underestimate Byzon,” the Regeneratrix warned. “He will know his IBVG teams must have missed something valuable the minute you set foot on that world. And he will attempt to take it from you, no matter how many of his fleets may be occupied elsewhere. You will have to use his own strength against him.”

“His strength.” The man frowned. “What's his strength?”

“His weakness.” Vandemir-Garcia’s voice took on the sonorous properties again. Her image buzzed with psionic static.

“His weakness is his strength?” He shook his head, nonplussed. “I don’t understand. Are you making fun of me?”

“It's the universe that makes fun of us all.”

“Why would the universe make fun of us?”

The vocal resonations were gone as sudden as they had come. The Regeneratrix’ voice fell back to its usual timbre. “Maybe it's insecure.”

Hank blinked. “Well. That would certainly explain a few things.”

(END SIGNAL SEQUENCE)

[Darkevilme]

The Hierarchy Palace, Chamarra prime

“Sisters, I'd like to start off by asking what the Mysteries be-damned hell dimension the MEH came here from that they think this is acceptable behaviour.” Kara asked before downing a glass of blood wine remarkably quickly. She'd been too busy to receive the news first and the shock was something best perhaps numbed with alcohol.

“The Karlacks consider it acceptable, and they're somewhat our allies by proxy.” Tia Kithandra reminded her majesty.

“Yes but allies by proxy don't count. Sides the Karlacks are just mentally wired that way, they're not intelligent creatures like the MEH are supposed to be.”

“Apparently the Eoghans would disagree with the assessment of the MEH as intelligent, they may have a point all things considered.” Melia said, it's funny the things you can pick up sometimes.

“It's like they blunder around the galaxy with no awareness at all.” Kara said while serving herself another glass.

“The report says they were using automated harvestors though, perhaps this is just a glitch.” Melia muses.

“If it's a glitch then it makes the incident with the Sneakily Does It look like a spelling error. All that caused was a major diplomatic incident and deepened the distrust of a nation that already disliked us. At least Callahan didn't commit genocide and high crimes against sentient life in the process.” Tia said and then shakes her head “Sides, the fleet is still active. No one would be insane enough to run an automated fleet with no oversight and reports back, they must be aware of what their fleet is doing.”

“The bloaters might be crazy enough.” Melia replied.

“I'm scared you're right sister.” Tia said and sipped from her glass.

“It doesn't change anything though does it? We committed to crushing them long before, all it does is make our actions look a bit more noble.” Kara says as she settles.

“Our Bragulan friends have asked me to join them in some interventions ahead of the fleet.” Melia said and then tail flicks “Also I believe the Klavostani Sultanate may already know about the incident.”

“They'll send a fleet to intervene if they do.” Tia said “Which means the Bragulans will want to send a fleet to further the Inhumanist cause and match the Humanitarian efforts of the Klavostanis.”

“We'll ask them about that and commit whatever reasonable assets they require. Bragulans are better at dealing with atrocities it's probably best they lead on this.” Kara said, why did a bunch of chubby lunatics have to bring a taste of the K-zone all the way out the antispinward and rimward quarter. Although it does remind her of something.

“I've had a recent suggestion that we start cycling patrol groups to work with Bragulan forces to acquire Shoal-space and joint fleet experience. We could use the warpgate to get them there. Any thoughts?” Kara asked.

“Things are a little dicey right now sister. We don't know the extent of the fallout from the Ork Waaagh yet let alone what's goning to be the aftermath of the fall of the MEH.” Melia said.

“Plus it'd result in our ships inevitably opening fire on Solarian ships if we sent them into Wild space. The Solarians really don't like us much, but this'd be burning whatever bridges are left.” Tia adds.

Kara nods “We'll shelve the idea for now then.” she says and decides to try and change to a different and lighter topic “Tia, what do you know about the Royal Kingdom of Scarlet and the Midnight Confederation? I recently heard they'd been at war for ages but I couldn't find out why.”

“I don't know what to tell you sister. I tried finding out a few months back and I couldn't figure it out either.” Tia answered “You remember when we first discovered the defences of the Lost's ships and all our scientists nyah'd that there's no known rules of science that they could operate on? This war is the social and political equivalent of that.”

“So why are they at war?” Kara asked not quite believing the hyperbole.

“I don't know, I sent one of my people to investigate. She visited both sides and talked for weeks. Near as she can tell they've been at war for years but there's no explaination as to why or why they haven't tried coming to the peace table. And no one seems to care in either nation, it's almost like a tradition more than actual warfare at this point. They've been fighting so long they've run out of clever tricks to tilt battles either way and their ship designs follow the Prussian model of ludicrous durability to the extent they have single or low double figure deaths per battle despite tens of thousands of tons of warships being fielded on each side.” Tia shook her head “As much as we can tell they're fighting cause they've always been fighting, it's not costing them anything in lives or cash to continue and they don't have any good reason to stop. It drove my girl a little loopy in end trying to get to the bottom of it all.”

“She okay?” Kara asked.

“Yeah, funny thing. Once she was at her wits end a man in a bowler hat came, said he was from the government and here to help.”

“Which government?”

“Didn't say.”

“And did he?”

“Well it's the thought that counts, apparently they don't have any Chamarrans in either kingdom so the help amounted to a blanket, hug and glass of warm milk.” Tia said with a chuckle.

“Typical human behaviour, still that was kinda odd. I wonder who he was really.” Melia said, with the tone of 'I will be attempting to find this out later'.

“We may never know, he neglected to give any contact details when he left. All he did was advise her to go home cause some questions don't have any answers.” Tia said.

“Sisters, we live in a really weird galaxy.” Kara concludes and raises her glass in a toast which the others join in, to weirdness!

[Siege]

Co-written with PeZook

Code: Select all

///CONCERNING A MATTER OF MUTUAL INTEREST\\\

WE HAVE COMPLETED THE TRACE OF THE HISTORICAL MESSAGES YOU HAVE RELAYED TO US
RESULTS ARE MOST PUZZLING

THE SOURCE IS LOCATED ON EDEN

IT WANTS TO MEET YOU 
SHOULD YOU STILL BE INTERESTED, COME TO PERSEUS ZETA

- 5

Meet the Monoliths

Perseus Zeta Trade Station
Edge of Collector Space



The hyperyacht transitioned to realspace in a flash of otherworldly radiation and lit its sublight engines, setting a straight and true course for the titanic trade station in the near distance. Perseus Zeta lay deep in Wild Space, on the edge of the forbidding shoals that marked the borders of what was generally assumed to be Collector territory.

The ship’s automated systems shook hands with the station’s space traffic control and exchanged a terse burst of encrypted hyperwave communications. Immediately, the seemingly chaotic dance of maintenance drones, refuelling tenders, defence platforms and of course trader ships changed, ever so slightly - as if a long awaited guest arrived. Instead of directing the ship to one of the outlaying docking stations ringing the facility, guidance signals etched out a straight route to one of the main hangars. In a single, silent, coordinated movement, a flight of three Mantis fighters slid into position besides the yacht as well, shepherding it through busy local space.

Hangar doors slid silently open and floodlights snapped on. The yacht drifted into the massive bay on a field of anti-gravity before coming to a rest in the middle of the otherwise empty metal cavern. A soft hissing built into a thundering roar as the vacuum of the hangar filled rapidly with breathable air.

After that the cavernous bay fell silent again. If there had ever been any signs that the place had been used before they’d long since gone, which made the ship’s pilot wonder just why the huge open hangar existed at all. The hyperyacht seemed out of place, utterly alone on the middle of a massive landing pad that could comfortably hold fifty ships its size.

Then a swarm of small robots emerged from hidden entryways, securing power and fuel umbilicals to the vessel, and the hangar suddenly appeared normal again - as if it was located in a perfectly mundane Galactic space port, rather than at the heart of a Collector base.

A single human silhouette entered a few minutes later, strolling casually amongst the busy bots. She - as it was a woman, dressed in red leather - stopped a few metres from the ship, obviously waiting for its occupant to show himself. The fact various robots zipped past her at extreme speeds didn’t seem to concern her.

Without warning a mechanism hidden in the yacht’s side began to hum. A formerly perfectly smooth section of its hull slid smoothly outward, the hyperalloy deforming and changing itself into a set of perfectly proportioned steps. A set of soft lights snapped on in the yacht’s interior, backlighting the man leaning against the newly revealed doorway. He wore a fine three-piece seersucker suit over an immaculately white shirt and didn’t appear to be the least fazed by the swarm of tiny robots.



“Hello again,” he began and cracked a handsome smile. “Unit Five. It’s still Five, right? Or did you get a raise?”



“My designation has not changed.”, the woman answered matter-of-factly, “It is good you have arrived. We were getting...”, she paused, as if considering the best words to use, “Anxious.”

“Yes, sorry about that,” Sidney strolled down the steps. “I got... tied up. Urgent matters required my attention. But I’m all yours now.”

“We understand” her voice changed ever so slightly, gaining an undertone as if it didn’t quite belong to her anymore “You must come to us directly. Hurry.”

Unit Five didn’t skip a beat, the weird change gone as suddenly as it appeared. “Since you are here, you have received our message. The source of the signals you have presented to us wants to meet you in person, for some reason. The Primary Matrix does not like it, but in the end, you are the first...human...that will be allowed to go to Eden and return unharmed.”

“I’m... flattered?” Sidney scratched his chin. “And intrigued. Your message was infuriatingly cryptic, but I never could resist a good riddle. How do you propose we go about this meeting? I’m guessing you don’t exactly want me to fly there myself.” A shrug. “Wherever ‘there’ is.”

“No. We have provided a ship you will take into our space. You own hyperdrive would not fare well inside the shoals, anyway.”

“I imagine not. Alright. One condition however: my yacht has to come along. Its core has to stay within approximately light-minute hyperrange of this body. It’s a personality coherence thing. You’re a robot, I’m sure you understand.”

There was a slight pause, a tiny change in the way Five looked at Sidney, before she said, almost hesistantingly “Yes. This can be arranged. Your ship will be transferred to another hangar now, and loaded aboard the transport.”

The lights began to go out one by one. Sidney’s shuttle was lifted by powerful force fields, and then slid into some sort of transfer corridor which suddenly opened in one of the hangar’s walls. The maintenance robots disappeared as abruptly as they came, and within seconds, Sidney and Five were left alone in the hangar, standing next to each other in a slowly fading cone of light.

“Come with me” She said, and disappeared into the darkness.

Sidney sighed and muttered “so melodramatic...” He switched his primary vision modus to LIDAR and followed Five.

They walked for a very short distance. There was a corridor Sidney was sure hadn’t been there when he landed, his implants registered minor electrogravitic and higher-dimensional artifacts, and then they emerged inside a white room. One of the walls turned into a window, showing Sidney’s shuttle, carefully stacked between massive black containers in what was obviously a gigantic cargo bay. He interfaced with the yacht’s systems, which told them the ship had moved almost a full AU, and taken some fifteen minutes to do it. Which was curious, considering he and Five had only walked down a corridor in a fraction of that time. Interesting. He was fairly sure he wasn’t on the trade station anymore. The bay stretched on as far as the eye could see, which in Sidney’s case was to the horizon, and still the ocean of containers went on.

“We have provided these facilities for you.”, Five’s voice wasn’t coming from her body this time, but seemed to emanate from the walls themselves, “They should suffice for the duration of the trip. I have been assigned as your... guide for this journey. Therefore I will reside in this facility as well, to provide information and assistance.”

Sidney glanced at what had been Five’s body just a few seconds before. It now stood perfectly still in the middle of the room, obviously deactivated and staring blankly at one of the walls. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked out at the mass of featureless black containers. “Just when you think you’ve seen it all...”

The window disappeared, as if on cue.

Some time later

Staring at a plain white wall was not exactly the most interesting thing to do on what should be an exciting journey to an unexplored alien world. Especially when you couldn’t escape the feeling that a parade of curious beings were observing your every move. There was a slight tingling of electronic emissions against his implants at all times, even when he laid down on the bed and, having nothing better to do, let his mind wander. From his current situation, alone aboard some massive alien starship save for a lifeless robot body, his thoughts drifted to the mysterious messages that had caused him to be here, and then even farther back, all the way through the fog of history, to a long-gone summer’s day on Nova Terra, walking the tarmac of Orena Airport to meet the waiting King of PeZookia.

That had been a long time ago. It had been slightly less long ago that he’d last seen the man, that fateful day on Lem Base, to watch Straylight depart for Earth. A momentous occasion, a lasting achievement... A final victory. Or so it had appeared at the time, anyway. Sidney smiled wryly. In the real world there were no closing chapters, no epilogues. He could know: he was the living embodiment of that sentiment. But what had happened to Paul? He hadn’t died like Stephen had -- early generations of anti-agathics had seen to that. But in the upheavals after the arrival of the Pathfinder and First Contact that followed the two of them had drifted apart, each consumed by their own quest to find purpose in a rapidly changing world. In the end Sidney had left for Earth and Paul... Hadn’t.

He synched with the yacht and trawled its historical archives. According to the sparse surviving electronic records from those early interstellar years Paul, long since having abdicated the throne, had boarded an outbound Heim drive colony ship in the early chaos of the Diaspora. No-one knew what had happened after that. The ship, like so many others, had disappeared without a trace.

Suddenly something caught Sidney’s attention. Something changed about those barely perceptible, yet obviously constantly present electronic whispers his implants could pick up. There was a spike, a feeler that brushed against his own cybertronic receivers.

“An entity is requesting to initiate conversation with you” Five’s voice resonated across the room without warning.

“An entity?” He opened one eye, then the other. “How exciting.” He swung his feet off the bed and straighted his shirt, tie and waistcoat. “Let’s have it, then.”

A snap. A flood of data being let through, and there it was, right next to Five’s lifeless body. A woman, wearing an unadorned white gown. The hologrammatic transmission was excellent... the woman even squinted a bit, as if from the light. Like she’d only just emerged from a very dark place.

“Well, well.” Because he was still connected to his shuttle’s archives Sidney recognized her immediately. “Katherine de la Poer, I presume.”

“Yes...” The woman said with more than a bit of startled uncertainty “How do you-?”

“Cybernetics. My yacht keeps extensive records of events recent and historic... Or both, as the case may be.”

“So you did come from outside!” She seemed oddly excited about this meeting “They actually let you in, or are you a prisoner? Who are you? What’s your name?”

“My name is Sidney Hank, and I am here entirely of my own volition. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss De la Poer. I have to say I did not expect to find you here, of all places.” Not that he'd been looking, but it was still a surprise.

“This place is my refuge, of a sort. I’m not sure how much you know about what happened back home...at Pendleton, I mean. I was offered a place here, and I had nowhere else to go.” Katherine eyed Sidney up and down, as if trying to preserve the sight for later, “The Monolith brought me back, and I have lived amongst the machines ever since. And Mr. Hank, I also have to say I did not expect to find any human just... travelling across Collector space. There are many humans living here, but few ever come on their own.”

Sidney couldn’t quite suppress a self-satisfied smirk. “I seem to have reached an... understanding with the Collective. There is a certain matter of mutual interest waiting, well, wherever it is we’re going.” He looked at her speculatively. “I have to ask... What is it like to live amongst Collectors?”

“It is wonderful!” she exclaimed “There is so many of them... and they know things, they... see so much I’ve never thought possible!” Sidney obviously hit a soft spot there. Katherine began speaking about her life amongst the machines, as a collection of sentient thought zipping across the stars. About massive interlocking networks full of ideas, data, information and even art, all shared instantly between billions. About towering experiments, facilities consuming stellar energies and constructed for no other purpose than to see if something can be done, or to uncover a small yet nagging secret which simply demanded an answer. Her descriptions were vivid and colorful - obviously, she had longed to share her feeling with another human for a long time.

“Have you ever known how it was to immerse yourself in hyperspace, Sidney? To feel those ancient energies brush across your skin, to know that with one fleeting thought you can hurl yourself across the universe? You can get drunk on that. I did. I have seen so many wonderful things here... but I could never truly share it with another human... it feels good.”

Recent memories stirred. It began with the collision of dimensions. It ended with a single line. Status: Report cascade failure. It took him some effort not to frown. “I can imagine. No, I really can. Fascinating stuff. Are there many like you amongst them?”

“Like me? None... Many humans live here, but they are not part of their society. I was brought here to help the machines understand how to...as they put it, ‘take care’ of those people better.” Katherine frowned suddenly, “It has been a real uphill battle.”

“I... see? No, I suppose I don’t.”

“They study humans”, Katherine said with a sigh, “They study everything about them. Behavior, biology, psychology, ESP, genetic drift, speciation, cultural evolution... No, I said it wrong, not just humans, all sentients. And they’re not always... gentle about this. Some people live on their planets in relative freedom, but others they keep in laboratories and do various experiments on them...” She shuddered, “I know much of what they do, and it’s not always pretty, but they just can’t understand why it’s not good enough to keep these people sedated and their minds backed up. I try to explain it, all the time...”

“It can be difficult to reason with the Collective, I’ve found.” Sidney nodded. “It helps to start with common ground but even then... They do like their pragmatism. It must be said, for all their purported study of human nature they don’t seem to have a very good grasp of it.”

“Yes! Exactly! They know about our psychology and behavior, but don’t seem to put any value in it. Maybe I think too much like a philosopher... Maybe this requires more of an engineering approach?”

“It’s certainly possible. Theories abound about what make the Collectors tick, and I’m honestly not sure if any of them are even halfway correct.”

“Maybe they will let you know more. You are travelling towards Eden, after all. Though it seems like even the machines themselves are not really sure why, at least from what I gleaned.”

“So it would appear. It’s all awfully mysterious. But it’s really called Eden then, this place I'm headed?” He smiled again. “As far as names go that’s a bit pretentious, isnt it?”

Katherine shook her head, “Not at all. You will see... in fact, right about now.”

The room suddenly turned black, and in a split-second, all the walls became transparent... or maybe screens - the point was, Sidney and Katherine appeared to be floating in space, surrounded by a brilliant starfield.

In front of them, gleaming in the light of a distant sun, lay a planet - Sidney’s destination. One that even the robots saw fit to name after paradise.

[Force Lord]

Unknown Location
MEH Earth
Unreal Time/Early-Mid February

"Attention!"

The Central Guardsmen saluted as Kierger entered the locker room with Redav in tow.

"At ease. You are all what's left?"

"Yes sir. We've suffered 50% casualties, all fatal."

"Then I expect the remaining 50% to fight twice as hard. For we're getting out of here!"

"Sir, yes sir!"

"Alright, who has a plan?"

---

The hangar bay was full of ships. And hostile machines.

"This is not the best plan we've had!", shouted a Guardsman.

"You call this a plan?!", shouted another.

"Shut it you two! Can't you see we're busy here?!", shouted yet another Guardsman who was busy firing at two MEH wardroids that didn't even bother to find cover. Both were quickly destroyed.

"Kriff! How many of these things were built?! They're dumb, but a lot of 'em exist!"

"Better not think about it, soldier!", said Kierger. "Just focus on finding us a suitable ship!"

The Centralite escapees eventually found a MEH shuttle, and entered it. There were two fat pilots inside.

"Out of the ship. Or we give you the excersise," said Redav.

"Anything but the excersise!", responded one of the scared pilots. They fled.

"Hokay, who can pilot this thi-?"

There was a massive explosion...

---

Result: Cliffhanger!

[Shroom Man 777]

It’s Never Lepus

The Farthing Worlds
Sector B-26
MEH space
Unreal Time



Bos was amongst the Farthing Worlds, a group of lush, habitable planets occupying a binary system. It was home to a multi-specie nation, founded by colonists who had fled from the spinward when their home worlds had been encroached upon by humanity’s expanding sphere of influence. They fled to the antispinward in search of a new hope, which they found, and there they lived in peace for centuries. Until the dark times came, until the Empire. Of Multiversal Happiness.

The Kitty Surprise’s rescue of the Tauren refugee ship had revealed many stunning surprises. True enough, the facts would have eventually been known to any nation with spy ships observing the uncharacteristic expedition of MEH ships outside their home systems, how the automated vessels gathered at unsuspecting Bos and unleashed an army of Hunter-Eaters and turned an entire planet’s biosphere into edible food for the appetites of an empire preparing for war. The MEH was expecting to be besieged by a foe unlike any other, in a conflict that would make even the latest and greatest of Ork Waaaghs look like a border skirmish, and in anticipation of the inevitable siege it was only natural, in a twisted kind of perverse logic, for them to... stock up on supplies.

But to hear what had happened on Bos to the Tauren from the mouths of the survivors themselves was another story entirely. The wrenching account of the systematic slaughter, how the bovines were taken from their homes and killed en-masse with such clinical detachment, before being skinned and sliced into pre-cut pieces and shipped back to the MEH worlds was unlike anything the agents of the Chamarran Hierarchy had ever heard of before. Even at its harshest, the worst they had to contend with in their corner of the galaxy was the brute barbarity of the Ork, and the harassments of the Klavostanis. The closest thing would be the stories of how Karlacks consumed whole worlds, or how the Byzantines purged those they considered as ‘xenos’, but those things were far away, in the Koprulu Zone, not here. Not right next door to Chamarran space. It was a sobering realization. They had grown so used to the relative peace and stability of their surroundings, they had never expected anything like this. It was an easy mistake to make.

Suddenly, the humans’ cries of sentient trafficking and esper experimentation didn’t seem to matter anymore, not when compared to this.

For the Bragulans, the lamentations of the Tauren confirmed their worst nightmares. Another Earth, another homeworld of humanity from beyond, belligerent and dangerously expansionistic, with what seemed to be frighteningly advanced technologies. And now, the wanton destruction of non-human nations within its unilaterally-declared borders, the systemic cleansing of inhuman races, and the use of the victims as... food. It was anathema to Byzonism. It was anathema to Bragule. Yes, the Bragulan Star Empire committed horrible acts in its past, still commits terrible acts presently, and undoubtedly will continue to commit gruesome acts in the future, but the Multiversal Empire of Happiness was not Bragule. Even the Karlacks, those nightmarish monsters, were not Bragule - though they could be placated through sheer necessity and made to play their part, ironically quite like Byzantium. Only Bragule was Bragule, and it was the only Imperator’s providence that dictated what could and could not be. The Bragulans were not entirely unsympathetic to the plight of the Tauren though, another people encroached upon and violated by the grotesque hordes of humanity, the senseless slaughter the MEH’s automatons inflicted upon the Tauren people was an affront to the Bragulans’ sense of orderly and Byzonic (nuclear) annihilation. The Multiversal Empire of Happiness was a new, human, face in the galaxy in dire need of stomping with a boot. Forever. And Bragule would oblige.

The decision was made. In the name of inhumanism, the joint Chamarran-Bragulan force would intervene in the Farthing Worlds.

The Blade-class stealth cruiser slipped between the MEH slaughterships invisibly, its cloaking fields concealing its true form, all its non-vital systems down and minimizing its emissions, silent drives engaged and gliding it towards its destination.

---

Hare Hole Hill
Afarfe, Lepus

With warning from Bos, the Lapine swiftly organized their defenses in anticipation that the MEH slaughterships would visit their world next. They were right. Civilian authority was ceded to the military, a state of martial law was declared, and under General Wortwound’s command all male Lapine of sound age and mind were conscripted into the war effort.The preparations were hasty, the MEH’s meat-machines arrived before true fortifications could be erected, but at least the Lapine knew what to expect - unlike the Tauren, who were caught unawares as the Hunter-Eaters brutally butchered the bovines of Bos. If the machines wanted war, then Lepus would give it to them.

The first slaughterships landed near the hilly towns of Hare Hole Hill, disgorging their complement of Hunter-Eaters and making short work of the nearest population centers. Those in the occupied towns were gone, harvested for their meat and pelts. But the Lapine reacted quickly, sparing no time to set up battle lines to isolate the meat-machines before they could advance further and wreak more devastation.

The Hunter-Eaters weregleaming chrome-steel hulks that moved on treads that crushed anything underneath them, and energy weapons to simultaneously kill and cook their targets which would then be harvested by the strange mechanical forelimbs mounted on the Hunter-Eaters’ metal torsos. Compared to these techno-industrial nightmares, the Lapine forces were downright primitive. But their weapons were nonetheless effective, and they were there to wage a war for survival. Their resolve was strong, and the machines weren’t too bright.



Brave Lapine soldiers took the fight to the machines. Mad Peso helicopters unleashed their deadly payloads for effect. Afarfe was the most well-armed of Lepus’ nations, fitting then for the MEH meat machines to land in their territory and taste Lapine steel. General Wortwound threw his forces at the MEH landing zones, knowing full well that they could not be allowed to establish a beachhead, that this would be the first and only chance they would have to dislodge the alien invaders before it was too late.

But the Hunter-Eaters drove on with a single-minded determination befitting their metahiveminded singular intellects. The Lapine were not prepared for an enemy so mindlessly driven towards one purpose, utterly ruthless and implacable. Eventually, the machines smashed through the Lapine defense grid and continued their harvest operations throughout Afarfe. General Wortwound’s forces retreated, leaving the outlying towns and cities to the Hunter-Eaters, so that they could consolidate their defenses around the capitals - to make a final stand, if need be. It seemed as though their fate would be the same as Bos.

Some sought to flee Lepus, escape off-world as some of the Tauren did. They intended to take the waterships up, the Lapine vessels that delivered much-needed hydration to their orbitals and deep-space habitats and were capable of interstellar travel. But the General declared them deserters, had them shot or hung or mauled. Wortwound declared that there would be no more retreat, no more surrender, that all would fight for the defense of their world against machines that sought to destroy their homes and all that they had built. History had repeat itself once more, man’s insatiable greed had driven them from their old worlds, and now his gluttony had made him come to claim their flesh now. There was no where else to flee to. There was no escape.

But there was something else.

A new hope.

---

MEHNET Hunting-Eating Grounds
Sector 7G



The Hunter-Eaters were propelled by their Singular Intellects. It was night, and they scoured the blasted landscape with their infrared. Harvesters rolled through the fields and the plans, these were Afarfan farmlands abandoned by the Lapine resistance, in an attempt to distract and delay the meat machines’ advance, and now the machines were busying themselves by reaping what the Lapine had sown. Crops and all manner of vegetations were cut down and assimilated by the harvesters, while the Hunter-Eaters patrolled in search for any living Lapine still in the area.

A Hunter-Eater neared a farm-burrow, it was a habitation where those unable to evacuate on time could hide in, hoping to avoid notice. There was a lingering heat-signature, a sign that the dwelling was still in use. The Hunter-Eater relayed this information to the Metahivemind and within microseconds, received confirmation.

Its energy weapons punched large holes into the ground, and its mechanical forelimbs reached down to extract whatever it was hiding inside the farm-burrow. There was a piercing scream, and the arm withdrew with a struggling Lapine inside its claws. The Hunter-Eater brought it up and examined it with its unblinking optics. The specimen was mature, full-sized, well-nurtured. Fit for harvestation. With its intricate servohydraulics, it moved a sharpened finger to dissect the Lapine with one midline vertical cut. There was a hiss, as the heated-blade cut through fur and skin. Then, with its other digits, it reached in and pulled the Lapine’s insides out - separating its pelt from its edible inner-flesh. The flesh, still whole and in one-piece, was kept in a different container from the pelt. As with the Tauren on Bos, the skin and fur would be kept separately, for the Goddess and the MEH’s populace placed high demand and value on their use in fashion. The skinned Lapine’s still-twitching form was stored in a cryogenic freezer to keep it fresh.



There were more forms in the burrow. At the sight of their kin’s demise, they fled, running through open ground. The Hunter-Eater gave chase, whilst priming its burners to cook the fleeing Lapine alive prior to refrigeration. Its sensors locked on to them. It prepared to fire.

But then, its Singular Intellect stopped. The Lapine were smaller than the previous specimens. Immature. They would not be killed, but captured. Alive. To be kept in the ships so that they could be subsequently cultivated.

The Hunter-Eater sped up, and its claws reached down for the little Lapines.

There was a bright flash, the Hunter-Eater’s Singular Intellect barely registered it. It was not a dedicated fighting machine, not really, though the primitive weapons of the Lapine were hardly effective against it. But this was not a Lapine weapon.

The Space RPG detonated against the frontal armor of the Hunter-Eater, spewing it with incandescent emerald slime. The K-residue began eating through the hyperalloy. But the Hunter-Eater’s Singular Intellect drove it on. It continued to chase down the fleeing Lapine younglings. Until several bright orange beams lit up the night and stabbed into the Hunter-Eater’s corroded chassis, punching through it and into the delicate sub-systems within the meat-machine. Internal components burned, along with its neural-not processor. The Singular Intellect within the contraption died, its blood-red oculars dimmed.



“Is it dead?” one of the younglings panted as she stared at the twisted hulk of the Hunter-Eater.

“Terminated,” replied a Lapine soldier cradling a beamrifle. Resistance rabbits emerged from the surroundings, removing their camouflage cloaks and revealing themselves to the orphaned Lapine runaways. They took the survivors and called for an evac, going to a pre-designated extraction zone far from the MEH lines. They popped green smoke, and the Mad Pesos came and took them off.

---

Rabbit Resistance HQ
Afarfe, Lepus



General Wortwound despised any implication that he was incapable of handling the alien crisis, but he was no fool, he could not deny military realities. The MEH was not like any enemy the Lapine had ever fought against, and his forces as they were could only hope to slow down the tide of their Hunter-Eaters. Thus, it was somehow a Frithsend that more aliens had come. No, not humans from the MEH, but Chamarrans from the east and even the bears from far away Bragule. They had come promising aid, to help and support their struggle against the MEH. Wortwound knew where all this would lead, he knew all too well what happened when foreigners came with promises and gifts, but he was not in any position to refuse.

Their weapons were nonetheless effective. The beamcannons could punch through a MEH machine like a tin can, and the K-weapons were just as effective as they were vile and toxic. His new advisors were the ones who suggested pulling back Lapine forces, as much as he hated to do so, sacrificing the outlying towns to overstretch the Hunter-Eaters. Now they were also telling him to cast aside the conventional stratagems he favored and divert to assymetrical warfare. Tie the machines down by attacking them from the flanks, disappear into the wilderness where their intimate familiarity of the terrain would give them an edge over the machines’ steel, strike their weak spots - break their camps and free the Lapine younglings they had imprisoned, harass and shoot down their shipments, and poison their harvests.

The Bragulan advisors intended to stay in Lepus for some time, to train the Lapine in their new weapons and to advise them in tactics to counter the MEH’s technological terrors. They had the experience, they said, and had done this before. But they also gave Wortwound another weapon, a secret one, something that would strike at the heart of the MEH like no other weapon could. A fitting punishment for their crimes on Lepus.

It was a weapon of revengeance.

[Zor]

High Orbit: Spongeworld (sector H2): Unreal Time (about a month ago)

A boxlike station existed in orbit, which was now the center of attention, about 400 meters long with a torus station at the end, making it the largest artificial object in orbit. Numerous cameras watched as it's front hatch opened, while the world below watched as a spacecraft made its way out. Across the apartment blocks of the planet beneath, millions of locals watched as this vehicle emerged. A civil half holiday had been arranged for this event. Eventually the Cameras took to reveal the captain of the craft...



Ternnev Hribog, who stood proud and ready to make this monumental first move for his people. He made a brief speech on how it was an honor to embark on his mission and the prosperity it would soon bring. Shortly afterwards, the ship was clear and it's fusion drives initiated. They were primitive by the standards of the rest of the galaxy, but they were the best that his planet could provide. The ship itself, the Peter Fletcher was the product of several years of development. In 3392, a freighter off the shipping lanes limped into the Spongeworld System after a pirate attack. Its crew were rescued and politely sent on their way, but the ship was taken apart. Its Hyperdrive core was put into the heart of the Peter Fletcher. After a shakedown flight, the spacecraft was deployed was ready to make its way into the galaxy to benefit the Worker's Glorious Republic of Spongeworld. It made its way out.

thirteen days latter, sector H2, unclaimed planet

Across the local greyish brown dust was an old abandoned station. Nothing much, simply a few prefab buildings, some refueling tanks, some holes dug into a rockface or the ground, a couple hundred worn down windmills and a smattering of abandoned vehicles. For over a century, it laid there inactive. Now activity began again. For the past couple of days, squat figures in primitive orange spacesuits walked around working. A few of them were armed with truncheons and simple automatic firearms while others had electroshock systems installed in space suits, which were considerably more worn and only had radio receivers. Occasionally one of the latter would receive a beating or an electroshock from the former. Respectively, these were a number of party officials, guards and dissidents from spongeworld, which had been packed away in the hold like drugged sardines. In total there were about 800 of them. They had been working for some time to improve this forgotten base. They had already restored most of the old buildings to habitability and had put up some prefab buildings. This base would be the first extrasolar colony for the Spongewolders. If it succeeded, it would play a role in ushering in a new age. If it failed, no one who was not expendable would have been wasted. As dusk began, the dropship made its way back up, where it docked with the Peter Fletcher, which moved away shortly afterwards. The first task it was assigned to do was completed, now with its first objective completed, it began the second part. In its hold were a large number of hand made items, its purpose was to go into the human dominated universe and sell these and bring back equipment and technology to Spongeworld.

[Fingolfin_Noldor]

Cananaan
With some help from Shroom

The beast gave a loud screech and charged at the assassins, causing them to jump out of its way. The creature swung its staff, and nearly struck one of the assassins who barely dodged it. “All members, strike at it from all sides!” Michek yelled. The rest of the assassins dutifully obeyed, and opened fire with all their weapons.

But none of the weapons were effective. The creature exhibited incredible resilience, and although Cesna’s null abilities were neutralising its psychic powers, its sheer physical strength and constitution was enormous, never mind the ultrasonic screeching sound it gave that hurt everyone’s ears.

Just then, the communicator went on, “What in the God Emperor’s name is going on? The echoes in the Warp are causing local space-time instabilities! The asteroid is coming apart due to all the stresses in the local space-time continuum!” the pilot yelled.

That gave Michek an idea. “How much by way of low yield warp munitions does the shuttle have?”

“You mean you want to blow the asteroid apart and completely to small pieces?”

“Yes! Completely and totally! Every part vaporized!”

“Well, there are some low yield warp munitions on board yes. You do realise you have to hurry aboard the shuttle right?”

“Yes, and we are in the middle of a rather difficult battle...

“Hurry up regardless. I am not sure if the shuttle can survive the increasing gravitational stresses, or the asteroid much less.”

“Noted. You heard him team, Cesna and I will hold rear guard, head back to the shuttle.”

The team acknowledged, and steadily made their way back. Cesna turned to Michek and said, “I am guessing that you want me to hold the creature’s abilities back.”

“Yes, hell knows what happens if we so much as give him a bit of a breathing space. The asteroid is coming apart, and clearly this creature is responsible for it.”

“We can’t hold him back for long...” The creature let out another loud screech and charged at the two. Michek fired his sniper rifle at the creature’s head. The shot ripped right through the creature’s skull and caused it to explode. But instead of dying, the creature’s head simply regenerated shortly after.

“Will nothing slow down this thing?” Michek swore.

“Let me try these.” Cesna hurled 4 psychic grenades. “Run!” The two ran for the entrance to the cave. The grenades struck the creature just as they reached the entrance and detonated. The creature screamed and actually bled scores of blood as the grenades sent powerful pulses of psychic energy into its flesh. For once, the creature did not regenerate immediately, but instead healed slowly.

“Well, that slowed him somewhat, but he is coming back! Run for the shuttle!” Michek hurled a plasma grenade behind them. The grenade was timed to explode 10 seconds later and when it did detonate, the explosion caused the cavern to collapse. The 10 second delay gave them just enough time to gain enough space to avoid the blast shockwave. The creature screamed as its prey got away. It summoned the powers of the Warp and let lose a powerful blast that shattered the rubble that blocked it. The blast was so powerful that the entire asteroid shook.

Michek and Cesna arrived at the shuttle and quickly boarded. “Go go!” Michek yelled.

“Yeah. Thank the God Emperor you finally made it,” the pilot replied sarcastically. The shuttle lifted off and moved to a safe distance from the asteroid. The creature plowed its way to the docking port and screamed at the shuttle. “What the hell is that?” the pilot yelled, bewildered.

“Stop gwarking at it and fire the munitions!”

“A pleasure!” The pilot thumbed the missile launch button, and released a salvo of 6 light warp missiles. The missiles took a programmed route and took position on the 6 axis of the asteroid, before making their final run, striking the asteroid with such force and violence that the asteroid convulsed in space for one last time and exploded. The creature, prior to its death, screamed and unleashed a shockwave of psychic energy that resonated into space.

“Well, at least we now know that warp weapons can hurt it,” said Michek.

“Warp weapons are quite similar to psychic weapons...” Cesna pointed out.

“The things you know...”

“We’ll have to report this to the Inquisitor. Whatever this thing was and whatever those cultists did, I have a feeling this won’t be the last we’ll be seeing of them.”

[Shroom Man 777]

The streets of several Solarian megacities were dominated today by scenes of peaceful protests against the impending war against the Multiversal Empire of Happiness. After a passionate and widely broadcast speech by senior senator Robert Space McNamara millions of people took to the streets on Solaris, Kerenkov, Kimanjano, Eta Bootis and Hochbaden to demonstrate against what the protestors consider an unjust war incited by "frustrated warlike men".

Senator McNamara was also unavailable for comment: the senator was scheduled to speak at a public event in the Greenwood Banks district but was prevented from appearing when his aircar blew up minutes before departure. According to Max-Tac preliminary investigations the explosive used was illicitly imported from Shepistan. The investigation has been taken over by CEID.

Smarmageddon???

Montgomery, Shepistan

Those incompetent flatfoots will never know who was the true mastermind behind it all! Bart Blade thought self-satisfactorily.

For it was none other than I!

He cackled with exquisite glee.

Yes, it was none other than him. He, Bart Blade, one of the most brilliant military minds in the galaxy, and paramount defense analyst and strategic consultant of the Shepistani military. The vast majority of his work was classified, he could not disclose the full extent of his work as a defense contractor to just anyone, though his reputation was known in the private sector and even to the public. His expertise was featured in such respected publications such as Jayne's and think tanks like the BLAND Corporation.

But those works were just the tip of the iceberg, barely a hint of the true extent of Bart Blade's influence in the military-industrial complex. His analysis formed the basis of crucial aspects in Shepistan's strategic military policy. He met with the likes of General Sheppard and other key personnel in the military and government weekly, and routinely advised the heads of state and military of other star nations on important matters of defense and industry.

It was when returning from another pleasant trip from the tropical paradise-planet Sayam, where he both advised the royal military on how to better put down dissent while enjoying the local sceneries, that he had heard the news.

What news, you ask? Why, the news that another McNamara was running his mouth, showing graphs to undermine another great coalition of freedom's efforts to nuke the brown fat people from orbit until they glowed in the dark, shoot them in the dark, and steal all their oil... or whatever it was of value they had, that the galaxy's great powers were now there to take. Worse yet, this McNamara was in cahoots - cahoots! - with libruls and psykers and union protesters and student demonstrators and journos, their other pinko ilk that should rightfully get a load of green phosphorus dropped on them.

That man makes me so angry!!!

The thought of that Space McNamara had filled Blade with a rage unlike anything he'd ever felt before, not since that incident on Persephone. God, something had happened to him there, on that gods-forsaken world. He was sure psyker witchcraft was somehow involved, despite the SIS being unable to find any proof of that. But he still had his suspicion. Goddamn Umerianoids.

Balls!

But back to the McNamaras, bah! This was not the first time they nearly ruined a good war of extermination. Back in the days of the Amplitur War, they nearly brought about Shepistan's defeat against the craboid menace. If it weren't for the staunch support of the Sarevokerritches, all hope would've been lost.

So it was, that no matter where or when they were, the McNamaras of space and all their descendants were marked for death at the hands and bullets and bombs of Shepistan. This one might've been way down rimward in Solaris, but it didn't matter. The SIS would take care of it, and that they did.

At least, until that bastard respawned, like those Solarians tended to do so often. But whatever. McNamara had a special place reserved for him in Hell, a big rock with chains on it. Bart Blade knew.

Yes. One day, he'd see that McNamara in hell. With that heart-warming thought, Bart Blade went over to his computer. This was not a standard non-networked Shepistani computer, this computer didn't contain classified military information, it was for leisure and had a data-net uplink. There were thousands upon thousands of civilians waiting for Bart Blade to publish his collected works, the unclassified and non-redacted ones at least, and he hoped not to disappoint them. It was still a work in progress, but it would be an epic like that the galaxy had never seen before -

Something in his computer's monochromatic monitor flashed. It was an alert.

What?! No, it can't be!

Code: Select all

CYLON INFILTRATION DETECTED

INFORMATION SUPERHIGHWAY ROUTE 64 HAS BEEN SUBJECT TO CYBER-INTRUSION

DIGITAL TAMPERING DETECTED

UNAUTHORIZED USERS HAVE EXTRACTED INFORMATION FROM LOCAL NODE

RUNNING TRACE...

No! What did they take?!

Sweat started to bead on Bart Blade's bald head. His heart thudded on his chest, palpitating, just like that time in Persephone. No, even worse.

If they got their hands on my masterpiece, I'll be ruined!

Bart Blade hoped against hopes that they hadn't. No, they wouldn't dare do this to him. They couldn't! They wouldn't! But... what if they did? If they did, then he would never be able to publish his work! At least, not from a reputable source. What would he do then? He was a powerful man, certainly he could get the SIS to get them! He could even prosecute them legally, and instead of blowing them up, he could sue them and win and get them to pay for damages. Yes. But what if their country didn't have an extradition treaty with Shepistan, like most other countries in the universe that allowed Shepistani psykers criminals save haven in their borders? No!

Code: Select all

TRACE COMPLETE

INTRUSION SOURCE DETECTED

PLANET AUKREIN, USS PROTECTORATE WORLD, WILD SPACE

EXTRACTED INFORMATION INCLUDES: TSW:ARMGDN & TSW:PNTHCD

EXTRACTED INFORMATION HAS BEEN DISSEMINATED THROUGHOUT SOLARIAN DATASPHERE

His eyes widened. Then his shoulders sagged and he crumpled in front of the computer, turning into a sobbing wreck.

"Balls!" said Bart Blade.

[Force Lord]

Unknown Location
MEH Earth
Unreal Time/Early-Mid February

Ugh, what the hell...

Kierger found himself face-down on the ground, a bit singed. There was the smell of smoke...and burnt flesh.

Shit, who died?!

Using his ESP, Kierger realized that only he and Redav, who was knocked out, were still living. All the other Centralites were charred corpses.

I'm sorry for your families men, if you have them, but you all knew what you signed up for.

There was the sound of clanking feet, which could only mean the robots were near. He looked up, and he found a few dozen of them marching towards him. He lifted himself up.

"SURRENDER GUEST! THE EXHALTED LEADER WISHES YOU TO ENJOY HER GIFTS TO YOU!", one of the robots said.

Kierger merely laughed. He fucking laughed.

"Gifts? I'm sorry, I know very well what her "gifts" amount. She tried to fuck with me, so I'm getting outta here. Once I get back, however, she's gonna give me her final gift to me: her head!"

Kierger's hands began to crackle dangerously with electricity.

"Here's MY gift to her!"

Lightning came out of his extended hands, shortcircuting several machines.

One of her machines shouted, "EXPERIENCE THE GODDESS'S MERCY!"

The machines opened fire, but Kierger had already called upon Redav's beamsaber and deflected shots left and right...and back towards the machines. He charged towards them.

And he was still fucking laughing...

---

MEH shuttle
Near MEH border

Lord Redav woke up seeing what he suspected was seats. But seats from where? He groaned, clutching his head...that was covered by the helmet.

"Glad you're still in the game, Red."

"Ah, Dictator, where are-?"

"Inside the shuttle, leaving that damn planet that calls itself an Earth. It's too bad the others were killed in that explosion..."

"So, where are we headed?"

"Home, I guess."

"How?"

"Uh, I'll think of something..."

"I have a bad feeling about this..."

There was a beeping sound.

"Hmm, what's that on sensors...uh oh."

"Uh oh?"

"We got a corvette nearby..."

---

The Leader's Quarters

"Madame, I have...news."

"Can it wait? I'm busy."

"I am afraid it is urgent."

"Would you make it quick, Number One? I'm eating."

"The guest escaped."

"...Kiergy left?"

"Well, yes."

"...Oh dear o dear o dear, no no no no no no..."

"Uh, madam?"

"Waaaaaah! Why did he have to leave! I was being nice to him! Waaaaaah!"

"Ugh, why did this had to be my job..."

---

CNS Datton
Inside MEH Border

Yep, I am officially insane.

Given that his ship was now inside the MEH's most important sector, Forg could only think of the endless possibilities this could end badly.

They're setting me up to fail. I know they're setting me up to fail...

"Sir, where should we go?", said the helmsman, interrupting his reverie.

"Get us to position near the MEH Sol System. Mantain cloak..."

"Sir," now said the sensor technician. "We have detected two ships in movement near our location."

"Are they moving towards us?"

"No sir, it's strange. Apparently they are moving in circles."

"What do you mean?"

"Sir, it appears we've stumbled into a chase!"

[Force Lord]

MEH Shuttle, Deep Space
Sector A-26
Unreal Time/Early-Mid February

The stolen shuttled tried its damnest to evade the pursuing corvette, but it seemed that the corvette crew was unusually skilled in maneuvering their ship. They had not fired yet, however.

"Crap, these guys are good. I can't skake them!", shouted Kierger.

"I sense something strange."

"Not a good time, Red!"

The corvette now fired, and it only just missed the shuttle.

"Fucking piece of shit! You're as slow as those fatty nerds!"

"Hopefully there are some space suits here you can use, sir."

"Red, we're not getting shot up! It won't happen!"

"Better safe than dead, sir."

CNS Datton

"The hell? Why is that MEH ship shooting at one of their own?", asked a baffled Forg.

"Probably someone willing to defect. This is an opportunity to figure our more about the MEH's workings, sir," responded Lieutenant Sorge.

"Opportunity or not, we're playing it safe this time. Get me the telepaths."

"Sir."

Sorge was about to head for the door, when it opened, revealing three women.

"We sensed you may need us," said one of them.

"Of course. I was just sent to fetch you. Your initiative saved time," replied Sorge, who presented them to the Captain.

Forg observed them for a moment before saying, "You three are here because of your exceptional skill with telepathy even by Centrality standards. I need you to link your minds with the occupants of that shuttle being chased by the MEH corvette and guide the shuttle towards our ship."

"We will do our best, Captain."

Hijacked MEH shuttle

"Eh? I sense someone trying to contact me telepathically."

"Impossible. The MEH has no ESPers last time I checked."

"It is not the MEH. There must be another ship nearby."

"Get into link Redav! This may be our ticket out of here!"

Redav focused, trying to deepen the connection. He could hear a voice.

We are from the Centrality. We see your attempt to escape. We are willing to give you safety.

Redav smiled behind his mask. Safety was indeed near.

My name is Redav. I am part of the Dictator-President's bodyguard. I am here with the Dictator himself, trying to evade this blasted corvette. The Dictator had been kidnapped by the MEH, but escaped and reunited with his late security detail. Where are you?

There was silence for a few moments, then a disbelieving voice.

The President is there with you? Is the MEH really this irrational in kidnapping a Head of State?

We came, we saw, we escaped. I am telling the truth. Now where are you?

We can see you from our stealth ship.

Guide us to it, now!

Redav quickly shouted to Kierger, "Dictator, one of our own stealth ships is nearby! They have telepath that can guide us!"

"Woo! The State always knows!"

Sir, Kierger heard the voice, we need you to listen.

My head's all ears!

"Okay, here goe-"

Blam!

"We have been hit!"

The shuttle, burning from behind, turned to face the corvette as it slowed down to a stop.

"Shit, the ship's dead in space!"

Redav quickly had an idea. He grabbed the spacesuits beneath the seats.

"These suits are your only chance, sir."

"My chance? What about you?"

"My life-support suit is thankfully capable of functioning in the vacuum of space."

"Okay, we take these suits, but what about this ship? The MEH ship might notice we're still alive."

"We must make this vessel self-destruct, and make the jump when only a handful of seconds remain on the timer."

"Risky, but better than nothing," Kierger said, and he soon went to wear the suit.

Redav then heard the voice of one of the Centralite telepaths.

Answer us! What shall we do?"

Do not fret. We are merely going to Plan B.

Plan B?

Remind your Captain to shut down the shields after this ship explodes. We may be forced to space-walk your hull for a little bit.

Okay...

Redav turned back to Kierger, who was already suited and working on the controls. Kierger shouted, "Red, ready the door!"

"How fast does it open?"

"A little less than a second!"

Redav went for the door, his finger ready to press the switch.

"We have five seconds!", Kierger declared. "Ready!"

The shuttle computer now said:

"Five!"

"Four!"

"Three!"

Kierger was now near the door with Redav.

"Two!"

Redav pressed the button, unleashing the vacuum of space.

"One!"

Both men used telekenetic impulse to get as far from the shuttle as possible.

For the shuttle now exploded, giving them more speed.

Yeehaw! We're coming motherfuckers!, Kierger shouted in his mind.

CNS Datton

"Get the shields down! Now!", shouted Captain Forg.

Meanwhile, one of the crew was busy looking at his part of the hull cameras.

"Dang, who would have thought we would have to rescue the kriffing prez..."

His console suddenly beeped, and he could make an image of a black-armored man...and someone in a fat-looking space suit shaking his fist at the camera.

Oshitoshitoshitoshitoshit

"I found 'em!", he shouted to his comlink.

A few moments later...

The depressurized room had guests. Very important guests.

And it was being repressurized, so that the ship's master and others could greet them.

"REPRESSURIZATION COMPLETE. YOU CAN NOW BREATHE SAFELY."

"Finally! I was itching to inhale some fine Centralist air!", said a tired Kierger, who removed his helmet.

"It is a honor to meet you sir, though I hoped it would be in better circumstances," said an anxious Forg.

"Heh. You know what this means, don't you? Promotions all across the board! It's the least I can do for you being at the right place at the right time. What's your name, Captain?"

"Forg, sir."

Kierger raised an eyebrow. Forg? It couldn't be, could it?

"What's the name of this ship?"

Forg now gulped.

"Datton, sir."

"..."

"Sir?"

Kierger was completely frozen.

"Uh oh."

Kierger suddenly laughed. He fucking laughed.

Finally, after several seconds of laughing, he said one word.

"Shits..."

He fell to the floor, still in the MEH spacesuit.

"Did you say we're in the Datton?", said Redav shakily.

"Erm, yes, Mr. Redav."

Redav slapped his mask, and screamed.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

[Mayabird]

Mid January 3401

The Refuge, of course, was bound to send forces to the MEHwar. How many to send? That was the question.

The arguments could be summarized as follows, so as not to summon Swearing Node:
1) High end: MEH must be destroyed at all costs.
2) Low end: Everyone is joining in the war, even when it doesn't make sense. Apparently it is just the popular thing to do and everyone wanted to be popular. Not that we're complaining about that.
3) High end: the MEH still had a huge concentration of forces. See #1.
4) Low end: We're already overstretched here, and see #2. MEH will be destroyed and we should think about our future and the next threat. Technically, we can't afford to send anyone, so we should send as few as possible
5) High end: Those people don't know anything about combating theological threats.
6) Low end: We could just send advisers and a few specialized forces and ships who can handle that.
7) High end: Look how many forces everyone else is sending! We can't look small and weak compared to them! Not after all our efforts to bluff and lie and trick people into thinking we're more powerful than we actually are!
Low end: And everyone knows how very far we'll have to travel to get there. And get back.
9) High end: And those people also know how strongly we've been advocating war in the backrooms. All that, and then we only send a piddling token force?
10) Low end: Seriously, why not? We have our own problems here, and many problems at that. There could very well arise other major threats that need our attention. Umeria and the USS both seem to be heading towards very questionable experimentation, for instance.
11) High end: The MEH is a definite threat. It must be dealt with.
12) Low end: And it will be, but it doesn't have to be us who gets bled. Really, might be better for us if a lot of other people got mauled so even if they found out how behind we actually are, they'd still be weaker.
13) High end: Well, you eat baby pellets*!
14) Low end: Your clan taught you to eat baby pellets!
15) [Both sides engage in scuffle.]
16) Bloodymindedness Node: Kill kill kill! I also support the high end!

Having failed to keep away the Nodes, a compromise was eventually reached and a decision made; this is said in passive voice because it was a very unhappy compromise and no one wanted to actually claim it. It did lean more towards the higher end of the proposals because of an agreement made with the Inhumanist League through Fulcrum Dash the guy that Dash delegated responsibility to the guys who were delegated responsibility by the guy who was delegated by Dash.

The largest ships would have to go the very long way across the map of the known galaxy, of course, and so would the medium-sized warships and their immediate supply ships. However, the smallest ships, both war and logistical, could travel by warp gate instead. From Grand Junction to Bragule, and from Bragule to Chamarra, and then to rendezvous with the fleets engaging in wargames. Those ships need not be pulled away from their other duties so quickly nor waste ship supplies for the journey (though the energy costs were great).

And so, the Refuge was off to war.

* * *

Refuge MEHstomp armada:

1x $500 Ultraheavy
2x $350 Ultraheavy
All ultraheavies are built around a full-power, full-function Shear Cannon core. As the Refuge only has seven of these mobile, this is a huge investment. 1200 pts

$1000 cost – 4 million elites @ 20,000/$1 with x5 kit modifier
[they have their own troop carriers for the majority, but some are stationed on ships in case of boarding or whatnot]

2x $150 heavy carriers
4x $100 heavy carriers
4x $150 heavy warships
4x $100 heavy warships

8x $25 ultra-light scouts = $200
20x $50 light ships = $1000
16x $75 medium ships = $1200

[Half of these ships will go by warp gate through Bragule and then Chamarra to meet with the “wargames” fleets. They will be trickled through, 100-ish points at a time with a mixture of logistical factory ships and troop carriers, over the course of February and through mid March. The other half will go with the main armada, which leaves late January to arrive early-to-mid March. See this map for a rough idea.


Total cost: $6500, aka way more than the Refuge can actually afford.


*Baby Avians produce fecal sacs before fledging, which is the first stage of their two part equivalent of puberty. Colloquially they are called baby pellets. Naturally, this makes cleaning up after the chicks a much easier job than it could otherwise be (unless they are ill for whatever reason and thus can't form proper sacs), although it does add an extra level of awkwardness to fledging chicks, as if the bald spots and so on weren't bad enough.

Thus, “you eat baby pellets” is a pretty vile insult, basically saying the other eats baby feces and urine together since it's all mixed together in a nasty mess in the sac. Depending on tonal cues, there are four variations to the insult. The first set implies that it is just the one person who is either too stupid to know better or simply does it because he or she is disgusting. The second set implies that they do so because they were incorrectly taught to do so by their clan, again either because they are that stupid or disgusting. The second set is far nastier than the first and is very much a “you crossed the line” level of insult.

[Force Lord]

This news appeared a few days after the Shinran ultimatum to the MEH.

This is CNN! We bring you breaking news!

Dirad Kierger, President of the Centralist Party and Dictator of the Centrality, in a speech today announced that he is well, after a bout of Vinaran flu that incapacitated him for a short time. The Dictator says that he was cured of his condition a week ago and that he just finished recovering, adding that he was ready to reassume his duties as soon as possible.

"That Vinaran flu was tough, but we beat it with guile when we couldn't overpower it. I congratulate the doctors on their quick thinking," he was quoted as saying.

The Dictator revealed, however, several damning details, including a discreet attempt at diplomacy gone wrong.

"Vinarian flu can't be contracted by humans, so they analized the bacteria that attacked me in order to figure out what happened. It turned out I was the target of an assasination attempt."

The President soon revealed how he personally attended to the secret negotiations with the MEH, in an attempt to restrain the MEH's activities, condemned by the interstellar community.

"I warned the MEH's leader that if they continued their present actions, war would be the result. My words went unheeded. During the negotiations I was offered only a single drink. We believe that's where I got the altered Vinaran flu. So now we can add attempted assasination of a head of state to the MEH's list of crimes."

The Dictator has declared his full support of the Shinran ultimatum to the MEH, and that the Centrality will contribute "significant forces" for the Coalition against the MEH. He declared, however, that the Central State has to "take the initiative", announcing that war against the MEH has been declared.

"Therefore mobilization of all military assets is to be done immediately, and leave for military personnel is suspended. The decision for full mobilization will be reserved by me. I expect the Armed Forces to be fully ready by June, or earlier. The invasion of the MEH will wait until the Coalition is prepared. For now, light skirmishing with enemy units and raiding operations are the only missions allowed. We must not allow ourselves to be drawn into costly engagements."

"War has come, citizens. The call of duty beckons. Hail the State!"

[Zor]

Nova Atlantean Forces sent to the MEHstomp

In the Coming actions against the Meh, Nova Atlantis pledges the following forces to the cause.

Commonwealth Star Navy
*Two Atlantis Class Dreadnoughts (CNS Yamato, CNS New T'au) 1000 Points
*Four Nelson Class Battleships (CNS Togo, CNS Nimitz, CNS Triptiz, CNS Lepanto) 1200 Points
*Two Kusenagi Class Lance Cruisers (CNS Excalibur, CNS Orban) 300 Points
*Two Agaki class carriers (CNS Akagi, CNS Midway)
*Ten Godslayer class Destroyers 1,000 Points
*Fifteen Tercio class Lance Frigates 750 Points
*Fifteen Xiongnu class Missile Frigates 750 Points
(5300 points)

Commonwealth Army Peacekeeping forces
25 million Regular Forces (500 Points) Reflecting the Commonwealth's ethnic diversity
1,200,000 Posthuman Special Forces (120 points)

[KlavoHunter]

Wolf 359 System
Da Deff Starr
December 7, 3400


Shroombad beamed as he finished his masterpiece, letting go of da firing kontrolz for da Main Gun. "U SUKK" was now written akross the largest canvas he could find, one of the continents of the planet Coyote, easily millions of MEH citizens dying despite their shelters, billions of AI bots frying in the EMPs as the landmass was carved with radioactive slag, delivering wholesale at the Warboss' hand what each and every one of his Boyz were doing retail. It was just yet another provocation to the gathering MEH fleets spewing out of the system's Warp Gate as fast as they could cajole the overworked machine into another transition.

The whole of the Wolf 359 System was an Orkish playground, with so many things to break and steal! For the 125,000 MEH Marines and their woefully outmatched robotic backup across the five burning worlds, it was a nightmare come home to roost. A strangely exhilarating nightmare, for they were pumped up on their suits' full load of stim-drugs, and their handheld disruptor cannons were fully charged and obscenely powerful. But there were just so many Orks to kill! For each one they blasted, two more would sneak up behind you, and three from the front! The long-ago ancestors of the MEHMC would recognize the blasted futurescape as a familiar one, where the soft were culled and the hard survived soaked in blood. Such a brutal winnowing was busy on terras firmas.

The Battle of Wolf 359 may well be amongst the most well-watched events in history, as so many millions of kameras faithfully reported their viewpoints up to the very last second. The entirety of the Orkish Kore Worldz lay dormant, a miracle as not two Orks did fight, all spellbound by the glorious display of destruction, in lieu of any other broadcast by the obsolescent, disabled relay satellites. The broadcast was pirated and retransmitted to billions of humans and others as the sharpest-witted and nerdiest of young Shinrans, Klavostanis, and Chamarrans hacked and spread the live events around.

But for them, it was merely a spectator sport. For the Orkz, dis wuz truly a Kultural Renaissance! Da kreation of da Kouch Squigtato phenomona had kreated a demand for entertainment; and for da longest time dis wuz a wun-way broadcast, from da akkumulated violence of da galaxy to da Orkz! But with the MEH's cannonball-splash into the galaxy disrupting all those broadcasts, dey had to do fings fer demselves! Dey kalled upon da skillz of da DJz 'n da Mixmastaz of da Rokk Koncertz, and improvized Morkily in splicing together various footage uv da battle to kreate dey own artistikk interpretationz uv it! Live-streams on the very day uv da battle, and for months, years afterwards, still providing more than fertile fodder to whet the appetites of their audiences. While even this unheard-of total peace would only last for a day, no Ork would ever forget da WAAAAAGH! of Shroombad Mad Uruk Dakka!

Of course, not every spectator was doing so for pleasure. No less than an entire flotilla of 20 Klavostani Djinni stealthships had dared to enter the system at the edge of the hyper limit - having far too much on their plates already, the fatties failed to notice. It was a good, unfortunately rare thing to see the Orks attacking someone else, and watching the familiar Orks in battle against an unfamiliar navy was one way to get a feel for them without shedding one's own blood. Doubtlessly, others were attempting the same, certainly the Chamarrans, so they were wary, with reinforcements backing them up, wolfpacks hiding silent in black interstellar space but mere minutes' trip away by hyperdrive.

All this wanton destruction did little good for the munitions magazines of the Orks on the eve of another battle, much like what had laid low another mighty fleet not too long ago, but the spirit of the WAAAAAGH! would have a last defiant laugh in the face of logistics, despite the lack of any chance to truly re-victual. Kaptains beating dey 'ead Mekz over da 'ead an' yellin' at dem really loud to FIRE! would get one far, but only so far.

Strainedly heaving out the small, dense lump of the Density, the Warp Gate practically wheezed energy out spectrums it shouldn't've as its delicate internals protested at the sheer mass it had transited in such desperately short time. But the MEH's flagship had arrived, and now their revenge could begin. The amassed fleet moved out as one, growing in irresistible force like a rolling snowball becoming an avalanche. In response, the Ork warships collected again around da Deff Starr, reluctantly pulling away from kicking an enemy who was down, to face one who was still ready to fight.

While they had just won a mighty battle, and morale was high, the overall mood of da Orkish fleet held an undercurrent uv wavering. Some of da shiftiest and most ambitious Orks were eyeballing the soon-coming time of opportunities to show off their sneakiness! A mere five of da lesser Rokkz remained, bearing their scars with pride rather than being shattered spacedust like their less-fortunate fellows, and da many surviving ships attempted to hide behind them for a repeat of the first battle, crashing roughly against one another whilst jockeying for da best few remaining spots.

Warboss Shroombad Mad Uruk Dakka popped da knuckles of his big green mitts, and eyeballed dis new fleet uv fatty pizza-ships with suspicion. He hadn't quite had his fill of them yet, but it seemed like more than he could chew out there. But a WAAAGH! was a WAAAGH!, and dey were here fer a scrap, not ter run away from wun!

"Tell da Rokkz to launch dey fightaz now!" Shroombad bellowed into his kommunorkator, not loikin' da chances uv da Rokkz makin' it all da way. Da butchered survivorz uv da first fighta furball - only coming out barely on top uv da MEH fightaz wif da help uv some uv da smalla, runtier Korvettes bein' brought ter bear on da TOE fightaz 'n Big TOE bombaz - launched with a spectacle of engine exhaust, wild victory loops, and a few amazing krashes, and then burned their engines dey very 'ardest to keep up wif da rest uv da WAAAGH! Just in time, too, for the first of the MEH's long-range turbolaser fire was beginning to score hits...


Norkmandy

Dis wuz lookin' really really bad again. Warky fiddled wif da optikz uv wun of hiz kameraz, squintin' to take a really good look at all dem fatties. Dat wuz a LOT uv fatties! He didn't like da look uv dis wun, either. Warky roused two bloated, dozing Eater Squigs, their bodies distended with coal, with sudden savage yanks on their tails as he picked them both up, and hefted them both into the open boiler at once instead of just one. A squeal of pain and sizzling, porky flesh, and the steam rushed all the hotter and swifter through the guts of the Norkmandy. That ought to do 'er 'til Warky got back.

Stomping his way up to da bridge, Warky indulged in a few mean stares that sent smaller Orks into flurries of sudden double working-seemingness. It felt good to be a big Ork. He wuz gonna need dat konfidence if he wuz gonna pull dis wun off. Already, he kould hear da Norkmandy recklessly volleying off all the rest of da rokkitz he'd karefully screwed dem fiddly Klavo nosekapz onto, seeking glorious nuklear initiation at de end uv dey flight pathz. He didn't have much time to make dis kount!

"WAAAAAAAAAAAAGH! Fire erryfing! Full speed ahead! Prepare ter' ram 'n board 'em!" Kaptain Gatzgrub bellowed, dropping another empty kan uv da vile green drink on da floor, stomping it klean into da deckplates. Warky didn't loik da sound uv dat wun bit! Reachin' into his belt, he pulled out his personal Kustom Zappa, aimed it at the ceiling, and after letting it build up to an ominous whine, discharged a mighty bolt. It wuz loud enuff to distract Gatzgrub from his cheerful kommanding.

"BOSS! Gatzgrub, Boss! Ya'z gotz ta listen!" Warky yelled, and took in another deep breath of the foul air. "Ya'z got a dead killy ship 'n a dead 'ard krew uv Boyz! Look at da Warboss, yoo kould be jus' loik 'im in a kouple uv yearz, Warboss Gatzgrub, WAAAAAAAAGH! Gatzgrub! All we'z gotz ta do iz leg it outta dis battle!"

"WOT! You want me to run?!? ... ... ... WARBOSS Gatzgrub. Hmmmm, oi loik da sound'a dat..." da Kaptain pondered, while staring out at da many displayz dat showed da fantastic fireworks display outside, as both fleetz were holding back with nuffing now as dey klosed in on wun annuver. After a brief while it wuz klear dat Gatzgrub had lost his train uv thought.

"BOSS!"

"Wot? Oh, roight. WARBOSS Gatzgrub! Oi loik it! Let's do it!" da Kaptain decided. Warky clenched a fist victoriously, and went over to the helmsork, flippin' a cover(!) off of a big green button as da helmsork veered da Norkmandy to one side through the ferocious fusillade between fleets, angling towards da edge uv da fatty fleet, instead of tryin' to punch through da well-blubbered center. Warky looked back.

"Boss, I had to put da rest uv da 'OOMIETHIRST in da gas tank." Den Warky smacked da button.

"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!" Gatzgrub roared in despair at the loss uv his precious drink, and alarm at the PREPOSTEROUS acceleration that pressed everyork back into dey seatz!


Da Deff Starr

These weren't the only Orks who found their sense of cowardice at just the right moment - For how else would an Ork survive to become so big, bad, green and kunning? Yes, even Shroombad Mad Uruk Dakka knew when was a good time to leg it from a fight - after all, he kouldn't be Warboss today if he'd stuck around dat day when a krew of mega-armored, burna-wieldin Firebat Nobz had decided dey wanted to kill 'im dead in da middle uv an ammo dump! Da Deff Starr's main gun discharged ferociously again, howling like all the demons of hell against the shields of a charging MEH Vindicator cruiser, forcing it to break off its attack run with burnthroughs marring its paint, provoking a great cheer from the surviving Orks on da bridge. Getting up from his kommand chair, Shroombad stepped over a korpse, dead from an explodin' konsole. He dug around in wun uv his pokkitz until he felt a puny little jingliness in his big green fist. He tapped da biggest uvver Ork on da shoulder, tapped, not beat. Zedd da Ork turned 'is 'ead.

"Yea, Boss?" Shroombad turned his hand over, and opened his fingers, letting the keys fall into Zedd's palm, the smaller Ork blinking incomprehendingly for a moment.

"Da Deff Starr iz all yerz, Kaptain Zedd." Da kameras kaught erry moment it took for dis to sink into Zedd's 'ead, and by the time Shroombad was stomping off deeper into da Deff Starr, Zedd let out a mighty WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH! and immediately set about bashing his boyz to greater efforts, fighting the mighty ship as she was pounded mercilessly with intense turbolaser fire that it certainly couldn't dodge.

It was terribly loud and smokey in the literal cavern that was Main Engineering, and Shroombad was unpleasantly covered in easily a dozen different unpleasnant substances and residues, but he would not be deterred from his objective. Where the crackling arcs of electricity and noise were most deadly and deafening, there Orkenhamma was, indulging in mad, scientific laughter as da Main Gun fired again to great pyrotechnic fanfare. Every hair on Shroombad's body stood on end as he grabbed Orkenhamma by da shoulda with one arm, the other warding off a reflexive defensive blow by one of da Mek's Mekanikill arms.

"Yer comin' with me, ya git!" Shroombad roared, roughly pulling on Orkenhamma. When da Mek turned around, he launched an attack with all four arms at Shroombad, but da Warboss wuz uv kourse as 'ard as dey kome, and quickly showed da uvver Ork how you REALLY go about thumpin' someork.

"No! Dat's not fair! OI've got to go down wif me ship!" da derenged Mek kried out, clinging to a large lever, but dis wuz a futile effort, for da Warboss pulled 'ARDER and began to drag the defeated Orkenhamma along behind 'im, despite erry act uv resistance da Mek attempted. He helplessly raged as his other dream died - not to duel his big beam against da biggest Klavostani kannon, and now to not die in battle at da heart uv his greatest kreashun!

"Nowz yoo listen good," Shroombad grunted as he hefted Orkehamma partway over a structural member in the deckplates, delivering a tremendously painful konk on da 'ead. "I'z still da Warboss uv dis WAAAGH!, an' I needz me da best Mek I kan getz, 'n dat's yoo!" Gripping Orkenhamma by da kollar uv his armor, he then threw him forward, to land with a thud, staring up at their escape vehicle in disbelief. He got a boot in da ass when he didn't hurry up enuff to his boss's liking.

"But boss! Dat's a Garg!"

"I know it iz, ya git, git in dere 'n fire 'er up." Shroombad shoved Orkenhamma ahead, and klimbed up towards da big scary horned, tusked Gork-'ead kockpit. He did not like the sounds of the battle shuddering through da Deff Starr after so long away from da bridge, and took dis as enkouragement to klimb fasta. Settling into da komfy seat of his massive Boss Gargant, Shroombad wuz filling his lungs to yell loudly, but den de Garg kame to life with a dreadful cacophony in its bowels. Dere wuz a loud klang as an enormous girder ominously shook loose from da ceiling and banged harmlessly across da Garg's stupendously thick armor. It was time to leave. Pounding a big green fist on da big red button, reality shrieked in protest as da Kustom Tellyporta fitted to da Boss Garg whined and crackled...

"'ERE WE GO!" And with a fantastic bang of light, Warboss Shroombad Mad Uruk Dakka did escape da death throes of da Deff Starr to continue leading his WAAAAAAGH! for the following messy months of the ground campaigns that the MEH Marine Corps was not fully prepared to handle.