SDNW4 Story Thread 2

[Shroom Man 777]

Greater Kubynka Metro Station
Bragule



The metro station was always alive at this time of day. It was the inter-shift, the rush hour when workers finished with their daily toils left the factories and headed home, and when the next shift of workers came to replace them. Thousands moved to and fro through Kubynka Station, half of them relieved to be done with work and savoring the free air, while the other half readied themselves for another day’s work for another day’s pay. Distant factory whistles could be heard blowing, signalling the coming shift.

Artym Grenadyi was one of those heading out from the factories. He made his way through to the metro station, looking for his train, eager to go home to his family. He placed his paw in his pocket, feeling the precious package he had with him. Its weight reassured him, he had gone through great lengths to acquire it and there was no way he’d accidentally lose it here or have some thieving pickpocket take it away from him. He held on to it as he moved through the crowds of his fellow homebound blue-collar Bragulans.

A paw grabbed his shoulder.

“Artym!” it was the voice of one of his co-workers, Maksym. Artym turned to face him and ask him what he wanted now. “I know you have something very special with you, Artym. Where did you get it from, comrade?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Artym replied. He saw his train arrive, so he brushed Maksym off and went towards it. “I have to go, Maks. I’ll be late.”

“Hey, at least give me some, comrade!” Maksym shouted after him. He tried to follow, but the crowds of disembarking passengers blocked his way. “I want some too! Artym! Come on!”

Artym hurried into the train, squeezing between other people when he had to. Finally, he made it in and the armored doors sealed shut behind him as the braglev began moving. He sighed in relief and leaned on the bragcrete backrest, he looked out of the window and saw the Bragulan sunset. The particulates from the smokestacks and bomb factories refracted the sunlight, making the armorcrys windows glitter and giving the clouds of soot a breathtaking purple tinge. Artym finally got to rest after a day’s work. He opened his lunchbox and nibbled on the sandwich his wife made him. He had skipped his lunch break to get the package that was now in his pocket. It was time to bring it home.

He arrived home earlier than usual, skipping his routine visit to the cantina, because this was important. He nuzzled his wife’s snout and went over to his son.

“Papa! Papa!” Arkydi rushed up to him and Artym scooped him up and embraced him in a bear hug. “Welcome home!”

“My little son!” Artym laughed, and then stopped when he started feeling Arkydi’s weight on his arms. “My, you are so big and heavy!”

He placed Arkydi down and patted him in the head. Then Artym reached his paw inside his pocket and pulled the package out. It was wrapped in colorful paper and had an unusual smell to it.

“Happy birthday!”

“Oooh! What is it?” Arkydi immediately set about tearing the wrapper off with his tiny claws. Underneath was a wooden box, which he opened. His eyes widened at what he saw and he squealed in delight. “Fresh berries!” he placed some in his mouth. “Mmm... delicious! Thank you, Papa!”

Together they celebrated Arkydi’s birthday along with their friends and neighbors. They lived in a little apartment and the tenants shared the dining area and sometimes had sit down meals together. They had trout for dinner, and blew a small cake for Arkydi. The berries were for dessert.

Suddenly, the door opened and another neighbor walked in. It was Maksym. He had missed the first train and had to wait for an hour to catch the second one. He came to the source of commotion in the dining room and saw Artym.

“Maks.” Artym waved for him to come over. “Come, join us.”

Then little Arkydi walked over to him, holding a plate in his hands. He looked up at Maksym and offered it to him.

“Uncle Maksym, Papa got me fresh berries for my birthday. There are some left. Would you want to try some?”

Maksym took the plate and forked a berry in his mouth. He chewed it slowly before swallowing it. Then he smiled.

“Mmm... delicious. Thank you, Arkydi.” Maksym ate some more of the delicious berries and patted the child on the head. “Happy birthday, little one.”

He went and sat down with Artym. After a hard day’s work they ate trout together while the little ones played Find The Apexai.

[White Haven]

HMS Negotiable Anger, Athena-class Fast Carrier

Patrol Task Force Charlie
Gabriel Sector (V-20)

"Day thirty-three on border patrol out of Fleet Base Michael. One truly unlucky raider mistook the task force for a lone tramp freighter today. I think that one qualifies as a mercy killing. Er...ah, hell, I'll edit that out before I submit the log. No probable smugglers today; I think word's gotten out that we're patrolling this stretch of border. I've detached a strike wing to make it look like we're still here while the TF moves further along the border towards the neutral corridor. With any luck, we'll catch someone trying to slide around where they think we are. Ah...anything else I need to add? Naah. I'll edit--Lieutenant Ramirez, what is it? Bugger, computer, erase log."

Midway through sealing his uniform jacket up, a figure with short-cropped sandy hair and a flag officer's collar tabs stepped out of his office and onto the bridge of the Negotiable Anger along with an even younger-looking lieutenant. Without preamble, his voice snaps out, insistent but not harsh, "Talk to me."

"Possible contact out in the shoals. We didn't even get it, Comet relayed it. We've got as many estimates as to what's out there as we've people who've taken a look at the reads, so no real idea what it is without sending in some eyes." The watch officer gives a minute shrug, gesturing towards the holotank in the middle of the bridge and the hazy blob deep inside the shoals there.

"Well...whatever it is..." arms folded across his chest as Victor paused in thought for a moment, "We need to know more. Send...Oracle and Prophecy in, along with Hyperion's 2nd and 3rd strike wings, they've got the most recent hyperdrive refits for shoal duty. Bloody shoal duty, I wish I didn't need to know that. Uh...nobody heard that."

A quiet round of snorts rustled through the bridge even as the orders began to go out.

The task force lurked in normal space far from any star, hiding from long-ranged sensors as best it could. Gunships began to billow from one of largest ships, two full 40-craft wings forming up alongside a pair of destroyers before streaking away towards the nearby shoals.

[Tag! Nothing specific in mind, if anyone has stuff in the shoal region there, feel free to run with it.]

[Zor]

Darwinia System

A cargo ship docked at port under escort by a couple of Bullshark Gunships. Shortly afterwards the craft was unloaded of its cargo, thousands of Tau and a smattering of others were unloaded under guard of men in black armor. It was quiet and orderly as they were unloaded. These were the Terrorists responsible for the recent incident in the outlands. Their was a recent tip off that led them to them and the UWC managed to get most of them, with what few that got away were of little consequence. What equipment they had was either destroyed or captured for study. Soon they would be processed, tried and reprogrammed.

Centrist Base, Outlander commissions

Beneith a Labyrinth of twisted girders, pannels and ceramic it lay. What was once an Arcology was now just so much rubbish that no-one bothered to clear away. The only thing of note that remained was it's sub-basements and sewers. Tens of thousands of people need a lot of water and produce a lot of shit, as such massive pipes lay beneith it. These were quite durable and had been adapted by the Local Centrist forces to serve as a Bunker. There ammunition was being gathered for a planned attack. To the east and South were Byzantine Sympathetic cities and to the north were communards. Centralism had gradually declined on this world for some time and the leadership was getting desperate. Fortunately a recent godsend had arrived in the nanoweapons. Releasing them on the Byzantines and the Communards could be the key to securing victory. The Outbreaks in Byzantine territory were contained early on with all the transformees killed and deceminators destroyed within 48 hours, but this did not make them immune. Its application against the Byzantines would cause them to turn on themselves and against the Communards it would prevoke a minor crusade to "Cure" the outbreak by the Byzantines. In the chaos it would be possible to regain lost ground. Large amounts of nanites and deceminator drones had been gathered here from around the sector to hit them as hard as possible.

But despite their best effort, word got to the communards who decided to make their move. This move was acheived not by some great champion, but by a team with the most dangerous bits handled by quiet unassuming but never the less quite devious little old lady named Doris who got a job as a janitor. She managed to arange that a Blue Bragcock was smuggled into the facility when no one was looking and left in a crawl space. The next day Doris did not come to work but was leaving. As the facility went up in a mushroom cloud she was several dozen kilometers away humming the Internationale with a heartwarming smile on her old face.

[Mayabird]

Somewhere in the former Outlander Commissions


Shortly thereafter, the Modular's superiors would be commenting to themselves how very convenient it was that these Atlanteans just so happened to find these "Tau terrorists" right after the Refuge called out Nova Atlantis on their despicable (and stupid) behavior. In fact, they found them very quickly indeed, able to round them up in short order, as if they already knew where all the "Tau terrorists" happened to be. It was also quite convenient that those secret Nova Atlantean forces just so happened to be very, very close by so that they could sweep in and grab all those "Tau terrorists" within days of the communiques, despite not having any real native interest in the anarchic failed state, such as trade or being nearby. What were they even doing there, so far from home, weeks away from resupply?

No one was fooled. Certainly, hostilities would be averted, and hopefully the Outlands would settle down a little bit after this latest flareup, but the Nova Atlanteans could not be trusted. They couldn't even be trusted in the way that a rational, intelligent, just plain evil state could be trusted, to not do something idiotic because that would not be in their best interests.

But that would be very slightly in the future. At the moment, the Modular watched the proceedings, completely unobserved.

Can you spot the ninja?

[Fingolfin_Noldor]

Aray
Written with Mayabird, with some bits from Shroom

Refugee warships surveyed the damage. What had once been a vibrant world, first the capital of the Arayna Republic, and then the primary base of Centralism in the Outlands, had been left a husk of rock. It still held an atmosphere and some drying seas, but without a biosphere to maintain it, those would blow away soon. Not that anyone would want to walk on the world again without melting off the rock first to be absolutely sure.

An unidentified vessel entered the system.

“This is the Gold-green Sub-Fleet of the Refuge,” the command ship transmitted. “Please identify yourself.”

The Rogue Trader returned the hail, “Hello there, I’m just a Rogue Trader delivering my goods. Something just happened here, per chance?”

In general, the Refugee navy bristled at such casualness, but even they had heard of the reputations of Rogue Traders. Their ships were quite distinctive as well, and this one gave every sign of being exactly what it claimed to be.

They responded, “Karlacks. A swarm suddenly appeared, overwhelmed the planet, ate, and left.” Then they transmitted over some long-range scans which showed signatures of an incredible fleet approaching the doomed world. “Aside from a few escapees, there appear to be no survivors. We are trying to see if we can learn anything about the Swarm’s capabilities and also if they left any surprises.”

“Karlacks? Why oh why would they come here sectors away from Karlack space?”

“We have a... hypothesis on that.”

There was a chuckle. “It won’t have to do with perhaps some strong psionic signatures would it?”

A moment later, one of the Refugee ships, distinguished by an elaborate yellow-and-red hashing on its major hull, fired briefly at the ruined surface and then observed the cloud of pulverised stone that rose. Meanwhile, there was a very short exchange between the Contact personnel.

The Refugee continued, apparently unfluttered, “We have heard that the Karlacks employ traps and will bury themselves or their spores for long periods to emerge at an opportune moment. We have also heard that Rogue Traders such as yourself often carry valuable information as well as cargo. Would you possibly be interested in some transactions? If so, how would you like to meet?”

“Why of course my dear. I would be delighted in such a meeting. Of course, it wouldn’t be the first time someone tried to use a psychic screamer to lure Karlacks in... why I believe the Imperial Inquisition and the IBGV have done it before...” There was a very audible chuckle on the speaker.

“What would be the most comfortable for you? We could send a shuttle to meet one of yours in the middle, if you would prefer. We would also be amendable to other arrangements.”

“No no, I will come down myself. See you there in a while.”

With that, a small beaten down shuttle made its way purposefully towards the Refuge warship. It landed on the hanger, and the shuttle door opened. A lone woman donning a set of powered armor, walked off her shuttle and walked towards the waiting Refugees. Heavy metal steps echoed throughout the cavernous hanger. She smiled and announced herself with authority, “I am Inquisitor Ember Veil, of the Holy Inquisition of the God Emperor of Man. I am of the Ordos Diplomatica, empowered by the God Emperor to make contact with other nations, to establish diplomatic ties, and to negotiate on His Behalf.”

There was a small sign of some surprise at her announcement among the small assemblage of Refugees. An Aggregate’s bodies briefly flashed different colors before turning back, and the Avians’ feathers were ruffled a bit. Still, without delay, one of the figures stepped forward and made a small bow with her wings.

“I am (Whistle)-Jikathreep of the Contact and Diplomacy Division of the Refuge, the highest ranking member of our organization on assignment here, but if my personal name is too complex, my official designation could be translated as...’Coincidental Binary’ sounds terrible... let us say ‘Twin Suns.’”

“Why hello there, sunshine,” smiled Ember Veil and bowed. She was trying to sound friendly, yet not so friendly that it would be demeaning to the Refugees. “I see here that you people have been rather busy of late. But perhaps we should continue this chit chat some place … more appropriate for the business of state?”

Twin Suns nodded, or rather, bobbed. “We have prepared a meeting room where we may be more comfortable and have some privacy, though I fear it will not be quite as elegant or befitting of this moment as it deserves. I hope you are not be offended.”

“It will do, my dear. It will do. This is rather impromptu after all. A mere product of some curiosity and convenience.”

“Wonderful. Lady Inquisitor, if you do not mind following, I will lead you to our meeting room.”

Ember nodded, and followed Twin Suns to the meeting room in question. It was a stark room, possibly a repurposed storage room from the scuff marks around, and decorated only by chairs around a plainish table. The two sat down on opposite ends. A drone entered, carrying a tray with some glasses of different colored liquids.

“We have some refreshments for you, if you like,” said Twin Suns. “Some different beverages that are human-edible, and the blue cup has plain water. You may test them for safety if you wish, since you have no reason to trust us yet.”

“Well, it serves us you no purpose to poison me, since after all, my death will have repercussions,” smiled Ember, who took a sip of the water without bothering to test it for poisons. The water was tasteless, but it was fine.

“Indeed,” said Twin Suns, who was impressed. She let the inquisitor set down the cup before continuing, “If you do not mind my asking so soon, what brought you to this system, and under the guise of a Rogue Trader?”

Ember smiled and replied, “Let me hazard a guess. Someone, perhaps you, or perhaps the Bears, since the latter have an interest here, and are known for using psychic screamers of sorts, planted those here for the purpose of luring the Karlacks here to... clean house? Not that we are protesting or anything. The Centralists have been rather disruptive of late, and we the Inquisition wouldn’t even bat an eyelid if a whole lot of them become Karlack food. We have even considered the same thing really.”

“Psychic screamers? A psi-emitter would be a stronger attractant than simply a large number of espers, as we had been hypothesizing. We had been monitoring the Centralist situation and noted that they had pulled back their forces just before the Karlack attack. There had been many rumors of brainwashing along with speculation as to how the Centralists gained so much power so quickly. Some had suggested that, in a way, they brought this upon themselves.”

Ember chuckled some. “My ship was on the edge of the system when the feeding happened, and the psionic signature was too artificial to have an organic source.” She took up another drink and sipped it.

“So there was a psi-emitter,” said Twin Suns, honestly surprised. Her feathers ruffled again. “This wasn’t an accident or mere ‘unfortunate incident.’”

Ember laughed. “There are quite a few parties who would love to see the Centralists dealt with. Much as I would like to lay claim to this dastard action, but I can’t. The Inquisition was laying down the ground work needed to send the Karlacks streaming here but well, someone else beat us to it.”

“Yes. Aside from you, there are the Bragulans, and the Communards, Hiigarans possibly but they are a bit more distant, native Outlander groups, those corporations, and of course, us. Those would be the most major groups.”

Ember shook her head. “Such actions are typically those of a major state. Communards, definitely not. The Hiigarans do not have the … necessary constitution to commit an atrocity, that leaves the Bragulans, and maybe you.”

Twin Suns was very uncomfortable with this thought. The Bragulans were being made up into allies-of-sorts in the Refuge, and as annoying as the Centralists were, employing organic replicators was extreme. The Refuge would be feeding them. She shifted slightly, something that many would not have noticed, but Ember had received a thorough education in the skills of observation. “Do you have any hard data for your assertion, something more than your say? Something I could present to my superiors?”

“I have the sensor data on my ship. I could present them to you,” Ember smiled. Clearly if the Refuge did it, this diplomat was not in the knowing. If the Refuge did not do it, then that leaves the Bragulans. The Bears were known for using their “allies” when they wanted to some plausible deniability. The same would apply to the Inquisition, especially considering the current stretched state of the Imperial military. Much as it would lead to the growth in Karlack numbers, Karlack numbers were already so large that an increase of 1% would make no significant difference.

“That...would be greatly appreciated,” said Twin Suns. “And now, what of the remains of Aray below?”

“The Karlacks? Well, one might as well write off this planet, my dear. There’s nothing you can do, short of a thorough orbital bombardment. There is a reason why the Imperium bombards a planet till the crust has cracked and molten, however most nations regard it as barbaric. Karlacks dig deep. So deep, that not even a standard bombardment will do. Cyclonic warheads, warp cannon bombardment are necessary to ensure a planet is thoroughly purged. Otherwise, this world would simply be just one more Karlack breeding ground.”

“There is no alternative? Seeding the world with vegemite, ripping it apart for mining, nothing?”

“That would depend on how friendly you are with them. Last I checked, the Karlacks have some use for processed Vegemite, courtesy of the Bragulans. The Karlacks are incredibly resilient against most known environmental hazards, and incredibly adaptable. Perhaps you should talk to the Bragulans about making peace with them.” Ember gave Twin Suns a wry smile.

“Such a waste...but I suppose it cannot be helped.”

“Indeed, as the Imperium learnt during its decades long war with them. The Korpulu Zone is littered with planets which had to be subjected to brutal exterminatus to get rid of these pesky pests.”

Twin Suns considered it for a moment. “I do not have authorization to call in a sufficiently-large fleet for such an undertaking, and those who do will ask for documentation and evidence as to why.”

“Whichever would suit your purposes.” Privately, Ember knew that whoever led the xenos here might have already negotiated with the Karlacks to leave soon after. But she said nothing of it.

“I do believe in fair trades, though, so I will not ask for you to simply hand over more data, as you have already been more than generous. We do have a significant amount of data on the happenings in the Outlands, much of which could be of interest to the Imperium. I do not have much to offer at the moment (and I again would not have authorization), so I believe that further meetings should be in order.”

Ember chuckled, “Oh indeed. But perhaps we have immediate common interests. I believe you have heard of the... recent ruckus the Nova Atlanteans have caused here with their nanoweapons.”

“I have heard something, yes, but I have nothing at the moment. I will have something to provide for our next meeting, however. When and where would you like to meet?”

“I will be hovering in the sector for the next few weeks. Just give me a call,” she passed a small datachip containing the necessary contact information.

“Very good, very good,” said Twin Suns, as she inspected the chip idly, apparently lost in thought. “But one question first, Lady Inquisitor. Your Imperium is well known for its hatred of ‘xenos’ such as myself.” She fluffed her feathers to punctuate her point. “How do you stand dealing with us?”

Ember straightened, and looked at Twin Suns in the eye. “The Imperium is xenophobic, and quite simply genocidal. But if it went to war with every xeno species, and given the.. softer disposition of some human empires towards xenos, there would be no Imperium left at the end of it. As it is, some already disagreed with the murderous extent of the Great Crusade, despite how dire the war was and how many tens of billions of lives lost. Apparently, so many lives have been lost that even sheer size of the figure does not ring anything in these soft minded fools. As such, regardless of our personal preferences, the Inquisition has need of people who are open minded enough to pursue diplomatic relations and negotiations with xenos. The Inquisition is the silent shield of the Imperium, and its members must do whatever it takes to ensure the safety of the Imperium and to pursue the God Emperor’s agenda. So regardless of my personal preferences, if there’s need to discuss matters with a xeno, I would do it.”

“Then I look forward to many more productive meetings,” said Twin Suns.

“Indeed,” Ember smiled, and she finished drinking her drink.

[Mayabird]

Gvysygkyovich, narration voice: “Previously, on Animal House!”

Reggie the Refugee (fluttering around and knocking everything down, as Kupo tries not to get hit by the falling objects): “She wants to go on a date! With me! ME!”

Gvysygkyovich the Bragulan (more enraged than usual and covered with cheap beer and salsa): “Fratties! Decadent bourgeois! I vill CRUSH zem! Crush zem like a bug!”

Gvysygkyovich, narration voice: “And now, ze conclusion!”


[OPENING CREDITS: the trippy psychedelic one where all the characters are dancing.]


[Act 1]

[Scene: a pretty typical day at the DORM. A few students, dormmates and others, are hanging around. SHELLEY the AMPLITUR physically pulls the front door open with her claws and staggers in, on her legs.]

[She is making little groaning, whiny sounds as she slowly clatters along sideways. DORIAN the APEXAI notices.]

Dorian (adjusting his huge HUEG brand glasses and sticking some electronic device he’d been fiddling with in his shirt pocket, which covers the entire front of his shirt): “Hey Shelley, what’s the matter?” [He snort-honks as he laughs and continues sarcastically.] “Did you get in a fight with the Shepistanis?”

[Shocked “oooooh” track]

[Shelley’s eyestalks look at Dorian and the air starts to ripple like she’s preparing a psychic attack. Dorian trembles and holds up his shirt pocket in front of his face to guard it while whimpering. Shelley stops, either from tiredness or from not caring enough, and keeps going down the hall. Dorian gets back up.]

Dorian: “And the Grand Dominion!”

[Shelley stops, then rapidly scuttles back to Dorian and pinches him with her claws.]

Dorian: “AAAAGH!” [Laugh track as Shelley clatters back away. She passes by REGGIE the REFUGEE as he descends the central staircase, all dressed up and carrying flowers.]

Reggie (giddy): “I’ve never been on a date before! I’m so excited! Do I look good? Are these flowers nice? Kupo grew them herself! Wow! This’ll be so great! I can’t wait! Yowsa! Whoopie!” [Reggie dances around gibbering nonstop about his date, not noticing GVYSYGKYOVICH the BRAGULAN descending the stairs behind him. Gvysygkyovich is wearing a white T-shirt, something very unlike himself, and is muttering to himself.]

Gvysygkyovich: “Da, I vill hit zem vere it HURTS!” [Reggie nearly runs into him.] “Comrade Birdie, vy you so happiez?”

Reggie: “I’m going on a da-a-a-te!”

Gvysygkyovich: “Da? Zere are ozer birdie ladies about?”

Reggie: “No, she’s human...” [He suddenly realizes who he just told this to and his feathers all ruffle under his dress suit. Laugh track.] “Sorry gotta go I’ll be late bye!” [He runs out the door. Chuckle track.]

Gvysygkyovich (in a voice that’s suddenly gotten a lot deeper, which is actor Pokhy’s usually voice): “Bah, kids zese days.” [Cheer track with whistles as he grumbles out the door.]

[There is a pause to let the track die down, and then the pattering of tiny feet is heard. KUPO the MOOGLE runs into the room, pom-pom waving wildly.]

Kupo: “Someone stole my flowers, kupo!” [Laugh track.]


[Cut to: Conference/Study Room 1. Shelley has entered and climbs up on a chair to flop over on a table, groaning. There is a squeak of turning wheels, and YAMON the ZIGONIAN appears, pushing his cart of drug paraphernalia. Applause track!]

Yamon: “Shelley, mon, how’s you, ya? You no look good, mon!” [Shelley groans.] “Anything the Yamon can do?” [Shelley shakes her eyestalks.] “Well, if you think of anything, the Yamon will provide! You just yell if you need anything, mon! The Yamon will be in the kitchen. Space Pope bless you, mon!” [Awwwww track. Yamon pushes his cart off screen.]

[The camera watches Shelley, who lies there, perfectly still. It stays just long enough that it starts to be funny, and then the shell cracks open. In a swift crunchy crumble, Shelley emerges from her old shell.]

Shelley: “Finally! I thought this molt would take forever!” [Then her eyestalks look directly at the camera, and she covers her body with her claws, as if hiding her nakedness, then she scuttles sideways off screen. Cheer track.]

[End Act 1]

* * *

[Act 2]

[Open on a closeup of an entranceway to a quaint little house. A wing pushes the buzzer and the door opens.]

[Scene: This.]


[Cut to: outside the FRAT HOUSE of Gvysygkyovich’s greatest rivals. He is creeping along the wall, listening in.]

Gvysygkyovich: “Ze fratties vill not see zis coming!”

[Pan inside through the wall, showing the frat boys on a couch, talking.]

[Scene: This.]


[Cut to: Yamon in the kitchen. He has what looks like his usual drug lab set up. A bubbling vial is under a ventilator, tubes full of fluid run everywhere, etc. The rehydrator says “Ding,” and Yamon opens it, pulling out a small tray with little pastries on it.]

Yamon: “Springy tarts! Ya, just the thing for a crabby feeling down!” [He picks up on tart and drops it back on the tray, watching the perfect bounce. He looks immeasurably pleased with himself and carries the tray off-screen.]

[Yamon heads back to Shelley, not realizing it’s only her cast-off shell. He hums a happy hymn as he sets the tray down beside her.]

Yamon: “Shelley, mon! I made springy tarts!” [He waits for a response but gets none.] “Shelley?” [Laugh track as he pokes the shell, then pushes on it.] “Shelley, you good, mon?” [In horror he lifts up the entire shell. It just hangs there from his claws. Yamon shakes the molt.]

Yamon: “Shelley! Shelley, wake up, mon!" [Hyena laughs]

[He runs over to his drug lab and grabs the bubbling vial, then runs back.]

Yamon: “Don't worry, mon! This should do the trick!”

[He waves the vial under the shell's gill-slits, to no effect. Yamon sniffs it to make sure it's working and immediately faints. Cheer track]

[Closeup on the vial as it falls out of his claws onto the floor, with whatever is in it flowing out and visibly fuming.]

[SORELAG the KARLACK enters.]

Sorelag: “What's all this noi-AHA! I got you now, Shelley!” [He rushes over and grabs the discarted shell, crunching it down. He notices something off and examines the shell while he starts to sway back and forth.]

Sorelag: “Sumfins...funny...'bout...[Sorelag falls over from the fumes. Hyena laughs.]


[Cut back to the frat house.]
[Scene: This.]


[Cut back to the dorm.]

[A sound of a door sliding opening. HANK the PHOSAKO enters. He examines the scene. Yamon, Sorelag, and now a few others are sprawled out on the floor, with Sorelag still slumped over the remains of Shelley’s molt.]

Hank (in a lecturing tone): "See? This is what happens when you people don't clean up your messes!"

[Hank sniffs, and then falls over with a loud crash as he is overcome by the fumes too. Laugh track.]

Shelley (voice heard off-screen): “Ah, nothing like a hot shower right after a molt.” [The door opens, and the camera swings around to show her staring through the doorway, floating, wearing a bright yellow towel wrapped on her head shell behind the eyes and another bright yellow towel wrapped around her waist crab legs.] “Umm. Yeah...” [She floats back away from the door and it swings itself shut to hyena laughs.]

[End Act 2]

* * * *

[Act 3]

[Cut to: a nice but not excessively fancy restaurant. Reggie and his date are at a small table.]
[Scene: This.]


[Cut back to the frat house.]
[Scene: This, and then This!]


[Cut back to the dorm.]
[The study room is now filled with the sprawled forms of most of the cast. CANDY the CHAMARRAN is in a particularly provocative pose.]

[Cut to: the entrance hall of the dorm. SHELLEY levitates there, apparently meditating, but mostly in shock, hoping she doesn’t get blamed. REGGIE the REFUGEE returns from his disastrous dinner date. He is clearly despondent.]

Reggie (in a monotone drone): “Hi Shelley how are you I’m fine the date was fine leave me alo-” [He is startled by a loud thump that echoes through the dorm.] “It’s kinda quiet in here. Uhh...Shelley...”

Shelley: “I DIDN’T DO IT!” [She falls down. Laugh track.] “I SWEAR I DIDN’T DO IT THIS TIME!”
[She pulls out a pack of cigarettes from...wherever it is that she keeps cigarettes... and a lighter and tries to ignite one, but fails out of her nervousness. Laugh track.]

Reggie: “What did you do?”

Shelley: “I DIDN’T!”

Reggie: “Did you kill everybody? Did you psychically kill everybody in the dorm?”

Shelley: “NO!”

Reggie (melodramatically): “Everyone’s dead! You killed them! How could you? What will we do now?” [He pauses.]

[Hyena laugh track as Reggie runs up the stairs and enters someone else’s room.]

Shelley: “That’s it! I’m not getting blamed for something I didn’t do!” [OVERLY-DRAMATIC MUSIC plays as she lights a cigarette.]

[Her eyes start glowing blue as she takes a puff, and then she levitates up and floats to the study room, music still blaring (over the laugh track). The door slides open.]

Shelley (in echoey psychic-speech voice): “It must be the fumes! I must clear the air! Then no one will blame me!” [With eyestalks still psychically aglow, she opens all the doors and windows to the room, turns Yamon’s ventilator up to full blast, and forms a vortex of air around herself as she floats in, blowing out the bad air and bringing in fresh. The dramatic music finally dies down and she finishes her cleaning.]

Shelley (echoey psychic-speech voice): “There! See? I didn’t do it!” [Laugh track. She floats out of the room.]

[A moment later, Reggie enters the room, carrying a large wad of Candy’s jewelry and expensive clothes.]

Reggie: “Didn’t do what?” [Laugh track. He sees everyone lying on the floor unconscious. Reggie drops the pile of items by Hank while he inspects him, then leaves it there as he looks around at the other people.]

Reggie: “Hmm...” [He starts rearranging people in compromising positions. Chuckle track as he does so. Kupo’s pom-pom is by Sorelag’s jaws, both of SLIPPY the RANOIDIAN’s webbed hands are placed on the backsides of others, and so forth. He giggles very childishly as he does this.]

Yamon (groggily): “Uurrrgh...”

[Reggie is startled, and when he sees other people starting to stir, immediately runs out the door. Everyone starts to move around, groaning generic “what happened” and “where am I”s until Kupo notices Sorelag apparently about to eat her pom-pom.]

Kupo: “EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!” [She kicks Sorelag in the face. Hyena laughs.]

[Candy sees her clothes and jewelry by Hank’s side.]

Candy: “I can’t believe you, you, thief!” [She runs over and starts kicking him.]

Hank: “Ouch! Please, I would never - ow! I do not - ouch!” [Hyena laughs.]

[A general ruckus begins.]

[Cut to: the entrance hall. Gvysygkyovich returns.]

Gvysygkyovich: “My greatest weakness! How did-” [He looks around as he hears the commotion, which now includes furniture breaking and Slippy being thrown through a wall.] “There iz fight? And no one waited for Gvysygkyovich?” [He pulls out his Bragulan beating stick from...wherever it is that he keeps his stick.] “Beatings for all! Grrraaaaaah!” [He rushes up the stairs, roaring, and adding to the general chaos, as the cheer track plays in the background.]

[End Act 3]

[Roll end credits.]

Gvysygkyovich, narration voice: “Next time, on Animal House!”

Candy the Chamarran is prancing about in a light sun dress. Elsewhere, a stiff wind blows through the university’s trees and blows off hats and other light items. It blows toward Candy, who looks on in horror and prepares to futilely try to hold down her dress.

The End!

[Kartr_Kana]

General Proclamation from the Diamid and Kiith Council

This day the 14h of February, 3401 EST, the Clans of Hiigara have severed all diplomatic ties with the Nova Atlantean Commonwealth. All Diamid personnel have been returned to Clan space and all citizens are advised to leave the Commonwealth at their earliest convenience. Furthermore, by joint and unanimous agreement the Diamid and Kiith Council have declared a complete and total embargo in regards to the Nova Atlantean Commonwealth.

These measures have been taken in protest of the use of weaponized nanites as a WMD which has killed or scarred millions of lives in the Outlands. Until the Nova Atlantean Government joins all decent beings in general cry of outrage against the use of such weapons, and has all members of the government and private sector involved in this travesty sent to the United Nations of Earth and Nova Terra to stand trial for crimes against sentience this embargo shall remain in place.


A partial embargo against the Centrality has been enacted on this day as well. No shipments of military equipment originating in the Centrality shall be allowed to pass through the Hiigaran Control Zone. Nor shall any Hiigaran trade any military equipment or materials/knowledge that could be used in making advanced military equipment or weapons.

In particular, any and all technology regarding or used for ion cannons or components of ion cannons shall be traded or supplied to the Centrality or suspected third party buyers for the Centrality. The warp gate in the Hiigara System will no longer be accepting incoming wormholes from the Centrality, nor will it be used to initiate a wormhole with the Centrality. This embargo shall remain in place until such a time as the Centrality has shown a willingness to cease supporting radical militant groups in violent militaristic take overs of local governments.


In addition, all vessels utilizing the Aarran Trade Spine linking the Hiigaran Control Zone with the Empire Star Republic are subject to search upon reaching the Balcora system. Any vessels found to be carrying weapons or components that can be readily assembled into weapons shall be seized and their crews interned. Exceptions shall be made for shipments made to recognized governments, that have been cleared with the Foreign Office. Any vessels detected trying to evade the check point in the Balcora system, by navigating a course through the shoals, shall be considered a pirate and be subjected to immediate termination without warning.


These decisions have been made after seeing the devastation wrought upon the former Outlander Commissions by the infighting of factions supplied with foreign arms and military advisors. The full culpability of the Nova Atlantean Commonwealth was not known until several vessels awaiting transit through the China Gate were found to have trace elements of the nanite-plague aboard.

This discovery cost the life of Spacer 1st Class Tobin i Ferriil, who unknowingly came in contact with the nanite-plague during a routine pre-transit inspection. As the nanites began their horrific work, the first place they attacked was Spacer Ferriil's brain. As the nanites began to alter Spacer Ferrils brain, they encountered the nanites responsible for repairing and protecting the implants every Hiigaran is equipped with. The resulting microscopic war waged in the Spacer's head saw vast portions of his mind simply destroyed. The agonizing death of Spacer 1st Class Tobin i Ferriil took over an hour. However, by that time NBC equipped crews had secured the Nova Atlantean vessels and taken their crews into custody.

During interrogations by HInt personnel the Nova Atlantean crew divulged their heinous mission to spread the nanite-plague in revenge for the slight they received from the Byzantine Imperium and the Bragulan Star Empire during the naval review hosted in Nova Atlantea. These prisoners shall not be released unless it is into the custody of the United Nations of Earth and Nova Terra to stand trial for their crimes.


In response to the heinous and barbaric atrocities committed by all sides, the Clans of Hiigara - along with our good friends the Refuge - as part of our GIJOE mission, have undertaken a series of minor campaigns and expeditions. These expeditions have had the express aim to contain the proxy conflicts to the sector AA-24. During these expeditions, several pirate bands claiming to be privateers or detached naval elements of centralist, communoid and imperialistic forces were ruthlessly crushed. The strongholds of these pirate forces have been put to the torch, the captives set free and remunerated from the wealth the pirates had looted from a dozen worlds.

Thanks to GIJOE, the space that was once part of the Outlander Commissions has been made safer than it has been since the collapse of those Commissions. Now upon learning the full perfidy of the Nova Atlanteans and the ever increasing number of atrocities committed by centralists and imperialists in the worlds of sector AA-24, this government has taken actions to limit the flow of foreign governments and with the help of our partners will focus on bringing the growing stability of the Outlands to the ravaged worlds of sector AA-24. GO JOE!


In closing we would like to express our continued admiration at the unwavering defense the Byzantine Imperium provides against the Karlack Swarm and we mourn with them the billions of lives lost when the Tau launched their campaign of genocide those centuries past. We also wish to remind our friends in the Byzantine Imperium of the old adage that states: “You catch more flies with honey than vinegar”.

OOC: Hiigara is saying "You've had your fun taking a dump on our porch and lighting it on fire, now piss off and don't come back."

Edit: wormhole is one word not two

[Force Lord]

The Central Times-International

Central State ridicules Hiigaran embargo, denies charges of inciting violence

Centrum officials have declared that the recent partial embargo done by the Hiigaran Clans will be ineffective, saying that such embargoes hardly solve anything in an era where spaceships can go "wherever they want". "This is less than a slap in the wrist. How much does the Centrality imports from Hiigara anyway?", said the Secretary of Economics Asurina Lipuri. Foreign Secretary Ravin Nostrum warns Hiigara not to "worsen the already precarious situation in the Outlands". The Centralite ambassador to Hiigara has been recalled for consultation, and a partial suspension of trade with the Clans has been announced. A government official, speaking anonymously, says that the decision was taken amidst some bickering between the President and several important officials. "This decision was not taken lightly. Such issues are predictably hard to solve," he was quoted as saying.

Centrum has also denied that the atrocities done by the locals in name of Centralism are in any way done with the encouragement of CENINTERN and the Centrality itself, arguing that the bulk of the violence is being done by "disorganized angry mobs". Centrum claims that the areas under Centralist control are "some of the most safest places in the region, and slightly more prosperous than those under control of the fundamentalists, Byzantine and Byzonist alike", though admitting that "the local communists come close".

In his typical style, President Dirad Kierger has stated that the Hiigaran actions "seem like distant sniping" and challenged them to "give me one good reason why we shouldn't support our ideological brethren in their struggle". He was nonetheless "interested in participating in an international conference that would decide the future status of the Outlands". Regarding the recent Nova Atlantean actions, he "was concerned with such recklessness, such pettiness, all because Byzantium crashed the party in the recent naval review. Turns out Posthumans can also be dicks. Who knew?"

[White Haven]

"....What?"

Jennifer O'Leary shifted nervously in her seat as the newly-elevated most powerful man within Deep Purple stared across his predecessor's desk at his predecessor's personal analyst: namely, Jennifer herself. As the silence drew out second by second, she finally cleared her throat quietly and spoke up, "If there's anything you'd like clarification on, I'd be happy to provi--"

"How about this," the white-haired man's deep voice cut across Jennifer's own mid-word, her mouth shutting with an audible snap at the icy tone. "I'll sum up, succinctly, my understanding of what you just briefed me on. Once I'm done, you can correct anything I've...misunderstood." He paused for a few seconds, then continued upon seeing O'Leary's silent nod, "First, we have a distant foreign power mucking about just across the shoals from us, a report that was distressingly short on details. Of course that's hardly even relevant now, not after the Karlack Swarm arrived in nearly unheard-of force and killed every last living thing in the star system they were basing out of for reasons unknown. That's two, if you were counting. And third," his voice began to rise in volume until the bass rumble was clearly audible to people in the corridor outside his office, "Someone has deployed some sort of self-replicating counterhuman weapon, also in our back yard, and we Do. Not. Know. Who."

His fingers steepled together, the man peered over them at the flustered figure seated across his desk, "Did I miss anything?"

"Ah...the Hiigarans are closing their tradelanes to several involved parties. That might tell us more..." She grimaces visibly, then goes on, "But no, that covers matters quite effectively, sir."

With a snort, the man leaned back in his chair, relaxing visibly for the first time since the bombshells of his first briefing, "That little pissant Renault went to colors, didn't he? Fool got too obsessed with the red and blue to keep an eye on the larger universe." At another nod from the clearly-nervous redhead, his lips cracked into a very slight smile, "I thought as much. Tell me, Ms. O'Leary. If I check the archives, will I find that all of this was properly reported to Director Renault? Think carefully before you answer, because I will check."

A long pause stretched out between the two, full of furiously-paced thought and blank poker-faces. Finally, the target of the polite interrogation spoke up with the speed and energy of one who's decided to jump out a window in the hopes that there's a net beneath, and who doesn't want to have time to change her mind.

"At first, yes. My early reports are complete and impartially analyzed. Subsequently, Director Renault made it very clear to me that he was unconcerned with matters outside Kingdom and Confederation borders, and that I should be as well. At that point, I judged it more beneficial to have someone in my position aware of the extraborder situation but not reporting it fully accurately than someone willfully ignorant of it, as my replacement would likely have been."

Net?

"I see," the incoming replacement to the apparently-unlamented Renault temporized, leaning forwards across the desk once more.

Very soft roadway? Obese bystanders?

"You have discovered something very important about me, Ms. O'Leary. You have unearthed the fact that I value honesty. After all," his lips quirked in a slight smirk, "You could hardly have been expected to go to Director Renault's superiors." He paused for just long enough, letting the relief start to show through Jennifer's carefully-controlled body language before narrowing his eyes and continuing in a less friendly tone, "However," he reached down to flick a finger across his desktop display, a report scrolling into view, "That only earns you a chance to prove yourself." A finger swirled in a half-circle, the report spinning to match and coming to a halt facing the young analyst. As her eyes dipped to read the header, the implacable, deep voice called them upwards once again.

"The Hiigarans have reacted quite strongly to recent events, and quite pointedly."

How does he know that, I haven't even finished my rep--stupid, I just mentioned it earlier. But how much does he know? Does he have other sources?

"I want to know what they know. In the basement hangar, you will find the We Were Never Here along with a team. You are to take her to the Balcora gate via the shoals and...investigate." His lips split in a grin, one with a hint of mischief in it as he continues, "I find that people give the best answers when poked in unexpected ways. Poke the Hiigarans."

Finding her voice at last, Jennifer stammered for a moment before pausing, firming up her control, and asking, "Sir, no disrespect intended and I am very grateful for the opportunity, but...I'm an analyst, not a field agent. We need results on this, badly; are you sure I'm the right choice?"

"Then consider yourself a field analyst, Ms. O'Leary. Unless you'd prefer to turn down the assignment, in which case you may leave your ID on my desk when you leave."

"No sir...I'll depart immediately."

The aged figure gestured at the door set into the office's far wall as he replied, "Then don't let me keep you." As the door hissed open at the newly-promoted(?) field analyst's approach, the still-seated figure spoke up once more, his voice easily audible in the hallway beyond and the suddenly-busy and suddenly-dispersing crowd outside, "Failure will risk damaging my happy face, Ms. O'Leary. This is my happy face. You do not want to see my frowny face. Good luck."

The door slid shut behind the woman as she nearly jogged down the hall, revealing the freshly-installed nameplate on the door.

DIRECTOR OF OPERATIONS WARREN NAISMITH

[White Haven]

Aboard the Deep Purple vessel We Were Never Here
En route to shoal space within RKS territory.

"Jennifer, stop with the pacing already!"

Exhasperated words from an open hatchway stopped the redhead in her tracks midway down the We Were Never Here's main spinal corridor. The ship was decidedly on the small side externally and it was designed for speed and stealth, not mass transit. Cabins branched off to either side of the arterial corridor, the bridge at one end, the cargo bay and docking hardware at the other. The open hatchway silhouetted a young-looking man leaning up against the bulkhead and shaking his head with a grin.

"Cam! I didn't even know you were aboa--wait, did you piss off the Director too?"

"Pissed him off? Jen, you wouldn't be a 'field analyst' entrusted with this ship if you'd pissed him off. Look, come on in, you can fill me in on what happened." With that, the short, muscular figure stepped backwards into the cabin and gestured with elaborate formality for the woman to follow. With a snort of laughter and a shake of her head, she stepped over the threshold and let the hatch hiss shut behind her. Inside, she flopped down on a couch along the wall by the doorway and began to relate the meeting.

Aside from an occasional clarification, Cameron stayed quiet and let his old friend relate the story, settled into a desk chair himself. As it finally wound down, h e frowned slightly and nodded to himself before speaking.

"I can see why you're on edge; for once you've got a reason." He ducked as he said those final words, grinning at the mock-throw from across the small cabin. "Still, what I said stands. We don't have many like her," he gestured around at the bulkheads, indicating the ship, "and Director Naismith's not about to use one of them just to get rid of a leftover from his predecessor. Just guessing here, but I think he wants to rehabilitate you, get you back into the groove."

"God, you have no idea how much I needed to hear that."

"I live to serve," he replied with a grin, "Seriously Jen, it's great to see you. I spend so much time starside that it's hard to keep track of people."

"I'll be happy enough to lose track of Renault -- excuse me, Director Emeritus Renault," she sneered at the name, "Charismatic, but he should have stayed in Force Balance where he belonged." Her tone softened as an honest smile replaced the sneer, "He always wanted to be your friend, whether you wanted it or not. I'd almost forgotten what an honest friend was."

After a slightly awkward pause, Cameron chuckled dryly and shook his head, "Alright, alright, enough of that. Let's see, basics, basics...resources!" He began counting on his fingers, person by person, "You've got me, I'm We Were Never Here's engineer. Rosalita Martinez, pilot, used to fly gunships for the RKS, Franklin Kramer, copilot and ECM, decent at the former, seriously hot shit at the latter. Raymond Cunningham, signals specialist, he transferred over from Intercepts, really good cryptographer. Yurien Orlov, hyperdrive specialist and hot-shit navigator...and doesn't he just know it. We do enough shoal work that he comes in reaaal handy, though. And then there's Penelope Vaughn...cleaning specialist."

A grin answered Jennifer's sharp look at that last position, "Yeah, we've got a custodian aboard. The ship stays really, really clean, and nobody dares to leave dirty dishes in the sink. And, uh, don't open the janitorial closet. Trust me on that one."

At that point, a chime sounded over the ship's intercoms, prompting an exaggerated sigh from Cameron as he got back up to his feet, "And that's my cue, we're about to hit the shoals so I need to go tend the engines. Care to join me?"

The woman stood up from the couch to follow Cameron out of the cabin, "As much as I'd like to, I really need to be up front in case we run into anything out there. We'll talk more when we get some time, catch up some." Pausing in the hallway, she smiled and ducked her head, "And Cam...thanks. I needed somebody to give me a good academy shake, and nobody else knows me well enough to pull it off."

"Any time, Jen, er, 'Miss O'Leary.' Now get going, before we hit the shoals while I'm still talking to you!" The grin robbed Cameron's words of any bite they may have had as he turned and hurried aft towards the engine room.

[White Haven]

"I'm telling you things you aren't know, aren't I? Sorry, not used to this."

For the first time in hours since the We Were Never Here crossed into the shoals, the dusky-skinned woman seated at the main flight controls laughed. She still never took her eyes off the holographic displays wrapped around her in a glowing haze, but she laughed. "Yes y'were, Miss O'Leary, but thank you so much for stopping."

A low chuckle begins behind another console, this one wreathed in sensor readouts of every description and other, more arcane displays and controls, but it's smothered in infancy before the red-faced woman could see where it came from.

"Well then, let me skip ahead to what you probably don't already know," Jennifer hurriedly continued, trying to move past the embarrassment and salvage some shreds of dignity in the process. She looked over towards the suspected source of the smothered chuckle and called out, "Mister Kramer, when we approach what you judge is Hiigaran detection range on approach to Balcora, I want you to screw the pooch." She allowed herself a tight grin at the baffled, suspicious look received in return, letting the silence stretch out vindictively for a few seconds before clarifying, "I want them to see us. More, I want them to think we don't want them to see us. I want to run into whoever they send out to nab people that they think think they're sneaking up on the Balcora tradelane."

After a long, silent pause broken only by the straining hum of the ship's hyperdrives transiting shoal space, the aforementioned Kramer pipes up with an 'is this woman crazy' voice, "I'll...just be checking out the point defense system on the way there, then."

"With any luck we won't need them, but by all means, check them out Mister Kramer. Miss Martinez, what's our ETA to the Balcora perimeter?"

A shrug prefaced the answer, a hand gesturing towards the third of four manned stations in the less-than-roomy bridge, "In this chop? Your guess is as good as mine. Yuri, you have a better answer for Miss O'Leary?"

"Not nearly accurate enough charts to tell. Getting good data to see about fixing that for the next run though." The reply came from a previously-silent figure in a noticeably slavic accent, although one faint enough to pose no difficulty in comprehension. A grimace crossed the face behind the voice, galled to have to admit that lack of knowledge, "Whoever did this run before us wasn't even half as good as me or I'd have better charts to work from."

Cam was right, he is full of himself.

"Fair enough. Let me know if you get a proper estimate. Mister Cunningham, I probably don't need to tell you this either." A ripple of chuckling swept around the small compartment, the quip bleeding away some of the irritated hostility that'd built up after her poor first impression. "Nevertheless, this is important, so I need you to record absolutely everything you get, decode any you can, but absolutely no active network entry without my express permission. We're far enough from home that I want to carefully calculate exactly how much we tick off the Hiigarans."

"Everybody thinks all us cryptos are hackers," the quiet mutter carried easily around the bridge, quiet enough to pretend it'd gone unheard.

The pilot snorted and shook her head back and forth, calling back in a more normal and joking tone, "Ray, that's because you are one."

"Well yeah, but she didn't know that!"

"Aaand congratulations, RayRay, now she knows for sure."

"Sonofa--"

Jennifer joined in the laughter herself as it again made the rounds of the bridge, a grin slowly spreading across her face. So much better than working for that pissant Renault.

[Tanasinn]

The Galactic Observer
Bringing you the latest in greater galactic news since 3300

In an unusual move, Roland Stein, the head of state of the isolationist Humanist Union, has personally commented on the ongoing crisis in the former Outlander Commissions to the greater galactic media. Political experts call this an unusual move for the reclusive revolutionary, whose state has generally tended to its own internal affairs and sought to avoid placing itself into ongoing diplomatic and military crises and relied on its Office of Foreign Relations to make necessary statements. Speaking from the Federal Building on Elysion, Stein spoke extensively on the crisis, calling it "the tragedy of naked imperialism," and "the squabbling of vultures over choice meat."

"Those powers which have placed their oar into the already-troubled Comissions region have shown themselves too cowardly to annex the region and take responsibility for its citizens, and too greedy to simply allow an unaligned, vulnerable region to determine its own fate," he said, "This debacle has been illustrative in revealing the callousness of some states regarding sapient life where a potential ideological puppet might be erected."

Coordinator Stein was especially critical of the Nova Atlantean Commonwealth's apparent involvement in the ongoing conflict; a Commonwealth-originated nanotech weapon was deployed to the former Commissions in recent weeks designed to forcibly rearrange human biologies into tau forms. This apparent terror weapon has caused infighting among affected Byzantine populations, widespread mental trauma, and deaths through suicide or unforseen circumstances of nanite infection.

"The utter contempt shown by the [Nova Atlantean] Commonwealth for the basic rights of sapient life belies their posturing in the name of 'galactic peace.' It is to the shame of the Humanist Union that we participated in their farcical naval review, trusting their intentions to be genuine."

It is believed that the release of the nanotech weapon was retaliation for the actions of Bragulan and Byzantine states, who staged a prisoner exchange during the Nova Atlantean naval review in an apparent act of provocation. Both the Byzantine and Bragulan states have considerable interest in the region due to its proximity and the effect a large scale ideological shift may have on the local balance of power. Stein has vowed unspecified "diplomatic and economic repercussions" in response to the Nova Atlantean Commonwealth's actions.

Many political commentators have pointed out the unusual character of these statements by Stein, who rarely speaks to intergalactic media at length and whose state typically does not show particular interest in the affairs of distant states. Some critics have called Stein's words hypocritical, pointing out the annexation of sector N5 rougly 16 years ago, its large weapons industry, and the Union's well-known political support for international socialism. At least some seek to explain this unusual change in behavior through the lens of internal politics, pointing out that Stein may be seeking to balance upset among the citizenry at apparent government apathy towards the ongoing crisis against the practical consequences of getting involved. Others note that the Union has interest in foiling the efforts of its neighbors' efforts in the region or may have its own long-term designs on the political climate of the former Outlands Commissions. We will follow this story as it develops.

[Kartr_Kana]

Operations Center, Chimera Station
Balcora system, Sector Y-19

Admiral Krosof i Manaan sat in his command chair in the back half of the operations center. An observer knowledgeable in the social makeup and mores of the Hiigaran people would have immediately noticed two oddities about the brand new centenarian. Firstly, he was not linked into the local 'Net like his subordinates; and secondly he was a Manaani. The highest echelons of the Hiigaran military were almost always occupied by martial Sobani, not the more mercantile Manaani.

Such musings were on the mind of the Admiral as he watched the dancing plots of the holotank. His family had stopped by to wish him a happy 100th birthday on their way to the Shinra Republic. They planned on spending over a year trading in the Republic and then depending on how well they'd done, maybe even go further: such was the life of Manaani FreeTraders.

The Admiral would miss them, and – not for the first time – wondered if being a desk jockey was really what he wanted. Then he thought about the millions of metric tons that were shipped through his station, the hundreds of starships that his people guided through the Aarran Trade Spine, crews rescued from treacherous shoals and marauding pirates. This was a fulfilling and rewarding job, and the chance to barter with new aliens and humans from a thousand suns for the odd nicknack or bottle of rare spirits was a plus.

Suddenly Admiral Krosof leaned forward and started scrutinizing the plot. With a thought, he wirelessly connected to the station BattleNet. <Watch Officer: these two vessels here and here,> two of the flashing lights suddenly lit up, <have they identified themselves and filed course plans with us?>

<Negative Admiral: there is too much interference from the shoals to contact them at this time. I am currently allocating more CPU cycles and sensor platforms to the operators in charge of tracking those vessels.> The thoughts flowed effortlessly across the mindscape.

<Very good commander; in addition I want you to vector someone into those areas to stand by for intercept. Quietly though: if they're runners we don't want to tip them off too soon. Understood?>

As the mental acknowledgment faded, Krosof pulled up his dataslate and started running some course calculations. The admiral flipped through file after file, checking the sensor readings against databases housed in the titanic station. After a while he grunted and queried the Watch Officer again.

<Any ID on contact #2 commander?>

<Negative sir. And contact #1 just slipped off the trade spine and into the shoals. 300% increase in sensor resources was necessary just to maintain partial contact. The vessel is obviously trying to evade contact and circumvent the inspection sir. I have already ordered the Swiftsure to intercept and disable contact #1. Should I order the Steady to do the same with contact #2?>

<No commander. I believe that contact #2 hails from one of the two minor polities situated by the Empire Star Republic, the Royal Kingdom of Scarlet or the Midnight Confederation. Their course is consistent with them having traveled from there through the shoals and the drive signatures are fairly close to ones I saw when my family was on a trade trip down that ways.>

The background hum in the BattleNet grew louder as the mental silence between the admiral and commander stretched out. After a few minutes Admiral Krosof shifted and anyone looking closely would have been able to make out the telltale signs of a decision being made.

Leaning back in his seat the admiral fully immersed himself in the 'Net. Moments later he had focused himself on the Steady as she bucked her way through the shoals. The hyperspace squall wasn't any worse than normally cropped up from time to time, but it did make it harder to spot other ships in hyperspace. Plus it meant the shoals were shifting more rapidly forcing the Steady to slow down as she worked her way through them.

The admiral contacted the Steady's captain directly, and to increase the strangeness, gave her a series of very clear instructions. Instructions that might prove difficult for the captain to carry if the unknown vessel chose not to comply.


Bridge of the HCNV Steady, Morgan-class Corvette, several light hours away from Chimera Station

“Unknown vessel, this is Lt. Commander Stephanie i Soban, you are entering the Hiigaran Control Zone, drop out of hyperspace and stand by to transmit your identity, course data and manifest. Failure to comply will result in the destruction of your drive systems, your vessel will be impounded and you will be interned. Do you copy?”

The two vessels continued to close the range as they battled their way shoals. On board the Steady, the crew prepared for a hostile intercept and reversion. The admiral had insisted that they inflict minimal damage on the unknown vessel if they refused to stand down for the scan, which would be undertaken at a range of less than one-million kilometers. However, the vessel was not to be allowed to proceed without the scan. The admiral was very curious what a vessel that appeared to be from the Royal Kingdom of Scarlet or the Midnight Confederation would be doing this far away from home. Or why they would've fought their way through the shoals for almost two-hundred light years rather than just travel up to the trade spine, saving time and wear.


HCNV Swiftsure, Interceptor-class Frigate, several light hours away from Chimera Station... in a different direction

The hyperspace squall was worse here, but the Swiftsure was a newer, larger vessel. More powerful drives with better tolerances, so she plowed ahead, intent on running down contact #1. It was tricky though trying to pin down where the runner was. They had some sort of sensor masking equipment, not a cloak but, in the shoals and in these kinds of conditions you almost didn't need a cloak. Fortunately, the Swiftsure had a powerful ally in its hunt, Chimera Station.

As the Swiftsure plunged deeper into the shoals her crew stayed in constant contact with Chimera. On board Chimera Station powerful sensor arrays cast their baleful glare on contact #1. The powerful computer networked with a dozen sensor specialists filtered out background radiation, triangulated echos and burned away the fog of war.

Finally, after nearly an hour of cat and mouse, the Swiftsure finally locked her own powerful sensor suite on the prey. Now it was just a matter of time, time that contact #1 didn't have. Inexorably, the distance between the two vessels closed, no longer was contact #1 trying to hide. Instead they were redlining their engines in a futile attempt to outrun their pursuer.

“This is Commander Trafian i Soban of the Hiigaran Clans Navy. You have attempted to evade our scrutiny in direct contravention of the mandatory inspections for all vessels utilizing the Aarran Trade Spine as declared on February 14th 3401, EST. This is your only warning heave to or be fired on. How copy?”

Silence reigned on the bridge, the crew waiting tensely for a reply. Finally after several minutes Commander Trafian spoke, “Well I guess that's that”. Then over the ship's BattleNet she gave the order *Stand by to grapple, Marines report to the launch*

Across the ship DriveTechneers and other crew members prepared for the dangerous maneuver required to pull another ship out of hyperspace. Minds touched as the navigator, engineers and pilots worked in concert to tune the hyperspace fields and envelope contact #1, now identified as an unregistered Class J freighter.

Suddenly the Swiftsure shook like Thor himself was beating on her hull. A couple of explosions echoed through the ship and the shaking turned into a severe and constant vibration. DC teams rushed towards the damaged hyperfield sponsons. Damage reports flitted through Commander Trafians mind as did sensor reports.

Immediately it became clear that the transport had initiated an emergency transition right before the Swiftsure had started the field harmonization. A few seconds later and both ships would have been destroyed. As it was, the Swiftsure had barely survived having her field torn apart by the turbulence.

Trafian grinned grimly, she had a good crew and without even needing to be ordered the pilot had started a downshift at the maximum margin of safety. Suddenly the Swiftsure bucked, shuddered and then she was back in real space. Sensors had lost the Class J for a moment in the translation, but just as she started forming the thought to demand where it had got to her sensor officer had the plot back up.

<Chief, I need a micro jump, can the drives give me that?>

<Can't run them down in sublight commander? I really don't want to do a microjump after what we just went through.>

<We're too far away, they'll get their drives working again before we can catch them. If that happens we go through all of this again and we might not survive if they try that trick again.>

<Got you boss, give me five minutes and I'll be able to give you a quick jump, don't know how accurate it will be though.>

<Good enough chief. Guns stand by, I want you to disable their engines, their comm., sensors and any weapons they might have the instant we get in range.>

She sat strapped in her acceleration couch, fingers drumming impatiently as she waited. Finally, with an uncharacteristic series of shudders, the Swiftsure slipped in and back out of hyperspace. <We're six light minutes from contact #1 ma'am.>

<All batteries firing ma'am.>

<Sublight drives engaged at maximum military thrust. Intercept course laid in.>

Swiftsure's engines left a blazing trail as she drove hard towards her prey. Pulsars lashed out but even those lightspeed weapons couldn't strike their targets before the Class J evaded. Trafian grimaced as round after round impacted across non-vital compartments.

Telling the gunners to tighten it up wouldn't do any good, they were too far out. Hell, they were getting lucky the Class J was too large and sluggish at sublight to fully evade. Anything smaller and even those infrequent hits would have been flying off into deep space.

She watched as the pulsars blew random bits off the freighter. She hated the waiting, the second guessing. Should she order them to ceasefire? At this rate they might pick the ship apart piece by piece before they got close enough to take well aimed shots.

Hell no, she decided they'd nearly destroyed her ship and they'd been warned. Plus if she stopped firing they might not be able to stop the ship. However, if she ordered her gunners to fire special sheafs and used each salvo to bracket the freighter she might be able to herd them after a fashion. Give them a one way to go lest they fly right into a salvo from her guns. Worth a shot anyway.

<Guns change fire pattern.> She picked a series of points, alternating shot placement to create a “net”. <Special sheaf, target points as follows.> She flashed the range and altitude data to the gunners specifying that it was relative to the target. <Shift to rapid fire, alternate guns to avoid overheating.>

She watched as the freighter was forced into a turn to avoid the incoming energy. Despite the fact her ship was even closer than before every shot missed. No matter, she had forced them to turn and now her ship would be able to intercept much sooner rather than being forced into a stern chase.

Minutes crept by and then they finally got within one light minute. <Cease fire, let the guns cool and the capacitors charge for a couple minutes. Once we reach thirty light seconds resume fire on initial targets.>

As they crept down past the thirty minute mark she saw the sapphire bolts burst forth, vomiting their fury at the freighter. Watching her internal chrono, she counted down the seconds until impact. Precisely thirty seconds after firing and thanks to her gunners excellent aim. and the quality predictors they were equipped with, every round found the engine block.

Trafian's pleased smile evaporated as the freighter suddenly began to bulge at the seams. It appeared to bloat, starting from the aft and rushing forward. Then sun's bright fire could be seen twinkling out between the seams and then it came apart. It wasn't until a shocked Commander Trafian saw the radio and gamma waves pulsing out in false color did she realize that with her link to the ships sensors and computer she'd been watching the same sort of slow motion action a CI would experience.

Jerked back to “fullspeed,” her angry thought echoed through the 'Net. <What the HELL just happened!? I wanted them disabled not destroyed!>

The sensor tech had the answer almost before she finished asking. <Ma'am they were redlining their engines way beyond the safety limit, when the shots hit they blew the engines back into the ship. That breached the reactor and is why the ship blew up the way it did.>

<Very well, get those sensor logs back to Chimaera they'll want to scrub them for any details. Contact Ops and let them know we have a slagged runner and they'll probably want to send out the scuzzis to look it over. Helm bring us close, you know Ops is going to want us to sit on this wreckage until they can get someone out here to look it over.>

With a sigh Commander Trafian i Soban disconnected from the BattleNet and slumped back in her acceleration couch. Another day in the Outback, another close call. She wondered – and not for the first time – why she hadn't gone and become a Manaani merchant?


OOC/Results: Hiigara meant what it said, White_Havens people get spotted and intercepted with front row seats to a smuggler getting blown up. Scuzzis slang for SCSI - Space Crime Scene Investigators!

[PeZook]

Just because you might've thought we were done.

SPINOFF: JOEY JOJO GOES TO SCHOOL

Roach City Motel
Oho, Murca



It was a good day for Joey Jojo the Plumber. A very good day indeed.

He had just signed the papers selling his brand new house acquired due to self defence against a closet homobortionist sex offender. People in the neighborhood were already talking, and Joey’s motel room was full of flowers with nice little letters of appreciation. Mothers held him up as a hero, as their children would not be endangered by a filthy pervert living right next door. Fathers congratulated him on standing up for himself against a librul homo and preserving the fabric of society. The dead body was strung up in the middle of the neighborhood as a warning to all passersby - the suburbs of Oho were a proper place! A clean place, free of sex offenders!

Even Mary Jane, despite her earlier confusion, had to admit Joey had done well. Her voice was a little shakey while she did so, but that was obviously overwhelming female hysteria at the thought that a homobortionist lived so close to their precious children. She cried the whole night after washing Joey’s bloodstained shirts, but she’d get over it, maybe helped by a little smack or two. Couldn’t have an undisciplined house, after all.

The sale of his new house got him almost where he wanted to be - he only lacked a thousand marks or so before he could open his fertilizer business and rake in the big bucks, like a true blue Murcan self-made man! He’d show all those people who didn’t believe in him, those socialists craving his money to fund their filthy homosexual orgies. Jeebus, he hated those homobortionists, like those nerds who didn’t shower with the rest of the team or join in the locker room butt-slapping. He used to beat up those kids in high school, drag them by their long pretty hair and smack their made up faces. Oh wait, those were the girls who turned him down.Yep, those were the days.

Ah, what he would give to relive those grand times, those glory days spent fooling around with the guys! Yes, high school was a time of joy and carelesness and binge drinking and beating up weaker kids to the brink of death for some affront or another.

Joey sighed heavily, thinking how much high school gave him, how it made him the man he was today. Unlike college, which was full of lieberals being fed lies by stupid lieberal professors (who didn’t know how real life was, anyway, with their book knowledge), high school created the Murcan ideal - loud, proud, with a low-paying menial job and angry about it!

And now the schools were all privatized, so they’d be even better! As private enterprise was more efficient in all aspects, surely the education system would thrive and prosper now. Billy Lee sure made good progress since Joey and Mary Jane decided to enroll the lil’ fella at the Oho Home School Away From Home Bibel School, an excellent establishment set up by Jimmy Bob Anderson, a local butcher, homeopathic professor, anti-vaccine activist, self-declared preacher, off-shore snake oil driller and respected entrepreneur, after the socialist gubmint-run school was burned down by the Sovereign Citizens’ Pagan Youth wing, which was originally founded by the greatest President of Algeira, Poland Pagan. It was morning again in Murca.

Yes, Billy Lee would certainly grow up to be a fine citizen, Sovereign and free. Already Joey’s workload lessened, which was surely a good sign - Billy would hardly ever bring homework back! Joey could use that time to think about his fertilizer business and watch SPORTS!, which he was doing now, his brain free of harrowing maths problems like fractions.

Fucking fractions. Who the fuck needed to know fractions in real life, anyway? Real life was no ivory tower! Teaching children fractions only led them astray from the real down-to-earth skills they needed to survive!

He remembered how the Sovereign Citizens tied a luberal maths professor to a monster truck tractor pull that totally quartered him. Fraction that, asshole... Joey Jojo laughed at himself.

Suddenly, the football game - Murcan football, of course, not that sissy Thanasian crap where men didn’t even bodyslam each other to fight over their balls - switched itself off. Joey screamed with terror and anguish, lurching at the TV in anger. No! Not right before touchdown!

A reporter’s talking head appeared on screen. The journo began talking, We interrupt this programming to bring you urgent news from the Oho Home School Away From Home. We have just received reports of a lone gunman on a rampage on school grounds...

Joey screamed and started flipping channels, but it was the same everywhere. He knew he should’ve paid for better cable service! The Premium Package included an optional “no important news whatsoever” plan, but Joey wanted to save money and didn’t buy it and so was being regularly harrassed by crap about the environment and violence and elections that he didn’t care about.

The TV droned on. It showed the school building, a brand new structure paid for entirely by Jimmy Bob who spared no expense. There was shooting and screams from school grounds and the reporters were saying how they were afraid to come closer out of fear of being shot.

Pussies, Joey thought. He always knew journos were good for nothing useful, except maybe Blenn Geck. It would’ve been better with Blenn Geck, at least he would’ve shot back. These blubbering vaginas wouldn’t even get into the line of fire! Hell, if that was Billy Lee’s school, Joey was sure his son could do better than those girlie men.

“Ladies and gentlemen”, the stupid journo droned on, “There are people running out, yes, running out of the building... there are... there are wounded amongst them, I will try to get a better view... yes... wait, no! STOP!”

The journo screamed in horror and suddenly the camera went flying. It crashed into the pavement, revealing a Faux Noose van. And the journo crushed under its wheels.

Faux now added the Noose to its name after its Putzlitzer Prize-winning coverage of the hangings and lynchings of luberals in Murca. The van opened and stepping from its interior was none other than...



...Blenn Geck!

“It is time to handle the topic of violence in schools!” Geck said, and his dashing macho voice thrilled Joey to the bone. Previously angry with the coverage interrupting his favorite sports program, Joey was now electrified and excited and aroused to the point of his toes curling.

The camera now showed the fleeing mob of terrified students again. Geck waved the gun around, screaming about the proper response to school violence being more violence. Joey lapped it up, his bosom rising and falling with every holy word from his hero.

“There!” Geck screamed, pointing at a student running at the end of the mob. The guy was breathing heavily and slowly trodding forward instead of running. He reached for something he had in his pocket “He’s not running! That’s obviously the shooter!”



Geck took the initiative in a properly Murcan way, unloading his gun’s magazine into the boy’s face. He was shooting from long range, and thus hit several other students in the process, but the evil psycho dropped dead on the spot. The asthma inhaler fell out of his cold dead hands and rolled across the pavement.

“Got him! Hahahah... did you see that shot? Right into his fatty man-titties!” Geck shouted with glee. He was still waving both his guns around when FriendlyPol SUVs roared onto the scene, plowing straight through running civilians. Heavily armed officers leapt out of the cars and began screaming and shouting at the fleeing students to get out of the way. Some officers pointed their guns at Geck, but quickly recognized the TV show host as their paying customer and huge shareholder. Geck smiled and waved to them.

Other private police agencies also arrived soon, called by their own clients. But FriendlyPol officers didn’t have time for bullshit, they had a situation to control, so they just hosed down the arriving vehicles with their vehicle mounted Mama Gooses and grenade launchers, injuring dozens of civilians in the process, but also ensuring their market share was protected, which was their moral duty to their the shareholders.



“Get these civilians out of the way!” screamed the FriendlyPol commander on the scene, lieutenant Seven Lawman Stoogal. He was annoyed: his men would have trouble telling paying customers from idiots with no police insurance in that huge mob. Then, suddenly, he had an idea.

“Just cuff everyone and let Jeebus sort them out later!”, he screamed into his radio, not giving two shits about the rolling camera observing everything.

The officers, many of whom were former soldiers discharged for the dishonorable conduct of being paid for by stolen taxpayer money and now making amends by working for privatized paramilitaries, shouted back a customary OOORAHOOOAH and began arresting everyone they saw.

Joey, safely in front of his TV, cheered upon the boys in blue as they began to impose order on the disorganized mob of stupid students, most of whom were probably lieberals anyway. He hollered in joy when officers beat down a mother, cuffed her and confiscated the baby as evidence, putting it into a ziplock bag. Two officers confronted a wounded student laying on the sidewalk, demanding he get to his knees. When he said he could not due to his wounds, they tasered him twenty times before cuffing him to a squad car and dragging him away. As pets got lose from their leashes (for it was a Bring Your Pet To School day at the OHSAFHBS, a cherished tradition where children learned how house animals are used in food and industry), they created a danger to officers, who shot every single dog they saw while grabbing venomous snakes and lizards and throwing them into the faces of students. A special team videotaped the entire operation, making sure to mark down the score of individual responders on special forms they had with them - FriendlyPol employees were paid by the quota of suspects hauled in and it was important to make sure their reports were faithful.

Officers quickly got the mob under control with extreme violence, which was the best kind of violence, preventing destruction of evidence and seizing many suspects guilty of not paying FriendlyPol for protection. Shouts of “We serve and protect with a smile!” began to die down soon, replaced by gunfire still coming from the school.

“This is incredible! Dear viewers, here you see the finest police agency in Murca doing an excellent job of controlling an unruly and dangerous criminal mob! Remember, FriendlyPol is the best there is, they serve and protect with a smile, call them now and prevent grievous bodily harm to yourself or your loved ones, or mysterious yet extremely dangerous fire to your dwelling!”

“Sir! Suspects are under control, sir!” An officer reported to lieutenant Lawman Stoogal on camera, saluting in a military fashion

“Excellent job! Make sure they’re as uncomfortable as possible, while I personally handle the shooter!”

“OOORAHOOAH!” The officer yelled and ran back to the sidewalk to administer a few kicks and beatings to the people lined up face-down on the asphalt. Some of them were probably guilty of something, anyway. When another young mother protested and threatened to sue, the officer tasered her. Her child started to cry, so he tasered it, too, for creating a public disturbance.

“Hey Gorge, take over”, Geck said to his cameraman “I’m gonna help our boys in blue.”

“Will do, boss!”

The camera followed Geck as he ran over to the school’s gate and high-fived Lieutenant Stoogal. The duo drawed their weapons and charged screaming into the building.

Mary Jane came into the room just then. She gently touched Jojo on the arm, making him jump up and spill his beer.

“What the hell, woman? Can’t you see I’m supporting the troops here? Damn! My shirt!”

Mary Jane shuddered, the memories of her last beating still fresh. Joey approved of that - womenfolk had to know their place. It was for the best, as they had trouble not panicking in hysterics at the slightest provocation. Men should always do the thinking at home, that’s what Blenn Geck said on TV. God he loved Blenn Geck.

“Joey, what’s going on? Where’s Billy Lee?”

“What do you mean where’s Billy Lee?” Joey spat in anger while still staring at the TV “You’re the woman of the house, you should keep track of the kids! And the cooking! And the laundry! And all the other things you’re not doing while standing here talking! Go away!”

“Joey, you were supposed to pick him up...” Mary Jane whispered and winced, ready for the next strike.

“I was?” A memory surfaced in Joey’s beer-addled and cholesterol-clogged mind. Yes he was! Mary Jane offered to go so that he could finish watching the game, but she was a woman and thus not allowed to drive or leave the house. Joey remembered now.

“Ah, he’s a big boy now, he’ll manage. I’ll go after I see what happens next, this is a great show.”

Mary Jane looked at the TV herself and gasped. “Joey! That’s Billy Lee’s school!”

“What? Oh, bullshit, no psycho could ever go on a rampage there! Not with what we’re payin’ them!”

“But it is! Oh my God, Joey! Our son is in there! You must go get him!” Gone was Mary Jane’s meek submission, replaced by fear of her child’s safety. Typical woman, Joey thought to himself, Always hysterical over minor things...

“Shut up, Billy Lee has to learn life the hard way one day. I’ll let him handle it.”

“A PSYCHO IS MURDERING HIS WAY THROUGH THE SCHOOL!”, Mary Jane screamed. Joey rolled his eyes and sighed, getting up from his comfy chair.

“Don’t you yell at me! Don’t you fuckin’ yell at me, ya hear?!”, he screamed at his wife. Damn that undisciplined, fickle woman!

“Billy’s gonna die, Joey! Do something! He’s just a child!”, Mary Jane seemed desperate, “If you won’t go, then I’ll go get him myself!”

Joey went purple, “Shut the fuck up! And you, back to your room!”, he added for the benefit of the remaining children, who didn’t go to school because the family couldn’t afford it. They should sleep, they had to work eighteen hours at the slaughterhouse tomorrow. Jeebus, it was a good thing that they deregulated those pussy luberal child labor laws. Couldn’t have the kids become no welfare queens, no siree.

The children meekly retreated, and Joey continud yelling at his wife for some time. As a result, he missed the entire glorious joint police-journalist action, and didn’t catch Blenn Geck proudly displaying the shooter’s severed head on a pike. When he was done yelling, all he could see were ads for FriendlyPol.

That made Joey even more enraged, and he disciplined Mary Jane thoroughly, before angrily storming out to get his son. At least Billy Lee wasn’t a fucking hysterical pussy, though Joey would have to watch him, watch him like a hawk to make sure he wasn’t womanized by his sisters or his mother.

If only he could watch him at school, too. Then he’d be sure the kid would not slip up! For sure!


Oho Home School Away From Home Bibel School
Oho, Murca



Joey couldn’t believe what he just heard.

“What the fuck, Billy? What the fuck was that?! Hiding under a desk? That’s not how I raised you! Not at all! Why, just you wait until we get home! Grandpa Jojo is rolling in his grave!”

“Mr. Jojo, please...” the school’s principal was trying to calm down the enraged parent. “Your son is alive, so why does it matter?”

“Why? WHY?! My son acted like a goshdarned coward! A lieberal sissy! A real man would’ve charged at the shooter and wrestled his gun away! Or just shot him! Like a man! A manly man!”

“But Billy had no gun, we do not allow guns on campus. He couldn’t have done anything. Please, there’s no need to...”

Joey blew his top. What the fuck? The school stripped its students of their constipitutional rights by taking their guns away? Oh no way. This wasn’t a place of true Murcan values, this was getting dangerously lieberal! His son almost died because he had no means to shoot people!

“It’s all your fault!” Joey pointed an accusatory finger at the principal. “I am taking my son out of this school!”

“But dad...” Billy tried to protest, remembering his brothers and sisters working most of the day, slaughtering animals for pennies. School beat that any day.

“Shut up, son! If this place won’t let you have guns to shoot people with, there is nothing good you will learn here!”

The principal was sweating now, and quite profusely. Joey was a local hero, after all. If he took his son to another establishment, angry parents would take their kids away, too! The school was already in trouble due to the shooting, parents were suing, and now this... he had to convince Joey to stay! He had to, otherwise the school would fail and its owner would grind the principal up and sell him as Freedom Beef in his butcher shop.

“Sir! Please, wait a minute. You are obviously a man of fine standing in the community, true to your word, honorable and prideful. Please help us! We have strayed from the one true path, but you can help us get back on it!”

“Yer usin’ a whole lot of big words here, fella. What do ya’all want?”

“Our History teacher, Mr Cuddlington, was shot by the police. You could take his place.”

Joey began to strain his mental faculties migtily in order to consider the offer. It was a great opportunity, a chance to shape the youth of a nation, to influence their opinions and attitudes and prepare them for life.

Joey didn’t care about that lieberal crap, though. He was too down-to-earth for that.

“How much do you pay?”

“Errr... three...” the principal eyed Joey.”I mean four... four thousand marks a month?”

Joey’s eyes flashed with greed. That would be great. He’d keep eye on Billy Lee and get paid enough to finally star the fertilizer business!

“You have a deal then, fella. When do I start?”

Oh Jeebus no... thought Billy Lee, with terror in his eyes.



Oho Home School Away From Home Bibel School
The following morning



It was the first school day after the shootout. The first day of a new era for the OHSAFHBS, as they had recruited a new, proud, patriotic teacher!

“Sit down!” Joey said upon entering the classroom. It was full of unruly kids. Or would be on a normal day, and if someone cleaned up the blood stains from the walls. And pieces of brains from the desks. These made the studends sullen and afraid for some reason.

Joey was disgusted - these little fellas couldn’t stand some inconvenience, like having to sit on a brain-splattered chair. What a weak generation that was! Not like the Greatest Generation Ever, like grandpa Jojo who saved Almera from oppressive Thanasians. Those damn Thanasians!

Yes, the Greatest Generation Ever would sit down on some kid’s brains and take it like men! Of course, they were all socialists now, wanting welfare and Medicage payouts and free diapers. This was why the Sovereign Citizens gave them universal care, alright. Universal deathcare. Those JDAMBAMAMRAAMLRSLBM9F-117/11s sure came in handy in flattening their goddamn old folks home. Old homes, minarets, nude beaches, didn’t matter.

Fuckin’ granpa Jojo Joey thought to himself Taught me all I know but then wanted me to pay for his nursing home! Good riddance!

His anger at the antediluvian ancestor of the family was promptly directed at the hesitating students “What the fuck are you waiting for? I said sit down!” he said angrily, waving a nice, sturdy broom handle around. Granpa Jojo was a fucking parasite, but he taught Joey the value of a good beating stick in the disseminayshun of knowledge.

The children quickly took their places, though one particularly weak kid puked when he tried cleaning up his desk with a napkin. Joey smacked him around some and made him put his unsanitary napkin in his pants, like the weak menstruating woman he was. For discipline. He had to be tough, or these eight year olds would eat him alive.

Having brought his class under control, Joey opened the logbook and did all the dreary paperwork, checking attendance, checking that every student had a loaded gun on his person, making sure that nobody brought a butter knife or obscene material, and making sure they all could recite the Pledge Of Arrogance properly.

That left some five minutes of class to discuss the actual topic of today’s history lesson. Fortunately, Joey was an excellent teacher and needed no more time to explain complex issues! As a down-to-earth working man, he had it all figured out, after all.

“Listen up, you brats! Listen up but good because there will be a test tomorrow!” Joey had no idea if there would or would not be a test, but whatever, he’d just beat them if they protested. “Today we will talk about the War Of Liberal Aggression, which some lieberals used to call the Algeiran Civil War, but that’s bullshit. You see, some time ago, I don’t know exactly when but pretty long, the Liberals from wealthy and oppressive states decided to go and beat up the poor and donwtrodden states that were guilty of nothing but doing their own thing.”

“Wait, Mr. Jojo, wasn’t that war over slavery?” some snot-nosed good for nothing student asked. It was the same annoying kid who puked after cleaning human bodily fluids off his desk.

“Are you questioning my authority, boy?” Jojo glared at the little shit, as though he was a little shit that got on Joey’s shoe. “Those slaves were all damn dirty diggers who would’ve stolen our womenfolk! Cotton diggers no better than the sand diggers our troops are killing right now! The Cunnyfenestrated States of Algeira was fightin’ for their state rights... to own diggers! That was their own thing they were doing, y’hear!”

“But...” the boy wanted to say something else, but Joey shook his broom handle threateningly “Nothing, sir. Uh... thank you.”

“That’s right! Run to momma like a little sissy! Damn, you children can’t even stand up to your convictions!”

“But Momma says the Sovereign Citizens will kill you if you do that!” Some other kid blurted out suddenly.

What the hell is up with these kids? No respect for authority! Joey thought, but out loud he said “You shut your filthy little mouth ya little sissy! The Sovereign Citizens only kill those who deserve it, like those lieberals, hippies, elite intellectuals, doctors, professors, dissidents, homobortionists, illegal aliens, leftists, public servants, socialists, sand diggers, evilutionists, veganitarians, nurses, and bicyclists! Unless you’re one of those, you have absolutely nothing to worry about!”

The kid shut up, scared of Joey’s sudden outburst. Good for him - he was wearing glasses, anyway, so he was a nerd and thus none of his opinions counted for anything.

“Anyway, now that you know what’s what, let me tell you how the war went. The brave freedom fighters of the Cunnyfenestrated States of Algeira fought long and hard but did not prevail because the Unionized States cheated every time they could... whenever they weren’t on strike, anyway, those fucking socialists. They invaded the Cunnyfenestracy and that war criminal Shermang burned down Gorga, the center of Southern civilization, and destroyed their way of life for a hundred years! But then the south rose again and as you all know, we ended the filthy liberal oppression quite recently, returning back to our glorious Murcan roots. The end.”

“Can I ask you a question, dad?”

“No! I said the end, you stupid brat!”

“But...”

“WHAT IS IT WITH YOU KIDS AND BUTTS?!”, Joey yelled at the class and stormed off mumbling obscenities to himself. The bell came soon thereafter.

“Your dad is weird.”, the kid in glasses said to Billy Lee. All Billy could do was hang his head in shame. One day he promised quietly to himself One day dad’ll get everything that’s coming to him.

[Shroom Man 777]

Fortress Volgyn, Krasnogorje



Kosmoflott Oktyabrsky Fleet Base Volgyn was an ancient monument to Bragulan naval might, built on Krasnogorje's central continent almost a thousand years ago when pre-Byzonic Bragulan space bears had just recently conquered the Yenisei sector. Today, Yenisei was part of the core, but back then it had been the Bragulan periphery, a wild frontier replete with rogue alien raiders pillaging the hyperlanes. The fortress on Krasnogorje was built by the bygone empire of the High Bear Nation so that their space fleet would have a base from which they could launch their interdiction patrols.

After the Great Civil War saw the High Bear Nation put to sleep in a final hibernation, Fortress Volgyn was preserved. Not only for its centuries of history, but also for its military use. Yenisei had evolved from a frontier sector and had become part of the core. Likewise, the fortress had become a mighty fleet base with formidable defenses and a military infrastructure that had survived mostly intact through the century-long strife. Thus in the Byzoning of the Bragulan Star Empire it was deemed that Krasnogorje would continue to be a base of the Imperator's loyalist fleets, the Kosmoflott Oktyabrsky.

Unlike the ultra-fortified bastions in Kirensk and Vanagradheim hardened to withstand surprise Solarian strikes, ancient Volgyn's superstructure was actually smaller in scale, and the architectures of its bunkers was a mix of the classical paleo-brutalist architecture favored by the High Bear Nation of old and the modernist neo-brutalist designs favored by current Byzonists. A segment of the fortress was actually meticulously maintained in its original state and served as a military museum featuring antiquated hardware, including silos with seven centuries-old Spud missiles nonetheless still ready to launch at a minute's notice.

But while in the exterior of Fortress Volgyn might not be that impressive, its interior was something else entirely. Its centuries of existence meant that its designers had hundreds of years to further expand the fortress' intricate tunnel networks until it reached the bottom of the planet's crust. The sheer depth of these mineshafts exceeded even those on Kirensk and was itself surpassed only by the bragcrete catacombs on Bragule itself.

It was in these very same catacombs that the bones of the old High Bear Nation's leaders were buried. Byzon had blockaded Krasnogorje in the Great Civil War, starving an entire planet to death to end the last resistance against his righteous regime. These skeletons, now encased in glass and steel, were a harrowing reminder of the Imperator's mercy to those who were now gathered here to discuss the recent events in the nearby Outlands.

"Kosmoflott Oktyabrsky continues its patrol of Outlands sectors AA-24 and BB-25, with the duties of intercepting pirate activities, interdicting unauthorized arms shipments, performing search and rescue..." there were some chuckles at that part. "...escorting inhumanitarian aid to select planets, and most importantly deterring the space fleets of other nations from intruding in regions proximal to Bragspace. As you know, other nations are sending their forces into the Outlands, and it is crucial that we have a deterrent force to discourage them from getting any ideas. The security of Bragulan space is of utmost import."

"Oktyabrsky has also performed a number of recon sweeps in the area, and we have some very interesting footage gathered. The first aggressive reconnaissances were surveys of Araynan Centralist territories, to observe and catalog the extent of the Karlack Swarm's activities on their worlds.



"That is what happened on Aray. We have also observed several splinter strains affect several systems surrounding the capital. While Aray suffered total eradication at the hands, or rather tentacles, of the Swarm, the surrounding systems were spared that fate. The splinter strains were of limited numbers, nothing comparable to the star brood that came for Aray. We believe the purpose of the splinters was to merely further disorganize the Araynan Centralist response. Any force the Centralists or anyone else could have mustered in an attempt to save Aray or chase the withdrawing star brood would have been confronted with a number of other distressed worlds in need of saving.

"We can see that the strategy the Karlacks employed on Aray was also different from their probing strikes directed at Byzantium, as lately seen in Nova Genoa and Janus. While we believe that the Hive Fleet at Aray was the very same one at Nova Genoa, the use of splinter strains was something not seen in their clashes with the Byzantines. Unlike Genoa and Janus, which were minor worlds, Aray was also a capital world. Originally of the Outlander Commissions, but more recently as a rallying point for the Centralist successor state. In a tactico-strategic militaro-politico context, it can be interpreted as nothing less than a decapitation strike aimed at an emerging power that might have become a threat to the Karlack Swarm.

"Many have made the mistake of assuming that the Karlacks are an unthinking horde of nightmarish monstrosities. But we know better, and must never forget that they are in fact a cunning and calculating race. The Hive Minds think in an alien way, not like how we, or even the humans, do. While we are allies with them, we should never forget just how unpredictable - and dangerous - they can be."

With a loud click, the microfilm projector showed another image. A map of the Outlands dotted with several symbols of the Union Jack.

"Moving on. Minor elements of the Anglian Royal Navy from their rimward possessions near Sassanid space are continuing their operations in several areas in the Outlands. They are mostly spread out, doing anti-piracy, humanitarian and peacekeeping patrols. In their current disposition, they are not a threat to the Star Empire. However, should they link up with sizable Royal Navy units inbound from Anglia itself, then that would be another matter entirely and they must be discouraged from establishing any further colonial footholds in the region."

Another click, and another image. A series of several images, in fact, displaying various ship types with schematics and details.



"The Hiigarans have begun their intervention in the coreward sectors of Outlander space. Currently they are restricted to patrolling the space lanes of sectors Z/AA 21-22 where they have been intercepting arms shipments and assaulting pirate strongholds. Strangely enough, they are being helped by our also-good friends the Refuge.

"Hopefully, our feathered friends have told the Hiigaran humans to stay firmly on their side of the Outlands and not to come to the Bragside. If they comply, then the former Outlands regions can be delineated into three areas of responsibility. AA/BB 24-25 are the regions most proximal to Bragspace, so their security falls to us. The Hiigarans can stay in the space bordering their nation, namely Z/AA 21-22. The Refuge can patrol Z/AA/BB-23 and since they are mutual allies, they can interoperate with us in AA/BB-24 and with the Hiigarans in Z/AA-22. While we would normally perform this by ourselves without any assistance, the Space Fleet has other commitments in the anti-spinward and as such it has been decided that it would be more prudent to... cooperate with our neighbors, the Refuge, and to a minor extent with the Hiigarans as well."



"This is the informal partition reflecting the current deployment of Bragulan, Hiigaran and Refuge forces in the Outlands. Bragule will be focusing its peacekeeping efforts in sector AA-24. The Karlack splinter strains in the region have begun to subside, and our operations in the area will be intensified. Primary targets will include weapons stockpiles and depots, pirate shipyards, unauthorized arms shipments, and other assets that can be used by the local and foreign factions to further destabilize the situation. The destruction of Nova-Atlantean nano-biological weapons is crucial in the pacification of the region.

"But that is not the reason why AA-24 was chosen over other adjacent sectors to be a Bragulan-only operation."

Another click, another image. Gasps of shock, exclamations and curses came from the audience.

"This is."

A Scron Assault Carrier (left), Devastator (center), and Stormrider (right)

"These were taken from a recon gunskimmer overflight of the Eretz-Nod system in AA-24. The planet Eretz-Nod itself is home to a sizable vegemite deposit, the former Outlands' largest. It is no wonder why they have chosen to show themselves there, using the chaos and confusion of these times as cover for their activities. Who knows how long they have been operating there? Based on their dispositions, our intel suggests that they couldn't have been there for more than months.

"But already, our gunskimmer observed a considerable force in orbit over the planet Nod and patrolling the system. Ten Motherships, at least 20 Assault Carriers, and at least 60 Devastators* were detected. High resolution pictures of the planetary surface were also taken, confirming the presence of their vegemite harvesting operations, field production facilities and defenses. But the photos were of only one hemisphere, as the gunskimmer was only able to make one pass. Nonetheless, based on their numbers, we can extrapolate that they have established main strongholds on the other side with crucial command and control facilities. We have seen them in action before, we know how they work.



"We have detailed files on them, their tactics, technologies, strategies, everything. We are the galaxy's foremost experts on the subject, possibly because we are the only ones who have encountered them. Until now. We had thought them extinct, we had thought them annihilated by our own hands. We were wrong.

"How this oversight came to be, how our systematic extermination of them was incomplete, has yet to be determined by our foremost scienticians. But nevertheless, they have formulated three theories as to how the enemy had survived the extermination:

“The first, and most palatable, theory is that they are stragglers who have hidden on the shoals for centuries. Perhaps now their vegemite stocks have run low, forcing them to invade Eretz-Nod in a desperate attempt to revitalize their stores and stave off extinction, risking discovery and re-extermination as they do so.

“The second, less palatable, theory is that they are stragglers but, over the years, have managed to rebuild their forces and are now in a position to resurge into the galactic scene, and Eretz-Nod is not a desperate gambit to acquire vital vegemite but is merely the first of a series of planned invasions to show their formidability.

“The third, and worst, theory is that they are the vanguard of an entirely new force sent here to finish what the last wave failed to accomplished. They are not the survivors of the last decimated wave, but are in fact fresh forces coming straight from some dark corner of the universe - and that soon after they finish with Eretz-Nod and get into gear, they will move on to strike the largest vegemite deposits in this side of the galaxy. Namely the core worlds of Bragule.

“All these theories acknowledge the fact that they chose the most opportune moment to act - in the most chaotic period the Outlands has seen since its dissolution, and in a time when our forces are stretched thin, deployed far and wide to the very edge of the anti-spinward, thus limiting our response to their incursions. The enemy is ever cunning. They have managed to avoid extermination at our paws, deceiving us for centuries, only to choose this moment to show their faceless faces once again.

"We must respond appropriately and grind them into dust. This matter is of grave importance to not only Space Fleet, but also the Imperator personally. We were supposed to have exterminated them to the last creature, but apparently we missed a few, and this oversight must be corrected as soon as possible. The Imperator has outlawed the Scron and wants them gone forever.

“Our forces in AA-24 are to intensify their activities, to give outsiders the impression that we are stepping up anti-piracy, peacekeeping and inhumanitarian aid operations. But, in truth, we are to prepare for an incursion into Eretz-Nod to terminate the enemy with extreme prejudice. We will bury them.”





*Scron Motherships are capable of planetary landing, so they'd have to be Medium at most on the Stefan-Wylkins Scale ($90). Assault Carriers would be at the other end of Medium ($60), while I've already stated the Devastators as frigate-sized ($30). - Langley

[Shroom Man 777]

A Long Day For Papa Joe
By Siege

____________________________________

- February 13, 3401 -
- The Bronx, Sovereignty world Celeste -
____________________________________

The otherwise stately room was stacked full of baseball gear. Balls, bats, outfits and other miscellaneous objects, many of them signed, and quite a few worth a fortune to fervent (and rich) collectors, of which there would no doubt be a great many throughout the USS. Fat chance Papa Joe would give up any of his prizes though. Papa Joe was not commonly known for relinquishing his possessions, and he'd gone to great lengths to acquire several of these pieces.

Papa Joe often bragged that he was the great-great-great-great... great-great-grandson of one of the greatest baseball players of all time. This was most likely not actually the case and rather a lie and a complete fabrication on the part of Papa Joe, but few would dare openly question such things in the presence of Papa Joe himself. Also known as Don Joe, Don DiMaggio was the uncontested "capo di tutti capi" of New Brooklyn, Celeste, most powerful of all the underworld lords. It was often joked that Don Joe had more murders and more cruelty and violence under his belt than even the Duke of Death - although of course Papa Joe didn't do all that killing himself.

Most of the time, that was. Today, however, would prove to be quite a different day from 'most of the time'.

Papa Joe himself seemed like quite unimpressive a man for a gangster. He was fairly short, balding, in his mid-forties, not very muscular but with a decent posture. His black hair was carefully trimmed short, the bald patch on his head gleamed as if it were polished. He wore a polo-shirt with blue and white stripes and a gold chain over that. When the door to his office flew open and his most trusted lieutenant Donnie stormed in with a wild look on his face, Papa Joe was listening to someone on the holophone, his eyes closed in concentration.

"Papa Joe-," his lieutenant began, wide-eyed and obviously in some form of distress, but the Don held up his hand to silence him.

"But Papa Joe-" the lieutenant pleaded, but the Don opened his eyes and gave him a look that made him shut up right away. Two seconds later, the Don seemed to explode. He abruptly stood up, pushing his chair back so hard it fell to the ground.

"I'm tired of your bullshit excuses Vinnie!" he yelled in the telephone, his English tainted by a faint Italian accent. "I'll get my money anyway, you insignificant little fuck!" He slammed the phone down and suddenly was his old, reserved self again.

"The sixties are killing me," he said calmly, wiping some imaginary dust off his shirt. "You can't tell people you're going to kill them no more! Takes all the fun out of the job." Only then did he seem to actually notice his anxious lieutenant. "What!" he snapped.

"Papa Joe," his lieutenant stammered, "we're under attack!"

Papa Joe blinked once, then asked again, dangerously calm this time. "What?"

"There's gotta be hundreds of 'em and, oh man... Boss, they're zombies! They're headed this way boss!"

The Don froze for two seconds that seemed like an eternity, leaning forward with his hands on his desk. Then he paced to one of the cupboards the content of which was obscured by an old baseball shirt of the 'Chicago White Sox'. "Maibatsu motherfuckers think they can fuck with me?" Papa Joe muttered as he threw the cupboard wide open, displaying an amazing array of firearms. Gold-plated Colt neo-revolvers, Benelli shotguns, a THOR missile launcher, grenades and even several M116 military-grade phased plasma rifles decorated the velvet green insides of the cupboard. Joe grabbed two of the plasma rifles, as well as several grenades. "Maibatsu motherfuckers think they can fuck with Papa Joe? Okay. But Papa Joe's no fool. I know my shit!" he pointed the plasma rifle to one of the rosewood tables that decorated his office. On it lay several issues of 'Orion's Guardian: Majella Edition'. Papa Joe gestured to his lieutenant, who was obviously scared out of his mind.

"Round up the men and get the cars," the Don ordered sharply, obviously in a killing mood. "Nobody fucks with Papa Joe DiMaggio in his own neighborhood!"


15 minutes later

"Motherfucker!" cursed Sonny as a zombie leapt at him from the bushes. He whirled around and blew its head off with his auto-shotgun before it could get to him. "Yeah, fuck you!" he yelled, and blew two more shots into the twitching corpse.

Things were looking pretty bad- the whole block was a mess. Before the gang enforcers had managed to clear the streets, civilians had been fleeing all sides from the zombies. It had been chaos, the gangsters had already lost two streets and at least six of Sonny's fellow soldiers had not made it out alive. They were tough as nails, but this wasn't the kind of battle they were familiar with. Twenty metres to his left, Tony and Vincent were blasting away with submachineguns, mowing down zombies left and right, cursing the ghoulish creatures with every bullet that left their guns. Sonny had plenty shells- the problem was, he couldn't shoot fast enough. A mass of zombies was shambling through the street. He had no clue where they'd come from, but he didn't care much either. Sonny switched to rapid-fire and in quick succession blew fifteen shells into the mass of walking corpses, sending chunks and gibs and rotten blood flying. "This!" Bang! "Is!" Bang! "Our!" Bang! "Fucking!" Bang! "Neighborhood!" Bang! "Motherfuckers!" Click! He retreated ten meters, ejected the magazine and slammed a new drum into the shotgun, then turned around. He recognized the nearest zombie- it was Genovese, the butcher on the corner. "Never liked your meatballs anyway fucker!" Sonny cursed. Three shots fired in quick succession took the head off the corpse of the butcher and sent bloody gibs flying.

It was no use, Sonny knew. He was soldier enough to recognize a lost battle when he saw one. Still it would do no good to leave their own turf with their tails behind their legs, especially against enemies that didn't even fire back. If there just hadn't been so many of them, or they had more weapons-

The whine of repulsors shrieked and Sonny barely managed to duck as a white LARC limo shot overhead, crashing head-on into the zombie horde, cutting a bloody path through them before pulling up into the sky again, crimson blood dripping off the white paint and its chromed grille. Sonny heard the familiar cursing of the Don even before Papa Joe had managed to fully open the sunroof of the bulletproof limo. The Don popped up out of the limousine as it hovered over the shambling zombies, brandishing a phased plasma rifle. "How you like me now Maibatsu motherfuckers!" Sonny heard him curse before the Don let rip. Bolts of plasma tore through the zombies, boiling and burning their flesh and dropping the ghouls like flies. The limousine abruptly dropped to street-level, squishing half a dozen zombies under its repulsors. When it went up, a single zombie latched onto the roof; the Don vaporized its head with a plasma bolt.

The limo came to a halt in front of the zombie horde, and the Don and five soldiers got out. Papa Joe threw the plasma rifle to Donnie and grabbed another weapon. Sonny raced forward. This was not a time to look weak. He heard a dull 'fwoomp' and suddenly three of the forward zombies seemed to explode. The Don laughed. "Say hello to my little friend!" Papa Joe spat, and popped off another grenade from the automatic grenade launcher in his hands. Another LARC passed into the street and stopped next to Vincent and Tony. Donnie and four other gangsters got out, brandishing submachineguns of their own. Plasma and bullets began to scythe mercilessly through the zombies, grenades blowing gaping holes in their ranks. Sonny crouched behind the limo and joined in, his shotgun booming at full auto.

"You like that?" shouted the Don on the top of his lungs. "Yeah? You like that? You like fucking up my god-damn neighborhood? Eat this!" as he popped off grenade after grenade, blowing up zombies left and right and center. Within minutes, the fire subsided. There were no more zombies in the street. Papa Joe dropped the grenade launcher and grabbed a baseball bat from the backseat of the limo, and proceeded to bash the head in of the last zombie that lay twitching on the ground, cut in half by plasma bolts. "That's what you get for fucking with me!" he yelled. "That's what you get for fucking with me!" The head of the zombie had long been reduced to a mushy, red pulp when Papa Joe finally stopped hitting it, crimson blood dripping off the bat. He threw the baseball bat away and seemingly regained his composure, straightening his shirt and rearranging the gold chain.

"Motherfuckers think they can jump out of the bushes at me," Papa Joe stated nonchalantly, gazing at the gangsters surrounding him, each brandishing a smoking military-grade weapon, each with pure adrenalin coursing through his veins. "Donnie, you stay here and clean out the neighborhood. We," he gestured at Sonny, Vincent, Tony and the men who'd come with him in the limousine. "There's a Maibatsu laboratory off north. Those fucks need to pay. We go now and fuck them up. Vendetta, capiche?"

Yeah, Sonny figured. This would definitely be one hell of a bloody day.

[White Haven]

We Were Never Here
Shoal space near Balcora

The duel between the fleeing blockade runner and its Hiigaran pursuer dominated the main holoprojector in the small ship's modest bridge. Ever since that first daring trick brought both ships slamming back into normal space and elicited gasps from the watching agents, each new development drew a smattering of applause and the occasional cheer. Midway through, Jennifer's nose began to twitch. She frowned, sniffing a few times, before looking around suspiciously.

"Is that...popcorn?"

A quiet cough rose up from behind the small fortress of communications and sensor readouts and controls towards the back of the bridge, a sheepish face turning to look away from the holoplot and towards Jennifer's arched eyebrow.

Without waiting for a reply, her mouth opened...and then the paused, the rebuke frozen on her lips. After a few seconds, her lips twitched in a half-hidden grin as she replaced her earlier impulsive denunciation with the age-old phrase, "I hope you made enough for everyone."

A short while later, with popcorn in every lap, a chorus of 'ooohs' rose up from the watchers as the blockade runner vanished in a blaze of light. At the same time, a fainter voice filtered in through the open hatch to the main spinal corridor, echoing up from the engine room at the far end of the crew spaces.

"Woo! Engine overload plus disabling shots equal critical failure! I called it! Two points!"

Jennifer snorted quietly at that, a grin spreading across her face for a few seconds before she shook her head slightly and called out over the din of applause, "Alright, we should probably get around to responding to that other ship...I don't think the Director wants us to poke them into shooting us down." The bridge quickly quieted down at the reminder of the doubtlessly-irritated intercept ship bearing down on them, particularly given that they'd delayed answering to watch the fireworks. "Mister Cunningham, are they close enough for realtime audio?"

"There'll be some minor transmission lag, so don't wait up for a reply, but it'll be close to realtime. Shall I put you on?"

"If you please, thank you."

A few button presses later and the man seated behind the impressive Signals station replied with a thumbs-up, staying silent.

"Lieutenant -- Can I call you Stef? Anyway, message received, we will drop sublight and stand by for your arrival." Mid-sentence, Jennifer gestures towards the pilot, who nods and begins easing the small ship gently out of hyperspace. "I believe we have some leftover popcorn from that lightshow if you'd care to dock. It's the least I can offer. O'Leary, clear."

[Force Lord]

The Central Times

Dictator down with the flu

It's flu season down here at Centrum, and everyone's trying out the latest vaccines. Even so, some have been less lucky, and they include a few important Party members.

The latest casualty is none other than the President himself.

Dirad Kierger, ruler of the Centrality, has contracted the flu, allegedly an "especially difficult one", according to Party spokesmen. They assure that Kierger will make a quick recovery and reassume his duties...

---

MEH Earth, MEH Sol System
Sector A-25, MEH
Unreal Time/Early-Mid February

The MEH's Warp Gate was activated, and out came a small shuttle, carrying Kierger and his bodyguards, incluing one certain armored man with mechanical breathing.

"I know this meeting may be important, but I do not trust this...Sasha. She can be unpredictable."

"Red, relax. Women are all the same, regardless of race. I mean, look at her situation. Obviously she never met a real man for a loooong time, what with all the people in the MEH being stupid fatties. Nah, I'll just bust out my moves, and see her swoon."

Redav could only sigh. "I don't have a good feeling about this..."

The shuttle, passing through the atmosphere, passed between the arches of the city, making a beeline for a large landing pad beside an enormous building. Landing on it, the shuttle began to disgorge its passengers.

As the Centralist leader came out of the shuttle, he saw a group of machines escorting Sasha, the MEH's undisputed Leader, coming out to greet them.

"Some welcoming commitee you have there, Sasha!", he shouted.

"You like it? Oh you're so considerate Kiergy!", she responded.

Kiergy?, wondered Redav, who just came out of the shuttle. Just what is she playing at?

Kierger, of course, raised an eyebrow. "This is the second time we meet and you're giving me nicknames already? You must be a real lonely woman."

"So why don't you keep me company?", Sasha said, sliding her arm behind Kierger's. "We have a lot to talk about."

"Uh, right. Red, stay here with the shuttle. Keep an eye on the pilots and the other bodyguards."

Redav was chagrined. He wanted to see the MEH's workings with his own eyes. "As you wish."

Seeing them both walk towards the large building, Redav could only fume about being left behind as a glorified guard...

---

Dining Room

"Wow. Talk about a banquet!"

Kierger, in all his years, had never seen such a banquet, even in the most lavish parties possible in the Centrality. There, in the dining table, were both high-calorie, fatty foods and, incredibly, actual healthy food as well. The Centralist leader wondered how fruits and vegetables could still exist when the average MEH person was as fat as a cow.

"All you can eat, Kiergy! My chefs went all out!"

"I can see that. Really Sasha, a simple dinner would have been fine with me. It's not as we're in a date or something."

Sasha laughed. "Oh, always seeing romance in anything, K. Besides, you're the first national leader that came to visit. So I can't help but to be in a celebratory mood!"

"Yeah, well. I was getting bored back home, to tell the truth."

"Bored? Your job isn't satisfying you?"

"More like I don't have important things to do. The Triumvirs did all the important jobs once my predecessor went the way of the dodo, and now I have to work my way back to where Enduvos was: unchallenged. Right now I'm still little more than a rubber-stamp compared to the Triumvirate."

"So why won't you get rid of them?"

"They have too many allies in the Party and Government for me to move against them. Besides, I'm still a nobody. I have no serious reputation in the party besides my "reckless" nature, and not much of a power base. By the time I get to see down everyone I may have to get rejuvenation treatment at least once."

"That sucks. I don't think I'll last in an environment where you have to outmaneuver others before they do the same to you. It's too hard!"

Kierger shrugged. "Well, consider yourself lucky then. Enough about my situation. You wanted to talk about the deal we made last year."

Sasha blinked, then said, "Oh sure! I nearly forgot. Though to tell the truth, I'm not sure if I can give you a trade treaty or something."

"With everything that's happening recently, that's practically impossible. No, trade can happen later. Tech, however, is something I think we can agree on, right?"

Sasha beamed.

"Sure."

---

Landing Pad

Kooo-pah

Redav had stayed outside the shuttle, walking back and forth across the platform. The Special Corps bodyguards did not need telepathy to know that Redav was upset. They were, however, reluctant to do anything. They knew better than to aggravate Kierger's personal bodyguard...if that was really his function. No one really knew where did Redav come from.

So they started to gossip.

"I think that guy's a cyborg. You wonder why he seems to have difficulty breathing? Maybe his suit is really a portable life-support system."

"An armored system, to say the least. Wonder what assignment they gave to this guy that banged him up so badly?"

"Assignment? Hell, what kind of injuries you need to end up like him?"

"I think he got burned."

"Burned? That's too easy an explanation. Maybe radiation did it!"

"Radiation burning?"

"..."

"It's possible."

"Your penchant for fire scares me man. Sometimes."

Kooo-pah

"Perhaps you will find this more frightening?"

The guards turned their heads to see Lord Redav only a few inches away from them, his fingers seemingly pressing air.

As it turned out, the guards were having sudden difficulty breathing.

"Did you fools believe that I would not overhear your little discussion?"

The guards were grasping at their necks, gasping for air. Redav could feel their terror and pain, and relished it.

"S-sir, *gasp* w-we are *gasp* s-sorry...", one of the guards blurted out.

For a second Redav seemed about to close his hand fully, but then released his grip on the hapless guards. Looking at them recover their breathing, he simply said,

"Apology accepted."

Kooo-pah

Little did they know that he was smiling behind his mask...

---

Dining Room

"Say what?!

Kierger had known that Sasha was a little... bad in the head. He knew of the stunts the MEH had pulled, how they requested in official diplomatic messages ESP-capable prisioners for freaking experimentation, how they wanted help in a blatant land-grab of Ork territory. Kierger had only just heard back in the Centrality about rumblings within the Ork communities, how they were increasingly attacking MEH ships and even territory. The MEH had ignored one of the cardinal rules for dealing with the Orks: Do Not Piss Them Off. That was bad enough.

But now, Sasha had just told him something that made him realize that, no matter how powerful she was, no matter how she claimed to have the ability to warp space and time, no matter how many people in the MEH worshipped her, she was, simply put, dumb as shit.

"What, you don't like it?", said Sasha, somewhat taken aback by his sudden outburst.

"Don't like it? Seriously? It's insane! Kidnapping ESP-capable people from other nations? That's asking for a serious beatdown from other states."

"How else am I going to get ESPers? I mean, it was hard enough to get prisioners with ESP!"

Kierger sighed. "Look, there is an easy solution now that you have your prisioners: Cloning."

"Cloning?"

"Yes!", Kierger said, lifting himself from the chair. "You don't need to go and waste time and safety on kidnapping schemes! You cam easily clone a test subject, do some genetic modifications, and voila! You now have your own ESP clone army!"

He then winked, wondering if Sasha had taken the hint. Or did he wink at himself?

Not that he had time to think about it, because she had suddenly burst out from her chair and was hugging him hard. Harder than he expected.

Ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow...

"Why didn't I think of that? That is like the greatest idea ever!"

"Lungs...need air...my bones..."

"Oh, sorry." Sasha let go of a rather gasping Kierger.

"Gaaah...hooo...."

Sasha was practically grinning now, her giddyness obvious to even an empath miles away. Kierger could only guess that she was thinking about the cloning procedures...

"Oh, Kiergy, I like you! I need men like you with me running the MEH! Can you stay for a little while longer?"

Whoa whoa whoa! What is this I don't even...

Kierger made a quick look at his expensive-looking watch, and realized it was nearly time for him to go back home.

"Uh, I can't."

Sasha raised an eyebrow.

"Why?"

She was staring at him, not with puppy eyes, thankfully, but with a creepy look that Kierger had long believed that it as the domain of deranged madmen...or women, in this case.

"I'm a busy man, Sasha. Besides, I'm married."

Which was true, by the way. Her wife was younger than him, and was pregnant. She was, by his standards, of a dull personality, but she never spoke of his...antics. Kierger suspected that she knew everything, but never spoke because, in the end, who was going to stop him? Even the Triumvirs were no longer interested in his sexual endeavors, as long as there were no major scandals.

"Oh, I wasn't thinking about marriage, dummy. I want your body."

"My body? What are you talking about?"

Sasha placed her hand on Kierger's shoulder, saying slyly, "Oh, you'll know very soon, mister..."

Sudden pain.

Is this what droids feel when they suffer a fatal exception? That was his last thought.

He felt like falling. Everything he saw came out in slow motion. He did not feel the ground catching his back.

Darkness.

The last thing he heard was Sasha's giggling....

[RogueIce]

Midgar, Shinra Republic - 01 March 3401 UNST

President Cid Shinra prepared to give an address to his nation, an address he knew would be rebroadcast throughout the known galaxy. With his words, he would be dedicating the lives of his soldiers and sailors, as well as those of many other nations, into a war. But it was a war that had to be fought... or at least, such was the opinion of himself and the other allies he had already gathered in secret.

With representatives and ambassadors of the coalition he had brought together behind him, the President began to speak. "Ladies and gentle beings of the galaxy, I come before you today to report on a grave situation. Several months ago, a transport of the Multiversal Empire of Happiness was found on the outskirts of Shinra Republic space, suffering mechanical failure. A routine reconnaissance mission of the Shinra Republic Navy observed the vessel in distress, and offered their assistance, which the Imperial transport accepted." This was not the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. However, it was unlikely any of the MEH crew would dispute this, as they were either locked away in a military prison or had been granted refugee status and were living with new identities. "While assisting the Imperial crew with repairs, a Shinra naval team came across prisoners being transported. After an investigation, it was revealed that these prisoners were all Espers, and slated to be the subject of cruel and unusual experimentation by the Multiversal Empire of Happiness." President Shinra paused briefly, mostly for effect. "This information is corroborated by early diplomatic communications exchanged between ourselves and the Empire, as well as communications between the Empire and other nations, who have shared their findings with us." At this, President Shinra gestured towards the representatives and ambassadors behind him. "These communications requested the supply of Espers for purposes of experimentation, specifying a preference for prisoners given life sentences or slated for execution."

Adopting a stern look, the President continued on. "It is clear what the Empire's intentions are: to illegally and immorally enslave sentient beings of Esper potential to perform what are likely to be dangerous and cruel experiments upon. This behavior is unacceptable to any civilized being, and will not stand. Thus the coalition, involving the Shinra Republic, United Star Kingdom of New Anglia, the Technocracy of Umeria, the Clans of Hiigara, the Interstellar Union of Worlds, the Holy Empire of Haruhi Suzumiya, the Byzantine Imperium, the Sultanate of Klavostan, and Tianguo, present the following demands to the Multiversal Empire of Happiness:

"A full and complete military stand down, and surrender of all equipment to the coalition,
Full and complete access to all Imperial facilities by coalition personnel,
And the surrender of any and all beings engaged in or who authorized the experimentation of enslaved Espers to coalition authority.

"If these demands are not met by 00:00 on the first of June in the Year 3401, United Nations of Earth and Nova Terra Standard Time, a state of war shall exist between the Coalition and the Multiversal Empire of Happiness.

"The Shinra Republic and our friends and allies do not wish for war, but the actions undertaken by the Multiversal Empire of Happiness simply can not be ignored. As demonstrated by the former Free Republic of Pendleton, those who would enslave sentient beings for their own benefit are not accepted by the galactic community, and their tyranny will be answered with force, if necessary." With those last words, he stepped away from the podium and the cameras blinked off.

This speech was not the only thing to be done today, of course. First, he would have to relay to the Chamarrans his continued agreement to the unofficial arrangement he had between them, regarding the division of conquest against the MEH. And he would have to instruct the Department of Foreign Affairs to begin 'negotiations' with the Empire. These negotiations would, of course, fail to prevent the war. But they would, he hoped, buy enough peace between now and the deadline for the Shinra Republic, their coalition, and the Chamarrans and their coalition, to gather the necessary forces to strike.

It was going to be a very busy three months, indeed.

[Shroom Man 777]

Deep Space, Yenisei Core Sector, Bragulan Star Empire



The strategic battlefortress Byzon I, The Defender of the Universe loomed over the assembled bragfleets before it, casting its shadow on the lesser forms of great warships that were laid low and humbled by it, made small in comparison to its brute Byzonic bulk. There around it was the combined might of Kosmoflott Sagatantron in its vast entirety and by its side was the remainder of Kosmoflott Oktyabrsky. With them were the Imperial Legions of Liberation troopships with countless million Bragulan soldiers inside their holds, all slumbering in hibernation. Even Sassanid ships were present, a flotilla of a handful warships escorting their truly massive Heighliners - which were still puny next to the Byzon - that carried even more Bragtroops. Surrounding them were countless logistic vessels, supply ships, replenishers, fuel tankers, cargo craft, transporters, and all the other accompaniments expected for a full fledged invasion force.

All these ships had gathered at Yenisei to make their final preparations. The core sector was known as the Bread Basket of Bragule, and so they visited the world Rassvet, which had a planetary surface entirely dedicated to agriculture, to store up on foodstuffs, megatons of grains, berries and fish. Then they moved to Dremuguchyi and filled their tanks by the gas giant extractor rigs, for they required more vespene gas and liquid metals. Lastly they came to Krasnogorje to link up with the remaining elements of Oktyabrsky that had not been dispatched to the Outlands but rather retained in Bragspace for this purpose, and the Sassanid ships too.

Now fully prepared, they readied to leave Bragspace - by venturing down rimward, flying over Sassanid space with their permission, before heading to the anti-spinward to meet with the Bragfleet already operating near Chamarran space.

Spystars waited in Wild Space with palpable anxiety. Solarian spy arrays and monitoring stations were pointed at Bragspace now, watching this pivotal moment, waiting for any sign of deceit, any hint that the invasion force was bound for the USS.

Suddenly, their hyper-arrays picked up intense spikes of radiations as the Bragships prepared to jump into hyperspace. Bragulan navigation sensors began bombarding space with irradiated tachyon isotopes while their own hyperdrives spooled up and sent alpha, beta, delta, gamma and x-ray particles flying at the right angles of reality. The intense radiations built up, going higher and higher as they burned holes through realspace. Finally, highly irradiated ether erupted in a blinding flash of light, searing the electronic eyes of any unprepared onlookers within several AUs.

When the flash subsided, the Bragfleet was gone. Bound for the anti-spinward.

[Zor]

Commonwealth Army Proving grounds, New T'au

Over a burning sand scape, a bitter relic of the Barbarian Wars, the new prototype moved quickly. While it was humanoid, it did not run. Instead it one or two meters in the air using countergrav systems at several hundred kilometers per hour. A couple times it jumped several meters into the air to bypass a gorge or to ascend up the side of a mesa. Once it made a tumble into some sand, but it got to its feet and then went on its flight. It was mechanical in appearance with a large chunk of lead on its back. It eventually came in and closed on a small building, touching and then walking inside. The imposing figure stood more than two and a half meters tall, towering over a set of Posthuman, Tau and Chamarran engineers and technicians. It then parked itself at a station and plugged into the wall. A Hatch on the back was opened and a Cyberbrain was removed and moved to a waiting general purpose prosthetic body nearby with its head open. Its spinal cord slithered down its back, its head closed and its eyes opened. Centurion Butler then got to her feet and went to the refectory and got a couple cups of tea. She returned walked over to a Tau Engineer examining the device.

"How's it look?" she said, handing over one of the cups.

Fio'ui Careful Eye turned to meet her, taking. "She's held up pretty good, should be no problems long term. Some adjustments are probably going to be made but i think that this stage of testing is coming to a close." She turned back to the machine.

"Then be field equipment trials."

"That should be the case"

"That means being shot at."

"Considering the marks they invest into just one of these babies, i doubt that. Anyway they did test out many of those systems on unmanned platforms."

Jane smirked "Alright, still i can't wait to pilot the finished product."

"I can't wait to see you doing so"

(OOC: This is covered under the Slayer Project in terms of resources)

[PeZook]

Code: Select all

OPERATIONS WILL BEGIN AGAINST ENTITY MULTIVERSAL EMPIRE OF HAPPINESS WITHIN .5 MEGASECONDS

INITIATE PLANNING UPDATE FOR OPERATION HARBINGER

------------------------------------

SIGNAL RECEIVED. RELAYING.

Silverback facility
Commune space

The pyramid stood there, in the wilderness on an unnamed Commune world. It looked strangely out of place, yet somehow organically attached to the cliff-face, as if it was always there since the beginning of time.

Only a few beings in known space, those with the correct security clearances, knew precisely what it was and how it got here, and they were not about the share this knowledge. Especially seeing what transcribed within the facility's strange interior, twisting in non-euclidean ways. Corridors would twist and turn for some arcane reasons, sometimes looping across several exotic dimensions within a single stretch. Weird energies spiraled across conduits buried deep inside its necrodermis walls, carrying information related to the work being done here - done both by Collector intelligences existing within its computer banks, and by Commune scientists plugged into the same systems.

Silverback was a place used for research into the extrauniversal. Into stable matter that could hop the barrier between parallel universes that were not composed to submolecular soup or full of star-rending energy released due to unstable physical laws.

And it also housed a rather large and well secured submeson core. Two submeson cores, actually - one to serve the needs of the facility's research, and another to facilitate another need entirely.

That core awakened today, mere milliseconds after Rufus Shinra made his announcement to the galaxy - after, or before, due to the strange violations of causality inherent in faster-than-light communications.

It dialed up another core, somewhere in the shoals nearby, and sent the agreed-upon signal.

The Collectors were ready. A permanent channel was opened, shifting operational data and simulations between two stellar nations. The operation itself was still well away, but plans had to be updated in real time as the situation developed.

All of this was invisible, hidden in the usual comms and energy traffic of the facility. Amongst all that, the only visible symptom was a small C'Tan Consumer Products frigvette coming through one of the Commune's warp gates, and disappearing quickly into hyperspace - headed towards Lost territorry.

[Fingolfin_Noldor]

High above Terra



The largest conglomeration of ships ever gathered in recent history hung above Terra, capital of the Imperium, and the seat of the Master of Mankind. It has been a while since the Imperium had launched a Crusade of such size, but it would be launched, and in such a fashion that would shake the foundations of the galaxy. It had taken a few months to refit the fleet across the Imperium; many ships had arrived at the Mars and Jupiter Yards and other major yards for a thorough refit to prepare them for battle. The yards have never been this busy in recent times, but they have. In addition to the many ships, millions of Imperial Guardsmen and PDF soldiers, hundreds of thousands of Astartes and four Titan Legions gathered in orbit were awaiting the beck and call of the Strategos Primus who would be appointed as Warmaster for the Crusade.

That Warmaster as it turns out was Rus Komnenos. His brother, Aurelian Komnenos would be his second in command. However, despite the hierarchy, there was no doubt that the two brothers regarded each other as equals in combat. The formality was merely a game of politics and at least present a face to the rest of the coalition. Aurelian disdained such formalities in any case, and if his brother was willing to play the game, let him. The eldest, Belisarius Komnenos would stay behind to to stay watch on the rest of the Imperium.

Belisarius Komnenos, dressed in his full battle armor in the throne room, looked at his brothers, dressed similarly. "You know the objectives, the real ones that is," he chuckled.

Rus grined savagely. "Yes yes, I know the real reason why we are going."

"Indeed. The bears hold up their end of the bargain?" asked Aurelian sternly.

"It appears so. The bears typically do, as they always have for the last few hundreds of years despite the bits and pieces of bushfire. They also aren't the sort to pass up this opportunity of 'punishing and killing' a bunch of weakling humans."

Aurelian merely nodded.

"In any case, my Father be with you both. I wish I could join you but the business of state calls. Let us now bear witness to something we rarely see these days."

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

A lone young girl kneeled before the God Emperor who sat upon the Golden Throne. She prayed piously, and she was in total awe. To be in the presence of her God, gave her an electrifying feeling of awe and elation. She prayed hard for the Imperium, for humanity, for sinners, and for the souls lost. And she prayed for the death of the enemies of Mankind.

The God Emperor rose from his throne and walked forward to her, and stooped on one knee. He beheld her beauty and held up her face by her chin. He smiled warmly. "Will you do as the I would ask in my name? To follow my every word, my every command, regardless of the cost?"

For a moment, she was stunned. She felt that her God was asking her to commit her every soul and life to Him. She would not disappoint him. She dared not to. She nodded, "I will do as my Lord would ask."

The God Emperor smiled. He placed his hand on her forehead and closed his eyes. The entire throneroom surged with the power of psykery and chilled and darkened. As he gathered all his strength his power, and his might, his eyes glowed with unholy power. He spoke, and every word he intoned sent powerful resonances through space, time and the Warp. The very universe heard his voice, with such command and power that few if ever would dream to rival at all.

"With the power vested in me, I call you Saint Gilraen of the White. You shall be the Protector of the Imperium, its Spear, its beacon of Hope. You will guard against the treachery that awaits us. Your sword and shield will bring Death to the Enemies of the Imperium. You will serve me, the Imperium, and its people. Take upon the name and title! Saint Gilraen of the White."



And with that, the Power of the God Emperor surged through the frail body of the little girl, remaking her, changing her. She rose into the air, psychic powers awakening and changing her. She grew wings and they opened with a white splendour. The metamorphosis was so powerful, that visions of her cleaving her way through the enemy, destroying all as she went, invaded the minds of many across the Constantinople system. Fire grew from the tips of her wings, and sheathed her golden armored body like a protective shield. Psykers collapsed as the sheer power of the vision invaded their minds. She landed gently on the ground, and she bowed before the God Emperor. "I will do as you command, my Lord. The Emperor Protects," she said with a whole new voice. "I will execute your word, and bring the light and the glory of the Imperium to these heretics as you so command."

The God Emperor merely smiled.

Soon, the fleet in orbit departed, and headed for a secret rendezvous position.

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

Today again the Imperium goes to war. The God Emperor has proclaimed his Judgement. Imperial Justice has been held in all accounts. A civilization's fate has been decided and the Wrath of the God Emperor shall be visited upon them. We go now to crush the heretics of the nation that calls itself the MEH. These baseborn heretics, these conniving scum deserve no mercy whatsoever. For worshiping a xeno, they all deserve to be put to the sword. Do not show them any mercy, soldiers of the Imperium. Show them no respect, or anything that a civilized human should deserve. They are animals, and should be treated as such. The God Emperor has declared them sinners of the worst sort, and thus they shall feel the Wrath of the God Emperor. His Wrath is worse than even the Seven Plagues that visited upon Egypt, fires from the sky. The MEH will burn for their abject stupidity and treachery. However, if they so much as repent, then know this: They must serve hundreds of years of penance for the grave crimes they have commited against humanity. Forgiveness will only be reserved for the most contrite, if they are even so much as contrite.

Go forth soldiers of the Imperium. Crusade across the Stars and purge the galaxy of these worthless vermin. Do you duty for your people, and the God Emperor.
The sayings of Ecumenical Patriarch Innokenti.

[White Haven]

Border Monitoring Post BMP-XENU-51
Rimward border of Xenu sector (U-20)

The sudden shrill wail of the small border outpost's extensive sensor network saved Lieutenant Carter Yost from a terrible, terrible hand of poker. With relief he flipped his cards onto the table and kicked his rolling chair over towards the main sensor console, chased off by outraged groans from his opponents. Glancing back over his shoulder while he pulled himself into position in front of the main array console, he just grinned at the other two figures throwing their hands down in disgust, calling back with a taunting tone, "You know the rules, better luck next...hand...SWEET MERCIFUL FUCK!"

Those last few words were blurted out after casually turning back towards the old-style flat panel displays set into the 'main console,' if anything on the tiny station even warranted that name. His sudden change in tone and posture banished thoughts of the spoiled poker game from the other two players' minds, both of them shooting to their feet. Cheap plastic rattled noisily to the deckplates along with the makeshift table itself, poker chips bouncing and rolling across the floor in the wake of the two other members of the listening post's crew. Both of them crowded around the seated form of the the lieutenant, staring down at the displays with slack-jawed shock for a few seconds.

With a twitch, Yost shook off his stunned paralysis and snapped out a pair of terse orders, "Antonio, you take the escorts, I'll get the heavies. Kevin, get a flash to sector command and update as we firm up the count." A beat passed with no response and no reaction until the post commander's open palm cracked down on the console with a loud slap, "Now would be good!"

As all three bent to their tasks, the massed ranks of the navy of the Imperium of Man rumbled onwards through hyperspace.

Royal Navy Xenu Sector Command

It started with a single comm operator frowning and leaning forwards, fingers pressed against his earpiece. She murmured into a throat mic and then began hurriedly manipulating the controls before her. Midway through that conversation, another operator reacted similarly, then a third. By the time the fourth reacted, the uplinked data following the flash-priority voice traffic had begun to trickle in. Messages began to blink at terminals across the facility, in and outside of the communications center. A few minutes later, that list of terminals grew to include the sector command flag officers themselves.

Bare seconds later, Admiral Bellworth's office door chimed a request for admittance.

"I assume this has to do with the message I was just about to read, Crowley?"

"Yes sir. The border listening posts are reporting massed fleet movement to rimward. All of them, admiral; we're even getting some indications that the Gabriel sector posts are getting wind of it too. Whatever's going on, sir... it's beyond huge."

"Flash-priority to Tethyr Command and all three numbered fleets directly. Get Gaerloch's PTF moving towards the Second Fleet, and get Second Fleet moving to the border. Work out a least-time rendezvous en route, but get them moving now, Crowley."

After a moment's thought, he stopped the departing man with a quick addition, "General signal to the border posts, they are to purge and abandon if approached. This isn't the Confederation, they might not respect decency."

"Yes sir."

Midnight Confederation Listening Post Aleph-82
Scylla Sector (U-19)

"Sooomebody fucked up by the numbers..."

"What was that, specialist?"

SHIT! was all that ran through the painfully young-looking rating's mind as he realized that his quiet whisper was overhead. Looking up, he paled still further as he recognized the face that he'd not quite put a voice to yet after being transferred in to serve as the isolated listening post's signals specialist.

"A-aah...Commander! Sorry sir, was just talking to myself, won't happen again?"

"See that it doesn't. Now, who 'fucked up by the numbers,' and how? If it's good, I might even forget this."

I would get the only hardass post CO in the sector, wouldn't I... "It's a pretty big one, ma'am...I just copied Royal Navy flash traffic in the clear."

"You....what?"

"They locked it down pretty quickly, but somebody screwed up and sent flash-priority traffic from Xenu Sector Command to Royal Navy Central Command in the clear. They've got major fleet activity to rimward, they think it's those God-nuts--ahem, the Byzantines, ma'am." His face flushed a sudden crimson at the slip, his own excitability making him run ahead of his words. The slip apparently went unnoticed, however, or at least un-remarked-on, as the officer was already hurrying back across the decking towards the secure communications console.

Royal Navy Central Command
Tethyr Sector (V-19)

"...Wait, what?"

"Admirals, I have to report that the Xenu sector may fall under attack from Imperium forces in multi-fleet strength. Reports are still tenuous, but we know that heavy Byzantine fleet elements have entered the neutral transit corridor without any apparent warning. Admiral Bellworth has Second Fleet moving towards the border, but it won't be enough if things go hot."

"Gentlemen, ladies, I believe that concludes our weekly poker tournament. Greg, get First Fleet underway immediately, reinforce Second if this goes badly. Lieutenant, signal Gate Command to seal the warpgate to all transits while First Fleet is off-station. Vanessa, take Fortress Command to Red Two for the duration as well. Ezri, I want you to...Lieutenant?"

The lone lieutenant in a room otherwise full of assorted miscellaneous admirals took his hand off of his earpiece, looking more than mildly bemused, "Aaah...Admiral Tern reports that the Confederation First Fleet is withdrawing from the Scylla sector entirely. She's claiming to have received assurances from Admiral Yureh that he does not intend to contest the sector during the 'present crisis.' Uh...specifically, and I quote, 'If anyone takes you down, it's going to be me.' In any case, she's requesting permission to space for the border."

"...Get confirmation that the Confederation First is actually withdrawing from Scylla Sector Command, and if you receive that, release Tern to head rimward. Gentlemen, ladies, we have work to do."

[Shroom Man 777]

THE FREE REPORTER-OBSERVER DAILY
Late February Edition

With a bite, President Ford turns his words into law.

THE PREFECTURE, TESTINGSTAN - In an unexpected turn of events the Ford Prefect's Country*, a normally neutral nation, has issued an international statement addressed to several interstellar powers in regards to the recent spate of violence and intrigue in the former Outland Commissions. The head of state President Garrison Ford, the Prefect, made the address himself, in which he praised the Clans of Hiigara in taking a lead role the humanitarian aid effort and peacekeeping mission in the wartorn nation. He also applauded the Diamid and Kiith Council's stand against both the Nova Atlantean Commonwealth and the Centrality, declaring the two states to be the chief instigators of escalation in the former Outlands region.

"The Atlanteans have allowed terrorists to disseminate nanoweapons in the Outlands. Somehow, these terror groups were able to produce a very sophisticated weapon of mass mutation, a feat requiring considerable technological infrastructure, without any action on part of the Atlantean government. Yet when called out by the Refuge, they apprehended the terrorists almost instantly. That is almost too convenient, and speaks volumes of [the] Atlantean intelligence [services]... or their lack of it." President Prefect stated, before moving on to address the Centrality.

"The Centralists too have aggressively pushed for the expansion of their Araynan puppet state, to the point of destabilizing the region. This is not only true in the former Outlands, but also elsewhere in the galaxy. This is a matter of grave concern to the Ford Prefect's Country, we are a small nation and fascist movements backed by interstellar powers present a grave threat to our national security. The Centrality and its CENINTERN has shown its true colors in the Outlands affair and we cannot abide by what they have done."

The President went on to finish his statement by declaring:

"Thus, following Hiigara's lead, we also declare embargoes on both the Nova Atlantean Commonwealth and the Centrality. We also call on other members of the interstellar community, both great and small, to similarly repudiate the actions of the Atlanteans and the Centrality. These blatant acts of terror and wanton disregard for international law can only lead to further destabilization, lest they are condemned and countered."

He then cryptically added:

"The actions of these interlopers have upset the harmony of the cosmos, and perhaps prompted the great scourge to consume a whole world to rebuke their hubris. The tragedy of Aray falling to the celestial fangs of the Karlack Swarm was preceded by a most ominous omen in the spirit world. The lesson is that one must contemplate his actions, lest the most innocuous wingbeats of a butterfly spark a raging hurricane."

After his speech, the President performed the ritual biting of the pepper to formalize his declaration of embargo. According to the Constitution of the Ford Prefect's Country, all Presidential decrees must be ended with a pepper bite to make them official.





*Ford Prefect's Country is a minor nation state located at Sector O-18, between the UN and the Holy Empire of Haruhi Suzumiya.