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The Central Federal Building, Elysion City
Sector Zero, Elysion
Humanist Union

Stein was already waiting behind his desk when Director Masterson was allowed into the office, hands folded idly on its paper-cluttered surface. She gave the head of state a curt nod - which, by her standards, was positively friendly - and took a seat when the Coordinator silently gestured for her to do so, "You've brought the DII's report on the Bowman Affair, yes?" he asked rhetorically. By way of response, the gray-eyed woman slid a fat folder across the desk. Stein smiled blandly, "I'm sure, Agatha, you can summarize what the spooks have to say briefly enough for me."

A ghost of a smile flickered on the bureaucrat's face before she replied, "The long and short of it is that we still don't know who these supposed 'foreign backers' are, Roland."

"That was the whole point of the investigation," Stein replied with (perhaps false) amusement. Masterson shrugged, as if to say 'What can you do.'

"We have managed, however, to refine our picture of the operation. First of all, the claim of foreign backing does not seem to be hot air, even if we can't find the culprit. We've linked several other terrorist events with this particular assassination. Uniformly, we're dealing with well-planned, well-executed operations that conceal their backtracks better than New Havionians have previously shown capable. The only reason we found out the real intent behind the Bowman assassination was due to the catastrophically poor choice in ESPer mercs shown. Apparently, this was the fault of the New Havonians," Masterson paused, "As to the ESPer agent's purpose, he was used to brainwash the actual assassin leading up to the event. Recovered technology is carefully untracable and lacks any identifiable engineering, as does the related media the ESPer agent used. The New Havonian conspirators confirm that this equipment was delivered to them by their backers."

Stein flipped through the overly-fat folder, glancing quickly with a decades-practiced eye. Masterson sat silently, regarding her head of state with an unreadable expression. Finally, Stein spoke, "And who do you think is responsible, Agatha?"

The woman grimaced, "You know how much I hate to make stabs in the dark without evidence, Roland. We can't afford the bias," Stein only smiled placidly. Finally, the Director relented, "Based on the method - ESPer brainwashing - I'd say we're dealing either with CEID or the Centralists."

"You don't think it's CEID," Stein observed.

"No. For starters, the Solarians have no apparent reason to antagonize us. Further, if CEID had done this, we wouldn't have caught it - they wouldn't have used a freelancer when they're more experienced."

"Why suspect the Centrality?" Stein said.

"The Central State is no friend of ours, Roland, no matter how many treaties they sign. Our recent reemergence in international politics coincides with their own and our ideology is openly hostile towards their own. We're highly militarized, expansionist - at least in theory - and we're quite close physically. It would benefit the Centrality to undermine our attempts at establishing relations with the greater galaxy and at halting any further expansion by turning our attention to internal unrest. That we signed treaties with them means nothing - the Centrality is a state of rule by authority, not law."

"And?" Stein said, sensing that there was more.

"The Centrality's power is...fluctuating at the moment. Kierger certainly won't be content to share power with the triumvirate - it goes against centralist dogma and his personality - and the triumvirate themselves have a vested interest in maintaining their own power. Either party may have went behind the other's back and initiated the assassination on Bowman, potentially knowing full well that there could be diplomatic backlash if the attack were traced back to its source."

"Why not the Shepistanis? Certainly they make no qualms about their hatred for socialism, and there's been provocation lately over the Feelipeenis."

Agatha shook her head, "The Sheppos despise and distrust ESPers and would be unlikely to construct a plan around one, especially a mercenary. Their grasp of ESPer-based brainwashing techniques is questionable as well. Understand, Roland, that at this point, it's mere supposition."

"Keep supposing," Stein said dryly, "and supplement it with some new knowledge when we next meet. I don't need to tell you how important this is."

Masterson rose, "No. You don't," she said, excusing herself from the office.

Rouge Planet: Sector O-6, Unclaimed Space: A few weeks ago

The small cold planetoid was about 3000 kilometers across, surrounded by a cloud of orbiting dust and a cluster of small weapons platforms to fend of pirates. A few small settlements dotted its cragged surface. Once every couple of months a bulk freighter would come by, bring down a comparatively small cargo of mechanical supplies, consumables and small luxuries and would receive a larger cargo of crude ingots or various metals or a ship would stop for some fuel. Its official name was Panino-5851762, not because of any trait that it had, but because that was what the captain of the scout ship which discovered it was eating at the time he first laid eyes on it, though this only really showed up on official forms and the name of a few sandwich bars. It was not claimed by any nation for complex political reasons and was run by its mining company with nominal independence which made enough concessions to local authorities to work.

As far as the settlements on this went, there were two sides it. The first could be called its public face (in so far as the galaxy paid any attention to this settlement) which was its string of small mining settlements on ore rich areas with various shafts and open pit operations existed and where a brief atmosphere existed in the waste heat. Here a few hundred thousand workers, mostly but by no means exclusively human, Some Umerians, Eogans, Commonwealth citizens, Prussians and a number of vagabonds who just wanted somewhere to work in relative peace and be forgotten. Most employed in either mining or the small industries that supported mining efforts, but a few freelancers had set up some small businesses such as the odd pub and so forth. Some shady dealings happened here, as was expected, but the local security forces kept enough order.

Beneath the surface was the other side, a quiet and hidden side. While there were a few permanent residents in the mining facilities, among them a small number of offspring, here were people who had been quite content to hide here, here the majority was content to work on this project. Only a few dealt with the outside world and then it was mostly through proxies. They were the owners of the facility, although their face to investors was typically some proxy working on behalf of the leading share-holders. They lived here because they were technically among the dispossessed. They were an exclusive group that sought privacy and this was among the best places to get it. It gave them room to perform their actions in secluded peace, for one big move. Among the food, the water and so forth, occasionally some small piece of unusual equipment was brought in and in recent years a handful of individuals (mostly pirates, but among them a few more unusual figures) occasionally. This had been the case for nearly a century as work had been applied. A few last minute adjustments had been made, but the plan had finally been put into motion. Leaving aside those who were born here, they had initially hailed from the Commonwealth but slipped away quietly. The men he had employed were good, reliable and cost a fair bit to employ, but the security would be worth it. They would make their deliveries and they would be paid. Several payloads were brought aboard. Soon they would move away too and arrangements had been made, all twenty three thousand of them and some of their more valuable equipment. They had been gathered here by a figure who had inspired them with tales and promises, most of them had come to fruition but among these was the fact that Martyrdom, while acceptable for a noble cause such as they had was not inevitable.

On institution knew about its affairs and considered action against them. The Commonwealth Unconventional Weapons Corps, they could easily have slipped a team to neutralize them. But Administrator Prime specifically gave orders to not do such things.

Inside the depths of this facility, near a couple of laboratories was a set of cells in the rock. In these cells were over two hundred creatures under monitoring. Their research took time and more than a few bodies had been accumulated in the process, these were the successes or at worst, minor failures. Major failures were dissected, examined, scanned and in the end either put into cold storage or recycled. Among them were a couple of bloated blob like creatures, immobile which writhed in agony, a few others were deformed humanoids but could move about to some degree. Some had suffered significant brain damage but most of them had stabilized with at most minor deformities and no noticeable loss of cognitive abilities. The newer they were they became more and more stable and had adjusted better and better with less deformities. These had command of their faculties. Most of them simply sat in their cells, listening to music and watching old movies, eating the bland but nourishing food that was dispensed. They adjusted to their scenario as prisoners did. A couple dozen were even allowed the ability to communicate with each other. But then there were a few others, these locked away and needed to be restrained despite being nominally in the same mind. Music still played when they were continuous but they needed to be fed via IV. A mirror had been placed in each one of these, most looked away from it as much as they could. What sounds came from these cells were a mixture of maddened screams, threats and prayers, all in Greek.
…
Former Outlander Commissions, Several Worlds

A set of cargo ships, all manned by humans made their approach, delivering their payload without much hitch into a few of the more Byzantine sympathizing areas all onto ports without the latest in anti-smuggling measures. An amount of bribery had been employed, but not too much. Their captains had connections and new how to get things through. In the end, they were moved to unremarkable warehouses where they were left. In case they were discovered, there were safety measures in place.

What the first wave were listed as was mostly spare parts or perishables and they were filed and ignored. A few hours after the departure of the craft and once they discovered that they were in the dark, they activated. Small hatches opened and tens of thousands of small artifacts emerged, unassuming blocks that assembled into insectoid forms and made their way out, chewing through metal and making their way about their cities...



There were thousands of these forms at each site and they set to their work. To get about more quickly they clung to vehicles. Most found areas where they could lay low, old sewers and suchlike, build more of themsleves and recharge. That would take time, but it would at the same time allow them to spread further. Others went directly to work. They set up ambush points, waited for a human to walk by and then would scurry out at high speed, bite them in the leg and then run away. Within hours, they had managed to have bitten thousands with little more than a small number of snapshots and increased reports of wild animal attacks to confirm this activity. These became more frequent as the hours moved on and the health effects began to pop up. They also set some priority in going after priests and Byzantine Churches with congregations in them, as well as police. A few were destroyed, but more were being created in dark holes. While somewhat cruder, they would serve their purpose.

A few minutes after they were bitten, the infected developed four symptoms, they suddenly began to sweat profusely, became slightly disoriented and they became suddenly afraid and felt alone. Those that came into contact with their sweat began to feel similar conditions. Some threw up, others collapsed. Eventually the robots began work in regards to the water and food supplies as well as spreading out on local transports. Pets and other animals were also infected, it had little effect on them save for making them additional carriers to propagate. What they were infected with was a combination of nanotechnological and retroviral agents designed to spread and after 2-6 hours adjust the humans to their new form. Skin slowly turned to a greyish blue, facial hair fell out, noses were absorbed, little fingers were absorbed into bodies and countless shoes were destroyed as millions of feet changed into new hooves. Those that committed suicide or died during this process would in general bloat and within a few minutes, exploded spraying infected bloody jibs all over the surrounding area. After a few hours of activity they began to attack large crowds to spread it as fast as possible.

Inside each of the boxes was a transmitter. Small and unregarded, after 10 hours of deploying their robotic payloads they began their broadcast. It showed an image that was despised by the Byzantine Church, that of a set of Tau Ethereals. They spoke of the horrible attrocities that had been inflicted on their race and the Brutality of the Byzantines, and how a grudge was borne over centuries, carried down from generation from generation for no practical, useful or even sane reason. Unexpectedly they actually spoke kindly of Mankind and its nobler atributes, but used this as a point to further decry the actions of the Byzantine Church, a faith that only served to stamp them out under the jackboot of insane bigotry, vanity and mindless faith. They claimed that they where disastisfied with the way that those who stood for tollerence in the galaxy let this malignent mentality fester and spread. As such, they and their followers had decided to take action. They acted to stop the spread of this insanity by depriving their faithful of the trait they deemed most valuable, their humanity and at the same time, give his people more of a presence on the galactic scene. This message only served to confirm the growing number of sightings and reports of Tau that came up as more and more of the citizenry of these areas were transformed.

About the same time, several more crates were distrubed to Communards and Centrists. These contained desceminator robot blocks on standby as well as the nanite solution in both drums and grenade for use against Byzantine Sympathisers.

Somewhere in the Outlands

Comrades of inhumanism rejoice! The strange incident has been most fortuitous for somehow, some way, inexplicably, many of the human arch-fiends have themselves been made into inhumans! Now their purge-happy humanist brethren persecute them and they flee, running towards the only ones who can protect inhumans from the mindless chitinous hegemonic human hordes! Their only hope of salvation!



BYZON.

Master of the universe!

In the name of inhumanism and Byzonism, the Imperator has decreed that we shelter the wretched wastes of inhumanized-humanity! In the name of glasnot, troika and bragstroika! As the prisoners of Byzantium were well fed and fattened, so too shall these fleeing Indigoids be treated with the hospitalities of Bragulanity as all inhuman peoples are entitled to! And even if they renounce their nano-mutated forms and wish to be human once more, then we shall oblige and give them a taste of their own medicines!



Karlack blood is introduced into the patient to assimilate and infest the nano-mutations. The Karlack cells interpret the nanites as a rival organism vying for control over the host and purges the body of them, reversing the Tau-mutations so that the spores can begin the Karlack-infestations needed to produce an Infested Terran. When the evolution has progressed enough, the Bragulan surgeons control the infesterizations by introducing vegemite into the bloodstream to destroy the Karlack spores (which have in turn destroyed the nanites).

However, the process is not without risks or dangers. The attempted reversal to human form has a chance of going wrong.



Nevertheless, this is proof of Bragule's graciousness. A victory for Bragule is a victory for inhumanism! All inhumans, and even humans who have become inhumans, and humans who have become inhuman but wish to become human again, have been given the tender loving care and warm embrace of the Bragulan bosom! Such is the noble cause of inhumanism that betters us from the fanatics, fascists and other mutant viral strains originating from the mindless chitinous hegemonic human hordes!

Arpad, Sector BB-24

The Mechanicals that ruled Arpad had been exiled from their brethren, for unknown reasons, and settled on Arpad. When they heard about Centralism, they infiltrated the local government, usurped it, and began transforming the planet into an image of their former home. Now, they heard about the plans from Aray about further expansion, and decided to contribute. A force of ships went into hyperspace.

Commisioner-class Ultraheavy Carrier Commisioner
Aray, Outlander Central State
Former Outlander Commisions
Unreal Time/Early 3401

Down in his bunker, Lord Wankiller smiled. It had been a rough week, a week of trial and error. But now, with the help of this faction of Mechanicals, it was time to prepare the attack.

He just needed to find the right target.

Constantinople Times

Editorial
We all know that recently, the Holy Inquisition conspired with their Bragulan counterparts to pull a stunt to insult the Nova Atlanteans right at their doorsteps during their so-called “Naval Review”. As heretical as it is to conspire with xenos it may appear to our more puritanical sections of our populace, one must not forget the point that was made and remember the centuries old grievance the Byzantine Empire has with the Nova Atlanteans which dates back to the closing years of the decades long Imperium-Tau war.

First the unequivocal facts. The Imperium had declared that all Tau were guilty of war crimes perpetrated against the Byzantine peoples; tens of billions of casualties due to the bombardment and destruction of numerous Byzantine colonies, and more than half the population on Antioch was dead, and the Tau began a program to sterilize the remaining population of which they would have nearly completely succeeded in completing this dastard act if not for the massive retaliation force launched and led by Emperor Heraclius XX and his sons. The Imperium decided that it had enough of Tau brutality and decided to retaliate with brutality of its own; a bioweapon designed to decimate a significant fraction of the Tau populace. The bioweapon bought the Imperium time to regroup and retaliate when the Tau returned for vengeance. It is apparent that prior to the Great Crusade, the Nova Atlanteans connived to gain access to Tau technology and under the pretense of humanitarian aid, granting tens of millions of Tau residency. A considerable portion of Nova Atlantean technology today is based on Tau technology. In so doing, they spat upon the billions of dead and the billions that died fighting the Tau and their acts of war.

The Galaxy has a habit of focusing on the brutalities of war while ignoring the realities of war outright. This has always been the case throughout history. More so in this galaxy where one is separated by tens to hundreds of light years and one could happily and comfortably forget and ignore the brutal nature of warfare. The Galaxy likes to say they granted aid, a pittance at that, and express sympathies to the Byzantine cause, until the Byzantine Empire retaliated and responded in kind to Tau brutalities. Frightened by the nature of war, they withheld their aid and tried to forget that the war had ever occurred. From the point of view of the Byzantine peoples, the Galaxy is filled to the brim with hypocrites. In the entire course of the war, from the start to the end, only the Holy Empire of Suzumiya Haruhi came to the aid of the Imperium while the rest of the Galaxy sat idle as the Imperium shed blood by the hundreds of millions fighting a war of aggression waged by the Tau. The Byzantine peoples would NEVER surrender their liberties to a race known for enslaving client races, and we would NEVER ever in the four thousand year history of the Byzantine Empire negotiate surrender while the enemy resides on our own soil. Surrender is not an option, not against a tyrannical race which has attempted several instances of insurrection not just in the Imperium, but in the Holy Empire of Suzumiya Haruhi and the Bragulan Empire and has several xeno races under their thrall.

The Galaxy likes to focus on the theocratic nature of the Byzantine Empire and the use of religion to direct the war. It claims that it is archaic and anachronistic. It seems to have also forgotten that the Tau war against the Imperium was more often than not, also an attempt to spread their own religion they termed as “The Greater Good”. Not least, it also reflects a poor understanding of the Byzantine Empire. Religion has been synonymous with the Byzantine Empire for thousands of years since Emperor Constantine the Great legitimized Christianity. Religion is a part of Empire as much as Communism is a part of say the Commune and as much as the monarchy is a part of New Anglia. Some nations rouse up the Empire through nationalism. So what if the Byzantine Empire chose religion to rouse up its populace? Is Nationalism worse than Religion in any way? Or have people forgotten the wars on Nova Terra and Earth? Where Nationalism was a major driving force of several major wars.

The Nova Atlanteans like to point to these to justify their aid to genocidal warmongers. They whitewash history, and spit on the graves of the billions who gave their lives defending their freedom, their way of life, and their peace. They refuse to acknowledge the war crimes of the Tau, preferring instead to rewrite history. They disguise their greed for technology with altruism, and they are no worse than the Tau. Nay, one would even go as far as describe them as accomplices, colluding with the Tau rather than facing the real history. They can rewrite history all they want, but the Imperium would never forget its dead and it would never forget the momentous moment in history where the Hagia Maria was burnt to the ground to cow the Byzantine populace.

As for the Tau, the pathetic vermin of a race responsible for the deaths of billions cannot claim to be even remotely innocent. No war of aggression prosecuted on this grand scale can have innocents. To commit to such a war on such a scale would demand the tacit support of the entirety of their populace. The pathetic remnant of a population hiding in Nova Atlantia can hide all they want there, but one day the Imperium will have its vengeance and the Tau would be a mere footnote in history.

So it was that two rival races in the Korpulu Zone, decided to put aside their mutual hatred to vent their anger at an empire that chose to ignore their centuries old grievances. The Nova Atlanteans be damned. There will be no rapprochement while one Tau breathes. As for the Tau the Bragulans have graciously handed over, the Imperium will dispense with them as it so pleases. No mercy will be granted to this bastard race of vermin, for none was received. Mercy is a word the Imperium no longer understands.

The City of Merricksgrad: Former Outlander Commissions

The violence had finally begun to wind down. Blood drenched the walls in many places and gunfire still could be heard in many districts but this was becoming the exception rather than the norm. Bruce Saxon, a new member of Fire Caste, brandishing a rifle in one hand somewhat aquardly as he was still unacustomed to holding it with only four fingers. He surveyed the streets. Destroyed vehicles and corpses littered the streets in a mess that would take weeks to clean up in full. A number of transformees were wandered by into what was now one of the safer areas for them. He and a makeshift squad of whoever was willing to follow him and able to carry a gun had no long term plans, the short term ones of "Stay Alive" and "Offer what help you can" took up so much of their time since transformation. Now they were considering what was to come next.

The last night was a hellish affair, as Byzantine Othrodox Rioters went on a rampage in search of Byzantium's greatest enemy. There was no orginization to this sudden mass movement and they struck down anyone suspected to be infected and picked up a number of looters along the way. They clashed with the police, who often were infected themselves and sometimes had to stop them, various gangs who wanted to defend their turf, Rival mobs which happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, those who decided to whom friendship and family were deemed of more importance than faith and Tau Resistance. This stared with a few isolated individuals which sobered up as the transformation ended and managed to get their hands on some firearms, but these soon found comrades in arms. Often the rioters would decide to brutalize to death one or more transformees in close quarters, would walk over their bodies in their mobs and would try to string up the dead on makeshift crucifixes, this would often end in their corpses exploding, spraying infected jibs over the crowds which would inevitably cause it to turn on itself and eventually fall apart. Some of Bruce's rag-tag team heard rumours of a few of the Transformed who acted specifically to infect these Zealots and rioters as a means of defense. He believed this and part of him could have understood it but that was a line he would not have crossed. There were still a few of them around, but for the most part they had broken up and many of them had either fled, went into hiding, died or had been transformed. Still, these Anti-Tau figures could be a problem, he had personally shot three so far and prayed that he would not have to shoot any more.

In this chaos, things stopped working either from being abandoned or being caught in the crossfire. Grids were locked, not only from conjestion but also from barricades, rubble and vehicles destroyed in the process. Hundreds of people fled on foot or off road to escape the violence in the city. Some where human who also desired to escape infection, others were transformed or infected seeking somewhere to hide. He was sure that the surrounding countryside would become a warzone just as quickly and he had heard rumours that a few of the surounding cities were infected as well. No doubt the Communard movements to the South would take advantage of the Chaos if they had not already done so.

Suddenly, a greenish tint moved over the sky. Someone must have got the city's sheild generators running. This was good, it meant that some measure of defense was offered against Imperial reprisals. He then saw an Air Caste woman walk forward with a datapad. She told him that that some of the bigger groups of Transfomees had gathered together on what to do next and were willing to pool supplies. To Bruce, this seemed like a good idea.

Similar Scenarios were unfolding elsewere in what were once centers of Byzantine sympathy across the commons.

Recommended Listening

Kadabra-designation Warcruiser Anxo
Flagship Eoghan Contingent
2130 Hours

"Both ships report heavy surface damage, several casemate breaches, no penetrations of the core hull. Captains report that they're still battleready, but one of the last hits on Cunedda touched off a flashback; her spinal guns are down."

Pdeudemar batted his whiskers in contemplation, resisting the urge to make exasperated nose-covering gestures. No time for more details on that; if the captains thought they could keep formation with the rest of his squadron, he'd take their word for it.

In exchange for the stinging blow he'd just taken from the Zebesian squadron, his ships had already landed a major hit on one of the enemy plasma destroyers, and at least one glancing blow against the larger, medium-light units that were their most common surviving type. Fair enough- and the ghostly track projection of Pdeudemar's stealth ships were still aimed close enough to suit him.

If he could keep their attention until the destroyers and frigates raked this Zebesian fleet with plasma torpedoes and short-range energy batteries, that would avenge the wounded cruisers- and then some.

Disruptor Cruiser Ludelatar
Temporary Flagship, Kavoolite Contingent
2131 Hours

Captain Hanno's steward had managed to key the admiral into the comm net properly at last. Delion didn't like the hasty improvisation of arrangements, but transferring to a ship with intact flag accommodations would've taken longer than it was worth even before his fleet found themselves running for their lives. He'd chosen Ludelatar, and he'd stay with her. And now he could give orders to the truncated Signals section without having to walk across the command bridge or distract the ship's torpedomen.

"Signal all torpedo ships: well shot, ready next salvo. All Imperial ships to cut forward acceleration to eighty-three percent, to keep pace with damaged Gron destroyer. All Gron ships- fire when ready, consistent with keeping up average acceleration."

Delion grunted with approval as he saw that the Kavoolite ships were taking it on themselves to open their courses out into wider spirals and loops; at this point they needed to throw off enemy targeting as much as they could get. Sidestepping lightspeed weapons wasn't practical, not at this range and target profile, but the Eoghans' heavy coilguns were another matter- about as fast as rounds from the Prussian guns they'd faced earlier, though heavier if the force of impact was any guide. Those, they could dance around to a degree.

And his newly recruited "naval auxiliaries" weren't shaming the Fleet either. The Gron plasma destroyers started yawing sharply off course by ones and twos, snapping round to fire bolts from their spinal guns perpendicular to the line of flight. That slowed them, but they had more thrust in hand than his ships anyway, and tolerably good vectoring from the new engines. Making the best of the low rate of fire forced on them, the theropods ran the heavy plasma weapons at long cycle times and high shot energy, high enough to make even warbird-class units like the big Eoghan ships take notice.

Zokolova's mysterious backers had been most generous in spreading the things around the sector these past few years. The Kavoolite wondered how the Imperials' last round of skirmishes with the Urtraghans would've gone twenty years ago if that design had been in service then. Probably not so well...

"Sir? Calam reports a possible trace at vector minus thirty by twenty; could be their stealthers, but low confidence- they estimate high probability that it's a ghost."

"Get our own sensors on that; I want confirmation, yes or no."

---

Patriot-class Heavy Cruiser USS Layla Daniels
Engaging Subfleet Cosmog
2132 Hours

Why are their carriers still tucked in with the battle fleet? They've launched their fighters already. Hmm...

Vice Admiral Wenli Yang took a moment to glance across the field. The Centralists were making good practice at long range against their targets- von Musel's Prussians had the range with their railguns, and all the Centralist beam-armed ships had plasma weapons that could reach that far. And then there was the ion cannon. That was worrying Wenli all the more the longer the battle went on.

The halo on Frod's beam was, unbelievably, getting worse. Fast. Wenli had made a point of studying Chief Taglia's report on the Type 74, and he was beginning to think the weapon's lifespan would be another hour- at best.

I really hope the battle ends before that thing blows up...

Then again, it wouldn't be too many more minutes.

Dame Layla and her two sisters were doing well enough, keeping that battleship busy while the escorts hammered their Zebesian counterparts. It was an... interesting engagement, sort of like Wenli imagined fighting the Tianguo would be like. But they had the plans, and the tools, to handle the job- they'd planned for fights with the Taikongjun, and if anything the agile ships that had made up the Zebesian center were doing the Umerians a favor by behaving so much like them.

On which note, he needed to step it up; that battleship was taking a disconcerting amount of proton gun fire on the chin. Wherever these ships had come from, they were good at beam duels. No casualties so far, on either side, but with the ships he had available, they could be a real challenge, especially to finish them in a hurry.

He needed an edge.

"Push the strike cruisers ahead of our main formation and out to the flanks, angle off main axis point seven, range to the edge of our ECM envelope. Evasion level five, priority on defense over fire control." The multirole troop carriers were rugged and had excellent VLA networks, they'd make good observers if he got them clear of the main beam duel.

And if the enemy commander realized that... that would be nice. Wenli could use a few free minutes for his destroyers.

---

Recommended Listening

Conductor-class Cruiser USS Directrix
Central Information Control
2133 Hours

A string of light plasma blasts rang off Directrix's shields right over the port landing outrigger. The jarring four-four beat ended with the fifth impact, though- and those were from a Zebesian destroyers' broadside weapons, too light to be much of a threat to the old girl. Ananya sighed with relief as their gunners lost tracking; the next burst went wide by over thirty kilometers.

She had to hand it to Vice Admiral Yang, the contingent's placement had been excellent. They had a nice, long run parallel to the Zebesians' line of flight. If the raiders were going to escape into hyper, they had to run through her ships' fire for many minutes before building up enough speed to overtake. And the spinal-gun destroyers couldn't run and shoot at the same time, not well. From the look of it, a few of them were doing exactly that to dorsal, and the ones she was up against had tried it a few times- to far less effect. The destroyer Rosalind Franklin had lost a torpedo tube to one of their plasma bolts, a twin to the hit that had hammered Directrix's bows at Hawk's Nest; aside from that, none of their heavy cruiser-weight weapons had landed anything effective on target.

Her own ships' electron guns, by contrast, could throw a lightning storm back into the Zebesians' teeth from any direction she pleased. The turret ships' fire was shaping up well, going by shield scatter if nothing else; they'd tightened down to point targeting already. The bigger set of plasma destroyers were holding up a bit too well against her cruisers' fire, though...

As Ananya thought, she kept an eye on the comm logs, submerging herself in a gestalt of the situation, trying to see everything- be steered by events as much as steer them herself.

"Piranha Leader, this is Periclam Leader; request you move out to range increment six; spotting angle from here is poor."

"Copy that. Will do, and stay in our missile defense envelope; some of those frigates could still have birds left."

Ananya's mouth twitched. Cardwell'd been a bit... off ever since Bannerman, but it'd gotten worse after they lost Nantucket, to the point of paranoia. After this was over, best to have a word with her.

"Franklin, this is Directrix actual, you're walking off target with those rosette dodges. Watch your fire."

The admiral smiled faintly. Thank you, Captain Kimball. Rosalind Franklin was part of the old Emilyswarm, and she'd never been refitted with the new turret bearings. Her flagship hadn't either, except for the replaced Gamma turret- but then, Kimball didn't try to fight the ship as if she did have them. Some officers these days were hopelessly spoiled from serving on the newer classes- even the Empresses and Scheeles, let alone the new construction...

Still, no amount of careful gunnery would be enough to beat the remaining Zebesian destroyers down before they got out of her range at this rate. They'd have to concentrate. On what?

Even fully loaded, the missile frigates didn't seem to be that much of a threat- the standard Zebesian missiles just weren't that good. Plenty of quantity, solid kinetic impact potential, but having to charge down the defender's throat to score hits meant point defense could kill them in droves. The plasma destroyers were another matter; she didn't like them at all, and they'd proven dangerously good knife-fighters at Hawk's Nest.

She twitched her stylus across the command console. There, there, there, that one with the wobbly shields, plus that one that seemed to be limping a bit, probably damage from fighting the Prussians... call that list Alpha, those six were Beta, and the missile frigates, by process of elimination, Gamma, or- heh. Call them Omega.

"All ships, concentrate on target list Alpha. Artemisia to take Alpha-Five; Directrix, Alpha-Four. Cairo, Farbanti, San Dorado, take One, Two, and Three; destroyers, pick targets to support the frigates."

Missile Frigate Gacknik
Making Suspicious Sidling Motions
2135 Hours

"Is it just me, or are we moving a bit off to the side?"

"I think those humans are getting closer."

Nugak checked again. "Uh, I think they're getting closer and we're moving a bit off to the side."

Kurgo the programmer clicked nervously. "Chief, does "go to full barrage jamming" mean anything to you?"

"...Wherever you heard that, you didn't hear that."

"Right, chief. But... what does it mean?"

"It means... ah crap, they're using us as bait!"

USS Directrix
2136 Hours

Good. now we know their flagship isn't one of the missile frigates.

Ananya felt vindicated in calling those ships Target List Omega- obviously, the Zebesians didn't put much more stock in them than she did. Whatever pirate chief was in charge over there was offering her the missile ships to draw some of the weight of beam fire off their destroyers. The frigates had good jammers, too, in an in-your-face high power sort of way. Operating like this, they were easier to home in on, but less rewarding to take down.

She might have been forced to do it anyway... if her EW teams didn't already know so many of the better tricks Zebesian hardware could pull, from Hawk's Nest and other skirmishes since. They'd lose a bit of accuracy by going for the harder targets, but Ananya wasn't in the mood to do the Zebesians any favors by shooting what they wanted her to shoot.

"Continue fire on Alpha target list."

She wondered what the Zebesian commander would try next when he figured out that using his empty missile ships as bait wasn't working...

A truly impressive sight on the operation-level display caught her eye.

Oh my.

---

Type 22 Core Ship, Serial Number DEB209CE
Flagship Subfleet Cayenne
2135 Hours

Junior Admiral Cayenne felt truly afraid for the first time since the start of the battle. Even that last hurrah from the Prussian battleships, the overcharged salvoes, hadn't done more than flare down her flagship's shields and put a few modest craters in the hull. But the Centralist battleship- it had to be the Frod- was putting out more power than any two of the Prussians, and she was in far, far worse a position to evade their ion beam. An avalanche of hyperrelativistic uranium fell upon the Boskone battleship's defensive screens, and the wall shield, that last and strongest line of defense, groaned and eroded under the strain.

The rest of the Enemy fleet- the Centrality's cruisers and destroyers, and a dozen ships that looked to be von Musel's Prussians- chimed in with their plasma cannon and hypervelocity railguns against her escort ships. Those were weapons not to be despised, but compared to the fire coming her way from Frod, they were but pinpricks.

The engineering minion at the screen-gauges cried out in alarm. "Wall shield forty-five hundred angstroms and falling!"

Passing through the blue, edging towards violet. Not good.

They weren't going to reach the safe side of the hyper limit before the wall shield went down- the numbers simply didn't permit it; the more they tried to sideslip to spare the defense screens, the more time they gave the Enemy to fire on them. There was still one chance, though.

Hyper limits were seldom, strictly speaking, a hard cutoff. If you had a particularly rugged drive or were particularly careless of life, you could shave the odd light-second on the margins. It was risky- the equivalent of diving into the shallow end of a pool rather than the deep end. But being blown to bits by a botched translation was hardly worse than being blown to bits by Enemy beam weapons.

"Wall shield forty-two hundred angstroms and falling."

"Captain, blind hyperspace jump along line of flight."

"Ship in marginal transition zone, risks extreme..."

"Calculated risk. Do it."

"Computers running... we have solution. Engaging."

BOOM!

Okay, that was a mistake...

"Minions! Status report!"

"Hyperdrive suffered Class Six failure." That was one of the more interesting failure modes- the hyperdrive accepted power, formed a drive field... and then took off at right angles to reality in the wrong direction, without bothering to bring the rest of the ship with it. No one was entirely sure where a drive went after a Class Six, but all the physics suggested it was a very strange place.

"Secondaries?"

"Major ringing through main busbars. Auxiliary switches held, damage assessment proceeding... ulp."

"Explain!"

"Bergenholm power dropping. Dropping... flatlined. Ship is inert, Your Excellency."

I'm going to die now, aren't I? Without the Bergenholm's inertial neutralization, her flagship was limited to pure Newtonian maneuvers- for which its low-impulse driving projectors were poorly suited. She couldn't run now, not in FTL and not in sublight.

"Shields?"

"Power grid redundancies holding. Wall shield at thirty-eight hundred angstroms and dropping."

Violet verging on ultraviolet- what to do... what to do...

Fortunately for Junior Admiral Cayenne, the failure of her flagship's Bergenholm wasn't the only major engineering casualty due to happen that day.

---

Modified Battleship CNS Frod
Command Bridge
2136 Hours

So far, Captain Stack had been pleased and surprised at the powerful effect of the Cannon on the enemy squadron's flagship. While the cruisers and destroyers kept up a steady harassing fire with plasma cannon against the Zebesians' lighter units- some of which were battlecruiser size and not to be despised- his own battleship took on an enemy capital ship of equal tonnage, and handled it roughly indeed!

"Sir! They've suffered some kind of engineering casualty- acceleration dropping... holding steady at about ten percent of previous maximum."

"Excellent. Their shields?" Those strange screens on the ships of the Zebesian center were tough, very tough, but at least it was easy to tell how badly damaged they were. They came with a convenient built-in color code.

"No sign of breaches or burnthroughs yet. I think they tried to make the jump to lightspeed, and failed. A lot."

Yes! This was what he'd been waiting for! There was battle, and it was glorious, his ship singlehandedly crippling a mighty enemy vessel... come to think of it, he wasn't even mad at the Cannon engineers now. They'd come through. They'd delivered on their promises.

For the first time in weeks, Captain Stack of the Centralist Navy felt... okay.

Things started to go wrong.

The Centralist engineers had done everything they knew of to reduce the portion of the beam which bounced out of the main ion stream and scraped off against the walls of the gun itself. They had been reasonably successful, getting the intensity down, steadily tacking on more zeroes to the tiny decimal that represented the percentage of beam lost to scraping.

By the standards of existing research accelerators, the Type 74 Ion Cannon had excellent performance. By the standards of anticapital ion cannon running at full power, the Type 74's gun barrel was gradually accumulating damage on par with what it would take from repeated tactical nuclear strikes. Eventually, something was bound to give.

The point of failure turned out to be not in the circuitry, but in the chemistry. The Cannon's focusing magnets, which kept the beam on a tight path that threaded down the length of the acceleration line, weighed several tons each. The magnetic forces they applied to the ion beam were formidable; Newton's Second Law dictated that the forces pressing back on them were equally formidable. They were held in place by high-grade R78 alloys, with more than enough structural strength to keep the relatively delicate windings of superconducting cable from warping under the pressure.

Unfortunately, R78 alloys did not react well to being bombarded by an endless stream of hyper-relativistic uranium ions, or even the edges of such a stream. Second by second, atom by atom, the frames were exposed to a hail of radiation, and began to... change. Atoms split or transmuted, ionization tracks carved through the finely balanced molecular structure of the material, and high-strength alloy turned into something else entirely.

The first support frame to fail stood roughly two thirds of the way down the beamline. Between the abuse the metal had taken during the test firings months earlier, and the radioactive hailstorm of eleven minutes' sustained firing at full power, it was in very poor condition indeed.

Looking at the thermal conductivity of R78, the Centralist design boards had figured it would be an excellent choice to conduct waste heat away from the magnets, as well as holding them in place. Frame 482 was in no shape to handle that double duty. Between the heat, the intense magnetic fields, and the continuing barrage of radiation, it finally hit the breaking point, and cracked. The crack spread quickly across the embrittled metal, and the magnet coils the frame had held in place responded by bulging outward against the walls.

The main structural bolts held and kept the frame from splitting apart entirely on the spot, but the damage was done; the magnet was bent out of shape. Designed to pinch the beam from above while letting it flatten out to the sides, it now pinched less and allowed less flattening. In response, the torrent of heavy ions running down the center of the beam pipe twisted and fanned out vertically... into the walls downstream.

What had been a modest scraping issue before, no worse than having artillery shells ricocheting back and forth down the barrel, suddenly became a really serious problem. Vast numbers of ions blasted the walls of the beam pipe, devouring- disintegrating- hundreds of meters of the Cannon's barrel in a matter of milliseconds.

Containment of the beam forwards of Frame 500 failed entirely, there being nothing left to contain it with. The beam fanned out in a broad elliptical cone, blasting away the battleship's innards like a burning uranium serpent. Where it brushed against volatiles- capacitor banks, bombardment shells, force field generators under load- secondary explosions began splitting apart pieces of the ship like wedges, opening up further paths for the intense radiation and vaporizing heat of the Cannon's beam.

At the same time, a storm of RF electromagnetic effects blazed backward from the failure zone, up the beamline toward the breech, microwaving all that stood in their path. Superconducting magnets heated, quenched, and failed, releasing their stored energy explosively as the failure raced backward up the beamline at several times the speed of sound...

...and stopped. After Gunnery Chief Taglia's visit, Captain Stack had insisted that the Cannon technicians install extra circuit breakers and other systems to cut power to the beam in the event of a failure. Their senior officers had protested that additional failsafes were unnecessary, but the first glints of Stack's berserk madness twinkled in his eye. They feared, and obeyed.

A tenth of a second from the first alarms ringing at Ion Control was enough; reacting faster than he'd ever done in his life, Ensign Paul Heaviside leapt across the control board and smashed his palm against the Large Red Button.

Power dumped away from what was left of the Cannon's beamline arced across the breakers, then faded as the reactor rooms aft and amidships stopped supplying power- the forward reactors would never power anything again.

Fifty milliseconds more after Heaviside switched off the main gun, the shock waves from the devastation at Frod's bow reached the control room, and he was hurled to the floor.

Darkness.

CNS Frod
Command Bridge

Klaxons screamed. Every status light burned red. Captain Stack howled in rage and frustration.

Leaning against the bulkhead, Major Strakanoff snickered. "Turns out explosively unstable ion cannons are unstable and explode. Who knew?"

---

Type 22 Core Ship, Serial Number 12E886C8
Flagship Boskonian Core Subfleet
2137 Hours

Cosmog of Narshe burbled with displeasure. Junior Admiral Cayenne was obviously in deep trouble, her flagship immobilized, but- YES! The Enemy's only battleship had blown up! The broken-backed wreck still hung in space, showing almost Prussian resilience, but tremendous gouts of volatilized matter poured out of the battleship's destroyed bow section. That ship was out of action- permanently.

"Hehehe! Where is your Frod NOW?"

The Boskonian cackled, his earlier dismay gone. Cayenne herself was doomed, and would be missed, but he very much doubted the Centralist cruisers and destroyers would react in time to do anything of consequence about the rest of her ships. He might just extract the bulk of his command from this disaster after all.

Meanwhile, some distance to ventral, a detachment of his cruisers and destroyers found themselves entangled with a Tianguo cruiser squadron. That would be worth reviewing afterwards- fairly evenly matched ships, with both sides making use of inertial-neutralization drives and a wealth of lightspeed weapons. Tianguo phasers traded torrents of lethal ultraviolence with Boskonian macrobeams as the subfleets merged, flitting back and forth to gain local advantage and burn down individual rivals with the combined force of several of their own. It reminded Cosmog of a high-speed game of three-dimensional Go, an interesting one... but he could do nothing of use to that subfleet.

His own predicament was difficult. The trio of Enemy proton-gun cruisers were still giving as good as they got in a duel against his own flagship. His Type 22 was massive, well-shielded, and studded with projectors of the heaviest types. Comparing the numbers, the Boskone battleship might well have been able to overpower all three cruisers, given hours to do it and no other concerns. But not in minutes, and not while firing 'over the shoulder' to escape annihilation at the hands of the enemy's larger fleet.

Meanwhile, the Enemy screen continued to harass the rest of his ships with their lighter electron guns. The honors were still roughly equal there too- and he was not in the mood for a fair fight. His eyes swept the Umerian fleet. Like his own, their individual ships moved quite freely within the confines of the larger 'formation,' but Cosmog had plenty of practice at picking out larger patterns from the swirling chaos.

Ah-ha! The Enemy in his tiny ships had made a mistake! A less informed being might have mistaken the Umerian strike cruisers for light capital ships, but Cosmog knew well that their firepower was far lower than their tonnage indicated. The clumsy multirole vessels had enough carriage capacity for a reinforced mechanized division tucked into their core, but only the weapons of a destroyer once superfluous ground-attack batteries were discounted. Not strong enough to seriously threaten his heavier units, and probably with their troop complements on board.

Good targets, exposed away from the main exchange of fire between the fleets...

If he could knock back the strike cruisers far enough, the Enemy should be forced to relax their attack on him in defense of the clumsy hybrids.

"All screen elements except D2 and D4, concentrate fire on Enemy multirole ships, targets C4 through C6!"

Previously in SDNW4 wrote: Inside each of the boxes was a transmitter. Small and unregarded, after 10 hours of deploying their robotic payloads they began their broadcast. It showed an image that was despised by the Byzantine Church, that of a set of Tau Ethereals. They spoke of the horrible attrocities that had been inflicted on their race and the Brutality of the Byzantines, and how a grudge was borne over centuries, carried down from generation from generation for no practical, useful or even sane reason. Unexpectedly they actually spoke kindly of Mankind and its nobler atributes, but used this as a point to further decry the actions of the Byzantine Church, a faith that only served to stamp them out under the jackboot of insane bigotry, vanity and mindless faith. They claimed that they where disastisfied with the way that those who stood for tollerence in the galaxy let this malignent mentality fester and spread. As such, they and their followers had decided to take action. They acted to stop the spread of this insanity by depriving their faithful of the trait they deemed most valuable, their humanity and at the same time, give his people more of a presence on the galactic scene. This message only served to confirm the growing number of sightings and reports of Tau that came up as more and more of the citizenry of these areas were transformed.

About the same time, several more crates were distrubed to Communards and Centrists. These contained desceminator robot blocks on standby as well as the nanite solution in both drums and grenade for use against Byzantine Sympathisers.

The People's Truthful Bi-Daily Ideologically Purified Accurate Information Broadcast to the Proud Patriotic Bragulan Listeners of THE GALAXY begins thusly:

INTERNATIONAL INHUMANISTS CONGRATULATE COUNTLES CASUALTIES-CAUSING CARNAGE-CREATING NOBLE NANOWARFARE NOMINATING NOVA ATLANTEAN ATTACKS AND BOLSHEVIK BIOTERRORISM BASTERDRY

Countless inhumanitarians have praised the Nova Atlantean government and their leader, the Right Honorable Jun Smith, for the recent nano-biological attacks in the Outlands. While the Nova Atlantean Commonwealth has not issued any formal statement regarding the attacks, shortly after the initial outbreak of the nanobioplague a recorded address made by Tau Ethereals was transmitted in and around the area. The address condemned Byzantium and the believers of the Imperial faith, lambasting their racist humanism. The largest population of Tau Ethereals can be found in the Nova-Atlantean Commonwealth, which is also a prominent user of Tau technology and nanotechnology.

Inhumanitarian activists have called on the Nova Atlantean government to honor Right Honorable Jun Smith by giving him the honorable title of 'Wrong Abominable' Jun Smith, for his heroic actions of causing countless humans in the Outlands to perish and die either directly or indirectly from the indiscriminate use of nano-weaponries on several planets. Medical experts have stated that many victims were physiologically unable to cope with the transmutative process of the Tau nanobioplague and died as a result of the physical stresses of mutations. The transformation of humans into Tau also caused an outrage amongst Byzantine-believers, who did not hesitate to punish humans who were turned into Tau. Many of these Tau-turned humans have formed their own enclaves, simply trying to survive against the Byzantine persecution, only to be overwhelmed and slaughtered to the man.

Many inhumanitarians refuse to recognize these mutated humans as inhuman, and consider the aforementioned events to be further examples of humans killing each other as usual, and the accelerated pace of these human-killings brought on by the possibly Nova Atlantean-sponsored nanobiowarfare attacks are considered by many to be a boon for the inhumanitarian cause.

Recently, in the planet of Pritaiy, the capital city of Oblast was gassed from orbit by unknown perpetrators. This followed a string of violence mostly directed between the Byzantinists and the Centralites, wherein both sides executed their opponents en masse in increasingly more brutal ways. The spread of Centralism and Orthodox Byzantine Emperor-worship in the Outlands has led to a dramatic increase in bloodshed and escalation, culminating in the gassing of Oblast and, now, nanobioterrorism.

According to the inhumanists, the only relief in this most recent of atrocities is that the nanobioplague, of suspected Nova Atlantean origins, affects only human beings and results in the further loss of human life.

Ziggietown, Solaris
United Solarian Sovereignty



It's night, and fuzzy neon illuminates the street, etching weirdly colored alien cuneiforms on the slender towers. The Mazzshikushi restaurant is empty except for me, small human-sized tables deserted beside their larger Zigonian counterparts. I sit down at the bar and the maître d' shuffles over. He is a hulking alien, weathered brown scales over thick leathery skin; ridges of tangled yellow and red feathers jut at crooked angles from his head and back. The Zigonian wears a stark white apron, weirdly human for a 400lb alien. Politely he asks me if I'd like something to eat. Sure, I tell him, but I haven't the foggiest what's on the menu so could he recommend something? He asks me where I'm from. Anglia, I reply. He nods, produces a wicked sharp knife and goes to work on alien ingredients – some kind of fish, some rice-like substance and what looks like an egg containing something I don't want to think too long about.

The Ziggie chef asks me what I'm doing this far from home. I tell him I'm a musician, hoping to check out some of the local fuzz-grunge talent. He nods sagely. I ask him what he's doing here. The chef looks at me with tiny alien eyes.

His egg-parents were settlers, he tells me as he carefully prepares a dish, adventurous types for Zigonians, who'd chosen to leave Tooramal for a Zigonian trinium extraction colony in Wild Space. They'd thrived there for decades, he says, until the mining bust of 3103. In the economic hardships that followed, zealot fringe preachers fermented troubles between the human and alien populations. Unrest and violence had ensued. The local government was unable or unwilling to deal with it, and several Zigonians had been murdered. Eventually the Marines had come and stomped the zealots flat, but by then it had been too late. The house of his egg-parents had burned down, and they had barely managed to escape off-world with their life. It had taken the Ziggie family decades to scrape together the savings to begin again on Solaris.

He tells me this calmly. He's not asking for sympathy, but I can tell there's a wound there. I clumsily try to express my sympathy. He flicks his tongue in what I take for amusement and serves me a plate. The Mazzshi is brilliant, somehow sour and salty at the same time.

The door chimes and three Byzantine businessmen stumble in, voices harsh with Greek accents and drunkenness. The chef gives me an alien look and shambles off toward the inebriated trio. The Byzantines are rude and graceless. They imitate my host's hissing accent, call him 'it', bawl Greek anti-alien slurs everyone on Solaris knows. The Zigonian takes the abuse impassively, pulls out that enormous blade of his – and begins preparing the dish they ordered. It could be my imagination, but it looks like he's being even more secure than he was with my Mazzshi.

The Byzantines eat loudly, never ceasing their drunken tirade. They abandon their plates half-emptied, throw some cred-chips on the table and leave, knocking over a table as they go. I shake my head and help the chef right it. “How do you stay this composed?” I ask. “You just told me... Why don't you...” I shrug. “How do you manage?”

The Zigonian flicks his tongue again and I realize he's shrugging. “It is important to be nice and courteous to those who are rude and disrespectful.”

I don't understand. “Why?”

The Zigonian looks at me, near-infinite patience in his tiny eyes. “Because they need it most.”

Okręg, Pritaiy

Countless thousands had fled to the high-tech refugee camps set up by the Third Protocol. Ever since the gassing of Oblast, that number had risen to the millions. Those people fleeing the persecutions of the Byzantines and Centralites went there to hide. Those who stayed in the increasingly dangerous wartorn cities died. Oblast was a cruel reminder of that fact, now known to all.

In the city of Okreg, those who opted to stay were the fanatic followers of the local Orthodox sect. They claimed that this land was their righteous inheritance, that the deaths of those in Oblast was just punishment for heathens and fornicators who consorted with aliens and fascist false prophets. When all the sane and sensible citizens fled Okreg, the fanatics became the dominant power of the city and the surrounding countryside by virtue of being the ones left with enough manpower and firepower to claim the land.

Still, opponents lurked, having gone underground to hide from the persecutions of the now-dominant Orthodox zealots. Centralites and communists used the massive metros and sizeable sewers as their lairs. Also sheltering in these tunnels were refugees who sought to escape the Byzantine persecutions but couldn't flee to the Third Protocol camps, for the fanatics controlled the roads. So here they hid, looking for a chance to flee to greener pastures, slowly growing in numbers as more and more survivors trickled down into the sewers, and slowly growing more and more desperate with each passing day.

To the Centralites and Communards, these dispossessed were ripe for conversion. Propagandists and preachers scoured through the ranks of refugees, seeking converts to their cause. The uncertain peace between the two factions gradually eroded as rivalry reared its ugly head once more.

The communist hatched a particularly devious plan. Their infiltrators lurked into the Centralite vault and released a new weapon given by mysterious and nameless benefactors. The agent infected through the air, through the drinking water, and even used the vermin the people ate for food as vectors. The Centralites, and those bystanders living in the same tunnels as them, grew blue, lost their noses, their hair, and gradually became more and less than human at the same time.

Not all of them were afflicted, for the lessons of Oblast had been learned. Many who knew of the Tau plague immediately donned their NBC gear, donated by the inhumanists and Byzonists. Now protected, they fled the fumigated tunnels and sought higher ground, venturing into the surface where those who weren't gunned down by the roving Orthodox death squads were instead interrogated by hot metal rods or in the iron maidens. They told the truth, that an outbreak had occurred. Incensed, the fanatics went down into the tunnels and burned the Centralites-turned-blueskins they encountered. They watched with morbid curiosity as the burning and dying mutants swelled up and popped like oversized zits, spewing their infectious fluids ineffectively. These fanatics too had learned and donned masks, respirators and other protective gear as they did their gruesome work and incinerated the biohazardous corpses of the mutant man-Taus.



The communists celebrated their proletarian victory. Their fascist rivals had been decimated. Or so they thought.

In the middle of some Communard speech or another, their comrades suddenly started mutating before their very eyes. For their mysterious benefactors had also benefacted their rivals, and now seeking revengeance the Centralites had used the nano-weapons on the communists.

They also promptly informed, very anonymously, the local Orthodox fanatics of the xenos filth lurking beneath their feet.

As the red-clad communists grew blue and were deformed, crusader armor-clad knights stormed their tunnels and began putting the men, women and children to the sword. Even those who were infected but not yet visibly mutating into Tau were slayed, for it was better to die a human than suffer a xeno to live. Since the deathsquad could hardly diagnose the subtle signs of early nanite infection, that meant they killed everyone in the tunnels who wasn't an armored zealot. The Tau were slaughtered down to the last alien. Or, at least, that's what the fanatics thought as they nailed the exploded corpses on crosses. But in the process of systemic incineration and crucification, some of the bodies, and some of the live ones as well, were secreted away by some for unknown purposes.

Later, the Orthodox followers searched for, and gradually found, their anonymous informants, wishing to thank them for the service of bringing the xenos abominations to light. But upon discovering the Centralite proclivities of their informants, the fanatics promptly shot them in the backs of their heads and ditched their miserable carcasses in the tunnels of Tau.

Ómbros Pharmakon
Phizerium, Byzantium

When news of the sudden reappearance Tau in the Outlands reached Byzantium, agents of the Imperial Inquisition were dispatched immediately to ascertain the reemergence of Terra's most hated enemy. What they discovered was most unsettling. These were not true Tau, as the faithful fanatics of the Outlands so believed. No, the dissections of specimens both living and dead told an entirely different story. Despite the myriad mutations and alterations inflicted upon their wretched forms, the blueskins in the Outlands were in fact human - corrupted humans, deformed and mutilated into the form of grotesque abominations, but human nonetheless. Something was turning honest Emperor-fearing humans into xenos.

To determine what insidious treachery, what form of blasphoritous witchcraft, was responsible for this atrocity against humanity, the Incorporated Tech-Priests of the Imperium's foremost pharmaceuticals was tasked with processing the specimens they had taken from the Outlands. They were not only to determine the cause, but to formulate a cure as well.



The mutagen was easily surmised to be nano-retroviral in nature. There were few nations with the requisite technology to fabricate such an agent. There were even fewer nations with the population of Tau Ethereals to send the heretical address that came after the outbreak. Coincidentally, the nano-retrovirus had some similarities to the ancient agents used by the perfidious Tau during the war, and only one nation was able to sequester some of the xenos warcriminals to safety and learn the secrets of their techno-heresies That narrowed things down considerably. Knowing the origins and mechanisms of the agent, the Incorporated Tech Priests continued their work. Now, they had to create an antidote.

There were multiple measures that could be implemented. Regenerative nanogens could be used, interpreting the Tau tissue as injury and restoring the infected body to its original human form, thus healing it. Derivatives of polymorphene were also capable of inducing corrective metamorphosis. But ultimately, it was decided that while these two methods would be used in conjunction, the centerpiece of the antidote would be the experimental de-infestation treatments for those infected by highly mutagenic Karlack spores. The de-infestative had failed against the constantly-evolving Karlack pathogens, whose virulence and potency far outstripped the Tau nano-retroviral, which was relatively crude and primitive in comparison the lethal cocktails concocted by the Swarm. But for this task, it would do quite handily.

The results were promising, and those mutated by the nano-retrovirus could be reversed back to human form after a battery of treatments. Initially, nanochemotherapeutics would be used before the de-infestation agents would be introduced together with the nanogens and pseudomorphenes. The treatment was long, arduous and painful, but the results were undeniable. Not to mention, far safer and less potentially lethal than the Bragulan treatment, which involved Karlack blood and vegemite infusions.

While more clinical trials had to be done, the progress was still radically fast. It helped that the nano-retroviral was similar in some ways to the ancient Tau bioweapons, for Byzantium already had experience in treating those, and the experience of attempting to create a cure for Karlack infesterization was also a boon for the effort. Now, there was another matter to be dealt with.

The Incorporated Technopriests began fabricating a preliminary version of the treatment, an experimental and untested variant designed with even more accelerated re-humanization. This was for emergency use. The xenos plague was spreading in the Outlands at an alarming rate, and Byzantium could hardly let the faithful suffer the blandishment of the alien without giving the loyal believers medicine. It was, after all, the humane thing to do.



The City of Merricksgrad: Former Outlander Commissions

The people gathered in the Byzantine churches, begging for safety and security from the blasphorities of the most hated xenos - the Tau. At first, it seemed hopeless, the spread of the disease seemed unstoppable and incurable. But they had learned. The bishops and cardinals said that the sickness was transmitted by the tainted emissions of the Tau corpses, by the vile fluids of cursed animals, in polluted water and other things. Thus, in persecuting the xenos, the faithful were careful to wear sanctified protections and to keep themselves clean at all times - for cleanliness was next to God-Emperorness. They filtered their waters and killed potential vectors of transmission, murdering all the childrens' pets in the name of safety. The rediscovery of hygiene, and the prohibition of dog-eating, drastically reduced the incidence of infection.

But still, the believers reeled from the alien demons. Now they lurked in the shadows, in the streets at night, going so far as to form enclaves and strike at the faithful. They grew in number and assembled in degenerate hordes of deformed alienstrosities. The situation was grim and dark, and it seemed as though there would only be war in their future. The Orthodox faithful prayed for deliverance.

It came.

Humanitarian aid from Byzantium arrived. They brought with them emergency treatments to cure the infected, and those who were tainted but not yet turned into blueskins were given a chance to retain their human purity. Acolytes and medicae who went to Byzantium for education returned and taught that even those who were already turned into blueskins could be redeemed and saved by the cure. They preached forgiveness. Those who sheltered infected relatives, or those infected themselves and hiding in fear, would be welcomed to undergo a trial by ordeal - the long and painful process of nanochemotherapy - and should they survive and be restored to their humanity, then they would be welcomed back into their congregations. Those who died in the process of treatment would be given the solace of a Byzantine burial, and the priests would give indulgences so that their half-human souls might have a chance to linger in Purgatory, at least.

But there was more.

There was also a cure for those who did not submit to this sacrament of repentance. Accelerated nanochemotherapeutics, whose curatives worked far faster but were also more dangerous, were distributed. These medicines could be injected to even unwilling recipients, and came in convenient forms.



The xenos were a disease, a virus, a cancer in this galaxy. And this, was the cure.

The fanatics took these cure weapons and began administering them to those infected by the Tau virus. The aggressive nanochemotherapeutics killed far more than they saved, but it was decreed by the Patriarch that to die a human was better than to suffer the xenos to live. The corpses of man-Tau returned to human in death, or malformed somewhere between alien and human, or even somehow devolved into homonids by some quirk in evolutionary mutagenics, littered the streets of Merricksgrad.



The believers were now armed with something that could combat the xenos plague on equal footing. They spread this gospel of the gun, this good news, to all those who were unwilling to hear it. Many of those conflicted by their new xenos forms, those who were disgusted by their Tau bodies, would submit for treatment. Those who didn't, those who fought on as Tau, would be riddled by these cure weapons.

Curiously, these items labeled as medical supplies came in so many shapes, forms and sizes too. Just so the believers could help those who were ill, who were sick, who needed to be made 'better'.



They didn't just settle for the Tau, oh no. The new preachings of forgiveness towards those possessed by the xenos demons was soon applies to other non-Tau xenos as well. The independent bishops and clerics of the Outlands decided that they would bring salvation to other species of aliens, to give them the gift of humanity and allow them to receive the God-Emperor's blessings. It was the right thing, for they previously pitied the alien wretches whose immortal souls would be damned just for the misfortune of being born to a different and inferior species. If they had souls at that, for the graver misfortune was if aliens didn't have any immortal spirit at all. In that case, curing them and making them human would thus be an act of giving them souls, and as it was said on Emperor's Day, it was better to give than to receive.

After being the recipients of the Tau plagues, the Byzantine believers had enough with receiving. Now they were going to give. They would give humanity to the wretched aliens.

Of course, since the nanochemotherapeutic was designed to revere the nano-retroviral and turn man-Taus back into humans, it didn't work quite so well on natural xenos. In fact, total non-humans reacted to the thing and died slowly and painfuly after sprouting cancerous lesions and hideous growths all over their bodies. But as with all gifts on Emperor's Day, it was the thought that count.

Similar scenarios were unfolding elsewhere in what were once centers of alien sympathy across the Commons.

CIS Black Site, The Centrality
Early 3401

The sudden appearance of nanoweaponry in the Outlands excited the interest of the CIS, and undercover agents there acquired examples of the nanoweapons, for research and modification back in the Centrality. It was hoped that they could be modified for far more insidious purposes. The scientests had some...scary ideas.

Space over Aray, Outlands Central State
Sector AA-24
Early 3401

The fleet was ready.

Several ships had been assembled for this offensive, with more staying in reserve. Behind them stood transports that carried the ground forces needed to conquer and hold worlds. All were ready to do battle.

It went into hyperspace.

Palace of Parliament Government Offices, Westminster
New Anglia, Star Kingdom of New Anglia

Penton sat and quietly listened as Reyas Drusa, a Pesani Dorei man of teal complexion, gave his report. The Pesani MP was Minister of State in the Foreign Office, responsible for managing the Empire's foreign aid operations, and his reports on the Outlands were grim. The entire region was now aflame, caught between warring ideological factions and with the Imperium's local supporters on a killing spree against local non-humans.

Now Nova Atlantis had upped the ante considerably with their nanoweapons, which were spreading amongst the Human population in the Outlands like wildfire. Initially unleashed upon the Byzantines there, the local Communist and Centralist groups had gotten ahold of it and were using it upon each other, hoping to provoke the unaffected Byzantines with military equipment to slaughter whatever group they opposed.

"I have heard enough, sir," Penton finally snapped. He turned to Baden-Grey. "Lord Prestwick, have you made any headway with the Refuge on this matter? It is their area and I do not wish to make them hostile to Imperial interests with any form of intervention."

"I have had some chance to discuss this with their ambassador," Baden-Grey replied. "But I'm afraid His Excellency is still waiting for instructions."

"Sir, we must act," Randolph Churchill-Hughes urged from his seat. "Wringing our hands and protesting lamely the behavior of the Imperium and the Commonwealth in the Outlands will get us nowhere, the Empire must become proactive!"

"I agree, Randolph, I agree, but with the uncertainty in the Ascendancy and our coming involvement with certain campaigns toward the Perseid Arm, we must be careful with the scale of our commitments. At this point a couple of Expeditionary Groups, on top of whatever forces the Refuge may provide us with, should be ample reinforcement for Pegasus Station."

"And if they meet opposition?", one of the lower-ranked cabinet members asked.

Penton met the man's look with his own. "Then, good sir, we shall send a fleet, and remind these people of just what the Empire is capable of."

Recommended listening: The Antz Go Marching to War

Sklack (Formic Homeworld)
Inception Sector
Ascendance Federee

When news of the brutality in the former Outlander Commissions reached the Ascendancy, reactions were mixed. The average Ascendant thought it was horrible, of course, but none of their concern. The government, what there was of it, was too occupied with its own affairs to do much more than send a token protest.

The Formics wanted blood.

Successive Hive Queens had spent centuries fighting tooth and nail (or mandible and pincer) for species equality. They were not about to allow insane Byzantine cultists or deranged Communislamofascist terrorists to threaten that cause, no matter the location. The Formics maintained their own military as a result of a complicated web of treaties and semi-feudal laws that held the Ascendancy together, and now that military was going to be used. The ants were marching to war.

Fifty million drone soldiers, overseen by a hundred thousand indivuals and a dozen Queens (spare queens, rather; the Hive Queens did not leave their hives except in direst circumstances) embarked on fat troop transports and on three squadrons of Formic ships - one of medium, one of heavy, and one of battlecruisers, and set off for the Outlander Commissions. Peace would be restored - peace through superior firepower, perhaps, but peace nonetheless.

Presidential Center, Centrum, The Centrality
Early 3401

Kierger was fuming. First Crevecia and now this.

"The Commonwealth has deployed nanoweapons to the Outlands, sir," said CIS Director Hoover Gates. "Its effects can be summed up in two words: Species change. In effect, the nanoweaponry transforms humans into Tau, and we all know how the Byzantines feel about the Tau. Good news is that we've managed to acquire several examples from our agents there. We are currently trying to create new uses for them. I assure you they will be terrifying."

Kierger scoffed, "Still, the chaos in the Outlands this created will endanger our own designs for the region. I'm thinking intervention."

"Sir, is that wise? Things could go south quickly," said Grand Admiral Noslen Yeslah.

"I won't pull out the 'send a fleet' business that my predecessor did. No, a Task Corps is sufficient for now. Send such a force to AA-24. Contact our allies in the region. They will be pleased."

"Yes sir."

Pechorynya/Darvyl Continental Mega-Array
Bragy Bragan, Vivinskiy mid-sector



Bragy Bragan was a closed military world where, on one hemisphere, advanced weapons tests were held on Bragule's latest ballistic missile systems. On the other hemisphere was also the site of a massive continent-spanning sensor grid dominating the world's largest north-eastern landmass.

The Pechorynya/Darvyl Continental Mega-Array was not only a sensor array watching the spinward vectors, nyet. It was also linked, by entire mountain ranges of antennae and fiber optic space elevators reaching to geosynch satellites, to the peripheral networks of Bragule's oriental colony sectors, deep space listening outposts, and extraterritorial monitoring number stations. It was to the East what the ByzonEye system of Severnaya was to the West.

On ordinary days, the staff of the Mega-Array would be relatively relaxed. At least compared to their comrades in the ByzonEye, which was watching the considerably more exciting regions of Wild Space rife with Solarian, Byzantine and Collectoroid threats. But today was not an ordinary day, and the staff of Pechornynya/Darvyl was far from relaxed.

A sizable fleet had been detected in the Aray sector by an early warning station. It numbered in the hundreds of ships and it was moving. To where? Unknown. To what purpose? Unknown.

The bears on Bragy Bragan were merely observers though, not there to make decisions. So it was that the relevant information was transmitted to Bragule via a hyperwave communications satellite securely connected to Bragan by way of a very long fiber optic cable.

The priority level of the transmission allowed it to cut through the innumerable layers of Bragulan bureaucracy like an atomic deathray, until it smashed against the implacable walls of the Imperator's Palace, to be read by His Council. The response was swift.

Border of Hissgerd Sector, N-10
Task Corps 2
Early 3401

The shuffling of naval forces was done in great speed, as time was of essence. Task Corps 2 comprised of the following:
Meanwhile, Grand Admiral Noslen Yeslah, on his own authority, brought up a reserve Task Corps, of the same composition plus a Dreadnought and an Ultracarrier, in case a full Fleet was needed.

Task Corps 2's command staff debated what was the best path to take to AA-24. Not only it was far, but the quickest ways there required passing through Shoal space, which was not pleasant, to say the least, while the long way meant passing between several nations.

Considering the options, they sent a request that demanded postponement of the planned sending of Task Corps 2 to AA-24. Kierger was suprisingly amenable, but gave them just a week.

So Task Corps 2 waited.

MESSAGE TO ALL OUTLANDERS!

PEOPLES OF THE OUTLANDS!

You have long suffered the indignities of chaos, poverty, and inmmorality! You have endured the sight of horrifying death and terror, of uncertainty and loss! You, like all beings in the Galaxy, desire better! You deserve better than to be robbed, humiliated, or killed by some anarchist scum! The Outlands Central State can help you! Join us in Sector AA-24, and we will give you a better life, a purpose! We do not care if you are human, alien, machine, or something else! For we believe in the power of Unity! Of Order! Of Harmony! We shall overcome!

[i]Previously, on the edge of the Outlands...[/i] wrote:"Goddamn heathens should be made to learn the value of a properly earned dollar! To appreciate the sweat of the brow, instead of, well, that of somebody else's brow! Goddammit!" He lit the cigar on fire. "Hell yeah. Communards and centralists won't know what hit 'em." He blew a great cloud of smoke up toward the ceiling of his plush office and looked admiringly at the portraits of his predecessors. "Time to make some history. Who can we deploy to counter the communard threat?"

Oshone ruffled his fur. "Do you not have to speak to congress first?"

"I got war powers man. For six months I can do whatever the hell I like, and if we seize enough resources in the meantime you bet your ass that congress will approve!"

The alien sniffed, his kind's equivalent to shrugging one's shoulders. "Fair enough. I believe I can make General Duke and Alpha Squadron available?"

Welcome to Chau Sara

Suggested listenings!

At first, the Centralite fleet had been making good headway towards their target. Now though the atmosphere aboard the flagship had gone from elation to quiet tension because sensors had picked up another fleet in hyper, aimed straight for them. As a precaution the Centralites had dropped out of hyperspace and assumed combat formations, the biggest capital ships forming a rough globe around the fragile troopships; smaller destroyers fanned out around them; frigates at the fraying edges of the flotilla as pickets.

Then, a flash of impossible colors; a contortion of dimensions. A massive ship resolved into view.



"Is that..." the Centralite helmsman hesitated, his voice strained with more than a little fear. "A Bragulan cruiser?"

"Sir!" Sensors called. "That's not a Brag ship -- it's Dominion." And it was. Or had been. The ship was an old Dominion battlestar, but of a type the Dominion had scrapped from its naval roster decades or longer ago. This particular ship had disappeared onto the shady market of second-hand capital ships, being sold and resold until it had finally ended up in the hands of someone with enough purchasing power to maintain and upgrade it.

"We get signal!" Comms noted.

"Main screen turn on!" the captain demanded. And the screen resolved itself in a grainy hologram.



"Centralite Commander, this is General Edmund Duke of the Silent Star Navy Alpha Squadron. You are in violation of our air-space and have endangered human lives in your reckless attack against capitalism. I order you to withdraw your ships immediately. If you fail to comply, I will not hesitate to open fire upon your vessels."

On that cue, more and more ships dropped out of hyper, and took up formation opposite the Centralite fleet. They were all older types that had gone out of service with the galaxy's leading navy's, but they were very well maintained and had been on the receiving end of whatever upgraded boffinry the Silent Star Republic had been able to dream up. There were missile pods and laser cannons in unexpected places, and many ships gave off drive emissions and power signatures much higher than their spaceframes were originally rated at. Every weapon on the ships' appeared powered-up, too. The Centralite admiral realized that if this was gonna be a fight, it was going to be ugly.

Ultra Heavy Carrier OSS Commissioner
Deep Space

"What airspace?! This is DEEP SPACE, you idiot! Your territory is far away! Mind your own business, or else!"

Then, turning to Comms, he said, "Tell our troopships to get back home. We'll deal with these scum."

"Yes sir."

Turning now to Duke, the Admiral said, "You want a fight, I'll give you a fight!" The Admiral screamed while the screen was still on, "FIRE!"

The Centralist ships opened fire.

"I'm going ta hafta assume that was a hostile response..."

Arpad, Sector BB-24

The Centralist Mechanicals ruling the planet Arpad, having heard of the offensive plans from Aray, were prearing their fleet. Theirs was the second pincer of the offensive, as the targeted planet was not far away. In the planet itself, shipyads were busy churning out new vessels and factories producing new machines for battle. Mobilization was underway.

The fleet, of some 40 ships, went into hyperspace, where they heard that the other pincer was in unexpected difficulties...

Mari ship, Space over Aray

The Mari leaders, despite receiving the Centralist message, decided to ignore it, but some did not agree. These were exiled rather than killed, something the leaders would, much later, regret.

The Mari ships that came to Aray were the ones that had differed from their brethren because of their sympathy to Centralist ideals, and here they were, in the epicenter of the Centralist factions. They awaited for their orders.

Task Corps 2, Hissgerd Sector
The Centrality
Early 3401

The following message was recieved by Task Corps 2:

URGENT MESSAGE

This is Kierger.

We have reached the conclusion that reaching the Outlands is impossible. Mission objectives are therefore changed. In case our proxies collapse in the Outlands, this task corps is to take in any centralist that manages to flee the area. The Task Corps is to avoid any combat from any faction. That is all. Make ready for jump in a few weeks.

The commanders were relieved that their period of grace was extended. For anything could happen in those weeks.

Bunker, Aray
Early 3401

Lord Wankiller scowled. His forces were overstretched. Already entire areas were in danger. Even Aray was restless. He made a decision.

"Recall all our forces to Aray. We must rest and wait for another time."

"Yes sir," the President said.

A tightbeam message was sent to all forces that Wankiller could control. The retreat was sounded.

As the President left, Wankiller was left alone. He scowled.

Fuck.