Unexpected Guests [FT/Mature/Closed]

[Serukta Sehkrisaal]

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Unknown Location, Galactic Core Region
^{Alpha Quadrant — 10:22:20.0014 GSY}
A chamber of stone and sand echoes with the faint footfalls of figures of silk and gilded bone, their features billowing cloth as they step and intone. Above them, in the great, blasted landscape of the desert, a city and a palace toils; attendants to the ennobled shove through crowds of saclothe-shrouded beggars and peasant knaves, desperately trying to get to the markets before the greatest of their wares are bartered and sold dry. The smell of fragrant spices wafts through the city and seems to highlight the tune of the water sellers' calls. An orchestration of sand and grit, living and breathing and working, never-ceasing and eternally unaware of the great chasm which dwells beneath them, beneath the throne of their god.

A figure of cloth and bone turns in his step, pausing to gaze at his surroundings. He is a recent addition to the cohort in the chamber and has yet to come to terms with its dimensions; he still has marvel in his eyes, hidden as they are beneath the red-dyed mask affixed to his features. He counts the statues which line the chamber, rising up nearly fifteen meters; they are twelve in total, and each seem to be carved with an artful mastery more precise and detailed to the last. One holds a flower, its features feminine and graceful; another holds what looks to be a shard of glass crafted from stone, though its hilt betrays it as an armament of strife. Even yet still another holds what could be a reed flute made of polished culfyrstone. They are a pantheon, he knows; they are the intercessors and, staring upon their divine forms he whispers a subtle prayer to himself.

Enraptured, the figure can't help but consume the displays of light and the details they illuminate and yet in the same moment obscure. The great chasm - the inner cloister - is massive, even in comparison to the palace and its accompanying city to which it lies beneath, unknown and still as earth and soil. He can't discern them, but he knows high above, scrawled across the vaulted landscape of the ceiling, rests frescos and mosaics depicting the foundational moments of his faith. They are there, but at this distance, the sacrosanct shroud can only discern a flash of colors, each truncated by gold and scarlet fixings and trim.

The figure feels small.

A call from one of the alcoves, each adjacent to a divine resemblance, draws his attention suddenly, causing his gaze to run across the great prominence and ultimate purpose of his new station. His eyes adjust, then focus, then dilate and repeat the process again as if struggling to intake the light of the object he sees - or views in some dim-lit, obfuscated semblance of such. He finds the great megalith - octagonal and cylindrical in shape - discomforting to look upon. It towers nearly to the ceiling, becoming little more than a peak of solid black; he knows this isn't true. He knows the megalith - the artifact - retains its façade in full detail, and that such is only a trick of perspective. Even so, he suddenly sees the object as if it were a dagger fallen from the heavens, and the image sticks; he will retain that impression, he knows, until the day he dies.

Focusing once more, the figure steps toward the towering object, seemingly composed of stone. At first he feels himself fooled, but then rights his sight: deep striations coat the object, each filled with what resembles solid gold. They are drawings, depictions, pictograms at first, but as he watches, they begin to shift within his vision into the language, the script, he understands. Even so, he only grasps a glimpse of the great prose etched into the otherwise featureless remnant; they flow into his mind like a stream, his mind a collection of rapids. It hurts, but only for a moment, before he finds images transplanted where had once only dwelled amazement and astonishment

The image is simple and monolithic: he sees fire.

So much flame, an endless scintillation stretching-out in all directions; he finds himself, at once, in that field of burning, except it isn't a field. Bewildered, at first he feels as if he were standing amidst the fields of grain of his village home, each agrarian settlement set alight; then he is on the blaze flats, and his feet ache and simmer. Yet, it is then that the figure's perspective corrected itself, and he found himself not standing, nor falling, but enveloped by a wind - a breath - of pure light, and of heat. It burns, and he feels its pain; yet, he doesn't want to leave it. It consumes him with the ecstasy of agony, and he sees great worlds drenched in a flowing and wild wall of flame. He sees stars sing their final song, imploding in a tidal wash of illumination. It hurts, and yet he feels himself quake and knows the heat rising, reaching, devouring...

The figure is pulled from his sudden vision as a cacophony of calls ring-out in the holy chasm beneath that sacred metropolis. They are pointing, screaming, and shouting in ecstasy the profane litanies kept between only their cenobitic brethren. For a moment, he is confused, then sees what, they too, are seeing.

The object, the Remnant, sat upon its unseen pedestal deep beneath the earth - even deeper than the chamber itself - and surrounded by a moat of tidal sands, has begun to move. It shifts and shudders. Those golden-lace etchings begin to weep, and he watches as the holy waters of the great form fall and drip as each face explodes outward.

In the last moment, he watches as his brothers are consumed. When the flames beckon him, he does not resist, for he knows the wretched glee of prophecy.

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Avaikan Spur Monitoring Outpost Number Four
^{Amphina II, Amphina System, Avaikan Mandate — 11:19:20.0014 GSY}
Richard could feel his heart climbing up through the duct work of his chest; for a moment, back pressed into the cold, metallic grating of the atmospheric control maintenance corridor, he sympathized with it: climbing through passages it was never meant to go, trying desperately to find a solution to whatever hellish calamity had befallen its host. Yes, for a moment he felt some kindred respect for the organ which kept him moving. That was dashed the moment he heard the secondary pressure hull in D-Wing collapse.

A quick pulse of adrenaline pushed him forward; he found himself depressing the maintenance access hatch's pressure seals, turning its radial locks into the "open" position. Fresh oxygen wafted over him and filled his nostrils with its sterile flavor. It was the consequence of the atmo-scrubbers; everything smelled and tasted like a hospital or clinic, but at the moment Richard could find no other barrage of his senses more appealing. He remembered Melissa; a flash, a crack, and she was gone - sucked (or propelled) out through the surface bulkhead like the hardened alloys the company installed were little more than tissue paper. The way her face had contorted; she had called for help, she had begged. Her face was as fractured as the wall through which she had been pulled.

Richard pushed the all-too-recent memory from his mind and nearly leapt from the maintenance shaft, stumbling brutishly into the primary corridor of C-Wing. B-Wing was compromised, venting atmosphere; already he had heard D-Wing's secondary pressure hull crack and collapse, it's safeties would, too, soon fail. A-Wing. Nothing was left of A-Wing; nothing but titanium alloy and ceramic dust, pulverized into fine grit across the surface of the Amphina II.

He had begun to run at some point. Time had become distorted during the catastrophe; he briefly remembered Marshall calling out over the announcement system about picking-up a flight of unscheduled craft in high orbit, approaching from the star-side - something about the star obscuring them from more precise telemetry modes. He wondered if it had then been minutes or mere seconds before A-Wing's primary bulkhead failed. He initially felt it had been nearly a quarter of an hour, but knew his sense of time and measure had already failed him. He decided it might have been a quarter of a minute, but even that felt too great of a length of time.

Humphreys - the on-site medical technician - ran past him suddenly, causing Richard to turn and watch him momentarily, dazed. He was running toward D-Wing; apparently he had been spared the grating crescendo of metal that indicated its impending failure, Richard thought. He heard the doctor call-out to assist him, but he didn't stop; he had to make it to the emergency communications terminal.

Finding himself at the end of the C-Wing corridor, Richard was confronted with a rather sudden dilemma. Around him, he could hear the cracking and popping of the reinforcing superstructure of the outpost bending and contorting. To the left was the main hangar; he knew, through it, there was a line to the emergency terminal he so desperately sought, but the route was circuitous and took him through medical and one of the tertiary storage volumes. To the right was the direct route, but through the small, reinforced plex-glass port of the door he could see flames ebbing and flowing. Smoke was billowing out around the glass; some time during the initial impacts, the glass frame had fractured, allowing thin soot-gray tendrils of carbon plume to fume out into the main passage.

Richard turned right and knew, almost immediately, he'd made either the right choice, or that it wouldn't matter soon enough.

Slamming behind him, the corridor's main blast doors jutted out then down, their explosive bolts sealing shut before their weld-charges literally fused them into place. The sudden burst of pressure was enough to still some of the flames licking about him, but was also just enough to shatter his left ear drum. He felt the warmth of his life trickling down his lobe and onto his neck; he didn't stop, instead choosing to cover his mouth, squint, and press forward. As far as he recalled, his destination wasn't one hundred meters ahead, behind a manual airlock and quarantine lock. If he could get there, he might just make it; he might just last long enough for reinforcements to arrive and find him in the ceramic, metal, and stone-earth sarcophagus buried deep within Amphina II's crust.

He tried to push the thought from his mind, finding the task surprisingly easy.

The door to the emergency terminal's chamber, along with a few crates of ammunition and - were he lucky - a sidearm, was sealed tight. The shifting of the outpost in the stone around it had, apparently, dislodged it and allowed it to fall. Richard almost panicked before spotting the locked - but intact - pump lever's case. He shattered the glass with a kick and reached inside; one compression, two compressions, three, four, five. The airlock to the room jerked to life and began to rise before getting stuck in its tracks. Richard didn't care; he dove to his knees and climbed inside, scuffing his knees across the solid tungsten frame. It took him less than a single heartbeat to then turn and seal the quarantine lock, welding the door into place. Sure, the airlock was still open, but that would have to do and he knew it.

As he heard the cascading symphony of D-Wing's safeties shatter and C-Wing's main corridor burst into the cosmos, Richard turned to the terminal, sighed, and reached for the flashing, orange button.

---

This is an automated emergency broadcast. Please do not respond on this channel.

As of 03:47:22:02 Local Time, the Avaikan Spur Monitoring Outpost Number Four's status is to be considered compromised. Repeat: as of 03:47:22:02 Local Time, status is classified as compromised. Further updates as of the current time, 04:05:46:44 Local Time, have not been provided by currently networked systems.

Please await last available measurements from on-site system diagnostics:

• Primary exterior hull plating is currently at zero-point-zero-zero percent (0.00%) integrity at surface level;
• Secondary exterior hull plating is currently at thirty-six-point-two-six percent (36.26%) integrity at surface level and failing;
• Primary sub-surface hull plating is currently at thirty-four-point-zero-four percent (34.04%) integrity in aggregate and failing;
• Secondary sub-surface hull plating is currently at forty-nine-point-eight-zero percent (49.04%) integrity in aggregate and failing;
• Primary pressure hull infrastructure is currently at zero-point-zero-zero percent (0.00%) integrity in aggregate;
• Secondary pressure hull infrastructure is currently at nineteen-point-zero-seven percent (19.07%) integrity in aggregate and stable;
• Primary atmospherics and life support systems are currently at zero-point-zero-seven percent (0.07%) integrity and failing;
• Secondary atmospherics and life support systems are currently at twenty-six-point-six-six percent (27.66%) integrity and failing;
• Emergency atmospherics and life support systems are currently at sixty-three-point-zero-three percent (63.03%) integrity and stable;
• Primary power generation systems are currently offline;
• Secondary power generation systems are currently offline;
• Emergency power back-up is currently online and at thirty-nine-point-nine-eight percent (39.98%) integrity.

Based upon automated preliminary safety, security, and survival estimates and last available system diagnostics in accordance with TransDelta Mining Corporation's Standard Safety and Preservation Protocols, eight (8) crew members, comprising ten percent (10%) of currently catalogued on-site staff profiles, can be expected to survive for four-point-zero-six (4.06) hours until primary, secondary, and emergency systems fail to provide minimal safety, security, and survival requirements for life.

As such, in accordance with TransDelta Mining Corporation's Standard Safety and Preservation Protocols, any and all vessels receiving are requested to provide emergency rescue and/or retrieval assistance to the provided coordinates as soon as possible.

This message will now repeat.

This is an automated emergency broadcast. Please do not respond...

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Amphina II Primary Dossier, Post-Avaikan Incident Update
^{TransDelta Mining Corporation Primary Asset Archive — 02:10:20.0015 GSY}
Amphina II (or "Amphina Secondary") has served as the primary site for TransDelta Mining Corporation's traffic relay and mining operation asset ventures in the Amphina System since 19.0093 Galactic Standard Year (twenty-one [21] Galactic Standard Years at the time of the "Avaikan Incident"). Since 19.0099 GSY until 20.0014 GSY, the TransDelta Mining Corporation provided, on-lease, access to the Spur Reconnaissance and Frontier Monitoring Office (hereafter "SRFMO") of the Department of Frontier Services of the Avaikan Mandate for Spur Monitoring Outpost Number Four for the purpose of directing Gamma-readied traffic from the Delta Quadrant.

This partnership proved to be exceptionally beneficial to both TransDelta and the Frontier Services Department until its unfortunate, but necessary, termination in 20.0014 GSY. Amphina II, though by far the most stable terrestrial body (one of three primary planetary systems orbiting the Wolf-Rayet class star known locally as "Amphina") in the Amphina System, was - and remains - a hostile and burdensome environment for mining, speculating, and survey operations on the Gamma-Delta Border. Due to its close proximity to one of the few naturally habitable systems along the Gamma-Delta Border in the Fringe Regions, that of the Avaika System, it served as a natural bridgehead for speculators, surveyors, and entrepreneurs seeking capital and investment opportunities in the Gamma Quadrant following the abrupt disappearance of pathogenic anomalies in the quadrant and despite its otherwise uninhabitable and hazardous environmental conditions.

Until the truncation of the "Avaikan Incident" in late 20.0014 GSY, the Amphina System - and, thus, Amphina II - proved to be not merely a profitable investment for TransDelta and other, competing firms, but also provided a naturally secure entry-point to what was known as the "Avaika Trade Spur"; this networked trade route connecting, at best, six distinct planetary systems, then - in turn - served as a way station between the entrenched and highly-developed rimward ventures in Delta to the more highly developed trade spurs and routes deeper within the Gamma Quadrant, those specifically in closer proximity to the highly-profitable and well-known "Lanthe Route".

As of currently, Amphina II continues to lack an appreciable atmosphere and no attempts to terraform the planetary body to augment its environmental conditions and atmosphere have been undertaken; current projections of market conditions indicate most terraforming ventures would be too costly considering Amphina's close proximity to the epicenter of the "Avaikan Incident". (Special Note: Potential investors seem unoptimistic and cautiously aware of the potential possibility of a repeat of the event due to its as-of-yet unascertained cause.) Further, no TransDelta personnel remain on Amphina II, and all assets are considered to be lost or otherwise forfeit following the "Avaikan Incident". The TransDelta Mining Corporation is not currently planning to undertake any operation(s) to attempt to retrieve lost property or assets or to retrieve biological remains. Families of Amphina II personnel have been provided necessary supplemental pension benefits and, in three cases, judicially required settlements.

Amphina II, Spur Monitoring Outposts One through Six, and all TransDelta assets within proximity of the Avaika Trade Spur are, therefore, considered derelict.

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Out-of-Character Thread

[Azura]

Commander's Lodgings, the Explorator / Scout Vessel Ferociter
Sidusclasse of the Primareliqua — Shakedown Campaign of Commander Caen, Mission Day 277.2

Though the dreams were painless, the sensation of waking up thereafter was not.

The assuaging of his frayed, trembling nerves was tempered by the cold and calculating reality borne of memories too painful to forget—and too horrifying to suppress. Though he hid behind the impressive façade of a Sidusclasse officer, the Poinsettia exsul was anything but stoic and venerable. Lynom Caen had lived with the ramifications of his tremendous exodus from his native world for two decades, pondering the implications for his troubled soul amidst the sleepless nights and unremitting cries of terror that soaked in his conscience. His badge of office, the small choker with the metallic pendant of a 'Commander' was a futile gesture by a foreign people, as much bloodkin to the Poinsettia survivors as the Corathyr or Lisicans. Though he had been sheltered by their world, he was never truly of their world, no matter their personal motives.

Caen pawed at his eyes, rubbing at them incessantly as he haggardly pulled himself up in his chair, thinking. In a week's time, it would mark the seven year anniversary of the Peregrinorum's rescue—his Peregrinorum—by the very same Sidusclasse that he now served in. Time had cascaded like a raging river thereafter, and so much felt jumbled in the expediency with which things progressed. After so many countless years surviving in the Hellish recesses of Oblivion, the refugees' shuttling to their new abode on Ararx in the Calixtan System was an exercise in madness. More people died in the six weeks to Ararx than had died in the previous six months aboard the Peregrinorum; people simply could not process the changed paradigm in which they were living in. Those were dark days, but they were a beacon of light upon a hill compared to the horrors that had preceded it.

The very thought of the trials and tribulations faced by the Peregrinorum and her passengers was nearly too much to bear. Endless years spent scavenging for food and supplies in the blackest realms of the ethereal host, fighting off hunger and want, and when things got too meager, each other. But the constant, looming threat of their mortal enemies, they who dare not be mentioned by name was the greatest fear of all. A macabre species unlike any they'd ever encountered before had affixed its attention on the Peregrinorum, and had stalked it wantonly for years on end, raiding it not for its lax treasures, but for its compliment of crew and passengers. At first, they were kind enough to carry the victims away before feeding on them, wearing the skins of their faces as cruel trophies of a sadistic hunt. But then, they got decidedly more brazen as the Poinsettia survivors grew weaker.

Even in the dead of night, I can still hear the screams of the dying damned...

The Primareliqua had salvaged what little remained of their coterie of Poinsettia not three days from a final, ghastly raid by the brutes. By that point, what little remained of the prime crew had become adept at fighting off the raiding parties with what few weapons could be improvised. Years living in the relative peace and quiet of Ararx should have assuaged the poignant remembrance of the dark days, but it had in fact worsened them. The stillness of life in the Exsul Colony bore too great a resemblance to the silence of the space that they had survived in. Two other Poinsettia ships of the original thirty had been found by the Primareliqua's Sidusclasse; some faces he'd not laid eyes on in two decades had greeted him in their new sanctum. It wasn't enough, it never was. The abscesses left on his soul had rendered unto the world a cold and irreverent countenance...

But on the inside, I'm fractured, and the schism is growing wider.

When the recruitment officer had visited his annex in Portum Tiranya, some small modicum of his beleaguered spirit had clung to the notion of a return to active duty as a chance to excise the demons that were chasing him. Learning a new vernacular, wearing a new uniform... it was all supposed to be cathartic, chasing at the shadows head-long instead of letting them sink their creeping tendrils into what remained of his fragile sense of being. Instead, his training and appointment as an officer in the Sidusclasse had brought only the renewed fears of emptiness and silence that had mortified him in the long days before salvation was to be had. Almost three hundred grueling days out of port, patrolling in the night sky, fearful of the bogeymen that hunted in the darkness... he was losing what little grip he had on himself, and it was beginning to affect his judgment.

It's the damnable noise that they made when the ripped at the flesh. The guttural glee in their throats...

Unnerved, yet unable to extricate himself from the hoarse cries of the damned, Lynom slowly reached into the inner-compartment at his workstation, quietly withdrawing a memory disc that had been hidden from his rescuers upon their deliverance from the great evil. Sitting it on the panel in front of him, he unconsciously powered on the device, closing his eyes as tightly as he could to prevent experiencing the madness direct. Though he could not bring his eyes to gaze upon his hour of torment, the words penetrated the very fabric of his being, altering the man at a genetic level. The haunting melody of the words cried out by the young man on the recording still resonated years after, compelling Caen to relive the experience over and over again; a penance for having the audacity to survive the bloody holocaust that consumed the souls of the walking damned.

We only have a limited amount of battery power left in this compartment. Chael thought that the heating vents would give us a way to escape back up to the promenade, but the covers are bolted in place; there's no way to get past them. And when we tried to backtrack down to the medical bay, the bastards were there waiting for us...

It was a slaughter; the air was riddled with the smell of fetidness and shit, the walls smeared with the remains of those bludgeoned and consumed. I have no firm recollection of how we made it back to the auxiliary corridor, except that we escaped the death chamber and managed to buy ourselves a little time. The chase is inevitable now, though; they know that we're here, and there is little chance that we will walk away from it. David managed to pick his way into a side compartment that housed bloody linens that had been stuffed there haphazardly years ago. I suppose it is as apropos as any place to make a final stand, but the few women and children left in our care are stirring with fright and panic. We tried to calm them, but nothing was capable of meeting such an impossible task.

This is to be my last testament, for I have no worldly goods to bequeath. I began this day with thirty men under my command; now, only six remain, in addition to two families and several orphaned children. We did our damnedest to hide from the monsters, but they found us, as I knew they would. We could only run for so long before there were no more places left to hide; I am tired now. So very tired. My heart yearns for the solace of death, but my mind knows that the agony to come will be slow and torturous. They're leaving their victims alive while they carve on them, without the decency to finish them off with dignity. I curse every last wretched soul of the lot of them to a burning Hell, where no manner of respite can quench the misery of their eternal damnation.

Let it be known that the men under my command fought bravely, and held nothing back in defense of those who were entrusted to our care. Were it not for our imminent demise, I would drink to their honor—

—Michael just cried out in anguish; the bastards are near, and we're running out of time...

The words were piercing him like a sharpened sword, slicing its way through the gristle and sinew into his essence, just as they always had, when another voice startled him from the memory disc. "Commander Caen to the Bridge, priority one!"

Disheveled by the intrusion of his executive officer into his solitude, Lynom angrily pressed the receiver on the wall before him. "Commander Caen to the Bridge; this better be important, Lieutenant Reviers."

"We have a distress call emanating from a previously-unexplored sector of Tenebris; the situation sounds critical."

Lynom could feel his pulse quicken at the mention of Tenebris—the hunters lurk there...—and quickly pressed the receiver in. "Have the message decoded for me when I get there; I'll be there as quickly as I can."

Caen swallowed deeply, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow. The entire purpose of the shakedown cruise of the Ferociter was to test his reflexes against the threats posed by the notorious denizens of the Quadrant. Tenebris was a particularly dangerous realm, because it lied in wait unknowingly to either the Poinsettia survivors or their Primareliqua hosts. Tenebris was in the purview of villains both new and old that had kept him up in mortal fear at night, and now they were very likely to be heading there direct for a rendezvous with a destiny he had foolishly sought after. The coolness of the memory disc betrayed suddenly-clammy palms; he needed to escape into the former troubles, if only to skew the madness that lie in wait over an uncertain horizon. If this was to be the end of the world, he was bound to go with a remembrance of his past sins.

The Commander quietly pressed the power button on the disc, leaning forward in the chair, his teeth clenched.

We are down to the last here. There is nowhere left to hide. They're coming...

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Control Room, Deck A, Section Unum—Main Bridge of the Ferociter

"There is no discrepancy in our tracking ability, sir; this is the sector that distress call was intercepted from."

Lieutenant Reviers leaned over Tobin's shoulder, carefully observing the Intercept Officer's handling of the situation with an intensive scrutiny. Jayne wasn't about to go flying off into hostile territory on dreadfully inaccurate intelligence. "The computer verifies your calculations?"

"I ran the tracking algorithm three times, Lieutenant," Tobin said crassly, whispering. "If it fucked up, then I can't help it."

Jayne shook his head, crossing his arms impatiently. "Keep up with your computations; I want accuracy and precision out of this desk," he said loudly. Then, leaning in that only the two could hear one another, he added: "And watch your mouth on duty. Just because you fuck in the same bed as I do doesn't exclude you from proper protocol. You're an officer; act like it."

"Sir!" Tobin forced under baited breath.

The insolent behavior of his intercept officer aside, the computations looked up to snuff from his chair; the message interdiction had been carried off flawlessly, his relay orders were confirmed and awaiting the sign-off of the commanding officer... so where the Hell was Caen? It was customary for a native son of the Primareliqua to accompany a Poinsettia exsul when they enlisted, and Caen's file was a rave review; he had chosen to work with him personally, expecting him to be competent and collected in the face of danger. In the entirety of their shakedown cruise, he had been an enigma, sulking to and fro his quarters in abject silence, refusing even the most basic of courtesies and shirking his official log duties with frightening regularity. He couldn't confirm his suspicions, but something was amiss in the Commander's presence, and Jayne intended to figure it out.

As if on cue, Caen finally made his way through the port into the control room, straightening his tie as he walked. Reviers straightened automatically, barking out: "Commander on the Bridge!"

"As you were, as you were!" Commander Caen repeatedly quickly, making a straight line for the Intercept Officer's console where he stood. His disheveled appearance did nothing to appease the growing concerns about his competence. Jayne rose up from his perch over Tobin's shoulder, moving over slightly to allow the Commander a direct line-of-sight to the readout.

"Commander," Jayne said finally as Caen approached within earshot, "we have intercepted a distress call; the computer has affixed its approximate origin, but we have no intelligence on this area in our core matrix."

"Yes, so you mentioned earlier," the Commander said in a rush, leaning over Tobin's shoulder to examine the panel direct. "Have you had any success trying to pinpoint the precise location?"

"We're running the algorithms now, but it shouldn't affect our initial course heading."

"Course heading?" the Commander blurted out unexpectedly. Jayne stared after him, bewildered.

"Sir? We have intercepted a distress call in a previously-unexplored region of the sector. Our standing order is to investigate any and all anomalies to uncover any potential threats to the Sidusclasse or the boundary defenses of the Primareliqua. Does this not qualify as an anomaly worth exploring, sir?"

Caen's eyes narrowed considerably. "Of course it does," he muttered, leaning up from over the Intercept Officer's shoulder. "But my primary concern is keeping this ship in one piece. We're talking about flying into real estate that doesn't belong to us, and if it isn't ours, then you know who it belongs to."

Reviers studied the Commander carefully, trying to feel him out. "You think it's the Sar'Rithril?"

For a moment, the Commander didn't respond directly; instead, Caen paced a few steps away, rubbing at the back of his head. It took a moment for him to stop, at which point he exhaled sharply. "I don't know. The sector is big, but it isn't that big, and they're as good a catalyst as any to trigger a distress call. If only I knew what the damned distress call was!"

"Sir," Jayne said quietly, moving to close the distance between the two. "Even if it is the Sar'Rithril, this ship is in the hands of a capable crew. We have the capacity to avoid any serious engagements, but prudence dictates that we must investigate. If it is them, or divines forbid, something worse, then we need to gather as much intelligence on the event as possible."

"It's easy for you say," Caen said nonchalantly. "It's not your dick in a vise if you fuck this up."

"This ship is my primary concern!" Reviers said with disdain dripping from his words. "I would never voluntarily put this ship or its crew in danger to satisfy some wanderlust or wanton fanaticism. You may not trust me yet, but you can trust my principles."

"A mile in my shoes, you wouldn't trust a damn thing," the Commander said laconically. Jayne could feel the anger building inside him, but the Commander was already beginning to refocus his attention to the readout again. "Even so, I fear you may be right. I would rather we know what we are dealing with headlong as opposed to receiving some unpleasant surprise in six months."

"Agreed, sir," Jayne responded, trying to nudge him in the right direction. "So, should I give the order to pursue the signal?"

Caen crossed his arms, as if to insulate himself as his mind grappled with making a final decision. "I think... Yes, make our heading commiserate to the location of that signal. Keep it quiet, though, and continue decoding that message. I want plenty of leeway time to get the Hell out of there if anything should betray what we are preparing to find."

"At our present speed, early estimates have our arrival time at just under two days," Jayne replied.

"That's... yes, very well then. You are authorized to proceed; I'll be in my quarters, looking over some files. I'll see if my people came across this sector of space before; it may give us some indication of what to expect."

"It will be so, aye sir," Reviers finished, but the Commander was already making for the exit, his posture slumped as he passed by a row of junior ensigns. His bewildering countenance notwithstanding, Jayne was content to keep a closer eye on the Commander for the time being. In his line of work, a touch of paranoia was a healthy thing to possess, especially if it meant keeping tabs on possible wildcards. Though Commander Caen had reached the proper destination, his decided hesitancy in getting there was sufficient cause for concern. Assuming a potent foe was waiting for them at the terminus of their odyssey, he would have no qualms relieving his superior officer by the edge of a blade, either to his throat or in his back if it came down to it. Jayne would never let a trigger-shy commander's training wheels jeopardize the ship or its crew.

"How in the Hell did that man ever get a command in this Fleet?" Tobin asked pointedly, looking over his shoulder. For a moment, Jayne thought about reprimanding him openly, but the question was earnest enough to deserve a straightforward answer.

"He's a Poinsettia survivor," Jayne said cryptically. "You know not the Hell his people overcame."

[Huerdae]

Bir'Dothi Station 427-88952-406C "Sentinel"

Shiyuri sat, her gaze across the table at her compatriot, watching him sweat. She could smell the salvager's fear, could see the sweat running down from his brow. He kept glancing down, away, to the side, unable to meet her gaze. Everyone in the room was watching him. Following his every move. Slowly, his shoulders drooped, he closed his eyes, and he tossed his cards into the pot, folding the hand. Smiling ferally at her obvious victory, she turned her eyes to the last one, not even looking at the pot that was worth almost half again her monthly salary. The man was sitting back, relaxed. Defeated. He didn't even lean forward to engage the game, and his cards lay on the table before him, as they had almost every hand before this. He'd spent the game trying not to lose money, picked away piece by piece, but as she looked to him now, his arm moving toward the cards, something was wrong.

He was smiling.

With a calm certainty that she hadn't yet seen him betray, he pushed his stack of chips into the table, reaching forward with the black-steel hand to rest on his cards, ready to display his hand. "I'll call."

The room fell silent, and a few laughed, mocking the man, but she sneered, making a last effort.

"You're not paid that much more than us, you sure you want to be borrowing water rations from the crew?"

The man met her gaze, silent, and she grit her teeth, tossing her cards onto the table, showing a mere pair of jakes. For his part, Ahl'Jhaddor, didn't outright laugh at her, instead turning his cards for all to see one at a time. First was a seven of blades. Next a Jake of his own, of stones. A ten of stones as well. Her heart stopped as she realized he could be mocking her with a growing run, but the next was another seven, of stones. Her teeth bared, and she started to lean forward, before he flipped the last - a seven of ore. The room fell silent.

And his mouth, patient, careful, and measured, twisted into only the smallest smile. "A lot of bark, Shiyuri, but not much bite."

She could almost feel herself, and her fur, getting dirtier as he scraped together the pot, checking himself out as he did so. A week's water rations, enough to cover her longer showers for some time, and it was gone. Worse, she had lost a week on top of that, in her own bet, as well as a fair chunk of her savings, that she had been hoping to use to take a trip out of the Star Empire following her rotation here. Maybe see her dad's homeland. But not now. Everything fell away, to this smiling, calm man. He wasn't even Pankrees, they were the ones who were supposed to calmly read you, but this guy had played the table from the start. At least she wasn't the most desperate, as two of the other crew protested meekly.

"At least let us have a chance to try to win it back...come on..."

Ahl laughed, shaking his head. "If I did that, then I'd eventually look like good ol' bosslady here. Hate in her eyes and a bewildered look on her face. I think I'm happy as I am."

The group groaned, and one of the more desperate salvagers started dealing another hand, hoping to get a chance at some of his money, but Ahl was already standing. "Better luck next time, my friends. Maybe if we get a good haul soon, the company will give bonuses!"

Only a few laughed at the concept of Bir'Dothi giving bonuses. Or worse, the Star Empire giving bonuses. Neither was particularly forgiving, but money came from one, water rations came from the other, and as far as Shiyuri was concerned, both now went to Ahl. Somehow, she didn't feel like playing the game anymore. Getting to her feet, she was about to call him out, see if he fought as well as he bragged, when a triple-drum sounded.

Groans sounded around the compartment, but it wasn't her job to worry about that. The handler, for his part, became immediately scarce, getting out of the way of the people who actually worked to earn their money, but she was busy. Moving to a nearby console, the dark-brown furred vixen growled into the mic. "What is it?"

"I warned you not to play against him."

"Company policy says if you sou-"

"We picked up a distress call, boss. It's within a single gate for Yui. Just outside one for Clementine. It's recent. Fresh. Less than a half hour old, in this case. Sounds tasty, too. One of that TransDelta Mining Corporation's plots. The ones we can't get too near to pick at? Sounds like she went all crunchy. We goin' for it?"

"OF COURSE we're going for it. Load up Yui for full crew. How many alive?"

"No figure from here, but the message gives an estimate of 8 surviving over a four hour window."

"Eight, eh? Well, we'll see what we can find. Sound work. Let's get this thing moving."

It was only a little under an hour after the call had gone out that Yui appeared in the system, popping out of the emptiness of space like it had every right to be there. Only a moment of righting itself was required as the command group took stock, looking over what the scanners brought in of the system, thought the light of the star actually made her turn her face away from the controls for a moment, until her pilot had brought up the compensators.

"Sure enough, only a handful of lifesigns. We're....in luck? Nothing out here, lady. No ASDC, nothing. Looks like we're here before the guys who normally tell us to shove off."

"Power sources? Anything look good that we want to get inside before they do show up? We can't grab anything big for scrap without Clementine, and she's still a few hours before she'll be here, but we can get inside and grab. Do they have a control hub, anything that may still have some command codes in it, or information we could sell?"

"Possibly. What about the peo-"

"Is there anything of VALUE near them?"

"Not that I can be sure of..."

"Then find me something that is. How about that smashed station?"

She gestured to his readouts, indicating a station that was already empty of oxygen, but mostly intact. One of the smaller docks that didn't have any long-term safeguards against damage or venting. The people inside probably never had a chance to get to environmental gear.

The man shrugged. "Small power source. We may be able to yank some computers or data from it."

The ship shot through the void, angling toward the structure, but the pilot's voice wavered. "We're just going to leave them to die?"

"Do you patch up the body of a man whose body you're looting?"

"...no, but this isn't their stuff..."

"You're right, it's ours now. But if they ID us, that may change. You want a reason to go save 'em? Find me something of value down there. We can hit three stations in the time it takes to land and hit one of those trade posts, especially that big one with the people in it."

She turned away, but then stopped, her ears suddenly dropping to the back of her head as her tail stopped its almost incessant weaving behind her. Turning back to the readouts, she glanced over them.

"Does this look like a bombardment to you, Hae?"

The pilot was stunned by her use of his name, but he looked it over, shrugging. "I don't know...maybe? Everything's dead. Doesn't seem right to knock out some ten or twelve installations with a single accident. There's no scattered damage away from the sites..."

She nodded, grimly. "Move fast. Very fast. If this is a pirate hit, I want us already salvaging when the guys with guns show. Don't want them mistaking us for the attacker. I'll prep the teams. You flip us golden when it's time."

The man nodded, waving at her with disinterest as she stepped through the portal into the rear compartment, closing it behind her with a heavy thud, and locking the pilot and engineer away from the rest of the suited-up team.

"We're cracking a station first. No atmosphere, could be weapons damage, so stay alert. No danger of collapsing, but there may not be much we can do without Clementine. We're looking for things we can grab and carry away. Information is easist, of course, so I want you guys scouring the systems for whatever you can find. After that is electronics and physical value. You know how this works. Quick and complete, I don't want to hear someone came in after us and found a good find. If you find a good haul we'll tow it, but otherwise we're going to be using that crane to tear open entrances to the other storage stations in orbit. There are three others nearby, so work fast. Clementine and her heavy gear will be here in about five hours, so I want these three stations clear by then."

At the back, Ahl sat quietly, the only one not suited up other than her, his arms crossed as he watched.

"Not going to help, 'handler'?"

"I never do. Are you?"

The comment brought a glare from her, but most of the team expected it by now. Getting to his feet, Ahl moved to toward the cockpit, while a light at the rear lit up red, signalling the first team to enter the airlock. Grinning, Shiyuri ushered them in.

"Come on, hurry up! It's time to get paid!"

The door closed, and a minute later, the light went from a bright crimson to a proud golden, and the outer door opened, letting the team of three move onto the station. Almost as soon as they were out, the ship accelerated again, and she was loading another team into the airlock.

"Let's go! The more we have deployed before the Law shows up, the more we're carrying when we go!"

[Serukta Sehkrisaal]

TDE-36C TransDelta Emergency Orbital Mooring, High Orbit
^{Amphina II, Amphina System, Avaikan Mandate, Delta Quadrant — 11:19:20.0014 GSY}
Within a matter of hours since calamity befell Amphina II, a myriad of responsive calls had flooded the vacuum of the system; while the emergency broadcast sent-out far below had indicated otherwise, passing traders, governmental scouts, and exploration and research craft had attempted - numerous times - to hail the closest set of open channels they could find to the beleaguered and damaged edifice of Outpost IV. These calls, more often than not little more than an observer's attempts at persuading and washing clean of guilt, had fallen to silent ansibles and long-range q-link transponders, their spools still and their beacons quiet, throughout the central path to the Avaikan Trade Spur. Such was the frontier. It attracted the prospector, the surveyor, the wayward adventurer just as readily as it invited, with open arms, the cynic and the skeptic and those souls dissuaded from assistance by what some might call "irrational fears" of socio-cultural paranoia for the quadrant to which Amphina sat so near.

Yet, at least one vessel did see fit to grace the burning maw of the Spur with its presence - if but for a mercurial rationale.

Once the I.A.C.S. Yui pressed its lock into place against the starward docking neck of TDE-36C, an emergency mooring station held in high orbit above Amphina II, nominally held within the expansive corporate stewardship of the TransDelta Mining Corporation, connectivity flowed smoothly. Were violent bursts of atmosphere not finding their way through the meter-wide shears of hull and pressure plating, one might have been convinced that the mooring's systems were merely having a maintenance "hiccup". That was, of course, until its secondary airlock opened to reveal naught but the harsh, orange glare of emergency chem-lighting strips. Against the ribbed and corrugated interior hull of the secondary entrance corridor - the only functioning point-of-call that remained aboard TDE-36C - it cast lengthy shadows that seemed to vignette the dimly-lit hallway in a staccato field of view.

A small, analogue meter - affixed to the right wall, hanging above a still, deactivated and powerless terminal - read oxygen presence through a simple chemical detector; ranging from green, yellow, orange, and red, the thin needle of an indicator hovered between the latter two. Breathable atmosphere was present, but only for a few minutes of continuous exertion; high above, somewhere between the large, emergency storage modules of the station, as if to truncate this brutal and harsh reality, a bulkhead failed. The hall was consumed in the faint "tick-tack" of debris finding its way - forced by diffusion of the station's atmosphere - into the maintenance and life support duct works: cloudy, with a chance of nano-lace tungsten showers.

Up ahead of the Yui's boarding party was a simple, barren corridor terminating in a four-way divisive trundle. Signs illuminated only by the faint glow of emergency chem-strips indicated various destinations of varied import. To the left, the green sign indicated was what remained of engineering, primary maintenance access, and the three, comparatively large emergency storage volumes known simply as "Triple A". To the right path: galley, medical storage, and more storage volumes labeled "Triple B". Across from the secondary airlock from which the commercially-minded boarding party entered a steep, diamond-plate pattern stair well lead upward; it sign stated only "Mooring Command and Communications".

Another eruption rocked TDE-36C, visibly reverberating down through the secondary access chamber; chem-strips dimmed and brightened as their internal contents reacted to the jutting movement. The fragrant, abusive perfume of fermentation - an ethanol-esque odor - wafted through the station, rudely siphoned from some hull perforation nearby. Somewhere, a machine wound down, steel-against-steel; briefly, the primary lighting re-ignited and the small terminal, nearest the second layer airlock, hummed, flickered, then fell silent once again.

As a mechanism ground to a halt, the all-too-familiar hint of footfalls echoed through the derelict corridors, obscured and muffled by the constant rush of siphoned air and the faint popping of splitting station bulk.

[Red Talons]

25:16 local ship time.

The bridge was quiet, it usually was durring slipgate transit. The wrap around viewscreen showed an inky void, flecks of purple and deep blues drifted in the distance through clouds of black. Directly forward the view warped into a round blue spot. Third shift had just began and Senka was settled in for the watch. Her charge, the Akash Wolf, had been ordered to investigate a distress beacon. Transit was generally a quiet affair, many used the time to relax. Once the initial jump was made, the rest was all waiting.

Senka decided to use the time to meditate, letting the time pass until their arrival. Elsewhere on the ship, the crew were doing much the same.

Elsewhere on the ship...

Malka slipped into her cabin, having just finished a quick dinner. “We've got what, just under an hour till we arrive?” She asked, brushing a lock of dark green hair back from her face.

Her gaze slipped around the cabin, noting nothing out of place. It was a modest size considering her position. A bed next to the wall with a large screen along the wall. Currently showing a view of the fluorescent tinged darkness outside.

Aziz-Itzal followed her in, closing the door behind. “Something like that, just enough time for a shower and a nap.”

Malka smiled, baring her teeth as she walked for the door to the bathroom. “I like the sound of that... Aziz, get the lights.”

The golden haired S'arr smiled back, turning to stare at the panel on the wall, focusing his gaze for a moment as the dial spun down. By the time he turned back the sound of running water was coming from across the room.

25:50 local ship time.

Senka's eyes snapped open, for a moment they were chalk white, sharply contrasting her brown hair. Her iris color fading into a deep purple as she glanced around the bridge. “Time to get ready...”

The Dooninra leaned forward slightly, taking a sip from a canteen before pressing the ship wide com. “Attention all hands, Ten minutes to transit completion. I repeat, Ten minutes till we're back on the clock.”

Throughout the vessel there was a collective groan as the crew set about gearing up and getting to stations. Systems were checked and double checked. Bets were made, and pools tallied. After a few minutes, the com on the command chair beeped. "Hey, Senka, Are you in on this round or do you have inside info?"

She paused and considered for a moment. "No inside info, what are the odds on it being an active warzone?"

The voice that responded chuckled. "They've improved, five to one, second only to the system being ancient and abandoned."

"I'll put thirty on it being an active warzone." Senka chuckled. There was a vaguely affirmative sound before the com closed. She leaned back in the chair and took a long sip from the canteen.

26:01 Local ship time.
05:03:32:14 Local Time

High above Amphina space rippled momentarily before tearing apart and curling open into a purple black hole. The sleek, mirrored hull of the Akash Wolf slid free. It's engines silent as the rift quickly closed behind the small vessel.

On the bridge, the view was different but much the same as the many tranit's before it. The blue spot ahead of them broadened, stretching around the screen, and for a moment everything was a deep blue around them. Then there was a sudden feeling of deceleration as the universe exploded into being around them starting from a tiny point in front.

Malka now sat in the command chair, the female S'kan had a commanding presence, as did the second officer, Aziz-Itzal. Both also carried a faint aroma of fresh flowers. The holographic display in the center of the room lit up, showing incoming sensor data of the system. Quickly logging the locations of major planetary bodies and working it's way through as it picked out more detail, the image gaining resolution by the second.

“Three pings, thirty second interval. Lock onto the source of the beacon and bring us in at half thrust, defense systems on passive. I'm transferring you a hail, play it on repeat, radio only.” Malka barked out her orders, the bridge crew quickly carrying out the tasks.

There was a soft thrum, and the display showed two rapidly expanding bubbles emanating from the ship's marker. The sensors officer looked back slightly. “First pulse out.”

The ship oriented slowly towards the planet from which the beacon was broadcasting. The main drives of the frigate ignited, a sudden flash of blue light as the torch drives engaged. The vessel slipping forward through space with a steady and deceptively rapid acceleration. Moments later a second pulse emanated from the vessel, then one final pulse. Each racing out from the vessel as optic drones were deployed into an expanding array of eyes.

Attention, this is Ship Commander Malka aboard The Akash Wolf, responding to distress signal from Outpost 4 on behalf of The Technocracy and Solar Trading Unlimited. Please stand down and prepare to receive assistance.

[Valinon]

Avaika

Avaesia was unexceptional among capitals of emerging Verge states. True, it was more developed than some and certainly not the worst wasteland a government decided to crown as its own. The climate was more pleasant than some of Carlene Terttu van Niftrick’s other assignments for the Office of Verge Affairs. For all its lacking exceptionalism, there was more to recommend the planet some hundreds of thousand kilometres from the HMS Cimbri Gaul than the Visigoth-class cruiser assigned to the joint mission between the Kriegsmarine and OVA.

The navy was known for its penurious view on ‘unnecessary amenities’ aboard its warships. Interior spaces were given to function more than form. Broad corridors were the same stark gunmetal and black as the cruiser’s exterior hull. The telltales and directional aides were being displayed for the benefit of the OVA diplomats and support staff onboard. Otherwise the corridors would be blank and the crew would rely on the AR provided by their n-plants for such needs. While not unadorned, the officers’ quarters and facilities clustered some decks below and forward of the bridge were not ostentatious. It could not be accused that the Kriegsmarine lavished its affections on the basis of rank.

Leaving behind the informal dinner in the wardroom, Carlene was following a shorter, square-built man wearing the deep navy duty uniform and insignia of a Kapitän zur Sterne. Most of his uniform was obscured by another jacket in the same colour with leather patches on the shoulders and elbows. One sleeve was marked with the cruiser’s insignia and the other with the Kriegsmarine’s crest. As far as Carlene knew, the storm jacket wasn’t official out of regulation, but she’d not seen an officer other than Cadell Smythe-Westad wear one in a decade. The sound of slightly distant, fast steps indicated Korvettenkapitän Libena Kader freed herself from the conversation with Carlene’s Imperial Verge Police liaison.

The Kapitän moved the partially finished whisky to his left hand and saluted the Reichswehr trooper at his door.

‘At ease, soldat. The XO will be joining us.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Several recessed and overhead lights activated as they entered. Three panels on either side stirred and resolved into a simulated view of the cliff-lined Elodie Coast on Proxima I. The sound of waves echoed in the room for a moment before being silenced by the Kapitän or his muse. Other than the simulated windows, Smythe-Westad’s quarters were surprisingly plain. A circular table - caught between a conference and a dining table - was centered among the windows along with six chairs. A desk was facing away from the door in front of a bank of ship’s displays and local system tactical maps. Both were in a minimalist style popular in AC several years ago, and they were matched by several cabinets and shelves in addition to those recessed into the wall. In one corner there was some sort of pepper plant in a hydroponics web, vibrant orange fruits and white blooms, and in the opposite a small tree in a null-g sphere.

‘Please...’ he gestured to the chairs around the table. ‘Would you like something besides water?’

‘No.’

His glass rattled slightly as he sat it down, the stones marked with the ship’s crest rolled along an edge. He filled one of the narrow glasses from the chilled carafe at the center of the table, placed it in front of Carlene, and then took a seat directly opposite her.

‘We’re circling the issue of the Mandate’s unresolved distress beacon. In answer to your question, it has been verified. I’m not inclined to find it fraudulent based on the traffic we’ve gathered and information provided by their security forces.’

‘This must be a thorough verification given it took more than an hour for you to determine that, Kapitän.’

Carlene watched him smile as he raised his glass. OVA’s library on Kriegsmarine officers wasn’t exhaustive, but it did have some information on Smythe-Westad. She guessed the latter part of his name was the reason for that. He served his conscription as a communication specialist rating before pursuing a commission and strategic studies.

‘Very thorough.’

Kader came into the cabin and took a seat next to her Kapitän.

‘We are discussing the locals’ lost station, Libby. Judging by OVA’s progress, the Mandate must be trying to pressure us by stalling.’

‘Other than the trade negotiations, but that’s beside the point. Let’s have the other party to this actually join us, though I’m sure he’s already listening.’

A lithe, sharp featured man in with unnaturally grey eyes and short white hair appeared standing at one end of the table, arms crossed over his chest. He wore a grey uniform that almost matched the cut of both officers but without insignia. The Sephirot were fifth-generation SIs created during the height of the Ortagan-Valinor cold war. Secretive and monolithic, they worked almost exclusively with the Imperial Armed Forces and the Ministry for External State Security. Their avatars were mostly identical. The Sephirot’s hair colour was unusual, and Carlene wondered if this was some attempt to create a distinguishing feature for her benefit.

’I do not see how my additional verification will add to this discussion. The distress beacon is genuine, so far as can be evaluated with the resources at hand.’

‘I’m sure there are other contributions to be made,’ Carlene turned back to Smythe-Westad and Kader. ‘The message from Amphina is causing some distress in among the Mandate’s authorities. There are concerns the disruption of the Spur’s end will have a cascading effect along the entire trade route.’

‘And did the Mandate offer a reason why their own navy or the SRFMO cannot solve this problem? It’s not as if they are unaware that operating in these volumes is a practice with considerable risks. Their naval expenditure alone suggests they are intimately familiar with this reality,’ the Kapitän drew his pinky through the condensation on his glass as he eyed it.

‘Their diplomats turn that conversation back on the arrangement between SRFMO and Amphina’s local corporate authorities lapsing.’

‘Then we are back to our investigation and possible intervention as a diplomatic courtesy…?’

‘That is their repeated allusion.’

‘I’m not opposed to such courtesy in order to foster good will for your efforts, but I hope it was explained there are definitive limits where courtesies to a state without formal diplomatic ties to the empire are involved.’

‘The government appreciates our position. They offer some of the concessions you outlined as a a good faith gesture. We received clearance for the Gaul and her escorts to travel along the Spur without usual restrictions. Information on the local system was provided.’

‘And the communication protocols?’

‘With some reluctance, yes.’

‘It’s not as if we asked for their combat encryption, Consul. These were routine lines of communication that need be establish if we must coordinate an emergency response or release some Mandate citizens to local authorities. I see no need to broadcast such messages across an entire system, and I doubt the Mandate would enjoy the embarrassment that could create. I hope this was specifically described as...what was the word I used, Libby?’

‘Untoward, sir.’

‘Yes, untoward.’

Carlene bristled slightly, ‘They agreed when I explained you considered it essential. I imagine they’re nervous about releasing any encryptions to us on purely technical grounds. It’s not an uncommon problem for us to work through.’

’If they share communication security protocols across common naval and security channels, there is no need to continue negotiations. They will fall when another warlord invades the local group. If there assumption is that we will decrypt them, withholding their encryption is not a serious defence.’

‘But we don’t need to remind them of this,’ Smythe-Westad arched an eyebrow at the SI. ‘If they agreed, we can begin.’

He turned to Libby, ‘We will prepare to move once the Mandate’s latest information packet is verified. I want to take a direct route to the system; it will show the locals we are indeed moved by their plight. Recall the shore leave parties immediately. The boat department will need to coordinate this and move additional materials for the delegation. I will need to speak with Hauptmann Seeckt about a detachment to support the IVP commitment while we are away, and I want to see Oberleutnant Nakano. He will be taking command from one of the destroyers.’

The XO nodded, glowing telltales at the corner of her eyes suggesting she was implementing her commander’s orders. Carlene cleared her throat.

‘I would like to request some additional support for the delegation, Kapitän. OVA and I would be grateful if both the destroyers could remain in Avaika.’

‘Impossible,’ Kader’s voice was harsh and flat. ‘SOP requires an escort if one is available when operating in hostile territory in unaligned space. The investigation is a courtesy, Ma’am, and it is already bending the rules considerably.’

‘Our situation requires that rules be bent. In the event something did happen to this cruiser, I would need an option to evacuate or hold our effective embassy until such time the Office can evacuate the delegation. A single drone destroyer is insufficient to both tasks.’

‘If anything happens to the CG, Ma’am, another tin can won’t be enough to change the equation. You would be better off requesting support from the Mandate or sending a courier drone to the nearest VerSec forces.’

‘The interests of maintaining a presence at this-’

Smythe-Westad’s glass made an insistent tap on the table, ‘Enough, enough. There is a compromise that will serve both parties to this mission. We will leave both destroyers in the system and Leutnant Nakano will command in my absence. However, 43 is to be stripped of its EW drones.’

The Kapitän raised a finger before Kader could object, ‘Proportionality governs all our operations. Any objections to my decision will be logged, though I think we may agree on this. Our service does not retain its position across the Milky Way by broadcasting its capabilities at every opportunity. We may leave that to the up-jumped petty states of this side of the galactic bar and whatever preening Vipran warlord is carving out a new fief this year. Whatever we encounter in Amphina will either be in the capacity of this ship or it will require further evaluation.’

He turned to Carlene, ‘In return, I want you to contact OVA. They will need to send a courier, diplo boat, or some other craft to support the delegation if this stay is to be long-term. When that ship arrives, 43 is to be sent along to join the Gaul if we have not returned. It can be sent down the Spur and will help carry out the more detailed survey of the Mandate ordered by the Admiralty. The detachment from our Contingent - and Leutnant Nakano - will remain behind to continue our support.’

‘Thank you, Kapitän.’

He nodded but remained impassive, ‘I anticipate that this will be some local pirates or ones seeking to exchange less profitable hunting grounds. If not, it is most likely some local criminals we can surrender to the relevant Mandate authorities. If it’s anything else, then it will be the delegation’s responsibility to explain that Her Majesty’s ships are not instruments the Mandate can use to fight it’s way out of its own problems.’

‘And what if it is pirates?’

‘Proportionality governs all responses for the Kriegsmarine. If I find pirates, they will be tried and then they will be shot on the hanger deck.’ He stood, leaving the emptied snifter on the table, ‘There’s much to do if we want to show the Mandate our conviction through speed. Perhaps it even means there will be some survivors to bring back, though I wouldn’t express optimism planetside.’

******

A few hours later, the small task force in cis-lunar orbit was frantic with activity. The Cimbri Gaul was at the centre of the diagonal passive formation, slanted away from Avaesia. Shuttles and cutters dove in and out of the cruiser and one of its destroyer escorts. Van Niftrick’s delegation, support staff, and their effects were being transferred to DD(A)-43, awaiting eventual transfer planetside when the destroyer moved to a closer orbit. Two semi-spherical objects slipped away from the destroyer, drifted toward the cruiser, and slid into two vacant external ports. An assault shuttle led OVA shuttles away as the traffic began to ebb away.

The cruiser’s drive signature spiked as it pulled away from its escorts. The small collection of whisker satellites collected forward and astern raced back toward their parent ship as its hull started to mottle. The regulation gunmetal displaying the naval jack, pennant number, and other identifiers gave way to a deep black as its smartpaint moved to maximum absorption and started to mimic the starscape around it. The Gaul started to rise away from the system ecliptic as it accelerated, orienting toward the distant star Amphina.

While completing its orientation, the cruiser released a black-body courier drone that drifted into a parallel course but rapidly fell behind the warship. It soon vanished in the flare energy dispersion and distorted starfield that denoted a Verner drive activation. Several minutes after the drone vanished, the cruiser did the same.

Amphina

A brief energy bleed and visual distortion accompanied the Cimbri Gaul’s return to N-space. The cruiser drifted roughly six light minutes below Amphina’s ecliptic waiting for the Ferret-class EW/recon drones released at its pre-entry interstellar staging point to link with its local unisphere. A quartet of additional recon drones and several comm-sats were released and waited for the cruiser to drift away before activating their short-range Verner drives to improve coverage of the system. The shorter range whiskers and support satellites remained inside the cruiser while the situation was evaluated.

The cruiser’s bridge was bathed in the lowered blue light of condition two. Her weapons were readied and the crew was at battle stations, although the Reichswehr contingent was not at its damage control stations. Cadell Smythe-Westad sat at his station, his right thumb rubbing an index figure as he watched the bridge crew in their skinsuits. A constellation of helmets were neatly clipped at the section stations while the main display showed a tactical map of the system and the secondaries showed individual feeds from the recon drones.

Kadena was speaking with Leutnant Mornes, acting tactical officer with Nakano remaining in Avaika. There was a distant chime in Cadell’s ear as the comm section acknowledge reestablishment of contact with the Ferrets. His station and the tactical display became crowded with their datastreams. Activity in the system was minimal, as was comm traffic beyond the superluminal distress beacon. It did not bode well for apprehending the attackers or finding survivors, though localised transmissions would not be within the Ferrets’ threshold at their current distance from the Amphina II.

That wasn’t to say the drones failed to find anything of interest near the second planet. A smallcraft of Huerdaen design was near the planet. Ferrets were comparing data with the cruiser’s CIC, led by the Sephirot to complete identification.

Cadell looked up as Kadena approached, ‘Nothing in the info packet to suggest Huerdaen were in the system.’

The steady movement of fingers stopped as Cadell manipulated the holograms in front of him. A ghostly outline of the planet flattened as the shuttle was tracked. CIC finally assigned an estimate of three different classes and noted that all would need heavy modification to match the observed performance.

‘The shuttle is no better indicator of any Huerdaen being present. The Star Empire’s craft are today’s locust this far beyond Vessader. I doubt even a HSE shuttle could destroy the station outright, or operate this far on its own.’

She nodded, ‘So we wait and give them enough room to hang themselves.’

‘Precisely. If they’re pirates, we will take care of them. If it’s illegal salvage, they can be detained and given to the Mandate. Better for them to haggle with whoever owns the ship on the ethical refinement of how cold a corpse needs to be before it can be stripped. I’m certain the shuttle’s parent ship will be more interesting than bagging whatever bottom feeders end up on a salvage shuttle. We’d be lucky if they can talk and breathe.’

Cadell’s muse shifted a terse message to navigation calling for a micro-jump to Amphina to be plotted. The shuttle and any friends it could muster would be easy to drop on from this range.

There was snarl of alerts as the Ferret above the ecliptic saw its sensors assaulted. The mirrored hull of The Akash Wolf tore pass in the distance. Its message broadcasted in the clear solving the mystery of its identity before the Ferrets or the SI could comment.

‘Balls,’ Cadell muttered. The Technocracy was not unknown to Valinon, but information and diplomatic relations between the two states wouldn’t clutter a small desk. ‘Have one of the commsats peel away and move toward the escort. Seek to establish a tight-beam or focused broadcast and share our basic I-dent package along with the Mandate’s authorisation. We can offer to coordinate but make sure they don’t scare away whomever is already prowling around down there.’

One of the commsats accelerated away from the cruiser and the recon drones. It temporarily broke the link between the cruiser and the more distant second Ferret before another commsat was released. Giving the planet a wide berthe, it focused in on the Wolf, hailing its attention.

[Serukta Sehkrisaal]

Local Debris Field, Three Kilometers from Outpost Number Four
^{Amphina II, Amphina System, Avaikan Mandate — 11:19:20.0014 GSY}
A heave, an exhale, and a tug: Corporal Melissa Brannin, non-commissioned officer in the Avaikan Self-Defense Corps and now, she presumed, the only active (Only breathing...) liaison between it and the corporate hack-jobs that had just lost their monitoring redoubt, thrust herself atop the second ridge and pulled, heaving herself atop the roughly ellipsoid plateau overlooking the remnants of Outpost Four. Her muscles were numb, the bruise at the base of her spine was growing, and the thin-sliver crack across the front of her pressure suit's visor gave her little confidence; she'd barely given herself enough time to thank the heavens that she'd just finished her nightly tour around the surface when the bulkhead decided it didn't like being in a committed relationship with the station. It'd taken a few moments of cold panic and turning in the vacuum before she'd managed to right herself and activate her suit's reaction volume.

Of course, all her steely resolve had accomplished was tantamount to getting her front row seats to watching her comrades and friends get torched inside a cement and tungsten casket. For a moment she allowed herself the pragmatist's train of thought: she was breathing, they weren't, and of that she was glad. The emotional pain that would bring her as it passed across her mind's eye left her gritting her teeth and her thigh-pads slightly more stocked in reclaimed moisture, but it was still a matter of truth. With that truth also came duty and the memory as to why she was walking away from what might arguably be one of the few beacons to indicate her location: that of Outpost Four's cracked surface grating and the thin particulate dust which obscured it; she had to try and get in touch with Major DeLeon - or someone, anyone - who was awake in the system. Someone to get word out, up the Spur, to inform the Mandate of what had occurred.

"What actually did occur, Melissa?" she questioned herself audibly. All she could remember was a deafening roar, then suddenly finding herself careening toward the void. She tried grasping at straws, thinking: someone had mentioned something, Richard had been there, sighting of unscheduled traffic? As she thought, her suit flashed a display across the inner wall of her visor and she felt her mood involuntarily lift: one her her vertebrae had cracked and her suit had spent the past two hours trying to keep her moving through an automated regimen of synthetic opiods and stimulants. "No wonder I can't fuckin' remember."

Turning, Corporal Brannin cast her eyes off toward the direction of her former post. Instantly, her heads-up tried to zoom onto the source of movement, a portion of her display showing a distorted and over-zoomed, blown-out projection of Outpost Four's northern edge, the other side a crackle of static as the pre-programmed feature failed to display across the thin defect in her visor. She raised her had and adjusted her field of view with a small dial against her helmet, trying to bring the outpost into picture. The vision focused long enough to catch a glimpse of a body exploding out from a fissure in the roof plating, sliding through the nothingness above Amphina II on a trajectory that carried it above and beyond; her suit identified the bloated figure as Second Lieutenant Darren Lescher. She tried not to remember him, but his face - round, still full and red with an almost child-like exuberance - filled her mind like a trick.

She dry-heaved into her suit and desperately fought-back the urge to empty her stomach then and there.

Standing upright after her moment of weakness, she allowed herself the brief respite of a nihilist's chuckle: had she done that on-post, her comrades would have mocked her for days. 'Guess I don't have to worry about that now,' was what came flush to the surface of her thoughts before she pushed it aside and turned away from the outpost. No one was alive in there, of that much she was certain; she took it upon herself the drive to at least refocus herself toward the more immediate problem: getting back into contact with the Corps.

Corporal Brannin pressed her hand against her chest and with a subtle click of her suit disengaged her emergency communications slab: the "Brick" as they called it in basic. It was a simple device, and while it wasn't equipped with an ansible, it had beaming capabilities and a basic radio transponder. Pulling the thin plastic cover off, she tossed it aside, allowing it to settle amidst the fine chunks of cement, concrete, and steel plating which littered much of the surface surrounding Outpost Four. A flip, a switch, and a few moments later and Melissa had the display on and working; it had gotten jostled during her explosive decompression from the station, but was - luckily, she knew - still working. With a bit more luck, she'd be able to beam onto an overhead satellite, mooring, or high-orbit station and be able to at least get a message up to the eyes in the sky.

Of course, that was had the "Brick" not decided to so casually inform her that there were no receiving arrays detected nearby and emergency arrays in orbit were either offline, not receiving, or - the thought hitting her much in a manner similar to that of the device's namesake - destroyed during whatever had happened. Another bout of panic creeping into her muscles, Melissa quickly re-dialed and re-tuned the emergency transponder; a few moments of scanning, tuning, auto-tuning, and refreshing and she was forced to confront the same fatalism from before: nothing was detected. Not even a blip. Nothing nearby was still in one piece, and if anything was left in orbit, 'They're fucking the antenna,' she cursed inwardly.

In her panic - fatal as it was - she'd almost forgotten to try the basic radio, nearly chucking the transponder into the nothingness so she could resign to her fate without its incessant flashing of "No Signal Detected". Manically, she switched between the beam-communications and radio and began manually dialing back and forth through the range; she found nothing, holding down a small dais in the button to demand it to scan automatically. She waited. She stood still, her eyes watching as the digital representation of a radio dipstick ran back and forth across the screen.

Silence. Nothing. Background noise of the great cosmos itself screaming back at her, cursing her to her fate, demanding of her the life fate had been so kind as to grant her due to a faulty bulkhead. That was it, and she knew it, it was the universe's way of say—

Garble. No static, not background noise. Garble. Garble enunciated by the faint beeping from the transponder into her wireless head-set. It alerted her of something, of someone, working on a radio call. She nearly dropped the "Brick" in a startled response, before seizing it ever-tight and pressing the necessary buttons to try and focus on the frequency to which the garble seemed to be broadcasting.

"...Ship Commander Malka...," she abruptly heard. Another twist of a dial and a depression of a button: "...responding to distress signal from Outpost Four..." The sentence caught her breath in her throat: at least one person was alive. At least one. Someone had to be alive to initiate the emergency distress beacon, calling in anyone in even a distant vicinity to the Amphina System.

'But who? Who could have...' she jerked the thought from the forefront of her mind as the rest of the message began to repeat, clearer, into her ears. Some ship called The Akash Wolf had responded to the call from some stellar state called the "Technocracy" and from a company, she presumed, called "Solar Trading Unlimited". The names didn't pull anything up from her memories and were as alien to her as the current circumstance would allow. All that mattered was someone had responded.

Depressing the "Brick's" trigger, she tried to call back on the same frequency, hoping her message would get-out across the static and filler: "This is Corporal Melissa Brannin with the Avaikan Self-Defense Corps. I'm... Probably three klicks - three kilometers - from Outpost Four. I need immediate assistance. I repeat: I need immediate assistance and surface pick-up. Hello? Can anyone on the other end of this hear me? I repeat: this is Corporal Melissa Brannin, ASDC, requesting assistance..."

In the panic of her circumstance, when she had tugged herself onto the wide plateau above Outpost Four, she'd failed to ascertain much of her surroundings. As she spoke into the emergency transponder, pleading with whomever was aboard The Akash Wolf to provide assistance, her eyes fixated on something in the distance - perhaps little more than a kilometer away from her position. She stopped speaking, choosing instead to focus her display on the strange feature, zooming it to center into her field of view.

Gold. A golden egg, the best she could ascertain. Maybe six meters in height, it stood out against the bleakness of Amphina II's surface, surrounded by specks and fragments of debris, partially buried and obscured by bits of surface rock, dust, and debris. Even so, from where she stood, it was more than evident. What struck her suddenly, however, and started her screams for immediate help anew and with not only greater ferocity but with a more evident tone of panic, was that the gilded oval was open.

Open and empty.

---

---

Amphina II, Amphina System, Avaikan Mandate
^{Gamma-Delta Periphery, Delta Quadrant, Outer Fringe — 11:19:20.0014 GSY}
Amphina II, once something of a semblance of hope for the Mandate - as much as the equivalent of a forward commercial operations base and a traffic control center could be - dwelt in ruin beneath Amphina's harsh, radiating glow. Even at its vast distance from the burning, dying star at the heart of the Amphina System, it was still submerged in a sort of perpetual twilight, as if time itself had frozen for at least half of its inhabitants. At least, that was how more than a few drunken free traders had described it, trying to charm their way into the pants of a corporate liaison or two; now, however, the daily dusk of the star-side surface of Amphina II looked little more than a pock-marked landscape of desolation and desperation.

Across its surface, holes had once been drilled, blasted, and excavated over a decade ago to make-way for corporate enterprises and government garrisons. Outpost after outpost ringed the planet in some mockery of a geodesic, ensuring that at least one monitoring station was, at all times, capable of handling traffic under the best of conditions. Of course, this was a redundancy - and, initially, not a planned one; when the Mandate and the Avaikan Self-Defense Corps had asserted dominance over the Spur, from Avaika to Amphina, Amphina II had already spent nearly fifty years as a seasonal way station for all variety of adventurer, free colonist, and trader. Some of these settlements were still in use by the time the distress beacon started its siren call, but most weren't; much of the surface settlements had either been abandoned, condemned and their masses reclaimed, or converted to the property of tribute-paying corporate interests or directly to the Mandate's own governance.

In the Mandatory Assembly, before both the duly-elected and duty-appointed, the lobbyists for the frontier state had campaigned for such a process; they had pointed to the Gamma Quadrant's horrors from the past, dredging-up all matter of hearsay and supposed reports of the terrible, and said, "We need these stations! We need to defend ourselves!" In the same breath, they pointed to Delta and its perpetual war, citing archival video feeds and affidavits of defectors and traitors alike, saying, "We need to increase our military power! We need to make ready for war!" In ten years, the Mandate might become something akin to a localized power, they had said; in twenty, it might even prove itself a regional threat, they had petitioned. Yet, as its forward outposts had so been drilled from the surface, they now sat - free for any to see - like kernels of corn forced under pressure to pop. Tin cans open to the vacuum and concrete coffins filled with the testimonies of an entire generation of souls who might never get a chance to tell their stories.

Amphina II, once a symbol of both mercurial hope and martial possibility, looked like it had gone head-first into a barrel and came-out the only fish with a confirmed hit. Dust and fine particulate was suspended above much of its surface; the star-side - the day side - shimmered under a veil of falling and rising soil and pulverized concrete. The outposts - both Avaikan and commercial - were easy to find: or, at least, what remained of them was readily apparent. While debris was strewn across the surface to glint and to sparkle and to glow-dim with diffusion heat, the sites of the outposts looked more like, once again, caverns drilled into rock; jutting thorns of steel, poly-tungsten, and nano-ceramic crept toward their singular hearts, reaching as if treading water and preparing to fall. What had once been great bunkers of concrete, cement, and psuedo-ceramic pressure plating were tin cans upturned, tossed, and fallen like blossoms of silver and gray - a garden of industrial waste and vines so scarlet they glinted like rain at dawn. Bursting of flaming atmosphere were fruit ready for the harvest.

In the depths of night, on the darkened hemisphere of Amphina II, much remained in a state similar to its partner. The radiant glow of ultraviolet and burning infrared remains, however, were far more indicative. Outposts, cracked like their twins, glowed dimly - but visibly - as if they'd been submerged into a furnace's wake then tempered in the chill of vacuum. Unlike their siblings, which too radiated, the darkness beyond Amphina's glow was left like a myriad sheet of perforated, gray cloth. Constellations of radiated rubble were surface stars, beacons of their own, silent, but perhaps far more telling than the superluminal cry for help which lied on the dividing line of night and day.

Dawn was approaching Outpost Four as Amphina II spun and rotated; while cracked and broken, dim with heat and diffusion spray, it had survived by some semblance of a miracle or a play of fate's chord. Its primary support spine - the wide, narrow bunker-formation which demarcated one half of the surface facility from the next - was perforated directly through the middle of its surface, allowing a spray of atmosphere and - sporadically - bits of once-breathing matter to be jettisoned up and out, into the void. Most of the facility's edifice had caved; several thorns of deformed pressure plating stretched outward and upward through shattered concrete surface trim and thick, electro-plaster. Two entrances were still partially visible, but both had been blown outward in a spray of collapse and rubble; their trim lights and hazard flares had long-since been fractured or were otherwise disconnected from their primary power supply.

A thick smog was still billowing out from the punctured core of the facility by the time three craft had begun to make their approach. Flecks of burning insulation, cloth, and debris floated upward, caught and raised by convection before falling back to what remained of Outpost Four's ceiling: little pyres for the dead that no-doubt dwelt below in their place of final rest. Through a combination of upturned dust and burning debris, as dawn crested, the outpost almost seemed resplendent and alive; a haze of stellar grace and fielded particulate produced an odd, ephemeral halo around and over the remains of TransDelta's sarcophagus.

Even so, the distress beacon continued to call. It screamed, it beckoned, and it summoned; high above, vessels turned and approached as some cosmic curtain seemed to pull back for the opening act of some cruel divinity's production - be it comedy or tragedy.

[Vocenae]

Location Unknown

The world flashed into painful existence as large, firm hands hauled Jennis up and outwards out of the strange device. Everything was a blur, a messy smear of colors and objects that seemed to move three seconds faster than the sounds around them. The air was cloying and hot, the coolness of her savior's gauntleted hands already fading as they carried her away from the device. Somewhere in her scrambled thoughts, underneath the burning pain that made her shudder uncontrollably, she realized she was naked . Her rescuer stopped and set her down slowly against something large, solid, and momentarily cool, the smooth skin of her back shuddering once more as the world slowly began to piece itself together.

Everything about her felt wrong.

Blurred objects in the distance took the forms of massive suits of armor that tore at a spidery device, showers of smaller lights flying from ruined joints and shattered mechanisms. Jennis realized that she should know who the beings in armor were but names would not come. Her rescuer bent into her field of vision as they removed the wedged helmet that covered their face. Jennis realized she had worn one, but the thought seemed wrong and foreign to her as the face of ahuman male swam into focus, swweaty and scarred but otherwise hairless, dark brown eyes that were scanning her with a mixture of fear and concern. She knew who this was but like the others, no name ever came to her. She knew that she had seen him before, but it felt like this was their first meeting. The ringing in her ears began to subside as time began to synch, and as reality solidified her mind was filled with an overwhelming command.

ESCAPE.

"...you okay?! Talk to me man, give me a sign!" The man was saying as he placed a heavy hand on her shoulder, giving it a slight shake that seemed like an earthquake to her. "Jennis, tell me you're alive in there!"
Her mind flooded with sudden awareness of her situation, unknown terms and knowledge pushing out her previous thoughts as her fight or flight reflex activated. Old knowledge mixed with the new as a picture formed in her mind, a massive six-petal construct under the gaze of an angry, active star. Heightened stellar output had sent the [Lifestation}'s protective shields in overload mode, which were on the verge of collapse. There wasn't enough time to escape via contemporary means with these men who were obviously soldiers, her friends of unknown names. Their ships were too slow, their location too distant for safe recovery from the [Nativity]. The only safe plan was escape to the [Vault] via [Conveyance]. And the primitives were destroying the only exit. They'd tear it all apart and allow her to die.

Unacceptable.

Jennis locked eyes with the man who had rescued her, his face still scrunched in concern, and smiled. As his face softened in relief, Jennis placed a slim hand against the soldier's chest and pushed, sending the armored man flying back several feet as she hauled herself upwards. The soldiers stopped tearing at the machine and swung to face her, a pale naked blur as she raced past them towards the still intact command console. Her hands danced across the alien controls and before any of the soldiers could react, the chamber was flooded with light. Instantaneously Jennis and the soldiers disappeared from the [Nativity] and reappeared several thousand kilometers away in a dimly lit chamber that was far, far larger than the [Nativity].

The [Vault] was roughly circular, geometric angle and columns that rose out of the darkness below lining the chamber's perimeter, hooking at right angles and ending in massive, flat trapezoids that bore an uncanny resemblance to certain arthropods from a planet that Jennis knew but couldn't name. The path that she and the soldiers were on stretched towards a large dais that sat at the very center of the columns, her eyes catching sight the podium that housed what she somehow knew were the controls. With a nod that puzzled her slightly, Jennis set off at a jog past the collapsed mass of soldiers that were trying to pull their bulky masses off of the warm metal floor plating. The woman felt the burning in her muscles and the pain of her unsupported, uncontained breasts as they bounced with her movement, but she ignored it, no matter how strange everything felt. The presence in her mind commanded her forward towards the dais, to ignore the shouts of the soldiers behind her.

"Jennis, stop!" It was the voice of the soldier who had rescued her, and she could hear the heavy footfalls behind her. He had recovered faster than his men, but that may have been because Jennis had already knocked him down.

He was trying to stop her. To get her killed. Orders and hope based on primitive plans not capable of understanding what was about to happen to the [Lifestation]. Her life was infinitely more important. But why?

The soldier's large hand gripped her left arm and spun her around, stopping Jennis in her tracks only a few meters from the control podium and the dais. Jennis wasted no time and laid a punch squarely against the soldier's central chest plating, sending him flying backwards despite her small frame. The other soldiers were on their feet now, racing down the pathway with weapons in hand. Jennis knew that she had very little time.

Or so the presence told her.

With a leap Jennis cleared the remaining distance to the dais and scrambled to the control podium, her hands dancing across the controls once more, somehow knowing which holographic interfaces to press despite not knowing what any of the symbols actually meant. A thin strip of blue-white light appeared at the foot of the dais and a flimsy sheen of energy curved upwards, flaring as the soldiers smacked into it with their armored bulk. Beneath the platform ancient machinery began to power on for the first time in countless years, grinding as sheer age and Jennis's frantic demands forced them beyond their minimum safety standards. The central section of the dais screeched to life as a large circular object rose from the formerly seamless metal and began glowing as energy began pouring through it. Blue light surged into being along the engraved surface of the device, and Jennis felt the platform beneath her unprotected feet begin to heat up. Jennis cast a glance backwards at the soldiers as they pounded against the protective shielding with heavily armored fists and equally heavy weapons. The one that had rescued her was there.

"Jennis, you don't have to do this! Turn it off!We can fix it! We can fix you! Whatever that thing did, we can fix it!"

Doubt flickered across her face, her brow furrowing as the Presence momentarily lifted. Nothing about this was right. She knew that man, she knew what he had said was right. There was another way out, she just had to-

With a crackle of discharged energy, the circular edifice behind her was filed with iridescent light. The Presence returned, pushing Jennis aside once more as her hands entered a string of commands into the holographic interface. In the smaller part of her mind Jennis knew she was entering coordinates, but she had no idea to where. All she could do was trust that she knew what she was doing. An image began to take form within the swirling field of energy within what was now obviously some form of gateway, but it was only there for a moment as the world shook beneath Jennis's feet. Sparks flew from the molten hot machinery below as the ancient mechanisms gave out, causing the image of something gold within the gateway to vanish into a shifting maelstrom of light. The gateway was still locked on, but something was going very wrong. The Presence within Jennis began to work the holographic controls once more, but she was out of time. The protective field failed under the assault of the soldiers and sheer age, Jennis bit her lip to avoid screaming as her bare feet were suddenly seared by the blindingly hot metal of the dais. Her arms gripped the podium for a moment while her flesh instnatly blistered and charred. The soldiers however had no such trouble and were already charging up the dais towards her.

Jennis was out of time.

Despite the pain Jennis hurled herself around the podium and towards the maelstrom of shimmering gold energy. She heard her rescuer's voice once more, a indistinct noise that was lost to the grinding of dying metal below, which was quickly punctuated by the crackle of weapons fire. The soldiers were firing upon her! Jennis pushed herself faster and was nearly to the gateway's event horizon when three painfully warm blossoms of heat stabbed her in the back. Jennis's engineered muscles faltered and she fell screaming, face first into the shimmering gateway. The doomed [Vault] was left behind in a endless field of star lines that terminated in an utter void that even the Presence could not reconcile, and it retreated back to whatever hidden place it had come from, leaving Jennis very much alone and very much afriad. She knew that she was moving impossibly fast, but she felt as though she was standing still. The pain from the multiple gunshots was numbed much like the screaming nerve endings in her feet and lower legs were. Utter fear and panic began to set in as Jennis' mind struggled to reconcile everything that had just happened to her, but suddenly the void was broken by shafts of golden light from some unknown point in the distance. And then there was light.

Jennis's eyes were instantly blinded by the light's ferocity, her world going dark even as the pain in her body flared into relevance once more. The air around her seemed to fill with intense pressure and Jennis gasped for breath, her lungs clawing to hold onto the oxygen that was being squeezed out of her. Her limbs flailed against nothingness, weightless, soundless as life slowly left her. Jennis's struggling form began to slow, her movements clumsy as her lips and nostrils flared in one last vain search for precious oxygen...And found it. Tendrils of life creep into her lungs as Jennis gasped in silence. Her bare skin pimpled as cool wind rushed over her smooth, bare skin, and the vast pressure that had nearly killed her lifted without a sound. She was going to be okay! She was going to be-

Reality reasserted itself around Jennis's naked form and sent her crashing, almost comically, onto the golden bridge of a starship and into the waiting arms of very solid hull plating. With a squeak, Jennis crumpled to the deck plating, unconcious.

[Serukta Sehkrisaal]

Ahkariit of the Kiidiaan, Seht’rahmaar-class Capital Ship
^{Unknown Interstellar Location, Unknown Sector, Unknown Quadrant — 11:19:20.0014 GSY}
Ninkalla swept her hand through the too-blue wash before her, instantly annihilating a vision of a burning star, its winds held swept and stretched, from the sukohl’naa liquid projection, allowing the fluid to return to its natural, resting lattice. Her mind was honed, sharp, and tuned; she shifted her gaze, looking outward and upward to the elevated terraces around the central control dais of the Seht'rahmaar-class she had called home for nearly fifteen years. The faces of her compatriots, her soldiers, her children didn't even bother to break their subtle rhythm of maneuvers, diagnostics, planning, allocation, and collation; they hadn't since the call was ushered down the chain. A call had echoed out; from where, she did not know - spare it had flowed directly from the Ahuru'alidaial bureaucracy to her and her cohorts. No one, in truth, knew from where the Ilutaah divined the times, the places, and the "why"; it only mattered that such had flowed into the proverbial cathedra she had come to command.

"Kesh'ahkisri," a voice called out to her, causing her to turn and adjust her focus in the perpetual, dim, golden glow of the vessel's bridge - the vessel's ahkariit. It was nin'shaz Marnduul whom had beckoned her.

"Yes," Ahkisri - captain - Ninkalla responded dryly, her movements slow, deliberate. In front of her crew she always carried the same grace, the same façade: that of mild aloofness and the maternal scorn - and praise - that only a woman whom has given birth to her own life can ever be said to truly hold. It was true, while her crew were her children, it was through raising her own that she had come to appreciate the archetype of controlled and decisive benediction in command.

"The diagnostics you requested from the holy Sihrunaa have been finalized," the nin'shaz - a rank which found equivalence in the station of a lieutenant or some approximation of such - known as Marnduul piqued, rushing his hand through the air in an almost diminutive, ethereal motion - like a virtuoso with his bow. Immediately, a pool of resonant liquid formed in the vacancy of his hand, shifting and contorting as to form a projected, tactile console from the nothingness between his reach and that of his commander's. "All systems are nominal," he ushered, otherwise allowing the projected readings and telemetric status read-outs and matrices to speak for themselves, "and our holy Sihrunaa is prepared to re-initialize connectivity with the Gulf."

The captain suppressed a smile in the back of her throat. "Good work, nin'shaz," was all she allowed herself to issue in the way of praise; it was short, curt, and as customary as the crew had come to expect of the fine-light, wisteria-skinned Serukta they called, lovingly, their "mother-in-war". In truth, Ninkalla had never issued the directive which had resulted in Marnduul's report; that was the manner in which the holy chariots and heralds of the Endless Flame functioned: no order need be given when proper command - proper authority, confidence, and respect - was executed. 'Yes,' she thought, 'this little one will come to accomplish great many works in the name of the Secret Fire. Naa'il.'

The nin'shaz abruptly nodded, placing his hand in the form of the customary, three-fingered salute of the Alidaial against his chest before truncating his issuance of respect with its equally formal, high-bow. He vacated the presence of his commander as quickly as his arrived; Ninkalla purveyed the small, oval-shaped sukohl projection before dismissing it as she had her own.

"Naa'il, Lumirishul," the captain announced across the almost zen-like, fluid tranquility of the ahkariit, "holy Sihrunaa and Ancient Dancer upon the Eye-in-the-Gulf, I - Ahkisri Ninkalla, commander of your flesh and form, the Kiidiaan - summon your counsel!"

For several moments, Ninkalla's declarative hung in the air, still; her bridge crew leaned their heads upward from their circumferential stations, peering toward their commander, the expressions of expectation and worshipful fear held upon their features. Each one had experienced what followed many times before, but with each time, it seemed ever-more profane an experience.

Across the expansive chamber, nestled deeply within the expansive vessel that was the Seht'rahmaar-class, the fonts of the fluid projectors of the ahkariit stilled and quieted their subtle rush; falls of water seemed to slow, still, and grow drawn as if they were a swimmer preparing for a plunge. Overhead, the projective arrays of elaborate, golden lighting grew resplendent, even brilliant in their fluorescent glimmer. Several of the Kiidiaan's crew lowered their gaze, their lips coming aflutter with whispers of litany and prayer which, as the moment grew stretched and elongated in time, seemed to grow ever-more silent - the air itself seemed to hush and silence them.

A relaxed sigh, like a child awakening from a deep slumber before the gift-giving holy days, seemed to reverberate from the very air.

"Beloved, Ninkalla," the holy Sihrunaa responded; ever farther, more cloistered, barred, and held safe below, deep within the encompassing bowels of the ship-of-war, a figure - gaunt, emaciated, and seemingly as lifeless as the death ash on a burial plain - shuddered diminutively. Were that holy figure, that guide of the Sihraan, not shielded within her egg-shaped throne of prescience and judgement, the flurry of attendants which accompanied her see would, no doubt, have found death a respite from her blinding refulgence. "Naa'il, little, sweet Ninkalla," the voice soothed, its tones melodic and disquieting in the same, silent breath, "Ahkisri and commander of my flesh and form, I - Lumirishul, the sacred illumination of the Kiidiaan - do answer your summons - your beautiful call - and come to you as holy counsel."

"Naa'il and due praise!" the voices of the crewmen on the bridge echoed in unison, pressing their hands to their chests in salute, "Praise be to the holy Sihrunaa, Ancient Dancer upon the Eye-in-the-Gulf!"

"Welcome, Lumirishul," captain Ninkalla greeted once her subordinates completed their formal recognition of the minor intercessor of divinity, "Are you prepared to fla—"

"Beloved Ninkalla," the voice interrupted, "you have not... come to visit me in so long. I have not heard your voice in centuries." Time interrupted and stretched under the weight of the Sihraan. "I wish," the Sihrunaa continued, "to hear you sing once more. Will you come sing for me?"

"I cannot as of now, Miri," the Kiidiaan's commander responded in diminutive. "We have pressing issues of which I require your counsel."

"Oh?" the voice questioned. "I thought... Yes, I did," it continued, "I heard it... Have we been called, sweet, beloved, beautiful, Ninkalla?"

"Yes, your illuminated. The Naa'il Sa'ilu has called us, for He is in the sacred Khasa'ilu and has spoken through Him that is the Naa'suakaan and Sehkrisah." Formality, even in explanation - even to a friend - was an ever-maintained breadth of security to Ninkalla. It was a cloth, a shield against the harshness of the desert that is life, and shielded not merely her from the heat of failure or fall, but her crew - her men and her own.

"Oh, well... I come as your counsel, ahkisri," the dream-dancer spoke in shallow elegance, "Command the heart and you shall command the flesh."

"Please prepare for the flaring of the Gulf of Fulgor," Ninkalla ordered - both to the Sihrunaa and to her crew. No verbal response was given to her order, even following its echoing by her executive, only immediate action. Upon the Kiidiaan - and the many stellar craft held within the Ahuru'alidaial - such was the manner that it had occurred since the Great Fulgor. The Kiidiaan itself, nearly two thousand years ancient, had carried such circumstance and authority under one commander then another from the moment of its christening and the enthroning of its holy, burning heart. Such was the declarations of the Sehkriaan - the holy scriptures of the Path of the Endless Flame.

Around the bridge, each elevated terrace became broiled in activity. Though the almost serene tranquility had passed, each movement of each crewman was done with a deliberateness and a confidence-of-course that might shame the cenobitic Ilutaah themselves - renowned as they were for their singleness of purpose. Fluid projections shuddered then glowed with brilliance, filling the ahkariit with a ballet of pulsating globes and mirror-reflective panes of suspended, sapphire libation. Terminals and font-troughs became illuminated, first in their natural, gilded-blue, then bathed in the shifted light panes turned ochre and red. For each station a soul, and for each soul a station was the way of the divines, and upon those ships of crusading terror they held such a litany as paramount and eternally true.

"Incoming!" the the melodic voice of the dream-dancer announced, fractured and shuddering,"I see a perturbative defect approaching! Path is predictive and singular; prepare for impact within the ahkariit. Prepare for im—"

Across to the farthest wall, the primary aft bulkhead of the Kiidiaan's bridge, the air itself distorted and bowed - like a heat mirage rising above a dune. Ninkalla turned abruptly as a cohort of armed Alidaial rushed onto the bridge, the glinted, condensate charges of their rifles affixed upon the singularity of the distorted field. The captain pushed herself from the dais at the center of the room and across the terraces to center of the commotion. Around her, Lumirishul - voice of her command - was declaring statements in tune with the more informal vulgarities of flaring and the anomalous nature of the burning gulf between creation as they knew it and the Iludiaan itself. At the moment, such mattered very little; even in its informal bluntness, it provided no solution to the sudden influx of something which had come to seat itself against the gilded bulkhead of her craft.

By the time Ninkalla reached the source of the incident, a minor rush of overpressure pushed aside the gowns of her uniform. The armed personnel of her crew had already cornered the anomaly and were shouting for orders. Their captain pushed past them with a gait that almost betrayed her physique; they parted as if commanded.

Looking down, she was unsure as to what her eyes came to rest upon. It didn't make sense, and for a moment her thoughts flashed back to the orders she'd received from her superiors. Around her, men crowded in, their weapons drawn and at the ready, aiming at the heap resting upon the floor. Blood was there - a smear, small but indicative, across the wall.

"Halt and stand at the ready," Ninkalla ordered. "There will be no mistakes under my command," she continued, looking down at the "anomaly" that had dropped itself directly onto her bridge. She thought, surveying the entity. There were only a set number of reasons for such an occurrence; she found herself reflecting upon scripture for answers. "Gather her up and take her to medical," was the only appropriate command which came to the front of her mind, with a single caveat: "Seal her in a quarantine chamber and remain with her; if she wakes and becomes violent, she is kasol: rid us of her."

[Azura]

Commander's Lodgings, the Explorator / Scout Vessel Ferociter
Sidusclasse of the Primareliqua — Shakedown Campaign of Commander Caen, Mission Day 279.1

After an hour of searching, Commander Reviers had finally found the Captain in the last place he expected to find him; the observatory overlooking the command bridge of the Ferociter. For a time, Jayne had suspected—and quietly hoped—that Captain Caen had decided to take the ship's runabout and flee in some sort of dereliction of duty. The preceding two days had done little to assuage his fears over the man's mental state or perceived incompetence, but it had posed to him an exercise in trying to stay abreast of the man's movements. Monitoring his progression through the preparation for their arrival in response to the distress beacon was to be an excellent series of means for which to study him up close under pressure. Instead, he had eluded the crew like a ghost for most of the two days, even filing official status reports from his private quarters instead of his command office.

Nothing had gone as planned in the preceding two days, and though the Commander was trying to make the best of a broken situation, he was beginning to lose his patience. Aside from his inability to formally review the Captain's handling of the new directive, the ship's compliment had been thinned by an unexpected accident in the engine compartment; Achator Saul, the ship's assistant duty officer in the engineering section had suffered some sort of calamitous accident working on the power coupling for their starboard engine mount. He'd been dead long before anyone could respond to his cries for help, dealing a tremendous blow to the crew's confidence in its leadership. The distress beacon was no closer to being deciphered than they had been from the outset of the trek, though he was beginning to feel more and more confident that nothing good would come from the trip.

It's already plagued with omens, and we haven't even arrived at our destination yet...

Reviers waited for a moment before entering the deck proper, not wanting to startle the Captain. He took a moment to observe him for what felt like the first time in weeks, noting the way in which he conveyed his posture. The observation deck was overlooking a quiet bridge, looked after by a skeleton crew that was paying him no mind; the darkness of the night watch below was reflected by the deepening shadows of the balcony. Even so, Jayne could see the stress lines in the Captain's face; tales from many years of service to another cause, or perhaps his own anxiety over the forthcoming mission. So intent was Jayne's focus on him that he failed to even notice when the Captain threw up his hand halfheartedly, motioning for the Commander to join him at his perch overlooking the bridge. His perception was keenly attuned to his surroundings, if nothing else.

It isn't easy sneaking something past him, that's for sure...

"Good evening, Rixator," Lynom said politely, standing before his perch over the bridge as his executive officer approached, making sure to address Reviers by the proper Primareliquai title instead of his own customary usage of the old Poinsettia ranking.

"Dif-tor heh smusma, Venator-Captain," Jayne replied in kind to the Captain's formality.

"Taking in the peace and quiet before the final push?"

"Peace and quiet? Now, now, sir; you know as well as I that no such peace and quiet exists aboard an Explorator-class ship," Reviers said bemusedly, extending a formal salute before taking a position next to his commander. "Just a few moments to catch our breath in the midst of the fiery tempest of space."

"Mm, perhaps," Caen said, returning to his seat overlooking the bridge. "When I was in command of the Peregrinorum, these types of 'breaths' were few and far between. Eventually, you come to appreciate the respites."

Reviers looked at the Captain thoughtfully, nodding. "Perhaps we could discuss some of your experiences aboard the Peregrinorum; your file has had notes on your previous... career redacted."

Caen slowly pivoted in his chair, eying Jayne cautiously. "You have much cause to go through my file?"

"This is a scout vessel of the Sidusclasse, even the Primareliqua," the Commander said curtly, looking out over the bridge. "As your Rixator, it is my job to observe and report on your performance here during your shakedown cruise. Part of that report is bolstered by an understanding of your precepts and tactics."

"Perhaps, before you make your final report, I will avail my personal files to your convenience," Caen said quietly, letting his focus drop from Reviers. "Perhaps next time you could be more forthright from the outset of our mission about your intentions."

"Apologies, Captain," Jayne responded, looking not to force the issue.

Even as Jayne pondered the implications of the potential improprieties of his commanding officer, the Captain began to nervously scan the bridge below, trying to break eye contact with him. It was the look of a man whose spirit was tempered with the blood of a guilty conscience; Reviers knew the look well, for he had experienced it multiple times before. Something had happened in the Captain's past that had rendered deep and troubling wounds upon him; some seen, most probably unseen. It would take some time to decipher the clues that his countenance was leaving behind, but if he had possessed some doubts before about Caen, they were all but confirmed now. It was a distressing thought, considering the ramifications of their present course and purpose. Shaken confidence in one's ability to lead, heading into a possibly deadly situation...

If he doesn't get us killed first, of course...

Things were more complex than he had first feared, and it was beginning to weigh heavily on his conscience. Though his primary focus was on the mission at hand, the overreaching directive that guided all aspects of his continued service to the Sidusclasse was the understanding that the security of the Primareliqua and her citizenry, even those aboard the Ferociter took paramount importance, even against the backdrop of missions of galactic security. The sacred duty of any Sidusclasse officer was to protect his ship and crew at all costs, even at the risk of insubordination or direct contravening of orders. Though he lacked an implicit desire to take such a drastic course of action, he would not hesitate to relieve Lynom Caen of his position on the mortal coil if it meant saving his people. What a horrendous position to be forced into...

What in the name of all that is holy have we been cursed with in this man?

"I have some concerns about this assignment," Caen said unexpectedly, tracing his finger along the balustrade which overlooked the bridge. "Spare me the conjecture about our primary purpose in this sector of the quadrant; it still rests uneasily on my soul."

"Why would you assume command of this vessel with such reservations?"

The Captain shook his head, leaning back into his chair slowly. "Experience, mostly. I have more experience operating against hostile foes than most of your junior fleet commanders. My adopted homeland required my service in this field."

"The field of exploration," Jayne said with a smirk. "Second only to the field of war in our great fleet."

"I have never fought a war with your people," Lynom said with a sharp exhale. "But my battles have left scars deep and innumerable. I pray that you never face the horrors that I and my people were forced to endure in the dark times."

"It would not be the first period of troubles the Primareliqua would have encountered," the Rixator added, leaning onto the side of his chair. "If the need should arise, we would defend ourselves to the last, even in this vessel here."

"I have no hesitation in trusting this ship or her crew," Caen commended his commanding officer. "I do pray that, in time, you would come to abandon the reservations you apparently hold over your commanding officer."

"You assume I have no faith in your ability to lead?" Jayne asked, blindsided by the sudden admission.

"I don't have to assume anything," Caen said directly. "I'm not incompetent, nor blind Commander."

"Of course not, Captain, sir."

The conversation had taken an uncomfortable turn, and neither Caen nor Reviers was prepared to undertake the issue further. Whatever reservations Jayne held, it was clear now that the Captain was not immune to the hesitancy with which the Commander was embracing his command. That made for a potentially volatile situation, especially in the event of a crisis; if the Captain expected to be relived of command, then his guard would make it impossible to render the potential standoff as quickly and quietly as possible. Jayne would have to be especially cautious around the Captain, at least until he got a better feel for the man. Until that time, there was little he could do but watch and wait, hoping against hope that Lynom Caen would impress him in the coming hours. The alternative was almost too terrible to bear.

The Captain stood, finally, straightening his uniform. "In any event, it's all conjecture. We'll reach the source of the distress beacon within the hour. Have the prime crew ready to assume their posts in fifteen minutes to begin accessing any and all information present in the system."

"I'll make it so," Jayne said, watching as the Captain excused himself from the deck. "It will be so."

[Tarsas]

TNS Iliad
Patrol Sector Alpha 64
Gamma-Delta Border

The silence in the Captain’s Quarters was thick with anticipation as the energy clip clicked into place on the small personal pistol held in the hands of Captain Andreus Felmore, his furred hands gripping it tightly as he regarded it with tired eyes. The open viewport in front of him gave him an unrestricted view into the vast nothingness that was space, the perpetual, supposedly never ending vacuum. He didn’t truly believe that it never ended, they were always finding more, but everything had to come to an end eventually. The black expanse, broken only by small flecks of light marking the locations of far distant stars, spoke volumes to him. He slammed the pistol down onto the white wooden desk in a fit of rage. That blackness was so unforgiving, so uncaring and the horrors it held were unimaginable. He often though of his reasons for continuing his job as a Captain in the Patrol Armada. He wanted to believe that exploring the black depths of the galaxy as well as keeping it safe for innocent people was his primary reason, he tried desperately to convince himself as he stared up at the gunmetal grey ceiling that was above his bed every night. Sometimes he even managed to do it, to convince his tortured soul that he genuinely cared anymore.

Reality would always hit him again when he would finally nod off and then awake at the end of his sleep cycle, however. The cold fist of naked truth would subject his tormented soul and fragile being to the absolutes that were his existence. He wasn’t doing this job to serve the Tetheri Republic, or help anyone. He was solely doing the job for himself now. The people he joined up to help were let down, let down by the very nation they had elected to serve by colonizing the world of Byzalora and claiming it for the Republic. They had been ignored, ignored by the very nation they uprooted their lives for. They had paid for it, paid for it by dying in a thermonuclear blast sent from orbit by a ship that wasn't even fired upon by the defense forces, a ship that was ignored. The Tetheri Republic had let his family be killed, killed without a single attempt to stop the force which had ended their lives. He almost joined them so many times, he had held that pistol to his head more times than he could count.

He would have his finger on the trigger, seconds from pressing it, when the realization of why he was still allowing himself to live would strike him. He would see the faces of his family, his mind would flash back to that day, to that brown ship that stood in orbit and released the nuclear death upon his family. He would always remember that he needed to find that ship; he needed to personally be the one to kill every single human being inside of it. If it took him strapping a bomb to his chest and walking into a prison where they had already been apprehended, so be it. None of them had been apprehended yet, however and he still searched for them. He still veered off of assigned patrol routes to investigate every pirate group he came across, personally interrogating prisoners for any leads. He was sure the only reason his crew had not spoken up about repeated violations of deployment orders was because he was doing his job, keeping the trade lanes pirate free.

His second motivating factor was, of course, his kid brother. The kit was only 14 and had survived his parents by being off planet attending boarding school. He had moved the boy to his only surviving aunt’s house back behind the massive defenses of Cerval, which had the largest fleet base in the Republic and contained enough Titan Defense Platforms to drive off multiple fleets. They had all moved there after the attack, behind the great metal behemoths that served as a shield between them and the dark abyss that always threatened to swallow them, always watching, waiting for the chance to end lives. He didn't see the maw of space as a neutral entity now, he saw it as it was, an entity full of black nothingness that desired to swallow all life. Atmospheres, ships, weapons, planets; they were all obstacles that it wanted to swallow until there was nothing, nothing but the empty blackness. His dead family, his mother and father and sisters, the blackness had taken them; but he had made provision for his kid brother to live, to flourish, and to maybe live a full life. He would serve until he could serve no more, attempting to exact revenge, then he would die and finally be reunited with his family again.

He deactivated the pistol and placed it back in its holster on his belt. He had never left the desk in all of this, his lifeless blue eyes gazing out of the viewport into the passing darkness of space. He brought up the desk’s holographic display and pulled up a password protected file, which flashed onto the holographic screen. The casualty list from Byzalora flashed before him. The file automatically went to his most searched query; he had set it up that way. The names of his family, their pictures, and basic information sat before him in neat, organized squares. When it first happened, he had spent hours staring at the list in shock. The length of time he spent staring at it waned as the days went on, but he never forgot. When he couldn't sleep, he would set the holographic projection pod to display it on the ceiling and would spend the rest of the night staring at the list.

He was disrupted from his brooding by a beep from the desk’s computer. ”Captain to the bridge, captain to the bridge” rang out from the room’s audio projection system. He deactivated the projection and stood up, exiting the room. The whoosh of the opening pressure door was punctuated by the sharp clap of military boots on the metal floor. He had not been in his quarters but for an hour and his pressed uniform was still affixed to his large frame. On the shoulder of his standard issue captain’s uniform was the patch denoting him as an officer in the Republican Naval Armada. On his other shoulder stood a patch depicting the flag of the Republic of Tetheran and on his right pectoral stood a patch that was issued to each service being on the Iliad declaring him a member of its crew. On his left pectoral sat his medals and bars of rank. A captain’s peaked cap adorned his furred head with his ears tucked in special pockets within the cap, which was designed for Feltgor such as himself.

The bridge was a short walk away since the Iliad and her other Virtue class frigates were small patrol ships. They only carried twenty-five beings, fifteen of them being crew and the other ten a security detail of marines for boarding parties and for keeping the peace. The small ship possessed powerful optical, thermal, and sensor camouflage that allowed it to have a much higher chance of sneaking into a system virtually undetected when it was running completely quiet. In return for this, armament and shielding was light. The vessel only carried a compliment of fifteen missile tubes, one heavy gaser, and six light gaser turrets. The shield would quickly be overwhelmed under sustained fire from any military grade vessel larger than its own class. The frigate was incredibly quick, mostly because of its powerful nuclear pulse drives that could quickly accelerate away from most enemy vessels.

He stepped onto the bridge, walking at a brisk pace as the door whooshed open to allow him access. The bridge comprised of a three tiered semi-circle layout. At the bottom tier stood all of the gunnery stations, where the guns could be switched off of the automated android brains that controlled them and given control to the crew in the event of a malfunction. On the second tier, all of the important stations such as the helm, the sensors, engineering, and life support monitoring , and the Lieutenant Captain’s command chair were set. On the top tier, the bridge exit and the Captain’s station could be found. Andreus sat down in the chair as the projector pods quickly leaped up and brought up the holographic displays that gave the captain access to the entire vessel and its mainframe. The “station” itself was simply a chair anchored to the floor. The system access terminals were all anti-grav holoprojection pods that could be moved at will and project the necessary information and controls for the captain to access. Hardware displays had been virtually eliminated in many areas of the Republic but were available for redundancy.

“Lieutenant Captain Alfes, what is the reason you've called me here? I was under the impression I was off duty", he remarked snidely.

Lieutenant Captain Roric Alfes was your typical Terran male; he stood at about 5’10, had average salt and pepper greying hair, and was of an average build. The man was, in fact, so average that he had received very few awards during his lengthy career of thirty five years. He looked to be about forty-five but that was likely not the case. Tetheri medical science had been genetically modifying terrans to live longer lifespans. The average terran in Tetheran lived to be about 200 years of age, right alongside the Feltgor, which had that long of a lifespan to begin with. You would think that with genetic engineering, his parents would have made him at least stand out somehow, but no, he was completely average. The man stood up and saluted, taking the small set of steps up to the captain’s level. “Good evening sir, I’m sorry to disturb you but I think you’ll want to hear this. We’ve received an emergency broadcast being shouted to anyone who will listen. The origin was traced to a nearby system. The exact location is Amphina II in the Amphina System which lies in the Avaikan Mandate.”

”Well? What are we to do about it? We’re not a fucking rescue vessel. We patrol trade lanes and hunt pirates”, Andreus growled at the man.

For a second, Alfes looked intimidated but it quickly passed. He had been dealing with the captain a lot lately, increasingly taking command of the vessel more and more as the man’s mental state declined. Sometimes, he would have what they all referred to as an “episode”, where he would fly into a blind rage and usually have to be sedated by the ship’s doctor. They generally tried to be as calm as possible around him. An angry Feltgor was a dangerous one. ”With all due respect sir, this is in a frontier in which I think would be a great hiding location for pirates to launch attacks on our major trade lanes. It’s only a few jumps away from the Valdra Route, which we are assigned to patrol.” A projection pod floated in place next to Alfes and projected a display, showing the system in question and the full contents of the distress message. ”From what we can gather, it is a surface station that is in trouble. We have no idea how it happened or who may be responsible but the broadcast gives them roughly four hours before the backup systems fail entirely and anyone still alive will die. I do think, in the interest of security, we should investigate.”

The big Feltgor was about to snap at the man when a thought occurred to him. There were likely pirates here, and that very well meant that there could be leads to whoever was responsible for the Byzalora Massacre. A secondary mission mandate had been issued to keep an eye out for those responsible. If he could classify this act under that goal, the goal of catching those responsible, he could spend as long as he wanted investigating the situation. In that moment, he decided. ”I think you’re absolutely correct Alfes and you have convinced me. We should go and investigate this distress signal. Iliad, come here please.” The projection of a young woman appeared off to his right. All Tetheri vessels had artificial intelligence aboard that was capable of filling in at a station or even taking a watch on the bridge if both officers were incapacitated. The AI never replied directly to orders unless asked a question. ”Input the coordinates of the distress signal and prepare to jump. As soon as we arrive in the system, I want all camouflage engaged; optical, thermal, and sensory and power down all non-essential systems. Helm, make jump preparations. When we arrive, we’ll assess the situation and return to normal running mode if it seems safe.” The crew rushed to follow orders, all stations going from the near silence of a long patrol trajectory to full battle preparations.

Amphina System
Avaikan Mandate

Two hours later, the view field of anyone that might have been looking out of a viewport in the direction of the emerging Iliad was distorted as space opened up briefly to reveal nothing. The vessel was in full camouflage mode, the only sign of its arrival fading fast as it moved away from the entry point. The nuclear pulse drives were on low, weapons and shields were deactivated, energy powered lights were replaced by the chemical glow of battle lamps. All of this was to reduce the electromagnetic field that was the bane of Tetheri stealth technology, the one weakness that could give it away. The passive sensors suddenly blared a warning before anyone could react as the radio frequency absorption field began working overtime to quickly neutralize the incoming pings of the Akash Wolf. After a few tense moments, the system signaled that the waves had been fully absorbed and their position was not compromised. The bridge crew let out a collective sigh of relief. Taking a lightly armed patrol frigate into an unknown circumstance such as this was fraught with dangers.

The communication officer quietly spoke into the communication earpiece they all wore. ”Broadcast emanating from unknown ship that was just detected.”

”Play it back”, Andreus ordered tersely. The broadcast from the Akash Wolf began to play, hailing the outpost. ”So, the Technocracy. Can’t say we've had any major dealings with them other than knowing they exist. What is the maximum percentage chance that we will be discovered by the vessel?”

The sensory officer spoke up quickly after running the numbers. ”If we stay well away from the vessel and the system plots the projected flight path correctly, we have a twenty percent chance of detection. If we near the planet, or go into orbit, we have a forty percent chance of being located. Currently, we have no data on any other possible vessels in the system responding because we are keeping all methods of detecting possible enemies powered off in stealth mode.”

Andreus rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ”Very well, we will began to orbit the planet. Remain hidden, even while in orbit and completely shut down all drive systems once orbit is reached. We’ll deploy the seeker drones. Data broadcasts from them should be disguised with that noisy Technocracy ship blasting sensor pulses across the system.”

The Iliad began its slow, steady progression towards the body known as Amphina II. The vessel had to run much slower in stealth mode, so it took them nearly an hour and a half to reach it, even though they had jumped in relatively close. They finally entered high planetary orbit, slipping in as silently as possible. The first thing of note was the orbital debris, present from the obvious destruction of multiple orbital stations. Being this close to the planet would hopefully aid them in continuing to be disguised. Andreus called for the AI once again. ”Prepare the Tracker Probes. Don’t launch them, just open the hatches and let them drift out. Once they are well enough away, you may order them to descend. With all of this debris floating in orbit, we should be able to disguise them simply as falling garbage.” The AI disappeared quickly as notification of the pod ejection ports opening appeared on one of his displays.

It was a tense number of minutes as the pods drifted away. After they were concealed in a large clump of what used to be a station docking bay, the pods began to jettison towards the surface. They angled themselves and began to descend towards the planet. Once passed the upper regions, they activated internal thrusters and rocketed towards the coordinates of the outpost. The Iliad had managed to get into orbit over the region that the coordinates the distress signal was providing had been traced to. Twenty minutes later, the pods signaled they had touched down and the displays in front of the captain coalesced into two large holoscreens displaying the feed from the drones sensors and cameras.

The sensory officer began to narrate the data coming in. ”The probes are en route to the outpost, roughly five minutes out, captain.” The Tracker Probe Series were medium sized hovering probes with a basic sensor suite that offered ships some quick information on an enemy installation or planet. They were standard issue aboard every Tetheri vessel. They hovered just above the surface with anti-gravity lifts. ”Outpost spotted. Radiation sensors are detecting an intense amount of ultraviolent and infrared radiation. Clearly from a weapons discharge, none of the patterns match any known weapons types we know of. This isn't just radiation from a local star or an energy reactor. It seems the outpost was indeed attacked.”

The feed from probe number two beeped an alert. ”Biometric scanners on probe two have spotted one living being, not near the outpost. Seems to be in radio transmission with the Akash Wolf and not making any effort to keep the volume down. Shall I play it back?”

”No, don’t bother. If she’s being rescued by the Technocracy, then let her. We can always plan an operation later if the situation is favorable and the Technocracy declines to take her on. She might at least be a valuable source of information. What about the outpost? Any signs of life?”

The officer wrinkled his immaculate nose. He was obviously a genetic creation because his body and complexion were so perfect, it was clearly not natural. ”I can’t get a good reading, captain.”

”What do you mean you can’t get a good reading? It’s simple, the biometric scanner only picks up one fucking thing, breathing beings.”

The man was silent for a full thirty seconds. ”I can’t explain it sir, I keep scanning over and over again but I can’t get any sort of usable reading. The scanner is returning a distorted noise and there seems to be pockets of distortion that appear at different points of the facility. It’s a steady ebb and flow.”

Andreus sighed heavily and pulled up the data on his screen. Was there competent help ANYWHERE in the galaxy anymore? The man ended up being right, unfortunately, the biometric scanner would almost display something, but then it would disappear again. The strange distortion made it impossible to get a clear reading. The infrared scanner wasn't very much assistance either with all of the heat from the destruction of the facility. ”Very well, conceal the probes and continue to watch that life form you did detect. With obvious signs of warfare, I’m not going to waste lives by sending a boarding party. Remain hidden and bring internal temperature down to the threshold of human tolerance. All of you may put on insulated suits to keep warm. Power down all drive systems and keep them in standby mode. We can get out of here quickly if necessary.” To eliminate another possibility of detection, the hiding vessel would lower the internal temperature maintained by the life support systems to almost lower than humans could tolerate. The crew would wear insulated suits that were heated and kept them blissfully unaware of the frigid temperature. ”We will remain here and observe the situation. Should it become necessary, we can get to that life form and remain undetected if we play our cards correctly.”

As the crew rushed to fulfill his orders, Andreus couldn't help but wonder if they were in way over their heads.

[Feazanthia]

“The first duty of the one is to the many.”
-Pyharulaa of Saju-ka

BPL-F-7748-C; Local Designation: Tavoss
Avaikan Mandate territory
Gamma Quadrant, Milky Way Galaxy

A sharp pulse, barely enough to register in the more animal parts of her brain as “pain”, assaulted her mind. The indescribable, non-real fog of unconsciousness clawed at her, clinging to her thoughts despite the electromagnetic onslaught. Another pulse jolted through her, and her consciousness rebelled at the intrusion. Senses returned to her, providing her information one at a time as if they were slowly coming online. As she climbed upward from the well of slumber, she longed to remain within its warm embrace.

Another pulse. Binary data, displayed as pale alphanumeric figures and phrases, popped up in her virtual vision. Vital statistics (she noted, with some satisfaction, that the rigors of high-gravity acceleration and the nutrient-rich intravenous diet had trimmed another percentage point off of her body fat), status updates, and tasks to be completed scrolled past the inside of her eyelids.

A fourth pulse assaulted her, followed by a cool voice.

“Navigation officer Iukikina, you are now seventeen seconds overdue for assuming your duties,” said the synthetic intelligence of the Ro-Loytaa, and Iukikina swore the voice had just a hint of scolding in it.

Iukikina of the Mar'tik'thee swore inwardly and ordered her medical array to dose her with a small amount of stimulants. She had a weakness for dual-hemisphere hibernation, one of the few indulgences she allowed herself. Allowing both halves of her brain to enter a full rest period, and relying on the ship's life support systems to keep her body's otherwise autonomic functions, was an easy temptation for one of her species to fall to. Despite being relatively harmless (and even beneficial, according to some studies), the deep sleep was always somewhat difficult to awaken from.

Immediately, the female cetace began to feel the effects of the mild stimulant as it spread through her blood stream. She allowed the pressure at the back of her skull entrance, and the hazy walls of the acceleration tank vanished in a swirl of color. Motor functions were subsumed, the connections within her nervous system rerouted in order to control synthetic rather than organic systems. She used the instincts and learned neural bursts typically reserved for “movement” - such as the moving of her tail and fins – to instead navigate the local datanet. Her consciousness expanded to subsume the vessel's navigation systems, interfacing symbiotically with the part of the SI that simultaneously controlled it. Her auxiliary's consciousness was also there, having covered for her while she took her allowed rest period, and she thanked the young kiithsid before taking over. His consciousness receded, and she allowed a data dump to bring her up to speed with what had transpired during her period of unsconsciousness.

“A senior-level staff meeting is being assembled,” said the Ro-Loytaa. “Somtaaw Bashtet uln-Seefra has requested your presence.”

Iukikina swore inwardly again, and then transferred the primary part of her consciousness to the part of the network within which she felt Bashtet's presence.

“How nice of you to join us,” said Bashtet lightly as Iukikina's avatar appeared amongst the gathering.

“My apologies,” said Iukikina, her avatar's head bowing in supplication.

“Just because this is not a military vessel,” said Bashtet on a private channel, his tone turning subtly from joking to more chiding, “does not mean we may not take our duties seriously. Do not allow it to happen again. Now,” he said, once more to the entire group. “Rastineh, you were reporting on the state of the Mandate's efforts in this system.”

“Well, the system certainly has the mineral wealth to support a large-scale orbital infrastructure, but I do not think the Mandate's current terraforming efforts will be sufficient,” said Somtaaw Rastineh luun-Mahudaawa. The mental avatar of the Ro-Loytaa's diplomatic attache shook her head, disappointed. “The Mandate lacks the immediate funds for a slipgate station, though long-term I think they may be open to the concept.”

“The Expeditionary Force is not yet willing to subsidize such a venture at this time, even if the Mandate were willing to accept one,” said Somtaaw Bashtet uln-Seefra gravely. “Maizar, how goes the negotiations with their labor board?”

“I am being stonewalled, though I remain confident that the Mandate will accept a supply contract. During negotiations, their nonverbal responses suggested significant labor problems. I intend to recommend shipping five-hundred thousand hostile environment construction units to our Coruc-Tel warehouse in this afternoon's communications burst,” said Somtaaw Maizar uln-Jungaalwala, the ship's corporate attache. “I have a meeting with some senior-level Mandate officials tomorrow morning in which I will propose a deal. We'll likely have to sell the first group of units at- or below-cost, but once we have our foot in the door I believe that first shipment could end up being a loss-leader.”

“Very good. Make it happen, Maizar. The rest of you, I want to have the survey data of the outer system done by this time tomorrow. At the end of the seevpay I intend to move the ship on to the next system. The Mandate calls it Avaika, and you'll all be pleased to know that-”

The avatar of the Ro-Loytaa's intelligence shimmered into life in the center of the gathering, bringing a halt to the former officer's words.

“My apologies. The ship's communications array has picked up a distress beacon on a Avaikan Mandate frequency. Message follows.”

The audio of Aivakan Spur Monitoring Station Number Four's signal began playing to every crewmember in attendance, and a transcript along with navigational and astrographic data began filling the air. As the message began to repeat, the ship continued. “In-system probes have allowed me to triangulate the signal's origin point, and have confirmed it is within the Avaikan Mandate.”

“Iukikina,” ordered Bashtet, his avatar's face featureless as its owner's mind slipped back into his military training. “Retract the solar array and ready the ship for emergency jump. The Amphina system is well within our jump radius. Bring us out into decel. Rastineh, I want you on the line with the regional official. I don't care what kind of half-brained mandatory jump route the Mandate insists we use, I want emergency clearance for a direct jump into the system.”

“I am already opening a channel, sir,” said Rastineh, her face also adopting the featureless look as she concentrated. “However, the planetary office is being bombarded.”

“Get Ro to block out other frequencies if you have to, get me that priority clearance.”

Iukikina's avatar shimmered out of existence as the virtual conference disintegrated. The aging miirharozt's full suite of systems were coming online, from its electromagnetic launch bays to its offensive and defensive systems. The crew were not so much communicating with words now as they were with barely-registered thought, as one's brain would communicate with their hand. Computer-accelerated frames of reference made everything happening outside the ship seem like it were happening interminably slowly. The ultrastrong carbon filaments which attached the metallic fabric of the ship's solar collector retracted, the various membranes separating and folding back into themselves as they were sucked back within the hull. Indicator symbols flashed throughout Iukikina's consciousness, informing her of the status of every single component of the ship's slipstream drive array and its readiness for the impending jump.

“Compartments secured, all systems within acceptable parameters,” reported Iukikikna's mind-voice. “Ship is ready for faster-than-light translation on your order,”

“We have one-time clearance for emergency jump,” said Rastineh, with more than a bit of relief in her voice.

“All stations, stand by to receive casualties. Defensive systems at the ready. Slipstream translation is ordered.”

---

BPL-O-46539; Local Designation: Amphina
Avaikan Mandate Territory
Gamma Quadrant, Milky Way Galaxy
05:06:44:12 Local Time

To the naked eye, nothing happened. Beyond the visual spectrum, however, reality bent and twisted in on itself. Bursts of Hawking radiation spilled into the naked vacuum in quick succession, and in a mockery of conventional physics matter reasserted itself from whence there had been nothing.

The Ro-Loytaa was, if such a thing could be determined in interplanetary space, going backwards. Its aft engines were pointed towards the planet, which the vessel was now approaching at a fraction of the speed of light. Cylindrical thrusters oriented themselves, began to glow, and then fired. Long, sparkling trails of fused gas spiraled out towards the planet, destined to spark an aurora in the upper atmosphere as they impacted the magnetic field.

The venerable craft's hull shuddered as glittering probes were fired outwards, dozens of the dimunitive vehicles were sent on myriad vectors to establish a full, real-time picture of the system.

“Multiple contacts. Mandate friend-or-foe registry declares them friendlies,” reported Somtaaw Jalal uln-Nanavaarti, the Ro-Loytaa sensor officer.

“Keep passive targeting sensors on all of them. Defense systems stand by, we do not know who to trust here,” ordered Bashtet. “Open channels. Might as well coordinate recovery efforts.”
“We have signal lock on the signal's origin point. Probes bringing a higher resolution image online now...”

“Crei'dei'ki protect us...” murmured Iukikina without realizing what she was doing. The image of the station had just popped up in her view.

“Prep shuttles for departure,” ordered Bashtet grimly. “And access whatever's left of their communications array. We need to search for survivors.”

[Huerdae]

I.A.C.S. Yui, Monitor-Class Armored Shuttle

As soon as the first team was aboard TDE-36C, Yui was making its way toward a larger station, much more modular, and having a higher chance of holding something of value inside. Shiyuri joined the two in the cockpit, where Ahl was lounging again, this time watching the airlock security feed. The display clearly showed one of the suited up corporate militia, Tek-Bow obvious over her back. "You're sending the little hothead?"

Shiyuri nodded, her tail lashing to one side for a moment as she became annoyed that he seemed to be questioning her choices. "She's never been on the first team in before, and it's a larger station. more than twice the size of the other."

"Well, that explains the two teams, but you have a more experienced militiaman as well. Why not him?" His eyes studied her, with the same, bland expression as he had when playing poker. It infuriated her, but beside him, the pilot chuckled.

"You know it's not the time to be betting, Ahl."

Shiyuri opened her mouth to respond, but the handler just waved it away. "Fine, fine. I was just curious anyway. She needs the experience, I have no doubt of that. Maybe she'll figure out that damn bow isn't as good as she claims. I'll never understand her fascination with the thing."

By the time she finally got a chance to speak, Shiyuri's tail was whipping side to side angrily, but neither of the men in the cockpit seemed to notice, instead, watching as the ship carefully passed through a blasted-open hangar door, setting down gently inside in the zero gravity environment. Once more she was impressed by the pilot's skill, she just wished he wasn't one of the ones that had come along with Ahl'Jhaddor. Apparently they had worked together in the past, and he came highly recommended, but the fact that it was Ahl who had hired the man for her didn't make it sit any better for her.

Instead, she slapped the button, letting the team stroll out onto the deck around them. It put nine of their team on the two stations, and with three in the cockpit, it left the final team of three in the shuttle hold, with only one pilot sitting in Clementine awaiting the drive's readiness for its second Gate that would take it the rest of the way to them. If she used this last team on another station, it put three teams on three stations, each with one of the militiamen as protection.

The squawker crackled for a second before the first team's leader spoke, his voice calm, and almost bored. "We've vented what remains of the atmosphere. There wasn't much, but it will keep us from having any issues. We're moving forward."

Ahl nodded to himself nearby, and she simply took a seat, putting her clawed feet up on the console. "Good, good, let me know if you find anything interesting."

Ahl snorted, and she could see him smiling to himself. "What, 'handler', still thinking about beating me?"

The man laughed at the comment, shaking his head in good humor. "No, thinking about the chances of seeing anything valuable in this. Most of what we'll get will be scrap, I'm sure."

She couldn't argue, and instead let her mind wander as the ship veered out of the hangar, leaving the suited up team behind as it headed for the last station, sized in between the first two. Her main concern was how she was going to get showered for the time being, but one look at the handler and the idea of 'sharing' water was out. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction. A better option would be some shore leave when they got back. That's something she could earn back without doing any extra work.

TDE-36C TransDelta Emergency Orbital Mooring

"We've vented what remains of the atmosphere. There wasn't much, but it will keep us from having any issues. We're moving forward."

With a sigh, the team lead looked around at the two with him, and shrugged at the response. They were on their own now, and Shiyuri probably wouldn't check in until they had something worth having. With no atmosphere, it left the team to move at a slow, steady pace, pushing carefully through broken stretches of station, including one part where there was an open gap that the team had to jump across, carefully avoiding the empty void of space. Eyes searched through the dim flickering light from the light strips, but the team's cybernetics made the dull glow even more eerie with the red highlighting where the cybernetics enhanced the view, allowing them to navigate the darkness confidently. Still, the silence was unsettling, so the team began to banter amongst themselves, picking through the wreckage in search of useful items or information.

"I heard you stepped on Shiyuri's tail the other day while she was in the lounge..."

Within moments the group was laughing to themselves as they picked at things, strapping useful items into the mesh along their backs, completely oblivious to what other presence may exist on board the station.

Larger Modular Station

Kara hurried forward, one of the SMGs clutched in her hands as she nearly danced across the deck plating. While much of it was bent or twisted, there were large areas of the station where it seemed reasonably intact, and Kara hurried through them quickly, dancing from one foot to another in anticipation of that one "Good Find" that would make the trip worth it. But it just kept her out in front of the rest of the group, while she hurried ahead where they slowed down. The undamaged parts of the station were the safest, but also the most likely to contain useful equipment, causing them to slow. After the first few halls of this, the team called out to her.

"Kara, girl, come on, you know how this works. We have to search everything."

"But the good stuff will be in the cargo modules, which are further along! We're only halfway!"

The older salvager sighed, shaking his head. "Yeah, but what's in those we can't get until Clementine is here. So that makes it pointless to hurry. Just cool it for a bit, girl. Relax for a moment. Let's get this done first, get somewhere we can gain control, and vent the station."

The thought made the woman groan, rolling her eyes. "Oh, come on, damage like this? You think that there will be survivors?"

The man hurried ahead of the rest of the group, exasperated, and caught her arm before she stepped into the next airlock. "Yes, I do. We'd have survivors if someone left this much of our station intact. And they may not be friendly. Most of them don't know what's going on outside, and look around you - this is weapons damage. This place got attacked. So cool it, stay with us, because we need you, and let us vent the place. Chances are anyone left will get spaced. It's also less likely to cause an explosion when that happens. A bunch of oxygen stored in one little place like this doesn't take much to set it off like a bomb."

The girl groaned over comms, bouncing up and down on her toes like she was a little girl anxiously awaiting the arrival of a treat. "Come on, we're not gonna be attacked. Let's just go look around, we don't want to stock up on all the stuff now only to have to put it down later."

The man didn't release her arm, continuing to scold her. "Actually, we do. If we're ordered off this ship, we want it to be with our arms full of things so high we can't see over them. Once we get them on our ship, chances are they can't do much to it, but if we leave this place or have them lying around, we can't come back and get them. So we want to be carrying everything we can if that happens. There's not much time for sorting through it."

As much as she hated it, the girl had to agree, but it didn't make the job any more fun. As it was, she was left standing around with five men and women who were spending their time seemingly looking at each particle of dust and assessing it for profit. It was far, far less interesting than she had at first expected. It was...boring, just like the other salvage missions. A lot of dead ground, torn metal, and flickering lights. If she was lucky.

It was several minutes later before the team had finished with the hallway, only the second of the station, and Kara was beginning to realize how long of a day it would be. To her surprise, the airlock they stepped into cycled properly, with emergency lights coming on almost as if things were running normally. Indeed, when the far door opened, smoke poured in, and flames continued to burn in this section, obscuring the far side of the chamber. It took her a moment to realize that this was a cargo loading section of the station, generally disconnected from the rest, and saved from the worst of the enemy fire. It provided the excitement she was hoping for, as her suit registered the rise in temperature to nearing dangerous levels almost immediately.

Hurrying forward, she ran directly into a choking, wheezing form that was desperately scrambling into the airlock, trying to get a lungful of air. Only her increased weight due to the cybernetics, and her own quick reflexes, saved her from being knocked over and flattened to the deck. Instead, she managed to keep her footing, pushing the boy reflexively back.

The boy was only about as old as she was, by her guess. Sixteen, maybe seventeen. His eyes showed the panic of the situation, and his hands reached out for her as he tumbled backward. His mouth hung agape as he tried to breath past the smoke that filled the section. For a moment she smiled, thinking of the way this could play out into a forbidden romance.

But her shove had pushed the boy into the waiting flames, and her small smile turned to a look of terrified realization as his screams filled the chamber. The super-heated flames from some unknown substance tore the boy in half even before he tumbled into them, and in a matter of seconds, he was gone from her sight, except for a single, flaming leg, the skin and clothing which had clung to it no longer recognizable. It looked like any other piece of debris.

Kara jumped, startled, as a hand clamped down on her shoulder, and a woman's voice broke through her surprise. Behind her, the team couldn't see her face, and their words were complimentary.

"Good thinking. He could have damaged your suit. We don't want that, it slows us down, and we don't have spares. Good to see a quick girl like you has a head on your shoulders. Nice of you to kill him quickly, and save ammo. Everyone wins, right?"

A few laughed, as they calmly walked in, and the lead salvager turned to a nearby console, looking at the flames in the room. A strange noise came over the radio, and she realized that the man was humming to himself as he worked. She forced herself to turn off the radio, scooting further into the room so that the rest of the team couldn't see the tears on her face. It didn't take long to find another body. And another. There were many in the area, and the way everything was set up made it look like it had been a market not long ago. Stalls had been set up, and gear and equipment lay around where it had fallen. She passed a stall where a body lay crushed under a heavy-looking engine, stepping gingerly over the bodies of the dead.

But a hand grabbed her leg, and she turned, raising her weapon. Sudden memory of the boy kept her from squeezing the trigger, however, and she looked in awe at the body that had grasped her. The thing may have been a man or a woman, but it had been splashed by acid from one of the batteries in a nearby stall, so it was almost impossible to tell. It had been laying face down, but now that it held her, she could see the damage the acid had done to the face, as well as the person's torso. Scraps of bloody flesh were sloughing off into the acid pool, and most of its face had burned away. A single eye, half-blind, gazed at her longingly, begging for protection or help. Kneeling, she pulled the body out of the acid, her hand coming away covered in the flesh and skin from the body's arm.

A piece of a smile appeared, but the body suddenly began to squirm, and the smoke that obscured everything suddenly began rushing upward. A roar filled her ears for a moment, and the air started pulling her upward. In an instant she had set the suit to hold her to the floor, but the body wasn't so lucky. It lifted, one of its legs breaking off and tumbling out the open vents into space, tumbling wildly, as the person's lungs tore themselves out of the thing's chest. Blood and flesh splattered across her suit and the last good eye exploded outward as well, splashing her faceplate. In an instant, it was over, and she was covered in blood, with a fist-full of acid-y flesh. The room was dead silent, and the fire and smoke were gone. She turned her radio back on, listening to the talk of how much of a wonderful find the room was. In silence, she moved around the room, trying to find something to do that didn't remind her that she couldn't get the rest of the skin off her suit's hand, and it lay hanging at her side, like a grim reminder.

[Nyte]

---

The Red Queen: Traveling

---

As always, leaving the Cambion Yards over Dispayre was a busy time for the crew of The Red Queen. With a hold full of fresh cargo, however, and their journey now under way, the crew had some time at least to get back into the swing of things after several weeks spent drinking, brawling, and whoring in a number of the seedier dives in the slums; and in general, wasting their paychecks on some of the "finer" things in life.

The first few weeks were spent traveling throughout some of the more civilized systems in the empire, and as the crew was still somewhat relaxed due to their earlier R&R on Dispayre, there were only a few incidents; most of which were minor scuffles as several of the newer members of the crew butted heads with several of the veterans. The situation, while fairly normal on civilian merchant vessels from the Empire, was kept well under control by The Red Queen's new Chief of Security, Horus Kader, who kept the situation from getting too out of control.

Horus' efforts had resulted in only a few broken bones; mostly minor ones, along with several crew members who were now short a significant number of teeth, and sporting rather fashionable purple bruises on various of the tender parts of their anatomy. Naturally, with many of these individuals being the poorly vetted scum that they were, several of these men, and one rather large, mannish looking woman, took some offense to this beating, and after several weeks meeting in various dark corners of The Red Queen, decided it would be a good idea to kill him; preferably painfully...

---

The Red Queen: Two Hours Out From The Amphina System

---

The bridge of The Red Queen was a dark, somewhat circular chamber lit only by the glowing screens of a handful of holographic projectors and terminals. Near the center of this chamber on a raised platform, Sara Foste, the captain of The Red Queen lounged comfortably on her heavily modified and luxuriously appointed command throne; a holo-pad in one hand, and a large mug of 'caffe held carefully in the other.

Taking a long sip from the hot, heavily caffienated beverage, Sara sighed in contentment before going back to reading what little information the Cambion Guild had managed to scrape up concerning the Avaika Trade Spur. Unfortunately, the information was somewhat lacking, a fact that caused the frown currently on Sara's otherwise beautiful face. Setting the holo-pad down for the time being, Sara immersed herself in the quiet murmur of her bridge crew going about their duties. The gentle noise was comforting, and even after several years of listening to it, Sara still found it to be relaxing, and for several minutes, she simply leaned back further into her overly padded command throne and let the noise wash over her.

"Captain!" A voice broke her from her nearly trance-like state.

Blinking a few times, Sara straightened up in her seat and turned to face the direction of the voice. "Hmm... What is it Mr. Malachai?"

"Ma'am, I'm picking up an automated distress signa out of the Amphina system. While the details are a bit lacking, they are requesting emergengy rescue and/or retrieval assistance. From the sound of it, they've taken a fair number of casualties, but it doesn't mention whether it was an attack, or some type of accident."

For a moment, the bridge was silent as this new bit of information sank in. Pinching the bridge of her nose, Sara looked out at the rest of her bridge crew, and ignoring the nervous looks on several of their faces she made her decision. "Mr. Malachai, please broadcast a ship-wide alert, and make a note in the ships log that as of 20:33:16 hours ship-time, I am authorizing unrestricted access to the ships armory. If we're heading into a potential fight, we may as well be ready." Exhaling loudly, Sara continued. "Also, send a message to Mr. Kader, as Chief of Security, I expect him to be able to come up with a few contingency plans to deal with this situation. Give him the details, and let him know that he has a little under two hours to prepare the men for whatever it is we're flying into."

"Yes ma'am" Malachai replied before quickly turning back to his station and getting to work. The mans rushed sounding voice quickly merged with the rest of the noise on the bridge as the crew got to work.

Taking another sip of her 'caffe to try to calm her nerves, Sara shivered slightly in her seat; in the back of her mind, she wondered why her usually comfortable chair had suddenly become anything but...

---

The Red Queen: Still Two Hours Out From The Amphina System

---

At the same time the bridge was recieving the distress call, Horus Kader was in the small training room that the crew used to run the occasional exercise or drill. He was a tall, lithe man, who moved like a predatory animal, and the pair of slender force swords whipping about like a pair of shining silver blurs as he skillfully moved about the room simply reinforced the image. Finishing his kata, Horus sheathed his blades, and picking up a large towel, he wiped the sweat from his face, and sat down on one of the few benches along the wall near the door.

Dropping the towel into his bag, Horus stood up to leave the room when the alert claxons began to blare with a long, drawn out WU-UB, WU-UB, WU-UB. Horus reacted immediately; a product of his former life in the military; one hand neatly drawing one of his sheathed blades, and the other, reflexively reaching up to activate the comm-bead in his ear.

"What the fuck is going on Mr. Malachai?" He belted out in a voice he'd had little reason to use in the year since he'd been given an honorable discharge from the army.

The voice on the other end of the comm-bead sounded tinny, and slightly nervous. "Sir, we've received an automated distress call from the Amphina system... Few details, but there could be hostiles of an unknown number and type present... I'm sending the full message to your holo-pad now."

Re-sheathing his blade, Horus pulled the pad from his bag and quickly scrolled through the message... Taking his silence as permission to continue, Malachai went on. "The captain's ordered a ship-wide alert, and unrestricted access to the ships armory, and she wants you to organize a few contingencies for the situation... You know, worse case scenario shit and all that... Err... Sir."

For a moment, Horus simply tuned the man out as he absorbed the message on the pad. Moving as he read, Horus quickly left the training room. Finally, after reading through the message a second time, he replied. "How long do we have Mr. Malachai?"

"Uhh... A little under an hour and forty-five minutes sir. At that point we'll be dropping out of FTL and right in the middle of whatever's the hell's going on."

Horus simply hmm'd at the news. "Let the captain know I'll be on the bridge in an hour'n forty... Out." With that Horus closed the channel... Already several half-formed plans were running through his head, and they gained detail the closer he got to his quarters.

An hour and forty minutes Horus thought to himself... It should be childsplay...

[Azura]

Main Command Deck, the Explorator / Scout Vessel Ferociter
Sidusclasse of the Primareliqua — Shakedown Campaign of Commander Caen, Mission Day 279.2

"We are approaching the terminus of the signal, sir."

The hum of monitoring equipment and human activity was beginning to reach a blistering crescendo, coinciding with the entry into a hitherto-unexplored star system. Lynom's fingers were caustically running over scar tissue on the back of his neck, lost for any other purpose in the growing suspense of the moment. Return signals were being relayed by the ship's EAS manifest, belying the notion that solitude would be had, much to his chagrin. Other ships were in the vicinity, making his margin for error very slim indeed. It was practical to assume that other species might attempt to investigate the distress beacon, being emitted across a broad spectrum; it was also practical to assume that an antagonistic rendezvous with a violent race was also eminent. He had to proceed with extreme caution, if he meant to return alive from his first command.

Caen quickly turned towards Commander Reviers, motioning him over towards Tobin's panel. "Fix the position with the intercept officer and plot our course. We don't want to overshoot our target and wind up chasing shadows all day."

"It shall be done, sir," Jayne responded briskly, turning towards Tobin. "Intercept Officer, fix position and chart our path."

Tobin had responded affirmatively, but the Captain was already beginning to phase out of the happenings again. No matter how hard he tried to break from the memories of the Peregrinorum, his waking conscience pricked at his soul, infusing the poison of his past into every discernible action. He became aware of shallow breaths, pointed and sharp, and no other sound in the control center. The deck was the hive of the Ferociter, a nexus of activity and motion, but his eyes could only see the dark and blood-smeared halls of the Peregrinorum, bodies strewn across tables and panels, sinew and gristle left in the wastes of human remains, unidentifiable and pained. The macabre smell of decaying, necrotic flesh, and the sensation of searing pain that preceded the agonizing screams of the damned, the mutilated damned—

You weren't fast enough after all. There really was no escape from Hell...

Caen shuddered involuntarily, extending his hand out to his seat as discreetly as he could, hoping to avoid arousing any suspicion. The flood had abated in his mind for a time, and the respite allowed him to claw his way back into the reality of the moment. Lynom quickly shot a look towards his weapons officer, Madagan Lynne, who was quietly recalibrating her targeting sensors. Slowly, he began to clasp a hold onto the training that he had received, understanding that to continue to serve, he would be forced to adapt to the Sidusclasse way. Briefly flirting with the idea of excusing himself, Caen instead decided to side step the command seat and move towards his executive officer, who was busy studying Tobin's monitor with great intent. If the two of them were to establish a working rapport with one another, he would have to demonstrate his willingness to adapt.

The expectations of the Primareliqua were to explore the quadrant with renewed vigor, expanding in lieu of cultural stagnation on the homefront. Lynom could at least appreciate the intent; the Poinsettia Confederacy was in the same process, prior to the cataclysm that had destroyed their home system two decades prior. The Primareliqua in many ways reminded him of the Confederacy—not incidental of course, considering the shared ancient history of the two peoples—but it was still foreign-enough to him to make him feel out of place. The desire to command and to excise the demons from his soul was a powerful tether to what slim grasp of reality he still held. It was a constant battle to suppress the fears of the renewed horrors, and to navigate through the storm to some semblance of hope on the other side; safe passage through the forlorn hope of the galaxy.

A deadly serious pursuit that will either lead to salvation or utter destruction.

Amidst his internal musings, Commander Reviers had moved back towards the Captain, holding a small inset from the main monitoring console. He straightened the collar of his uniform, extending the viewer to Lynom. "We have our initial in-system analysis of the signal complete, sir. Here's what we have so far."

Caen commenced to reading the brief report, using his thumb on the screen to scan past the diagnostic readout for the more informative case file. He could feel the importance of the report even as he read: "This is a sight more helpful than our first intercept, wouldn't you say Commander Reviers?"

"Quite, sir; the system we are in is called the Amphina System, and it is considered the abode of the 'Avaikan Mandate'. Our computers have no information on this race, but what limited information we were able to gather from our scans indicate that humanoids are—or were—present in this system. Apparently this system is considered a wayfaring point for quadrant commerce and trade caravans, if we interpret the data correctly."

Lynom frowned, skipping ahead towards the end of the executive summary. "So it's not an uninhabited region, which means whatever happened here becomes more important to solve. If they were attacked, their enemies have no reservations about hitting populated targets of humanoid civilizations. What about the source of the beacon?"

Reviers turned towards their main sensor readout, motioning for the Captain to follow him. "Our sensors suggest that our mystery distress beacon was activated from the second planetary body in the system, Amphina II as it were. There appears to be some sort of outpost on the planet; the computer calculates a high probability of the signal emanating from this location."

"What about the planet itself?" Caen asked intently, looking over his shoulder towards the crew. "What's the report?"

"The planet has no discernible atmosphere; the facility must have an artificial atmosphere generator, or else a chemical supply compliment." Reviers looked away from the console to focus squarely on the Captain. "I can't tell if the outpost still has life support functioning; whatever happened may have severely compromised their internal systems."

"Any life signs?" The Captain asked laconically, aware of the direction the conversation was going.

"It's hard to say; our scanners aren't configured to interface with their systems direct, but it doesn't appear that they're functioning anyhow," Reviers commented. Then, he added quietly: "Sir, we do have our Spiramen suits on board..."

Caen could feel the tension knotting up in his chest at the mere mention of going down onto the surface of the planet. The foreign contacts in the system were a significant cause for concern, and without a firm understanding of what they would be venturing down into, the chances of something catastrophic happening were increasing exponentially. At the same time, Caen knew that his credibility with Reviers was waning by the day, and a failure to act on the protocols laid out by the Sidusclasse in his mission parameters would earn him discrediting by the fleet and a permanent retirement to some one-room apartment in the slums of Poinsettia's exsul colony. Lynom chewed on his lip, weighing the balance of his circumstance, trying to choose correctly. They still hadn't ruled out the involvement of his good friends, the Sar'Rithril. Running into them on the outpost would be disastrous.

"Do you really think going to the surface is a wise idea?" He said with baited breath, doing everything in his power to keep an even keel. "I'm not opposed to it inherently, but we have several unknowns that could pose a threat to the vessel while our party is on the surface."

"Prudence dictates a closer look, sir," Jayne said forcefully, already engaging in an attempt to sway the Captain to his line of thinking. "If we do have a new enemy presence active in the quadrant, General Consensus will need as much intelligence as possible."

"And what of the other ships in this sector? Should we just ignore them wholesale? Once our landing party disembarks, it's twenty minutes from orbit to the site of the outpost, which means twenty minutes back assuming they're in the runabout when the call comes in. If they're not, the ship could be destroyed before they even fired their engines."

"Captain, protocol is—"

"Damn it!" Caen cursed under his breath, his eyes blazing with intensity. "Do not lecture me on the fucking protocols, Commander; I'm well aware of what's expected of me and my command. I'm simply preparing the ground for all possibilities here."

"Sir, you are aware that my first responsibility is to the safety of this crew aboard this ship, correct?"

"I am, Commander."

"Then sir, you know where we now stand. I have weighed the consequences of a landing expedition privily, and believe that as your executive officer, it is my duty to request that an investigation be carried out. The sooner we leave, the sooner we can return to the ship."

The Captain shook his head, feeling the crushing weight of dread impress upon him the gravity of the situation. There was nothing he could do to dissuade Reviers from requesting a formal investigation on the planet surface, and there was nothing he wanted more than to avoid the outpost like a cancerous plague. Even so, the thought of being marooned on a colony world, living life in the filth of silence was an even bigger threat to his psyche. If there was some great force on the planet waiting for them, then perhaps he would finally find some measure of solitude for his troubled soul. At worst, he would only be torn limb-from-limb, watching in his final moments of agonizing consciousness as a Sar'Rithrilian harvester began to peel the flesh from his skull. Perhaps things would work out better than that particular option; it was possible that things may go smoothly...

You're out of options, anyway; might as well take the bait and play along while you still can.

"—So..." Reviers asked, studying Caen's face cautiously. "What is the order, sir?"

The Captain closed his eyes, steeling himself for the words that were preparing to emanate from his lips, then opened them wide. "We'll use the Navicula to send a landing party to this facility. We'll investigate and make our report to General Consensus expediently. As expediently as can be made possible, I guess."

"Excellent, Captain," Reviers said with contentment spreading across his features. "I will assemble my team and—"

"That won't be necessary, Commander."

The smile on Reviers's face dissipated almost as quickly as it had appeared. "Sir?"

Lynom placed his arms behind his back, nodding. "Captain's prerogative. I'll lead the team; you take the bridge."

[Serukta Sehkrisaal]

TDE-36C TransDelta Emergency Orbital Mooring, High Orbit
^{Amphina II, Amphina System, Avaikan Mandate, Delta Quadrant — 11:19:20.0014 GSY}
The sound of footfalls - slow, deliberate - carried upward through the shaken, warped, and shattered superstructure of TransDelta's emergency mooring outpost. Nearly fifteen minutes had passed since the auxiliary generator's bearings had ground, seizing to a calamitous halt, filling the station with their racket and the dull rattle of steel deforming under pressure. He - general mechanic and engineering inspector for the hulk of bent metal and nano-ceramic that was once his currently stationed outpost - looked upward toward the dim, emergency sparklers that hung above, encased in aluminum cages like blushing prisoners; they had been flickering before they ever boarded, but he knew they were on their last leg. Five, perhaps ten minutes and he'd be forced to rely solely on the chem-strips themselves; the visor of his ASDC-issued pressure suit had limited low-lighting capability, be as he crouched in the small, maintenance storage quarter, he knew that it wouldn't be long before he wouldn't need to rely on his eyes for sight.

The small cylinder nearly fell from his hands as his thoughts drifted; his consciousness jerked back into his skull the moment he felt the small, metallic rod slip from the edge of his gloves. A quick scramble saved his life, and for a brief instant he seriously considered simply surrendering to them. He'd done free trader work before; it was, after all, a warrant that originally brought him into the welcoming fold of the Avaikan Self-Defense Corps. For one reason or another - perhaps it was his belligerence, or perhaps it was merely the Mandate's considerable lack in personnel with technical skills - they'd offered him a choice between the hangman's rope or "enlistment". At the time, it was a decision he made purely to save his own neck; in truth, he thought he'd make his way out of their jurisdiction long before they ever realized his commitment to the cause was far from sincere. Then he met her.

The sounds of creaking grav-plating broke his concentration, a thin sliver of duct tape hanging from the corner of his mouth. Craning his neck, he pressed the side of his helmet against the dividing bulkhead of the room - what separated the maintenance center from a central passage corridor. He could hear them; they were still moving. 'Storage,' he estimated, silently, to himself; no doubt attempting to pilfer whatever could be found there. 'Let them,' he thought, slipping the strip of duct tape around the end of the silvery cylinder, seizing a small, tactile mole into place along its end. A single wire, sheathed in plastic of a faded-orange tone, ran from beneath the strip, its terminus hanging free.

Back before they came, the petty officer - the engineer - had lead a fairly quiet life. For a moment he let himself smile: it was six years to the day since he had met her. It didn't take long for them to start a family. Together they had one child - a girl - and a son on the way. That morning he had been looking forward to the coming leave: only four days out, as he recalled; he'd only been sent to the emergency mooring outpost for routine inspection to begin with, little more than a check-up. Four days more and he would have joined her - would have joined his family - back in Tavoss. He knew they could have lived better lives on Avaesia, but Tavoss IV was cheaper - less costly. Living was simple in the terraforming complexes, but his position within the Corps granted them, at least, a small apartment in the barracks they could call their own. It wasn't much, he knew, and he had promised that one day things would get better; he worked whenever there was an opportunity, a nearly incessant volunteer for a government he had once found himself willing to abandon. In the six years since, however, it had been that very same regime that had given his life purpose, given him a salary, and had contrived the circumstances which allowed him - a gnarled free trader with a penchant for brigandage - the chance at peace, the chance at love.

He had taken it without hesitation.

Sudden noise. The engineer jerked his head upward, listening; somewhere, a part of the station had once again broken free and slid off into the void. Their footsteps were closer now. 'They're on this level,' was the notion that came to his mind, quickening his pace considerably. Several more strips of tape affixed the small circuit board and touch digital panel to the narrow cylinder; a small, red gloss sticker indicated only "0.5 GRAMS" on its surface. He resisted the sudden urge to give the metallic pod the paint can treatment, instead setting it down - his care ginger and deliberate - between his bent knees. A flick of his finger and the small digital panel came to life; the three lights on its surface all flashed yellow once, twice, three times before diminishing to a single flashing yellow light.

When they had arrived, the course of time and its effects moved with a decisiveness he almost felt as vindictive. He didn't remember hearing any warning; no alerts had screamed across the announcement system. Nothing had come through his personal communications headset. It hadn't taken more than one, two hits, and they were drifting; the half-dozen further were more than overkill. The first hit had disabled the powerplant itself, and the sudden instability in the fuel storage chamber had set-off a chain reaction, cleaving the station nearly in half. The second took the bunks; somehow he had managed to be between safety airlocks during the time, a pressure suit barely an arm's length away. At the time he'd thought it was fate looking out for him; then he realized the two shuttles were drifting away. At some point, they had been shredded as well.

He'd never known pirates to be so thorough, to be so certain. Until they had came in through the airlock, he had briefly entertained the idea of some invasion - potentially from Gamma itself. He knew of the stories, of the tales, of the drunken diatribe free colonists spewed whenever their was a chance at tail. He'd never given them much thought, but in that hour of despair, many ideas had crossed his mind. A glance to his left, to the small sidearm, called out him as a beacon of a memory all-too-recent. Then they returned. They came back. They were here, to do what he had done so many years before: to salvage, to steal, and to remove whatever witnesses remained. At first the notion of stealing their shuttle crossed his mind, but he was outnumbered and he knew it; the shuttle leaving, dropping-off its ill-begotten cargo likes ticks, fleas, and other parasites only confirmed it.

The small computer on his pressure suit began to beep into his ear. The petty officer glanced down: three percent of the suit's oxygen reserves remained. Sometime during his preparation, they had vented what little atmosphere remained aboard the station, leaving his situation all the more dire. Of course, he knew, it mattered very little. At best, their shuttle would return with more of them than were already aboard; a simple sidearm with eight rounds wasn't going to cut it. He'd need reinforcements, and he'd already checked the ansible array with little luck. 'Nope,' he thought, pressing the screen of the digital panel, the last two lights flashing yellow, before all three switched to green, 'This is the end of the line for this old rat.'

He could hear them approaching, perhaps a corridor over. He was out of time - almost. There would be no more chances; no more opportunities to flee. She and their children would have to go-on without him; one, he knew, would never even know his face. It was the least he could do, however, to take a few of them with him. To give them even a semblance of help for to ensure that they wouldn't get another chance, either. There were no more chances for him, and if it meant removing any more from them to allow her - to allow his progeny - their own... 'So be it.'

Petty Office Ingram Koros pressed the digital panel once. The lights immediately flashed yellow once, twice, a third time before the sparklers glowed red; one pop, and the small, metallic cylinder of anti-matter fuel ruptured.

---

---

NAVOS Freight & Cargo Distribution Depot, High Orbit
^{Amphina II, Amphina System, Avaikan Mandate, Delta Quadrant — 11:19:20.0014 GSY}
"Shut up," Dessex barked into his headseat, giving a scornful glance to the two free traders behind him before turning back to press his body against the airlock, straining to listen. Dessex was a lithe, gaunt, bald man; he'd always seemed to teeter somewhere between an athletic build and the first stages of malnourishment through much of his life. His mother use to force feed him the nutrient dribble she called "stew", but it never stuck. In the dawn of middle age, he doubted he'd ever appear as anything more than a cruel skeleton of a man, but it didn't much bother him. For years he'd been a free trader; not corrupt, but not pristine, he was happy to march through the gray. Whatever kept food on his plate, credits in his pocket, and Grime in his pipe would do; he wasn't much of a man looking for wealth, just comfort. The fact he was willing to do what was necessary for that comfort, however, is now why he stood with a brute and a man smelling distinctly of abject fear and a pressure suit filled with a coward's bowels.

"Yea', yea' sure," one of the free trader's responded: the brute known as "Joplin". He was a fan of Solarian classical music: Lynyrd Skynyrd, Hank Williams, and - of course - Janis Joplin - the artist whose name he had been branded sometime during his adolescence. To say Joplin was a brute was somewhat of an understatement, but it was often the first descriptor that came to the minds of men who met him: standing at almost seven feet tall, nearly as broad, and sporting a dual set of augmented lift-limbs, he was a brick wall of a trader that on more than one occasion had bet a man whether or not he could bite off the head of a bullet. To date, Joplin never had to pay-out.

Third member of the impromptu party of survivors that stood situated toward the sealed airlock of one of the distribution station's cargo modules was Beeder. Neither Dessex nor Joplin knew much about Beeder, spare for the fact he was a company man: chief distribution officer for NAVOS Freight & Cargo aboard the station. Joplin and Dessex had found him cowering in the corner of a storage closet a few minutes before the atmosphere had been vented and the remaining artificial gravity had been disengaged. As far as Dessex was concerned, he was hardly useful; he suspected Joplin thought even less in regards to the man that smelled distinctly of urine.

"They're in there; three, maybe four of them," Dessex remarked, continuing to listen. The solid metal of the airlock did little to make the process easier, but the cohort nearby were walking, Dessex guessed, with mag-locks on, given they had - in all likelihood - been the ones to shut off the creature comforts of gravity and atmosphere.

"W— Wha— What are we g— going to do?" the NAVOS officer questioned, barely able to restrain the chattering of his jaw. A heavy slam from Joplin nearly sprawled him to the floor.

"Why, boy, we're goin' to give 'em one hell of a show," the brute ushered through a quiet chuckle.

"We're going to have to do something," Dessex pulled back from the airlock, racking a round into his Grivsson "Hellhammer" 11mm pistol. The magazine count read "forty-five". "They're in between us," he jerked a thumb across his shoulder, "and the shuttle - again, assuming it's still in one piece."

"Wha— What about h— his?" the scrawny, toilet of a man questioned, tipping his helmet toward Joplin.

"Got fuck'd during the start of this shit." The statement was gruff, and Joplin's tone indicated a fresh, bitter wound in regards to the circumstance of his loss. "Got plow'd during the first blows," he continued, "Damn near snapp'd clean off t' station. Don't ask m' by what, she was under Corps lock. Guess they were a 'ittle fuckin' suspicious about m' cargo."

"You were hauling six thermo warheads," Dessex confirmed nonchalantly, not bothering to turn away from the airlock's control panel to which his attention was primarily affixed.

"Well, fuckin' yeah," Joplin didn't bother to hide it, "and they're som'where on t'is fuckin' hulk. I bet up in t' ASDC office; we'd know if they'd been blown."

"Wait," Beeder stepped back, "You— You brought thermonuclear munitions on this station? You brought anti-shipping weapons onto NAVOS property? You're never going to see the light of day again! I'm going to make sure this gets reported to the Mandate authorities, they're going to want to he—"

Dessex's fist plowed into Beeder's chest before Joplin ever had a chance to move, immediately silencing the distribution officer. "I said, 'Shut the fuck up,'" he whisper-shouted into his headset, "Not to mention, I doubt the Corps fuckin' cares. They've got more important things to worry about than an illegal smuggling operation - regardless of what was being smuggled."

The NAVOS officer was still trying to catch his breath; he'd nearly caved under Dessex's assault, but managed to stay upright by grasping a nearby crate for support. He, briefly, contemplated speaking, but thought better of it, choosing rather to rub his chest through the padding of his orange pressure suit.

"All right," Dessex remarked through Beeder's wheezing, "Here's what's going to happen: when I open this door, we're going to go. We're going to try and make it through whoever decided right now was a good time to pick this place over; we're going to get to the shuttle; then we're going to high-tail it."

"A'right!" Joplin's drawl cut through the air as cleanly as a rusted cleaver through fatback. He adjusted his weight, hefting the 14.6mm slug-thrower into his arms with a grace that betrayed his augmented limbs, cocking its firing arm into place and disengaging its safety.

"That's your plan?" Beeder finally managed to retort, "Run? Run through... who knows how many people? Just run? Are you fucking crazy? We won't make it ten feet into there; at best it's, what, three-against-four? Five? Ten? A hundred? No. N— No. I'm staying here; the ASDC will send someone to get me."

"I don't think anyon' would waste t'eir time," the brute chuckled to himself.

"Listen, Beeder," Dessex didn't bother to respond to Joplin, "you can stay here if you want, but I don't think anyone is coming for you. If they were, they would have by now. There were, what: thirty people on this wreck? Including your boss? Your boss is more important than you, and even though I'm pretty damn sure I saw him - or what was left of him - about an hour ago, if they were going to come for anybody, it'd be him. And they haven't."

What remains of color still were present on Beeder's face began to drain.

"Now," the lithe, free trader went on, "I admit, this isn't much of a plan. But my shuttle is on the other side of the people next door, and our only other place to go is back. Now either we can try and catch them off guard, and maybe make it, or we can wait for them to find us, and I don't think you'd like that certain outcome anymore than the possible outcome for this. Your call."

Neither Dessex nor Joplin waited for Beeder's response. By the time the decision crossed the NAVOS' officer's mind, Dessex had already pulled the small tube from his suit's pocket and reached for the airlock control's manual lever. A flick of his thumb activated the small cylinder, and a turn of his wrist jerked the lever downward. In an instant, the door was blown clean from its track and slid upward with a force great enough to shake the bulkhead; a moment later and Dessex's flash-bang was flying through the center of the cargo module turned improvised station market, filling the chamber with its brilliant luminescence and roaring thunder. The characteristic clatter of gunfire and the thudding stomp of mag-lock boots followed.

[Valinon]

Amphina

Cadell felt the muscles at the back of his jaws bunch and his mouth drew to a flat, thin line. General broadcast distress calls were among the best examples of explainable galactic idiocy on either side of the Core. It made perfect sense as a mechanism to preserve life and limb of any survivors and attracted any sort of vulture that may be lurking in the volume.

The system map was becoming increasingly cluttered to prove the point. The Ferrets and recon drones were tracking the progress of The Akash Wolf, a Kiith vessel identified as Ro-Loytaa, and the Huerdaen shuttle. CIC was still trying to isolate records on the Kiith vessel beyond its corporate registration. OVA was aware that the Kiith were sending a diplomatic mission to the Mandate, but it seemed unusual for the mission to divert its course en route to Avaika. The Technocracy’s vessel was continuing its course toward the only confirmed survivor when the Mandate’s orbital mooring started to flash.

He glanced at the XO, ‘Salvagers are venting the remaining atmosphere. Make sure we highlight that in the archive. The Mandate will not look favourably on such an action when there is still an active distress beacon.’

‘They’ll claim it was after they searched for survivors.’

‘In this amount of time? That claim isn’t worth a damn, even if they were considered an official investigation. Still, I’m surprised their parent ship hasn’t shown itself. Commence a second recon drone seeding focusing on the outer system. If they’re being coy in the Kuiper Belt, I want them found and tracked. Any word from the Technocracy’s ship?’

‘No, sir. Comms is still trying to raise it using their drone. What about the Kiith vessel?’

Cadell’s fingers drummed on the arm of his chair. Contacting a vessel registered with Kiith government would be a simple affair, but the Ro-Loytaa’s conflicting status made the course of action less clear. Still, there was little love lost between the Kiith and the HSE.

There was also the complication if the Kiith carried out the search and rescue functions that were more than part of the Gaul’s mission in the system.

‘Have Comms paint them with another drone. Share the same package we flagged for the Wolf, but include a brief summary that we are observing a possible illegal salvage observation that may be endangering any survivors. We appreciate any support for search and rescue observations that Ro-Loytaa can render, but request discretion when it comes to our investigation and possible apprehension of any criminals that may or may not have played a role in the destruction of Mandate property and the death of its citizens.’

‘Do we include anything about the missing mothership?’

‘No. They can deduce that on their own, or they won’t. I expect they can follow our logic unless their captain slipped through the usually solid selection criteria of the Kiith.’

Cadell’s muse drew at least part of the Sephirot’s attention. He felt the presence through his n-plants - well-grooved machinery that followed multiple tasks without interruption.

’Yes, Kapitän?’

’Take control of the nearest Ferret and run an insertion package on what’s left of the local comms. We will need to look for other survivors besides the one the Wolf is taking care of for us. Hijacking it will also eliminate the need to expend additional comm drones on the inner system.

The SI’s presence vanished and one of the Ferrets started to move closer to Amphina II. A blue line appeared, connecting the cruiser’s position to one within the second planetary system, the latest navigation update on the microjump.

Kader drifted back from the comms section in the rear left quadrant of the bridge. Cadell stood and walked through his station’s projection toward the bridge’s main display.

‘We’re missing something.’

An Obermaat from the sensor section approached, ‘Sir, our second Ferret picked up an unusual contact near the planet. We overlooked it during initial observation as it was moving without power and blended in with the background radiation left over the attack.’

‘Show me,’ Cadell nodded toward the display and a new view of the Amphina II planetary system spawned. A new counter was moving through the orbital debris around the planet, moving into a high orbit around it.

‘We believe it could be the nuclear pulse briefly detected in the outer system before being lost by our sensor drones. The ship could have proceeded in-system at low power or only on inertia. It was dismissed as orbital debris until this,’ the rating gestured to the projection as new counters drifted away from the ship. ‘The drones noted it but review by their group suggested debris breaking up, until the seeding event stopped and the ship continued on course.’

Cadell nodded, ‘Someone doesn’t want to be found, even by the salvagers. Look at the wide berth they were carefully to give any of the orbitals.’

The presence of the Sephirot returned.

’Neither I nor the the CIC RIs possess any record matching this ship. There are seven near matches, none that are within acceptable margins of error for modifications or operated by nations active in these volumes.’

’Complete the insertion package ASAP and revert the drone back to Eyes.’

Cadell glanced at the rating’s name badge, ‘Mabe, the second Ferret will be given back to you shortly. Monitor the ship with the in-bound sensor drones and platforms as best able until then. Afterwards, redirect the second Ferret and keep its mate focused on the Huerdaen shuttle.’

‘Aye, sir.’

Cadell glanced at Libby, ‘It’s too small to have torn apart the outpost, but it clearly does not want to be seen. Either it’s a second group of salvagers or its something else. Their profile suggests military or high-end mercenaries. I want the Precentors ready to scramble immediately after a jump. We may need to chase down both the shuttle and whoever that is.’

******

As the Ferret above the ecliptic directed its attention drifted back toward stricken orbitals, the three conjoined hexagonal shapes of Kriegsmarine sensor drones started to shift using retard gravimetrics. They were the first flight sent from the cruiser. Two additional flights followed them, drifting to establish the rhomboid sweeping pattern preferred when observing a planetary system. The collective working group leading the drones with periodic refinements from the commsats started to adjust their follow-up pattern to account for the new drift.

Maintaining their strictly passive observation, the lead drones started to feed what little information they could gather on the silent ship ahead of them. Their associated intelligences (ais) started to adapt their course through the debris field ahead, already posing problems that would likely result additional navigation adjustments. An impact was wholly unacceptable. The attendant detonation would create entirely too much interest.

Contemplating their actions, the lowly drones were overtaken by the second Ferret approaching from below the ecliptic. The Sephirot hunted for outlying commsats from the ASDC or corporate deployments. It needed a vessel for an insertion package - a semi-sentient replicator and intrusion entity that could run in most systems. Sometimes used for more direct applications, the SI limited this specific package to focus on hijacking the local nets for observation purposes and to communicate with survivors. It would also upload the mission authorisation provided by the Mandate, along with ASDC emergency codes.

[Red Talons]

Amphina System
Transfer Orbit,
North polar hemisphere Amphina II

The Akash Wolf continued it's burn, a stream of pale blue charged gas trailing far behind the small craft. A cloud of glittering motes drifted around the vessel. Each a member of a small swarm of optic drones, some of which peeled off and began to fan out into a much broader cloud. Each of which could comfortably fit into a breadbox, effortlessly keeping pace and adjusting course as needed.

The atmosphere of the command deck was tense. It was not often that vessels found themselves operating alone, and both officers and crew were well aware that they were at best hours away from allied support.

"Array is opening, we've managed to compile most of the passive sensor data floating in. Something shot this place up good. Definitely evidence of targeted strikes. The surface atmosphere is safe on the spectral readouts, except for, well, being as breathable as space." The sensors officer spoke, keeping attention focused on the station console.

"Probably mercs, or pirates. A professional force wouldn't leave survivors..." Aziz spoke quietly, a cold tone in his voice.

As they watched, the display showed the expanding sphere representing the ping wash over the planet. Anything watching would see three successive ripples of chernkov radiation sweep through the system from where the Akash Wolf had been. The three pulses lighting up every object in their path with a momentary halo. It would take a few minutes for the emissions to be seen by the vessels sensors. Give or take a matter of minutes for any other vessel with it's optics looking at the right spectrum.

"We've got Tac pulse return... now. System is processing the data." The sensor station diligently reported.

Contacts lit up on the holographic display, shining points of yellow light. Each representing an actively moving object Followed briefly by hundreds of smaller indicators showing 'dead' objects. Now it was the Tactical officer's turn to speak. "Craft confirmed, all silhouettes unrecognized in the registry save for one, which is a partial match for Kiith Federation."

Malka frowned slightly, standing up from her chair to examine the display closer. "Fan out the array to full spread. I want passive tracking on everything still moving in the system, plot flight paths and-"

She was cut off as the communications officer spoke up. "Incoming data request, source unknown."

"Tracking it... It looks to be a autonomous craft, too small to be manned I think, probably a drone." The sensors officer reported.

"Open the channel." Malka said, considering the possibilities as she waited.

"It's a data transfer request, identification and what looks like a mission statement. Shall I reply in kind?" The communication officer asked.

Malka considered, returning to her seat and reading through the data received. "Yes, respond with our identification and orders. Tell them how long ago we arrived and ask the same of them"

The officer nodded and went about responding, one of the optic drones firing a tight beam signal back at the Cruiser's comsat. Silently exchanging information across the void.

The navigation officer called off their estimated time to orbit at five minutes, the vessel's main drives cut out, and it began to gently and silently decelerate as it got closer and closer to the gravity well of Amphina II.

"We have contact, ground based signal responding on local radio channel." The communications officer said excitedly.

Malka looked to Aziz, "Once we get into orbit, I want you to look around out there for anyone alive on the ground, starting with the source of that signal." She paused before continuing much louder. "Kill the general broadcast. Open the com, let's hear it."

The sounds of the panicked Corporal Brannin filled the dimly lit room. Some of the bridge crew exchanging worried glances. Malka keyed the system, speaking a slightly accented but clear Galactic Standard. "This is Ship Commander Malka, please calm yourself, panic will only hurt you right now. We are on our way down to help, can you tell me what happened? How many are there with you?"

After releasing the button, she sat back and waited. The Navigation officer signaled their arrival in orbit, Malka looked to Aziz. The S'arr had already settled back in his chair, tracing a finger across the bronzed metal band that he wore around his neck. His eyes closed in concentration as he slipped into a trance.

Aziz relaxed, closing out the sounds of the bridge. For a time, everything was black. Then light exploded, everywhere in his vision like a kaleidoscope of rainbows. Like a switch had been flipped, it began to fade almost as fast as it had began. Aziz didn't flinch, he simply pushed through it. As the light faded, he could see the planet below him. He focused his will, reaching out as he descended lower, feeling, listening. Searching for the glimmers of sentient thought on the battle scarred surface below... He moved lower, his perception began to get hazy, but he could feel the faint spark of a mind. Flickering, like seeing a light through foliage. He moved lower still, the ship a distant speck in his vision. The haze intensified as he moved on, requiring more and more of his focus to see through. He could see one flicker, then another somewhat close. Both faint but definitely there...

It took a matter of moments, though to him it might as well have been hours. Aziz suddenly sat up, gasping a breath and immediately clutching his head. "Winds and Flares, there is something going on... I've never felt interference like this before... I managed to locate survivors though... I'm not exactly sure how many."

He stood, still massaging his head as he walked to the display, tapping at the console and marking the locations on the planet. "Here, and here... That is what I was able to see..."

Malka nodded and keyed the ship's com. "Senka, prep rescue and retrieval teams, we'll be deploying as soon as we're down. I'm routing the data we have to the briefing room."

As she spoke she tapped at the console on her chair, relaying up to the minute data from the optic drones on the two sites. One of which was Outpost four itself, the other, the outlying post with a very panicked Corporal inside.

Briefing room, Barracks.

Senka looked over the information displayed on the hologram above the table in the front of the room. Within a short few minutes various individuals trickled in. The Task Force consisted of just over twenty five, most of whom were fairly new even though Senka could recognize all of them. She waited patiently for the last one to enter and the door to close behind. "Alright, here's the sit-rep. We have location on two probable survivor locations. Since we still don't know for sure why, who, or what tore this place a dozen new orifices, we're going in blind. We'll be split into three teams. Team one will be myself and Kintesh's Unit. Team two will be Digresh and Kai'arn's Units. The rest of you will be in Team three led by Ilvren."

She paused a moment to let them all murmur their complaints about the lack of intelligence regarding the situation. A few of the officers exchanging wary glances. Senka growled audibly before continuing in a clear and loud voice. "Teams one and two will be dropped here, at site Alpha, near as we can tell it used to be some kind of central complex. Team one will be handling recon of the structure and Team two will handle survivors. Team three will be dropped at Site Beta," As she spoke the display was shifting between locations. "This site looks to be open ground, but it's the source of an active com signal. Three's objective will be the same as Two, locate and secure survivors for extraction, in addition you will be performing perimiter recon on this." The view panned back to show a dust obscured image of a large rounded structure near Site two. Senka continued without missing a beat. "I want all Crewman geared for search and rescue, everyone else preps for full combat. We drop in two minutes."

The holographic display winked out, the last image showing the planned drop paths from high altitude. The task force filed back out to the armory to get geared up for drop. Senka following behind them...

Command Deck.

Malka and Aziz watched as the display screens around the room began to show the surface of the planet, creeping up from the floor like a grey brown curtain. Rising steadily until it settled roughly half way up the screen. The blasted landscape of the planet stretching around them. As the ship settled into position fifty kilometers above the surface, Malka keyed the ship's com once again. "Senka, we're in position, you may drop when ready."

A crackled affirmative came back before the twenty seven members of the task force stepped out one of the ventral cargo bay access hatches.

[Serukta Sehkrisaal]

Local Debris Field, Three Kilometers from Outpost Number Four
^{Amphina II, Amphina System, Avaikan Mandate — 11:19:20.0014 GSY}
Melissa had been crying into her emergency transponder for what seemed like hours, though her heads-up indicated it had only been a matter of minutes; her throat had grown hoarse and moisture trailed down her cheeks, flush with sweat and panic as they were. She couldn't take her eyes off the golden oval in the distance, and the zooming display of her visor had done little to quiet her frayed nerves. Even at nearly a kilometer out from its dust-strewn base, the crackling zoom-lens upon her helmet was able to discern details: the object had at least six meters above the surface crater it sat within, its surface a metallic gold and trimmed with intricate gray-etchings where protective plate had been, at some point, scorched - likely on sudden impact. What set her nerves aflame, however, sending a shrill jitter of panic down to the base of her spine, wer the two, petal-shaped hulks that peeled away from the structure: doors. Though she could only see two, she speculated a third dwelt beyond her vision, making each equidistant from the last through the surface of the structure.

From her vantage point, Corporal Brannin - still sporadically crying into her transponder - attempted to spy signs of movement; there as a single line of disturbed earth, leading away from the egg-like mass. It trailed off, singular and deliberate, vaguely in the direction of her previous posting: Outpost Four. The idea of someone, of whomever was responsible for the flaming calamity that was the outpost, having returned to the scene of the crime did nothing to still her, forcing her teeth edge-to-edge like blades. The realization, dawning and pained, that she might not, in fact, be the only person on the surface of the planet re-ignited her determination to get off the dust-strewn rock.

"This is Corporal Brannin!" she screamed into her transponder, "Please, I need help! Is anyone out there listening to this...? Fuck! Please! Anyo—"

The crackle of her transponder, indicating another transmission, cut her off instantly. Abruptly, her hears filled with the first hopeful sound she had heard since being blown clean from Outpost Four: "This is Ship Commander Malka, please calm yourself..." Melissa nearly broke down at the issuance of the response, her throat wheezing quietly as Commander Malka attempted to quiet her, to still her panic, and to sooth her tones. "We are on our way down to help," the voice from the communications device confirmed, "can you tell me what happened? How many are there with you?"

Melissa barely contained her exuberance and the sudden desire to jump and scream. The voice from above was trying to calm her, so she listened and thought; a glance around her position confirmed what she already knew: 'No one here. No one with me.' Her eyes, seemingly involuntarily, drifted back toward the golden construct in the distance. The corporal inhaled slowly, through her nostrils, exhaling out through her mouth - an exercise in serenity, a desperate movement to keep her trepidation and fright from consuming her. She remembered back to basic training, sighing.

"Commander Malka," she depressed the transponder's button in response, her voice shaking, but significantly more subdued, "it's just me. I'm about three kilometers out from Outpost Four; I don't know if there are any survivors in there. You said you got a distress call though, which means there was someone in there to send that; had to have been." Her eyes drifted back toward the oval: "But... That's not all... I don't know if you can see me - much less it - but there's something near where I am; I don't know what it is, for sure, but it's open. Two, maybe three doors. If I had to take a guess, it's a shuttle or pod - drop pod, maybe." The corporal paused for a moment, then continued: "Whatever it is, it's not ours - it's not ASDC, not Avaikan Self-Defense Corps property. I don't think it's TransDelta's either."

She inhaled again, then exhaled. Corporal Brannin realized in that moment that she was talking rather quickly; panic, the surge of adrenaline, was still coursing through her veins. Her nerves, still frazzled tendrils of terror and fear. She felt the nails of it within her skull, fighting to break free; another cycle of inhalation and exhalation. 'A few more more minutes, Melissa,' she told herself, 'Just a few more and you'll be out of here. Calm down. Tell them what you know. If anyone is still alive in there, you might be the one that lets this commander save them.' Inhale and exhale. Breathing, calming, soothing air - as filtered and sterile as it was. 'Let's keep at it. Keep focus, Mel. Keep focus.'

"I'm not entirely sure what happened," Corporal sent away to the Akash Wolf, "One minute we— One minute I was coming back from my evening checks, the next I was floating. I think they popped our pressure plates, because I woke-up out here. Came up to this plateau to see if I could reach anyone. Reach you, I guess." She inhaled, held her breath, then let it loose. "Eighty," she went on, "maybe ninety people were in the outpost - in Outpost Four. I dunno how many might... Might still be in there. If... If you can't see, the surface station is pretty well fuck— Pretty well wrecked, commander. ...How— How close are you to me?"

Panic was setting in again. She could feel its claws, fresh and anew, sinking into her brain; her mind was growing clouded and foggy, recollection fading. A frightened tip sent her eyes back toward the structure she had found; immediately her visor zoomed onto its location. There was nothing inside of it, of that much she was certain; she should see that much. But had there been? 'Who... What is it?' she questioned herself. Her thoughts were drifting, suddenly finding her mental focus on the stories her father had told her about Gamma; about all the horrors that came-up from the dreaded quadrant like monsters from the depth of the seas. Horrible, terrible things that mocked life and made a mockery of all things that life held sacred. She was crying again.

"Please, hurry," she called into the transponder again, "Can you please hurry? Hur— Hurry!" Hot streams rolled down the sides of her face, filling her visor with condensation; her breathing had become ragged, breaking her calm tones out once more into the flurry of panic. "I— I don't think I'm alone down here," she remarked, the paranoia of the stars beginning to set in, filling her mind with the terrible stories of night and drunken tales of ghosts and monstrosities the men told to scare themselves as much as their comrades. "Please, hurry," she pleaded, "I think whomever - whatever - did this is down here with me!"

Corporal Melissa Brannin's composure shattered and she began to weep into her emergency transponder, beaming her cries up to the Akash Wolf - and anyone whom might be listening.

---

---

ADV High Flyer, Kruglikov-class Light Armored Cruiser
^{En route to Orphain System, Avaikan Mandate, Delta Quadrant — 11:19:20.0014 GSY}
"What do you mean there was no relay response?" Captain Leonid Saitov barked into Petty Officer O'Leary's ear, nearly severing the tip of his tongue in the process. He was on edge, and it was showing. They - along with the three heavy frigates which silently jumped with them - had been scrambled from the Mandate's forward orbital retainer in Nemon to respond to the distress beacon beaming-out from Amphina II over an hour after it had first broadcast. Captain Saitov had requested - even demanded - that if his superiors were so poorly moved by the call for assistance coming out of Outpost Four, that a quarter of an hour to wait for the Dreamer's Bow fast battleship to arrive from Khradur would be a few extra minutes worth avoiding the possibility of dropping a half-hearted, thrown-together emergency response squadron into the middle of a brigand raiding front.

Unfortunately and much to his dismay, they had not agreed. Saitov knew, standing over O'Leary's station with a hand to wipe the spittle from his own chin, that where they were headed might contain a less-than-optimal situation; a situation that, frankly, his inexperienced crew and that of the crews of the three frigates which he had been so graciously gifted from periphery patrols, were - more likely than not - unprepared to handle. Spare perhaps a handful in the whole cadre, none of them had so much as even intercepted a free trader that decided it might be fun to fire a few volleys of his new missile rack, much less a raiding party of pirates doped-up on Grime and wanting nothing more than to cleave a few militia hulks in half. The fact that the screamer relays in Orphain System hadn't even responded to their jump announcement did even less to dissuade his now-rising concern and trepidation.

"They didn't respond, sir," O'Leary returned, fighting to ignore the bit of moisture his commanding officer had planted on his forehead. "None of them," he continued, flashing the failed packet delivery message onto his console.

"Did you send them to the right fucking place?" Saitov was sure to enunciate his frustration. His knuckles were white and taunt, gripping the back of the petty officer's console to the point it bent under pressure.

"Look for yourself, sir," the petty officer motioned to the screen, only managing a languid wave before the High Flyer's captain's composure shattered entirely.

"You did, didn't you?" he shouted, "You sent them to the wrong fucking place! How did you get on this ship, O'Leary? What sack of shit did you have to suck-off to manage to get here, hm? Whose fuckin' load did you swa—"

"Sir!" O'Leary interrupted, smacking the monitor of his console with the heel of his palm, "Look for yourself. The coordinates are correct; they're programmed into the console itself. All I have to do is press the screen. I'm trying to tell you there was no response because the system didn't see anything to communicate with - much less something that might talk back. The error isn't from the screamer, it's from the terminal itself: 'Failure to locate target: no target in vicinity.'"

Leonid's proverbial jets became a compressor. It took a moment for the petty officer's interruption to filter through the granite wall that was his building rage, but once it did, the expression on his face told of his sudden fear - the impromptu manner in which he shoved Petty Officer O'Leary away from the communications terminal merely confirmed it. In a flurry of tapping keys and several hard compressions of his fingers against the screen and Saitov had briefly surveyed the actions leading-up to the failed message. It wasn't just that no message had been received, he finally realized, it was that the ansible had found no receiver where the device expected one to be. The machine had even tried; O'Leary had tried, Saitov discovered upon review, and even sent the information packet through an override in the communications array. Nothing. The system had failed to find a target and, at that point, threw up its hands and called it quits.

"How long until the drop-out point?" Captain Saitov sent-out onto the bridge. Silence was his immediate response. "How fucking long?"

"Ninety seconds," Vinel, superluminal specialist on-duty, responded. "Eighty-seven now, sir."

"Execute an immediate abort," Saitov ordered, his eyes still locked, staring into the subtle red flash of the communication console's error message.

"Sir," Vinel diminutively issued, "I can't do that."

"I said, 'Abort the fucking ju—'"

"Captain," Vinel barked, a bead of sweat visible even in the battle-lighting of the bridge, "I literally cannot do that. It would, at best, send us careening out into space. At worst, the inertia systems would fail and we'd be obliterated the moment our drive disengaged. To top it off, we've crossed the Last Line: the system won't let me abort. We're locked out."

Captain Leonid Saitov inhaled sharply before releasing a slow, calming sigh, righting himself. He turned, looking out upon the crew - his crew - of the High Flyer: most of them were young, several looked as if they were barely out of adolescence. Vinel, O'Leary, Davidson, Yulinsky: he memorized these names as he looked upon their faces, expectant and waiting. As each moment passed, the jump-clock counting down ('Sixty. Fifty-nine. Fifty-eight...') to egress, Saitov found another face, another person, another soul that looked to him for confidence, morale, respect, and the only true expectation: that of acceptance and bravery in the face of the unknown. In that moment, despite his rage, he accepted he was a failure; a failure as a soldier, as a captain, as someone charged with the care and protection of a body of men that looked to him - looked-up to him.

Leaning back, Saitov took a seat upon the keyboard of the communications console. "Sorry for that, O'Leary," he commended, smiling lightly, "You were - are - an excellent soldier, and you've made me proud... That goes for all of you, as well: you've all made me proud." He realized in brief that he couldn't hold his composure anymore in terror than he could in anger; it made him laugh. Several of the High Flyer's bridge crew returned a sympathetic - but audibly uneasy - laugh in retort; in their voices, in the language of fear the body betrayed in posture and stance, Saitov knew he wasn't helping the situation much. Another glance to the jump-clock betrayed the moment: forty-three seconds diminishing.

Captain Saitov finally spoke, the jump-clock's thirty second alert beginning to sound: "Announce a full alarm. Your orders are to abandon your posts; everyone is to abandon their posts. Make your way to the emergency shuttle as soon as the alarm is sounded. Tell the escorts to - once we drop - break formation and commence an emergency jump back to Nemon. Get as many people into the shuttle as you can, then I want you to do the same. It's been an honor."

No one moved. Saitov, shook his head, pulling a cigarette out from his shirt pocket, lighting it with a strike of a match that betrayed the drive of a man attempting to quit. Inhaling, he once more looked out onto his crew; none of them were moving. He shouted for the last time in his command: "Abandon your fucking posts, you lazy cunts!"

The bridge came alive.

It took but a moment for someone to sound the full alarm, a few seconds for the message to the escorts to be sent-out through the jump-linked ansible. By that time, half of the bridge crew had left, leaving their seats still spinning in front of their consoles. Several lingered for a moment, protesting or asking him to join them, but Leonid waved them onward to the shuttle. A persistent one demanded he join them, but the barrel of Saitov's officers sidearm stopped the demands and sent the young, blonde-haired female deck officer running. Once he was alone, he cast the pistol aside; it clanked across the grav-plate flooring before coming to a stop beneath the fire control console. Something about that seemed ironic to the captain, but he no longer had a crew present to find his off-color observations amusing. All that was left on the bridge was a tired, broken, old man who should have retired years before; a man who had been looked-over for promotions, grades, and better command postings for years. He knew he should be bitter; in truth, he had been bitter, but as the jump-alarm passed the twenty second dial, he couldn't find the emotional fortitude to be angry any longer. Instead, he found himself standing at the base of the black, silent projection screen at the front of the bridge.

In a few seconds, he knew, they'd drop-out of jump and into the Orphain System. In a few seconds, either his suspicions would be confirmed, or the death knell of his career would become that of the hollow bell of cowardice truncated by the staccato shrill of the firing squad. Standing there, alone, Saitov for a moment truly hoped for the latter circumstance; at least then - with a court-martial and a death sentence - his crew would make it back to Nemon, because there was no reason for them to need to flee. Something in his gut, however - a "commander's intuition" he told himself - said otherwise.

A glance over his shoulder made him smile. Turning back, Saitov began to count down: "Ten. Nine. Eight. Sev—"

The High Flyer abruptly fell-out of jump, its escorts following suit in nearly the same instant.

Once standing in front of the void combat display, Saitov had only an instant of realization before the front of his skull was caved and an abstract display of scarlet art was strewn across the otherwise colorless facade to the front of the command bridge. Inertial systems failed the moment the former-captain's body fell back onto the bridge's deck, filling the light cruiser with the sudden cacophony of shearing structure and the sudden compression of nearly eighty meters of floor decking, gravity plating, and pressure hull bulkheads into a tenth of its initial volume. The escort frigates would face much the same fate, had they not bloomed outward in all directions as fountains of steel, tungsten, conduit, duct-work, and framed nano-ceramic.

A fine mist of carnelian boiled in the low-pressure of the vacuum.

---

---

Orphain System Primary Dossier, Asset Completion Analysis
^{TransDelta Mining Corporation Primary Asset Archive — 04:26:19.0096 GSY}
Though official predictive analysis and capital opportunity re-investiture reports are still being collated, it is evident that the Orphain System will, in the future, act as an essential asset for the TransDelta Mining Corporation - particularly due to its high density of potential deuterium fusion fuel sources as well as its previously-estimated position within TransDelta's logistical infrastructure scheme.

In brief review, the Orphain System - until the installation of the TransDelta Orbital Logistics Retainer and its associated secondary and tertiary construction and repair moorings - was not viewed as a primary asset to the current regime, that of the Avaikan Mandate, despite its three gaseous planetary bodies (Vedenin, Leskreen, and Fain, respectively outward from Orphain) and two terrestrials (Halseen and Cyrada) and both the potential as a fueling depot and potential point for settlement. This conclusion was reached due to the significantly greater mineral resource values located in Khradur and the super-Jovian (Desess) located in the Alavain System. These two factors, in combination with the harsh stellar environment generated by the system's central star, a white dwarf of exceptional density and surface stellar activity, generated an ample investment opportunity and a point of exploitation of the Mandate's eco-political establishment by the TransDelta Mining Corporation.

Since the completion of the TransDelta Orbital Logistics Retainer and its associated moorings, analysts have predicted an appreciable increase not merely in favorable traffic and predictably depreciating infrastructure overhead, but also potential opportunities in regards to certain provisions for local free traders and free colonists (labor). Assuming stability within the Avaikan Mandate remains and projected economic trends on the Gamma Frontier remain along their current course, it is foreseeable that TransDelta's position along the Fringe and the Gamma-Delta Periphery will become increasingly vital in trade and social flow from the Delta Quadrant to that of Gamma.

As such, it is suggested that the TransDelta Mining Corporation enter into immediate negotiations with representative delegations from the commercial and business community and the necessary government officials of the Avaikan Mandate in order to negotiate any potential points of cooperation regarding traffic relay and monitoring, military assistance and/or association, and for potential subsidization to TransDelta under the necessary provision of providing continued investment for the creation and maintenance of system infrastructure. Such is to include ansible buoys, forward connectivity arrays, and both Lagrangian and orbital settlements as deemed either administratively necessary or commercially viable.

(Special Note: It appears that negotiations over proprietorship for the most inward Jovian, Vedenin, has failed. Further information will be collated at a later date; however, research into Vedenin - specifically its tidal and gravitational instability in relation to Orphain - has proven that orbital settlement is likely to be both costly and potentially generative of an environment deemed disastrous to both TransDelta property and personnel. Orbital viability is expected to drop below appreciable safety levels within the decade. As such, it is suggested that TransDelta focus on continued negotiations regarding further orbital development of Leskreen in the region surrounding the currently-orbiting retainer and its moorings.)

[Huerdae]

TDE-36C TransDelta Emergency Orbital Mooring, High Orbit

Looking back on the incident, So'Faullen thought he remembered hearing something. Or a set of flashing lights. He knew they were laughing, that they had been in the middle of a conversation. He'd stopped, for what he didn't remember, and ducked his head to look at something. The events kept playing over and over in his mind. It was like the last two minutes had happened in some sort of dream he couldn't escape from. Even the yelling in his head couldn't wake him from it. Once he had grabbed what he wanted, he had turned to the others, raising a hand to show them. Ili had stopped and turned. Techi had already moved forward past the next bulkhead.

When the blast went off, he had been looking down the hall at the two. Techi had disappeared in the blast of light, he was pretty sure the man didn't know what happened. Ili had been looking at him when it happened, and shielded her eyes like the light hurt them. He could still see the image, that oh-so-pure white antimatter blast silhouetted Ili with her arm up, shielding her faceplate from the light. Techi was nowhere in there. He had been in the light.

The next moments were gone in a flash, he could barely remember The station had shaken, and Ili had screamed in the radio. Metal had groaned so loud it came through his suit, nearly deafening him. The station rocked, and he had fallen to the ground, into the seating for a blast door. When he looked up, the hall looked nothing like it had. Out there, he could see Planet. Had the station had power, he was sure the door would have crushed him, but it had hung open.

So here he sat, looking at the open, empty sky of a beautiful world. Beautiful and deadly. He couldn't even begin to imagine why beauty was so dangerous, but there it was. Two people gone, in the blink of an eye. And the screaming. So much screaming.

So'Faullen scrambled to his feet, carefully edging his way out toward where the hall had been sheered off, looking out into space. The blast had torn nearly a third of the station off, leaving only a little bit of a walkway around where he was. If he hadn't stopped on that side of the blast door, he would be gone, too. Gazing out into empty space, he gazed at the diminishing specks of station that continued to tumble away from him, trying to find Ili and her form.

She has a beacon she can set off for this...it would be bright, silver...there!

He spotted the light on one of the largest chunks, out on one of the edges as it spun. Chances were, she was barely holding on. He looked for Yui's flare of red heat and gets to pluck her from the tumbling debris, but he couldn't find it anywhere. And then, in an instant, it was over. The chunk Ili was on had been in the way of a larger piece, of a larger station, and in seconds that brilliant silver beacon disappeared. It was...wrong, watching it all happen so far away. A third of this station, dwarfed by some sort of cargo module that tore through it with such care that it didn't even slow. The construct shattered on impact, showering particles toward the planet. He could not find the beacon. Slowly, he fell to his knees.

It was then that he saw that the Yui was trying to open a link. He had forgotten he had seperated his unit from the ship so they could talk in peace. His unit. His two corpses now. His voice shook as he spoke.

"So'Faullen. What."

It wasn't a question, it was an admission of defeat. He was lost, unsure, and his team was gone. He was alone.

"So. Damnit, man, you had me worried. That was antimatter, did you see that?"

So'Faullen was dumbstruck, rising to his feet, and shaking his fist into the distance at the unseen ship. "Did you miss the fact that Techi and Ili are DEAD?!"

"Can't stop that now. But remember their families get a chunk of what we bring in for their loss? If you can snag antimatter, this may just be worth it. Come on, man, get the lead out. We just watched a Talon ship dive to the surface. The timer's been going, we don't have much time. Get me some of that stuff and we're gold for this trip."

He stood, silent, with his jaw hanging in disbeleif. Then, slowly, he started marching forward, the heavy thuds of his feet on the station's surface sounding heavy, like the weight of the two lives, one after another, in constant rhythm.

"Yeah. Right. Antimatter."

"Probably fuel cells. You should be able to find 'em. I believe in you, man. Let me know what you've got."

He nodded, dumbly, not even aware that they couldn't see or care. By habit, he killed the link.

...to talk to my team in peace...

NAVOS Freight & Cargo Distribution Depot, High Orbit

The first thing Kara noticed was the telltale thud of the locks blowing out, and she, like those around her, threw herself at the deck...with the only problem being that without gravity, the act didn't play out like she expected. Most in the team had their heads about them, diving and grabbing onto something, but there was no cover near her, so Kara's dive had her bounce off the flooring, while her hands grabbed for her weapons. Even as she floated, free of any sort of traction or control, the two men stepped out, firing wildly at the group of people she was supposed to be protecting.

It was so strange, to watch it all happen before her. Salvagers with their small handheld weapons firing back at the two men who had charged them desperately. Everyone had small arms, with only the big one of the two having anything larger. She watched him fire, saw the round tear through one of her friends just below the ribs. Blood sprayed out both sides before the shielding covered it, holding the blood in, but she knew the man was in trouble.

Then her back bumped against the ceiling, and her feet locked onto the metal. She spent only a moment planting her feet before both guns rose, one SMG in each hand, the butt-stocks braced against her shoulders. She could see one of the men moving up to flank her friends, her comrades. The people she was protecting. It didn't take much to squeeze the trigger. Like so many games back home, like so many practice sessions, it was just a decision to do so, and the target got shredded. She didn't even realize she was using her plasma incendiaries until the bright red fires from the shots tore through the body, turning the mass into a small inferno. Another man came running out of the airlock, like he may be going for the down gun of the burning corpse, and she emptied the two mags on him, leaving the guns hanging in the air. The last one, the big guy, had changed to take cover from her, but he was stuck in a corner now. He couldn't peek without the salvage team hitting him, and he couldn't move without her taking him out. On the ground, she could see one of the other salvagers carefully patching the wounded man's injury before the field shut down and leaked him across the room. A quick glance showed that one other hand been hit as well, in the leg, and was caring for that.

But she had time. Pulling the bow from her back, she drew an arrow, always amused by the amount of effort the weapon needed to be used. Still, it functioned as well as any Akki, it just didn't fire as fast, and it could hit harder. In an instant she drew the round back, sighting it.

The jarring push as she released the round was surprising, as she had never fired the tek-bow in zero-G before, but the results were just as she expected. The man's cover had a hole in it the size of her head, and there was a terrible spray of blood flowing up from behind. The path of the round, too fast to see it go, just looked like a jagged line across her vision, ending where it had impacted in the fourth wall it had hit. But below her, she could hear some of the team laughing.

"Well, fuck. I didn't think I'd ever see her use that thing! And there it goes, first time she gets into a fight. Holy HELL that's a big hole. I forgot the power those things could put out."

One of the team was there, sticking his arm through the gap that the tek-bow had made in the man's cover, which had once been a metal cabinet or computer of sorts. It may have been a thin wall, for all she knew, but it was gone now. Quietly, she collected her weapons from where she had left them hanging next to her, swapping out the magazines in silence. As she made it to the others, the one who had taken a shot to the gut hugged her, and she realized he was one of the more veteran salvagers, the only one among them to waste room carrying a Banshee, instead of a smaller weapon. He'd been in many fights before.

"Hey, girl. Thanks. Thanks for not losing your head. They got the drop on us, and you carried us through. We all owe you one."

She smiled, hugging him back, not even considering that she had killed three men. Instead, the team was joking. "So that's a first. A firefight and we lose nobody. I say we get the girl some drinks. We can't share on the profits, she's CorpMil, so she's salary. No Commission on finds, but we can get her drinks out of ours. All in?"

There was a series of agreements, and the team moved forward, more slowly now, because of the man with the wounded leg. Her cybernetics analyzed the woman's movement, and she realized the hit had shattered the woman's bone. If not for zero-G, they'd be carrying her. As it was, she was pushing herself along on a single foot, locking it in place, pushing forward, and lockign down again. It looked agonizing.

It didn't take them long to go through the next airlock, and ahead there was some semblance of power. One of the consoles was alive at full capacity, so they stopped as a group to rest and look it over for information - the lightest, and often most valuable, piece of salvage possible. There was nothing particularly interesting this time, nothing they could sell, but the man sounded happy as he shut it down, and pulled out the emergency batteries.

"Boys and girls, have we got a treat."

"What, more porn?"

There was a chorus of laughs, but the man's voice was full of greed. "Nope. That was a customs terminal. ASDC has a little office on this here depot. They had just sent back a report that they had confiscated six thermonuclear warheads, and impounded some guy's frigate. Better still? The nukes are still under lockdown. That section of the station hasn't been destroyed. It's been vented, so some may be out of reach, but chances are we'll get at least one or two."

The laughter got almost feverish as the team got back to moving. This time, though, they weren't being careful. The nukes would take several people to carry, so they didn't have room for more lesser souveniers. Instead, they made a bee-line for the ASDC office, with Kara out front, both SMGs ready. If the ASDC had an office, there were armed guards here. Probably more than a few, since they were now holding nukes. It was her job to get them there. They were her flock. Her children. It only dawned on her after a few more hallways that most people's children were younger than them, instead of being twice their age or older.

I.A.C.S. Yui, Monitor-Class Armored Shuttle

The events that played themselves out in front of them had both Shiyuri and Ahl silent like the dead. Even as the chunk of station tore free, they didn't move, waiting anxiously. One of the transponders died immediately, and it made Ahl grimace, looking away. Shiyuri couldn't. She watched as the other tumbled out into deadly orbit, her clawed hand squeezing down on the pilot's shoulder. When she realized they weren't moving, she dug her claws into flesh, snarling. "What is it? Go get her!"

The pilot shook his head, and Yui remained on her present course for a moment longer before the relatively small piece of station was smashed, extinguishing the second transponder. It left only the third alive. She could feel Ahl's grimace. She knew it was his job every time a crew member died to notify those back home. She barely remembered her conversation with So'Faullen. It lasted only long enough for her to put her anger into words for the pilot.

"Alright, he's moving, but what about you?"

Her tail whipped to either side as she berated the man. "Why didn't we go get her? You just sat here, watching her go, waiting for her to die!"

The man grimaced, but shook his head, bringing up a display of what was on one of his consoles for Shiyuri to see. "We're here, lady. This whole area between us and Ili's tumble is dead wreck. Some of it moving at a good clip. Yui can take a punch or two, but I can't send her through a sandblaster like that. Fields will fail and then we'll vent, too. There are only a few areas we can move through this mess, and I have to calculate all that over again. Worse, it looks like that bomb pushed the station into a decaying orbit. So'Faullen needs to finish up sooner, rather than later."

Gritting her teeth, she didn't even notice that Ahl had leaned forward to stand up, and her tail had slapped him in the face. For his part, he suffered the indignity in silence. "That station's a no-go anymore. Drop off this last crew and we're going back for So'Faullen. If he can't get anything by the time we get there, we just pull him out anyway. A lone man on a dock like that isn't going to get much anyway. Let's get him with another crew."

It seemed like it took forever for them to deposit the last team on the last station, this one with a recognizable power source. As they began to head back to pick up So'Faullen, though, something lit up their screens, and a ship burned past them, heading straight for the planet. It was near enough that they could still see the contrails from the drives, and Shiyuri swore, heading to her own seat to look it up. Ahl, again, was faster. "Talons ship. Military build, like always. She seems to be doing a rescue run. Let's keep a low profile, I don't think they'll interfere with us. Let's keep the explosions to a minimum until we're on our way out, though, right?"

Shiyuri nodded, tapping the bleeding shoulder of the pilot and gesturing forward. She hadn't even realized she'd drawn blood, and that fact vexed her. Was she that close to a pirate that she'd abuse her own crew?

Gritting her teeth, she swallowed her own pride and planted a kiss on the side of the man's head. "Sorry about earlier. Thanks for saving those you can."

The man didn't respond, but at least some of the tenseness dropped out of his shoulders as she headed into the back to grab some bandages. At the door, she stopped, looking at Ahl. "Don't break anything else while I'm gone. You have control for the time being."

The man nodded, not even looking up from his console, where he was analyzing the path.

"That Talonian ship messed up the debris pathing. Their navigational barriers made portions of our path back dangerous. Let's take it slow, let it unfold and let the computer analyze it a second. A few more minutes won't hurt us as long as we still make it."

The pilot nodded, opening his mouth to speak as Shiyuri closed the door, slumping down against the wall just outside it, and balling her hand into a fist.

For nearly a year, they hadn't lost a man. Now there were two down, and some of the other team had reported injuries.

This had better be worth it.

[The Uthani Imperium]

A Most Unwelcome Guest

"Lo and behold children of Ilumar, the righteous sword and blackened fist of your faith."

The Milky Way Galaxy
USIV Sword and Shield
Undisclosed Location

Pēsalli Peraan was becoming rather accustomed to playing the role of diplomat, and that in and of itself was enough to make him sick to his stomach. To make matters worse of course he wasn't overtly fond of the people he was forced to play honored receptionist to. The creature looked like him, vaguely at least, but it certainly didn't have the same sensibilities and mannerisms that an officer of the Uthanium was expected to maintain. It wore a veil, though the reason why eluded Peraan given that this wasn't a public setting. Worst of all it had taken to sitting in the command chair, his chair, in fact. Its long tendrils swaying blissfully from where they protruded from its head, its cruel hand resting firmly atop the head of the abomination that served as its translator and dignitary. "You will excuse my lateness, honored cousin, there were matters that required my immediate attention."

The thing waved its hand, the foul beast that set at its feet immediately responding in a sickly-sweet voice that made Peraan's stomach churn. "Your lateness is excused, Admiral, we have quite enjoyed observing the labors of your people thus far."

Peraan bowed, a scowl crossing his face when it was sufficiently hidden from his 'cousin.' "I am most pleased that you find our work enjoyable, I will admit admiration at your own."

The creature atop Peraan's chair smiled at this, waiving again to allow his putrid middle-man speech. "Indeed Admiral, though if you would care to forgo any further pleasantries I believe you wished to question my lord?"

Peraan forced himself to smile, "If it pleases you, honored cousin. My superiors are rather curious as to the nature of your actions, however appreciative we might be of them."

The foul translator mimicked Peraan's fake smile, "We are here to fulfill the stipulations of our most valued Entente Admiral. We took note of your prerogative in removing this foul trash heap and wished to render our services to our most valued friend."

The smile immediately left Peraan's face. "Understand, honored cousin, that while I do appreciate your actions, I am not blinded as to your intentions. Speaking freely, my superiors are happy to, figuratively of course, use you as the stick with which to bludgeon our foes. However it is apparent that you have an ulterior motive, even if it remains a mystery to us."

The creature did not shed his vile smile, his disgustingly pleasant voice again assailing Peraan. "Time will tell if you are correct, Admiral, but for now simply take heart that our objectives are the same and fraternity flows freely between our peoples."

"What an insufferable worm this beast is, to speak through a mediator on matters of such importance, simply appalling." Peraan raged inwardly, careful to maintain neutrality on his face as he shouted to himself. "Of course, honored cousin, is there any concern you would like to raise before things get under way?"

"Yes Admiral, this Captain Claudaius, tell me of him."

"He's a charismatic extremist hell bent on burning all that stands in his way." Peraan screamed to himself, though quite aware such a response would be inappropriate, to say the least. "Pēwah Claudaius is a competent commander, steadfast to his duties and very religious."

"Religious, Admiral? Tell me of this?"

Peraan lapsed in his neutrality, his hand grasping his forehead as he searched for the correct words. "Pēwah Claudaius holds the law of Ilumar above all other laws, he holds himself and his crew to the highest tenet of sacred code."

"Ah yes Ilumar, my lord had quite the enjoyable experience reading of your interpretations of the sacred text, it is comforting to know a man of cloth commands this expedition Admiral."

"Yes," Peraan paused, storm clouds gathering in his mind. "It very much so is."

The Milky Way Galaxy
USIV Light of Ilumar
Gamma-Delta Border
Holding outside Avaikan Mandate

The Light of Ilumar glided through the ever-present void peacefully, or as peacefully as a ship that bristled with all manner of war-making materials might. A cruiser commissioned half a decade ago, she was one of the more heavy-handed assets employed in Uthani "diplomacy," if one might call their prevalence to erase the annoying attempts at colonization conducted by the Deltans and Betans diplomatic. She was captained by Pēwah Claudius Lumita, an intelligent, if fanatical, officer of the Imperium's navy. He cut an imposing figure, seven feet tall and broad as a doorway, with the sort of zealous look that only monks or converts bore on their face. Beloved by his men, tiresome to his superiors and hated by his equals he was the perfect candidate for far-flung and long enduring operations, especially those "For the glory of Ilumar and the Emperor."

On the topic of such his mission had been rather straightforward, obliterate the Mandate's position at Khradur and linger a bit to make life miserable for those foolhardy enough to attempt a run through contested space. But then they had shown up. Some called them heretics, Ulukar spawn sent to tempt the righteous sons of Ilumar. Still others thought them brothers, one faiths of different creeds was a common term that floated about debate halls whenever they became the topic of discussion. Claudaius thought them children, misguided but inherently good willed, in need of proper education to return to the path of Ilumar and his saving light. Children they might be spiritually, but they were fully matured in matters of warfare, the evidence left scattered throughout the spur.

Claudius had been the first to detect them, reporting it immediately and contacting the proper authorities. Sit and wait they said, so sit and wait he did. Watching in glee as they took the destruction of Amphina into their own hands, burning the profligate filth from the quadrant in a cleansing display of fiery death. The Scrolls of a Thousand Steps spoke of a swarm sent by Ilumar to purge the unclean from the Uthani's midst, truly Claudius could think of no better analogy for what they had done to Amphina. Word eventually got back to Claudius that they were moving in force, though that wasn't hard to see as they had begun burning a righteous trail through the spur. Command was sending Peraan and his lot to join with them in their mission, while a smaller force was being sent to conjoin with him.

And at last the rest of his force was almost here. Claudaius had assembled his officers on the aft viewing bridge in preparation for briefing. But as the minutes dragged on without the appearance of the rest of his force, his officers drifted into conversation with each other, small talk for the most part. Claudaius for his part however never broke his gaze from the transparent view port that dominated the void-facing wall. He leaned in slowly, peering fiercely out into the darkness as he thought he caught a glimpse of a shimmer. But no, that wasn't it. More painful minutes dragged by, Claudaius staring with the same intensity until at last the shimmer which he so painfully desired appeared. "Lo and behold children of Ilumar, the righteous sword and blackened fist of your faith." The words came out as a low rumble, immediately silencing the officers as they abruptly snapped to look at Claudaius.

In an instant five ships broke from foldspace, appearing almost simultaneously in a ragged line to the starboard of the Light of Ilumar. Claudaius turned abruptly addressing his officers in an excited tone. "Soon we shall have guests gentlemen, prepare the hangers for their arrival and ready this room for briefing." Claudaius turned quickly on his heels, "I shall be in my quarters. When everyone is assembled summon me." Claudius clapped his hands together happily, striding from the room with much ceremony as his second-in-command made to follow. "Did you wish to speak to me about something Pē-Arad?" Claudaius let the words trail after him, never slowing his pace as he quickened his retreat to his quarters.

"Yes sir, if you could spare a moment." Pē-Arad Atariya Perutut was young for his station, but such was not overtly uncommon for those gifted in their trade. What he lacked in age he made up for in innocence, seeing the world through a rosy-tinted optimistic lens. "I think I'm having a crisis of faith Pēwah, if possible I'd like to run my concerns by you, if you think that'd be appropriate sir." Atariya quickened his pace, bringing himself side-by-side with Claudaius. "The nature of our mission just seems to," he paused. "Contradict the pacifistic and loving tendencies of Ilumar Pēwah, I know that the Scrolls call for the evisceration of the Ulukar but these people are not of that ilk. Is it not inherently wrong for us to destroy these non-combatants, or if you will, possible converts to the spiritual armies of Ilumar?"

They arrived at Claudius' quarters, the Legate opening the door and beckoning to Atariya. "Come inside Atar, let me explain things to you." The young man followed suit, allowing his commander to seat him at a low, round, table that dominated the center of the room. Claudaius sat down next to him, staring blankly at the cold steel of the table for a moment before looking up suddenly. "Imagine if you would Atar, that you are traveling on an old-fashioned sailing ship." His words came out honey like, dreamy, and prompted instantaneous questioning from Atariya that Claudaius immediately silenced. "Just listen, now imagine that one day while you are sailing you encounter a terrible storm, and a few luckless fellows including yourself are shipwrecked on a deserted island."

"Now imagine Atar that while this island does provide sustenance for you, there is a terrible cost for it. Everyday horrible creatures come screaming forth from the waters, terrorizing you and carrying off your counterparts. Flaying them, eating them, infecting them, and all other manner of horrid conditions and actions that affect the sick of mind and spirit." He paused, letting the visual sink in. "But you manage to hold them back, you and your fellow survivors become hardened, you form towns and cities and nations that thrive under this constant threat. Though at great cost. Eventually, the warning cry of 'Beasts!' or 'Savages!' Becomes second nature to you as you live in constant fear."

"After a while, you take notice of the many ships that sail past your island. Well to do merrymakers out on pleasure cruises, enjoying their lives and at worst feuding with each other over silly things. They see you, occasionally they wave, or a lone brave soul will make the odyssey to your island to experience it before returning home to his relative comfort. But they know not to come any closer in great numbers, for they too fear the monsters at sea, and are happy that you are there to distract them. They could lend aid, perhaps united you all could destroy this menace. But they care little for your suffering, and are content to allow things to take what they deem a natural course. So they watch, and they wave, and they laugh at your pain and your loss even as the beasts come to take more from you."

"Then one day Atar, the monsters disappear. Without fanfare or announcement they simply stop coming. With a happy heart you thrive, expand, undergo a glorious transformation to a prosperous people. This is a golden age for you Atar, all things are right and even the petty squabbles that you occasionally have with those few neighbors who have survived seem unimportant to you." He paused again, leaning close as he continued speaking in what had become naught but a whisper. "But those fellows who sailed by, they do so again. They too know that the monsters are gone, and they take note of your island. The wondrous resources and wealth that lies in it. So they send their own people, and gradually they attempt to ebb out your cultures, your very way of life."

"Now then Atar, what is that you do? I'll tell you, you become the monsters that you once so feared. To save yourself and your people you become beast to these foreign invaders, ravaging and pillaging them wherever you might find them upon your island. This is what we do now Anix, we go forth in the name of Ilumar and all the brothers and sisters lost to the cosmic horrors who visited untold misery upon us as they laughed and cheered at our fate. We visit horrors upon them, that they might never try and take what is ours, and never forget our sufferings endured while they remained complacent and fattened themselves on the wealth of safety." Claudaius' voice rose as he finished, nearing a bellow if not a roar as he slammed his fists angrily upon the table. "This is what we do now, that none may ever question the endurance and strength of our Imperium and faith."

Atariya looked madly into the eyes of his Legate, a battle being fought in his mind as he struggled to ascertain the correct course of action. Finally, in a swift motion that knocked the table back and threw his chair to the ground in a loud metallic thud. He rose and slammed his clenched fist square into his chest as he shouted that eon old cry that all devout Uthani scream before their maker as they make ready to enter battle. "My blood for the Emperor, my soul for the Light-Bringer!" Tears streamed down his face as he came to epiphany, Claudaius clutching him by the shoulder in an affectionate embrace. "Thank you my Legate, I know now that when battle is joined I can go forth with a clear conscious to slay those that oppose our faith and nation."

Claudaius smiled, the boy was too easy to manipulate, surely the rest of the Imperium wouldn't fold so easily to his firebrand will after this affair would they? No of course not, unprepared youth simply made for ready converts. "Go forth and bring honor to the memory of those you have lost and the will of Ilumar, go forth that he might look upon you and know you walk the Thousand Steps as true as any Uthani."

Atariya turned to leave, throwing open the door only run head on into one of the ship's midshipmen, a lanky youth that everyone called Gevel. "I'm s-sorry sir, we've been trying to reach you but your communicator is turned off. The other officers are here sir, you're needed on the aft viewing bridge right away!" The youth stammered nervously, stuttering as he balanced himself from the sudden collision with Atariya.

"Excellent timing Gevel!" Claudaius pushed through both of them quickly, "Come along then. We can't keep those miserable sods waiting any longer." The two dazed Uthani quickly fell into step behind him, gradually falling behind as Claudius came to a full sprint. "Greetings and salutations brethren, it is with a light heart and a skilled hand that I take command of this operation." Claudaius burst through the doors to the aft bridge, speaking gleefully to the five assembled Uthani captains that awaited him. "I believe you were given the general parameters of our mission before departing, but if any of you have any questions now would be the opportune time to ask them." Claudaius smiled widely, turning in a wide arc to face them all one by one.

Eventually a gruff looking Uthani Pēwah with a horrid "X" shaped scar across his face spoke up. "Just one Pēwah Adjutant, as you are aware by now I'm sure, a number of foreign vessels have been sited at Amphina. Is there a course of action you would suggest?" His voice was low and weak, his throat bearing the same vicious scar that tainted his scaled face. "Command was rather ambiguous as to how we were to handle this sort of situation."

Claudaius' impossibly wide smile grew even larger. "Of course Pēwah Relenu, command has told us to, if I might speak plainly, mop up. These vultures are as legitimate as any other target unless otherwise specified, we shall burn them just as we shall burn any natives that have survived in Amphina." Claudius gave a light chuckle as he paused. "I imagine most of these fellows will be foreigners anyway, so the purpose of this operation extends doubly to them. Now then anymore?"

The room remained silent, "Excellent, I love it when these things are short and to the point! You may return to your ships Legates, make ready for departure, onward we go to war!"

The Milky Way Galaxy
USIV Light of Ilumar
Gamma-Delta Border
Approaching Amphina II

The Light of Ulumar glided gracefully through foldspace, her compliment of destroyers trailing not far behind as they neared Amphina. On the bridge of the ship there was near silence, the only sound the occasional tinkering of input boards or other mechanical readings being streamed to the Uthani who worked tirelessly at their terminals. "My children," suddenly Claudaius broke the silence. "Pray with me before we go into battle, as they did in the old days when our ancestors went force to break themselves against the Lunar Eye let us remember their sacrifice by singing praises to Ilumar." Immediately they all lowered their heads, those that could reach another Uthani joining hands with him or her as Claudius began their ceremony.

"Ilumar, look now upon your children as they prepare for battle under your name. Make us your holy sword, your righteous fist, your glorious shield with which you strike out against the heathen. Bind us in your name to the cause of the Thousand Steps, make us not mortal but divine instrument. See us through this day as victorious conquerors, let us show the heathen the righteous fury of our faith and the truthfulness of our creed." Claudius brought his fist to his chest in unison with the rest of the bridge, bellowing with the rest of his crew that age old cry which bound all Uthani warriors. "My blood for the Emperor, my soul for Ilumar!"

And as he struck his chest and bellowed those fateful words, the Light of Ulumar dropped out of foldspace and all hell broke loose. "Pēwah we're reading multiple vessels, looks like one's a shuttle of Huerdaen make, another is Primareliqua, some sort of Kiith corporate ship and then an assorted bunch that the system is still trying to make out but at least two of them are well armed sir." A middle aged Uthani who sat behind the the ship's primary scanners screamed to be heard over the initial wailing of the ship as it dropped into the system. "Ah got another one sir, large vessel, decently armed, looks like it's from something called the Technocracy."

Claudaius gave an uncomfortable smile, moving behind his scanner officer and leaning down over his shoulder. "Pray tell Pē-Arad Hannek, where do these Technocracy fellows call home?"

Hannek shifted in his seat uncomfortably, "The system isn't sure sir."

Claudaius, turned his head, gazing directly into the face of the now sweating officer. "In these situations Mr. Hannek, I find it always prudent to assume that those we can't trace back to a home are probably Deltans. And well, I think by now you know how we deal with filthy Deltans encroaching upon our territory don't you?"

Hannek broke gaze with his commander, looking down in fear now. "H-however you advise of course Pēwah." The word was little more than a terrified whisper, but it was exactly what Claudaius wished to hear.

"However I advise indeed my friend!" Claudaius grasped the man's shoulders affectionately, straightening his posture and giving the poor sod respite. "Communications Prefect, inform our comrades that they are to select a vessel and mark it as their target, special considerations are to be applied in regards to any vessel that is found to be non-Gamman in origin as that information becomes available. Though do remind them that all of these ships are here to give respite to the degenerate and thus, must be dealt with accordingly."

Immediately the communications officer was on the horn, relaying this information. When all was to the satisfaction of Claudaius he made ready his attack, "Alright then gentlemen, advance and fire on the my mark. Three, two, on-" And yet fate had it that the interlopers would be given a few more seconds of respite as Pē-Arad Hannek cut in before Claudius could finish his countdown.

"Pēwah we have a pro-" Fate would also have it that Hannek would be cut short, Claudaius immediately slamming his fits into the bulkhead as rage filled his eyes.

"You dare interrupt me, me, your commanding officer Pē-Arad!?"

"M-my sincerest apologies Pēwah, but we have a problem, the other large vessel you see. It's from Valinon sir."

Immediately the bridge went quiet, every face turning to look at Claudaius who was now shaking with rage. "V-V-VALINOR, those fucking OVA bastards have to stick their uppity noses into every fucking backwater from here to Cairn. Ilumar damn them!" Claudaius immediately retook his position behind Belain, this time simply shoving him out of the way as his eyes furiously scanned the report. "Motherfuckering OVA sons of bitches I hope they all get carried off to hell," his hands shot to his head, clutching it painfully as his knuckles began to whiten. "Okay okay okay okay okay, no need to panic, no need to panic, no need to panic. Tell the squadron that they are to refrain from engaging that vessel only, and comm get me a line to them." Claudaius paused, releasing the death grip he had on himself as he spun violently to face the void. "Put us on a course that keeps the ship between the interlopers and the Valinor, send the Maninkai and the Tanhurat after that Technocracy ship. The rest of the squadron is free to engage as they see fit! We are going to strafe any targets as we go by but our primary concern is getting between the Valinor and the rest of that lot."

Thus it began, the Light of Ilumar and her destroyer escorts immediately shot forward, spewing all manner of weaponry at the collage of ships before them. Kinetic cannon rounds, missiles, lasers, all manner of weaponry available to the Imperium lanced forth from their black hulls as they attempt to obliterate those they viewed as trespassers. And behind this stream of death, an open message followed, unyielding, unforgiving, perpetually proclaiming the death of all who were found in Amphina. For the Uthani do not extend mercy to vultures, and truly they thought all found in this refuse of Deltan colonialism to be just that.

Open Transmission
Unidentified vessels, you are trespassing in the sovereign territory of the Uthani Star Imperium. The sentence for the crime of trespassing is as follows: Death by whatever means deemed appropriate by the administrating instruments of justice. Long may the Emperor of All Suns administer peace and justice to these lands. Long live Venka Ulumar, Long live Ilumar!

But it is to be said that the Uthani did have obligations, specifically to the Valinor, and because of such a line of communications was opened; the soothing voice of Claudius reaching out across the void to speak. "Brothers and Sisters of Valinor, the Imperium has found considerable evidence linking the Avaikan Mandate to illicit operations deemed to be subversive to the Uthani state. In saying such the legitimacy of their government has been declared null and their territory property of the Uthanium. Your obligations to them are suitably released and we ask that you refrain from interfering with our administration of justice."

[Nyte]

---

The Red Queen - Armory: One Hour Out From Amphina

---

The Red Queens armory was surprisingly large and well equipped for a merchant vessel, and over the last forty minutes or so, a constant stream of nervous crewmen and women had made their way through the room. Horus, and the other nine men and women that made up The Red Queens security force were the last of the ships crew still in the room. Each was wearing a suit of outdated, but still functional Mark V power armor, though their weaponry was just as eclectic as that being used by the rest of the ships crew.

"How bad is it Chief?" One asked, his helmet held seemingly delicately in his armored hands. The man had a young face; one that might have been considered handsome if not for the large burn scars that stretched from the left side of his jaw back towards his ear and the side of his head.

For a moment, Horus didn't answer. Instead, he finished cleaning and holstering a pair of monstrously oversized pistols. Only then did he look up from his work, his icy blue eyes seemed to glow coldly in the darkness, and there was an emotionless look on his face. "I have no idea Al. All I've been told is that we've received an automated distress call from the Amphina system, and as that was our destination anyways, the captains decided to investigate."

Horus paused for a moment as his eyes narrowed and a frown appeared on his otherwise perfectly neutral looking face. Looking around the room, Horus locked eyes with each of his men before continuing. "While we don't know jack shit about what we're flying into, I want you all to stay frosty... While this could be a simple accident, I've got a feeling that it's something far worse. I've come up with several different plans for if this goes to hell like I expect it to... You'll find the details are on your 'pads."

As he spoke, Horus moved towards the door, his armored boots thumping loudly on the metal deck. Grabbing his compact laser carbine on the way, he paused at the door to look back for a moment. "You boys know what to do, and I need to get to the bridge..."

---

The Red Queen - Bridge: Five Minutes Out From The Amphina System

---

Horus stepped into a hive of activity. His gaze sweeping the room as he moved, he made his way next to Sara's command throne. For once, she was not lounging sedately in the over-sized chair. Instead, she sat ramrod straight as she went over the data being streamed to her holo-pad. Suddenly reminded of the fact that she too had once been a soldier, Horus resisted the urge to shake his head ruefully as he stopped at her side.

"Sara?" He said quietly, his voice almost being drowned out by the noise on the bridge.

The captain quickly looked up and frowned. "Not on the bridge Horus" she said quietly as she set her holo-pad down.

Horus simply chuckled, a hint of a grin on his face. "As you wish captain" he continued before turning serious. "Any more information about whats going on?"

"As a matter of fact, yes." She replied while picking her 'pad back up. "Long range sensors dave detected several craft in system, including a group that just jumped in... No IFF or ship recognition as of yet... I knew we should have had those sensors replaced before this trip" She said while shaking her head. Sara frowned before continuing. "However, for being a trade hub, its surprisingly empty of traffic... There should be dozens of ships here, but there isn't..."

Sara would have continued, but was interrupted by the ships pilot. "Ma'am, we're dropping out of FTL now."

---

The Red Queen - Amphina System

---

The Red Queen arrived at the Amphina system with a bang... One that would light up any sensor in the area as a bow wave of discharging energy, particulate, and radiation cascaded outwards from the ship for tens of thousands of miles along the vessels frontal arc. Being familiar with the FTL system however, The Red Queens pilot had dropped out of FTL a fair distance away before slowly maneuvering the ship closer to Amphina II on sub-light drives.

"What do we have Jones?" Sara asked, turning to face her sensors officer.

Jones, still working furiously at his terminal replied without turning away from his screens. "In-system stations are a wreck... I've got clear signs of weapons fire, unknown type and yield, but definitely military grade stuff. I've got multiple vessels as well. No IFF, and ship recognition is coming up negative on all but a Huerdaen shuttle, Monitor Class." Jones paused for a moment... "And captain... That last group is definitely military. I've got multiple signatures... Destroyer class and above" He finished with a tone of disbelief.

"Thats not the worst of it ma'am!" Malachai interrupted. "Those big bastards just sent out a message... All frequencies." Malachai punched in several commands on his console and patched the message through to audio.

Open Transmission
Unidentified vessels, you are trespassing in the sovereign territory of the Uthani Star Imperium. The sentence for the crime of trespassing is as follows: Death by whatever means deemed appropriate by the administrating instruments of justice. Long may the Emperor of All Suns administer peace and justice to these lands. Long live Venka Ulumar, Long live Ilumar!

Ignoring the looks of disbelief on the rest of her bridge crew, Sara turned to look at Horus instead. "Arrogant bastards aren't they?" She asked with a grimace.

Horus only replied with a stiff nod, in his mind, he was already making plans to try and deal with the situation.

"Have there been any replies to this message from the other ships in the system Mr. Malachai?" Sara asked.

"No ma'am" came the simple reply.

"Well, shit." Sara said more to herself than anyone else. Sighing, she continued "Alright, well, try to keep us away from the bastards while our FTL drives recharge. See if you can keep a few other ships between us and them... The more, the better. And warm up the guns, if any of them come within range, light them up. They've made it abundantly clear that they aim to kill us... Lets not make it easy for them..."

[Tarsas]

Amphina System
High Orbit above Amphina II

The Iliad held steady in its orbit over Amphina II, remaining hidden from all but the most perceptive vessels. Continued scanning of Outpost four by the probes had turned up effectively nothing. Felmore was getting more and more frustrated by the minute. The vessel was getting colder and colder, causing ice to begin to form on the walls. The air had humidification systems to attempt to make it easier to breathe and to avoid skin drying out but when the internal temperature regulation system was shut off, these became a burden. Of course, the sealed pressure suits kept anyone on board warm and insulated from the temperature. Felmore knew they couldn’t stay hiding forever. They were playing a dangerous game and he knew it. Another cruiser had jumped into the system followed by a smaller vessel. The Technocracy vessel was busy preparing to make a rescue; they had picked that up over the open radio chatter.

The sensor technician, with that unnaturally perfect face in full view as he turned, spoke up. ”Sir, one of the orbiting stations appears to have some sort of altercation going on inside. It vented its atmosphere minutes ago and now a large chunk of the station just detonated away. Seems we have a brigand shuttle to blame for that. Our passive sensors located them just a minute ago. Pirates of some sort it seems.”

Lieutenant Captain Alfes eyed him expectantly, obviously waiting for him to give the order to engage. After all, hadn’t they come here to hunt pirates? The Feltgor grabbed a hydration pack from a pocket in his seat and sipped the nutritious liquid after popping the cap. Tetheri hydration packs were composed of water mixed with additional electrolytes and nutrients to keep navy servicemen healthy. Felmore made a split second decision. If he engaged these pirates, he lost his element of surprise. He wasn’t about to give that up to chase after a pirate ship. ”Hold current heading and position. I don’t intend to give up our element of surprise just yet.”

The inevitable protest came quickly. Alfes made his way to the command chair and spoke quietly. ”Sir, with all due respect, you ordered us to come to this system to hunt pirates. If you don’t intend to do the mission, I must request strongly that we leave this system. There are plenty of response vessels here and more jumping into the system every hour. Protocol dictates that we avoid major confrontations.”

Felmore felt his temper beginning to surface. How dare this pitiful fool question him. ”I disagree Lieutenant Captain, I think that we need to stay in system.”

Alfes gave the captain a hard stare. ”Very well sir but you can rest assured this will be in my report.”

Felmore growled in the back of his throat. ”Are you threatening me you insignificant blip of a fucking man?”

”I would never do that captain. I’m simply informing you as to what will be happening. I am well aware of your history and connection to Byzalora and I know you have a motive for keeping us here. In order to better protect this crew and future crews, I intend to inform High Command of your actions.” Felmore raised his fist, about to bring it smashing into Alfes’ face. The little man got a fearful look on his face as Felmore drew back in what seemed like slow motion. He was about to swing towards the man’s face when he managed to reign his temper in and lowered his fist.

”Return to your station Alfes and don’t fucking bother me with your damned opinions again. You’ll do as you’re ordered and you can tell those slugs whatever you want. This is my mission and when you command your own, you can do it your way.” A silent alarm began to flash across the bridge as the sensor technician suddenly gasped.

”Sir, cruiser is attempting to ascertain location data on us and is approaching. It is of an unknown origin.”
Alfes threw him a snide glance, infuriating Felmore to the point that he almost grabbed the man and started beating him right there. He took a second to calm down and take a swig from the hydration pack. ”Sound general quarters but do not engage any systems. Depressurize vessel and prepare for possible conflict.”

The gunner turned suddenly. ”Sir, am I not to power up any weapons?”

Felmore growled quietly. It’s as if these fucking idiots needed clarification on everything he said. ”No, the gasers take ten seconds to power up and the missile tubes have been loaded since before the jump. It will take maybe five seconds to fire at that enemy ship should it seek to attack us.”.

The sensor technician spoke up again, his perfect complexion not failing to annoy Felmore, as it did every time he looked at the man’s face. ”Sir, we’ve confirmed that the Akash Wolf has begun a rescue operation of the stranded life form, someone by the name of
Corporal Brannin.”

”Very well, let’s observe what happe-“, he was cut off as shrill klaxon began to sound throughout the vessel.
The sensor officer began to scream over the din. ”Captain, multiple ships just entered the system, we believe to be six total. All ships are actively locking onto targets. Our database ranks them as Uthani.”

”Well would you look at that. Our quadrant neighbors decided to pay us a visit, and I left my dreadnought at home.” Felmore smiled a grim, humorless smile as the crew regarded him as if he had two heads.

The communications officer interrupted his train of thought. ”Message being broadcast across the system. Seems the Uthani have convinced themselves they own this system.”

Felmore frowned. ”Typical. Well, we can’t leave the Akash Wolf to get destroyed, now can we? Not when there’s someone to be rescued. Being rights regulations after all, right Alfes?” The man spluttered as he had his own view of the sensor data on the screen.

”Captain, surely we don’t intend to-“.

”Oh but we do. Surely you can’t disagree that we have an obligation to dear Corporal Brannin. Disengage stealth systems, power up the main weapons, bring shields online. Reactors out of standby and fire pulse drives. Get us into formation with the Akash Wolf. Active sensors engage and get me up to date targeting information on those Uthani ships. Bring internal temperature back up and prepare a general broadcast message. Be sure it tells them who we are, what we’re doing, and our intentions.”

The bridge crew burst into activity as the ship began to hum with the noise of the reactors abruptly bursting to life. The thermal and radiation neutralization fields disengaged, revealing the ship to sensor suits, followed swiftly by the nano-carbon hull plating that adjusted itself to combat colors, deep grey with a Tetheri flag displayed proudly on the side. The navigational and combat shields burst to life as the vessel prepared to plow its way through the debris to the Akash Wolf.

Attention, this a general broadcast from the Iliad of the Republic of Tetheran. We are responding to the distress beacon that was detected here. Any additional survivors, if you receive this communication, please notify us of your position so we may attempt rescue.

It was a formality that they were quite late on broadcasting, as the vessel from Valinon knew they were here; though it was necessary for the log to record that it had been sent. The remaining ships in the system had not detected the Iliad, so it would appear as if it had entered the system more recently than it actually did. Not that Anderus Felmore could think of any way that information would help them in their current predicament. Only force of arms would get them out of that. The next communication was sent directly to the Akash Wolf via tight band communication.

Attention Akash Wolf, this is the Republican Naval Armada vessel known as the Iliad from the Republic of Tetheran. We have been observing your rescue operation silently and wish to provide direct combat assistance against the attacking enemy vessels. We will be entering combat formation with you off to your starboard side.

The pulse drives began to spew forth their bright red thrust exhaust as the ship shot forward. The Virtue class was one of the fastest warships in the Naval Armada. It was capable of patrolling a long trade route in half the time of a larger vessel due to its size and speed. The six light gaser mounts began to rotate their sextuple barrels and charge their capacitors. The light gaser was a multi barrel design that consisted of a rapidly rotating group of six barrels. The gun could fire long streams of energy and was designed to intercept fighters and missiles as well as engage capital ships, though they were not as effective as the single heavy gaser that the Iliad carried. Designed to directly engage capital ships, it was a potent emplacement that could go toe to toe with most warships of the destroyer class and smaller.

The Iliad’s direct advantage as it finally arrived within range to be able to aid the Akash Wolf was that the Uthani had not initially detected it.

Felmore breathed deeply. It had been a long time since he had commanded any real sort of combat action. ”Very well, prepare to support the Akash Wolf. Arm the thermos in missile tubes one through fifteen to fire at the nearest Uthani vessel. Intercept as many of those incoming projectiles as you can. Concentrate shield energy to the primary combat shield and release navigation shield. The gasers will be able to intercept missiles and kinetic rounds but the shields will be the only help against energy. Prepare the point defense missiles for long range interceptions. Keep in mind we’re very limited on those so make sure the AI uses tem sparingly.”

The space around the small frigate group began to erupt with red tinted with green as the Iliad’s gasers spewed arcs of fire at the weapons screaming towards the Akash Wolf. Energy rounds would simply have to be absorbed by the ship’s shields but the fighter interception weapons would work effectively for missiles and kinetic shells. Felmore pulled up a reading of the sensor data and noted that two enemy ships closing in on them. ”Fucking hell, we’ve got company. Gunnery, target forward enemy vessel and empty tubes one through fifteen.” The thermonuclear warheads arced out of the missile tubes on the frigate’s hull and arched towards the forward vessel. ”Engage reload cycle.” After that order, Felmore’s mind began to blur the events of the battle as he gave the orders he had been trained to give. A small part of his mind began to wander; back to the last time he had seen thermonuclear warheads being launched, and suddenly, he could feel his control slipping.

[Rethan]

Sadatoni - Approaching the Avaikan Spur

There were definitely worse places to be stationed in this galaxy. The area saturated with Vipran-Huerdaen border skirmishes came to mind for their danger, or the stagnant trade empires of Alpha for their catatonia inducing boredom. Compared to them, Gamma was an area roughly in the middle. Long ago it had the dubious honour of being the most threatening quadrant of the galaxy. More than one manifest nightmare had lurked in Gamma's dark corners in the distant past, and the region had never properly shaken itself free of that stigma.

It was with some sense of trepidation that Sadatoni had requested assignment to the area. More than a few Agents had been reassigned after the mandatory serving time of a decade, desperate to escape a vast swathe of open space that was still slick with eldritch histories. Whole fields of stars erased, billions vanishing into the darkness.... The perfect breeding ground for the Agency's foes, so reckoned Sadatoni. The idea of going anywhere except Gamma seemed counter intuitive. The objective of his organisation was precisely to prevent another region like the Gamma of the past from being formed, and who knew what spores or dead gods were still hiding in the carcasses of a hundred stars. Sadatoni had endured half a decade of nothing, listening to reports of Order activity beyond Gamma's borders and the terrified whispers of an Asag-level entity and waiting for his beliefs to be proven true.

When an unremarkable outpost had thrown up a distress beacon Sadatoni had immediately set course for the message. The recent surge in Gamma development from outside empires had seemed like a foolish taunt to Sadatoni, and this distress signal was the inevitable result. While h was forced to admit the likelihood of the signal being little more than the result of a pirate raid, Gamma's reputation clawed and scratched at the back of his mind and Sadatoni had decided it couldn't hurt to take a look. At the very least he would have more data on one of the fledgling Gamma organisations and colonies for the Agency and he could feel momentarily useful.

That had been quite some time ago, and now at last the system was coming into view.

++APPROACHING DESTINATION. AWAKENING NULLIFIER UNITS. DECELERATING. YOU MAY EXPERIENCE SOME DISCOMFORT.++

Sadatoni braced in his pod, feeling the wash of heat and nausea that signaled the return of the craft to sublight velocities. Wires and water twisting and flowed around him as the pod drained in response to the change in speed, allowing Sadatoni to breathe proper air again as his lungs were purged of the breathable liquid that had sustained him. The cold sting of armour knitters pricked his skin as metal was sewn into his skin and connected with the subdermal wiring that had replaced his nervous system. He was overwhelmed, for a moment, with sensory input as his eyes were rewritten to accept a wider range of the electromagnetic spectrum, his skin programmed to feel magnetic currents, his bones to respond to minute shifts in gravity. A hundred new senses, removed to make sustaining his body easier, were plugged back into machine and nerve before the pod finally split open and Sadatoni slid out in impeccable business attire. Black suit, navy shirt, navy tie, an outfit that looked for all the world like silk but was knitted with machinery and implants to make it so much more than simple clothing.

The system was all around him as he stepped free of the pod and into the ship proper. Here and there planets could be seen orbiting in the far distance, holographic flickers in the corner of his eye. The sun burned a great distance away, and yet he could still reach out and touch it. Behind the sky of stars, the shifting cybernetic forms of his Nullifiers stalked in half light - lit more by the faint glow of their armour and weapons than by the stars all around them. Information flooded his mind, sent through a myriad of methods outside of the visual. The presence of alien craft was felt in his skin, the distress signal made itself known as a tightness in his chest.

There, the source of the message. An outpost, heavily damaged and undoubtedly the best source of evidence as to what had happened. Sadatoni was not a curious man, nor an inventive one. The presence of others was, for now, little more than a distraction. Most likely they were salvagers or raiders - it was unlikely that they were the ones responsible, why would they remain to face the possibility of retribution? Whomever they were, and whatever their intentions, they were a threat to the integrity of whatever evidence Sadatoni could find. The enemies of the Agency could have inflicted this catastrophe in any of a dozen subtle ways, each building from the tiniest seed into a life ending event. Every ship that passed through the system, and every intruder into the crime scene compromised that initial seed. Introducing their own variables to direct the current state of the scene along the wrong path. It would be impossible to trace back.

With a thought he pushed the tiny craft forward at blinding speeds towards the Outpost. He did not broadcast his presence, nor probe for more information on the others. They did not interest him, and he had no reason to make himself known. Not yet. Instead he focused on the shattered outpost, the speed of his craft increasing as he focus tightened.

++ARRIVAL IN EIGHT MINUTES.+++

Time to go to work.

[Azura]

Main Command Deck, the Explorator / Scout Vessel Ferociter
Sidusclasse of the Primareliqua — Shakedown Campaign of Commander Caen, Mission Day 279.4

The expedition on the surface was proceeding as planned, but Reviers couldn't help but feel uneasy about the circumstances. Everything in the command deck was awash in this disconcerting silence, as if the crew was collectively holding its breath, awaiting word from the surface. Captain Caen and his expedition had successfully landed the runabout on the surface of the planet, and were proceeding to a facility of sorts that they'd spotted on their descent. The Ferociter was beginning to assume a standard orbit around the planet, but Reviers was intent to monitor any and all information being transmitted back up to the ship from the surface. So long as they were off the ship, he wouldn't dare feel comfortable in a strange and potentially hostile sector of the system. If anything, the silence seemed to beckon trouble...

The emergency notification panel is lighting up...

Even as he thought it, the silence was broken from that very source, as a shrill alarm over the communication relay preceded Comm Officer Kinison's shrill voice. "Sir, flash traffic on the main communication channel; recommend alert one!"

Reviers looked up from the monitoring station in a huff, feeling his heart speed up a little more. "Main relay, let's have it."

"Aye, sir," Kinison said quickly, tapping panels frantically at his station. Reviers stood up straighter, walking towards the open floor space amidst the main relay stations, noticing with some concern that his Intercept crew was frantically tracking something massive on their own set of panels...

Open Transmission
Unidentified vessels, you are trespassing in the sovereign territory of the Uthani Star Imperium. The sentence for the crime of trespassing is as follows: Death by whatever means deemed appropriate by the administrating instruments of justice. Long may the Emperor of All Suns administer peace and justice to these lands. Long live Venka Ulumar, Long live Ilumar!

Even as the last piercing note of the transmission concluded, Reviers could feel the icy chill of concern creep up and down his spine, like waking up from a nightmare and struggling to shake the feeling of dread in the pit of one's stomach. The Uthani were not an overtly hostile race towards the Primareliqua, if only because the two civilizations were so rarely interacting with one another. But the Quadrant was rife with the darkness of pure evil, and that evil had bred shrieking suspicion and wanton aggression from the powers who dared tread amidst the stars there. If the Imperium intended to destroy the interlopers invading their territory, then they would not hesitate to blast every single vessel to Hell and gone if they deemed it necessary. Trying to negotiate or reason with the Uthani would be a fool's errand, which left the Ferociter at a tactical disadvantage.

"All hands, combat alert!" Reviers quickly sidestepped towards the command chair as the lighting in the control room suddenly darkened at his command. An influx of new hands began to filter in slowly as the main combat suite came online. "Kinison, alert the Navicula immediately to return to the Ferociter!"

Now it was Kinison's time to appear flustered. "Sir, open communication is impossible right now under combat alert, and I'm having trouble raising them on their secondary dish. The angle of inclination is wrong comparative to our position in orbit. Without course correction, the next broadcast window wont open for another twenty-five minutes."

Reviers cursed under his breath. "Tobin, range of enemy contact?"

"Just beyond the heliopause of Tenebris; they're holding position in the interstellar medium. Exact classification and number of enemy ships is not yet known; we are working to determine the exact source now, sir."

Though he couldn't see his reflection, Jayne could imagine he bore the ashen, sullen look of a man pinned between a rock and a hard place. The Ferociter was capable of defending itself in a skirmish, if only just, but its primary capacity was for reconnaissance gathering. Without the support of a fire team, the ship was woefully outgunned by capital ships, and the Uthani Star Imperium's warning to ships in the system would almost certainly be measured by the introduction of capital warships into the sector. No matter how badly it reflected on his courage or conviction as a warrior, the safety of the ship and her compliment was of paramount importance, and the only way to guarantee their safety was to evacuate in deference to the superior force at arms. He would find the means to repair his broken honor at a later date.

"All hands, prepare for retrograde orbital correction. Weapons stations, begin making preparations for combat; intercept officer, plot a course out of Tenebris with exceeding haste. This is what we've trained for, ladies and gentlemen; let's get to it!"

Undisclosed Surface Installation of Amphina II
Navicula Surface Expedition, Mission Day 279.4

From the moment the Navicula had set down several meters away from what appeared to be the remains of a badly-damaged outpost of sorts, Caen knew that he'd made a mistake. The first steps onto the planet had been a foreboding trek onto an alien world unlike any he'd seen in quite some time; inhospitable, cold, intimidating. He had felt within himself some implicit need, some desire to rectify his own weaknesses in a show of courage and conviction. Stepping out of the Navicula on a reconnaissance mission for his adopted home world would somehow exorcise the demons living within, he thought, and finally silence the haunting voices that came to him in the dark places, beckoning him into the chasms of oblivion from which he had once before came so close to falling into. He thought that the completion of their mission would bring solace to his spirit.

He thought wrong. Every step towards the outpost they'd spotted on radar during their descent onto the surface was sending a cascading wave of dread terror into the depths of his soul, making each inch forward a battle within himself. Cresting over the final hill, seeing the facility proper on the surface of the dead world... it bore no physical resemblance to the Peregrinorum, but in his mind, he was already back there, preparing to enter the halls of the damned. The squadron of Praereptors accompanying him held their plasma rifles at the ready, cautiously moving forward as disciplined instruments of war; he held no aspirations of their success in a fight, however. Somehow, someway, the specter of death was hanging over all of them, as if the planet itself were the true villain. They were trespassers here, and an angry world would conspire to destroy them all.

And yet I'd rather be outside than inside...

"Ace, watch your six; I'm going to crack the hatch," Caen's squad commander escort motioned behind them, arranging for a pair of soldiers to remain behind while the expedition prepared to move deeper into the seemingly-abandoned outpost.

"Copy, standing at the ready."

Their entry into the outpost on Amphina II had been uneventful, sans the apparent destruction that had been observed up-close. Each step into the facility had drawn on Lynom's fears of the Sar'Rithril; each corner rounded moving inside the facility sure to bring one of the beasts harvesting faces off the corpses of the damned. Yet they'd seen no evidence of the Sar'Rithril, or any of the local denizens who might have manned the outpost, and could shed light on what the fuck had gone wrong. In the brief time scouting the outpost, they'd come to uncover only a bare minimum of information about an Avaikan Mandate, which seemed to be the native designation for Tenebris, but so much else was lost to them. There were strange scarring marks at various intervals, perhaps from weaponry unknown to them. Whoever or whatever had ravaged the outpost, it wasn't the Sar'Rithril.

Christ, it feels worse...

"I'm going to open the hatch now," the squad leader said boldly. "Ready weapons."

Their path through the outpost had led to this point, a single door accessible to them. Caen stood in front, flanked by his escort, feeling as though the hatchway was growing in size before his very eyes. Though his armed escort were at the ready, Lynon suddenly felt isolated and alone, creeping into the access corridors of the Peregrinorum all over again. The pistol he kept at the ready weighed infinitely more than it should have, and felt as though it was prone to leap out of his hand at any moment. His mouth was dry, and swallowing was next to impossible without feeling as though he'd choke on his own tongue. The squadron commander slowly braced his weapon against the door, pulling with considerable strength to open the hatchway inward towards them. As he did so, a body propped up on the other side slowly slid out into their path.

"Motherfuck..." the squad leader barked, dancing away from the opening hatch as the body hit the floor before them. The back half of the corpse was burned severely, a flash fire perhaps, or some bizarre weapon strike, but by a cruel trick the body had fell in a way as to allow the soulless, lifeless eyes a direct gaze on Caen. Trails of blood were evident from the tear ducts, and what remained of the man's lips had fostered a sort-of perma-grin that leered upwards, as if the poor bastard was in the throes of ecstasy at his death. The squished, pug nose had been broken on the body, and the finger tips were bloody and cut; he'd been trying to claw his way out of whatever predicament had led to his death, and it had been a gruesome and brutal death. The burnt smell of roasting flesh, the sickly-sweet odor of death lingering, festering, pulsating.

The stench of corpses was flooding the hallway from the darkened room beyond, and it was too much. Caen could feel his world spinning away as he instinctively fell back from the scene, leveling his pistol at the open doorway. "No, no, no!"

"Captain, sir—" was all that could be uttered before Caen's gun discharged, sending an arcing blast of plasma into the darkness, briefly illuminating the silhouettes of other corpses ahead of them. The blast brought everyone about him into an attack pose.

"We have to eat!" the Captain screamed, firing again and again. "Don't let it end like this!"

"Captain, hold your fire!" The squadron commander pleaded with him. "Everyone, stand at the ready, I—"

"I wont let them die, I wont let them die!" Caen's shaking hand began to draw down on the squadron commander, but another escort managed to knock his arm upward before another bolt of plasma bit the ceiling above the soldier's head.

"Jesus, restrain the Captain, he's lost it!"

Three soldiers bum-rushed the Captain from behind, tackling him against the far wall of the hallway, causing him to discharge his pistol dangerously close to the weapons specialist next to the hatchway. The squad commander moved in between the soldiers to disarm the Captain. "Sir! This behavior is unacceptable! I must insist—"

"—We have to move out, now!" The radio officer suddenly exclaimed, running up behind the commotion to address his squad leader. "Sir, enemy contacts are approaching the system; the Ferociter is requesting an immediate dust-off—they're repositioning for a hard lock in the bloody atmosphere!"

"My God... All hands, back to the Navicula now!" The squad commander yelled, grabbing his rifle off the floor. Caen continued to struggle against the firm grip of his escorts holding him in place. "Captain, sir, we have to go, and you are forcing my hand here!"

Caen snarled at him. "The Captain is already dead, you idiot! He's already on the fire!"

The soldier shot a look to the men holding him down, then focused his attention back on Caen in a huff. "Sir, by command precedent of the standing regulations of the Sidusclasse, I hereby formally take command—"

"You fucking bitch!" The Captain screamed, writhing and pitching forward, trying to lurch at the squadron commander. "If you so much as touch our children, I'll rip your fucking heart out and feed it to the—"

One of the soldiers flooded the Captain's O2 module pack with Seravitrin and Isotonin, holding the canister in place as the Captain thrashed and kicked wildly, very nearly connecting with the radio operator. Slowly, the chemicals began to filter into his breathing air, and their tranquilizing effects began to still the chaos within. "Sir, please don't make this any harder than it needs to be!"

"You don't under-r-stan... we... we are... to li-live..." Caen slurred, losing consciousness, a final spasm before he passed out. Everyone's attention was fixated on the crazed scene, belying the urgency of their situation.

"Get him aboard the Navicula," the squad commander ordered. "Alert the Ferociter medical team to stand at the ready."