Terra Nova [In-Character]

[Northern Socialist Council Republics]

Terra Nova
Where are we? When are we? Who are we?


Click above for the OOC; Image Credit: Jakub Różalski, "Before the Storm"

The stars changed. That was the first warning we had that everything had gone wrong.

Even for those that saw little transformation in the appearance of their immediate environments, those lucky enough to retain their familiar geographies, the sky was impossible to miss. The constellations were of the wrong season. Or of the wrong era. Or were entirely unfamiliar entirely. Then confusion reigned as communications with the outside world seemingly ceased working instantaneously.

Perhaps the less enlightened of us held an advantage there, for they were not so reliant on it. They knew little of the greater world around them in the first place; they did not expect nuclear submarines to send regular pings, diplomats to report back to their homelands, telephone, telegram, and internet services connecting them to everywhere else, or subspace messages from far-away imperial capitals. The more enlightened of us did expect such things, and their sudden absence was as shocking as it was disruptive.

At first we suspected some kind of technical problem, of course. Reactors could fail. Lines of communication could be cut. Subspace receivers could be deafened. What happened was so outrageous, so out of the realm of plausibility, that our mind jumped to every other possibility first before that. Internal failure, enemy action, human error... all to explain away the inevitable.

Nonsense, in hindsight of course. For all we had to do to find the truth was to look up and see. The stars themselves told the truth.

We are not where we were.

[G-Tech Corporation]

The Change

Another barrage thundered down on the Seraphim forces rallying to the rear of the damaged Quantum Gateway. A swathe of assault bots disappeared beneath the blossoms of purple, crimson, and orange as the Commander thumped slowly towards the orifice. Behind his towering ACU a solitary figure in white and green walked, ephemeral and fragile in comparison to the monolith of armorplas and blast-plate.

"You're absolutely sure about this, Princess?"

His voice was touched with concern. The other hulking machine near at hand, more elegant and streamlined than his, remained silent, though he knew from their private conversations that Crusader Rhiza, for all her faith in the Illuminate, did not condone this action her beloved Rhianne had decided to undertake.

The voice of the Princess, overlapping tones speaking of her otherworldly quality. Human, and yet inhuman. The Commander couldn't prevent a few chills from running up his spine.

"This is the only way. Bring it down."

"Affirmative."

A flash of mental effort, retargeting weapons systems from the mobile platforms which had pressed the enemy away from the structure, and of the defense lasers which even now cauterized the flow of Seraphim units which was still emerging from the shadowed archway. Shells flickered overhead, pummeling the construction with synchronized detonations. The quantum fluctuations intensified as the warding mechanism struggled to compensate for the energetic surge, and then it was down, a series of flashes of prismatic light indicating where the structure failed.

"Be advised, we're seeing major movement in the quantum foam. Brace for impact, and engage energy dumps."

As usual, HQ had advice which only a neophyte would find useful. But sometimes in the heat of combat even veteran commanders had been known to forget basic principles of warfare, and paid for it in failed campaigns or devastated worlds. The Commander keyed in several systems as the gate began falling to earth, activating both personal shields and the array of mobile projectors that he and the Crusader had fabricated for this eventuality.

"So beautiful..."

A breath over the shortwave as Rhiza watched the space-time abnormality rip free of the chains the aliens had placed about it. Trained by the stoic masters of Mars for battlefield silence, the Commander did not comment - but the Illuminate champion was not wrong. There was an exotic quality about the Rift, to see where light disappeared into some other reality. The hues of color that flowed through the unmended hole in existence defied easy cataloging, and baffled the mind.

The white figure that stalked forward towards the Rift though, unperturbed by the steady blast front which buffeted the Commander's shielding, was anything but baffling. Rhianne stepped into the maelstrom, and then up, rising into the air as easily as a father descends the staircase of his home. It sent prickles through the Commander's scalp. The reports of the degree to which Burke had mastered the Way, it seemed, were overcautious if anything.

"Reading a quantum spike! Stabilize!"

HQ was frantic, even though this was anticipated. The energy release from sealing the Rift would be... catastrophic. They had enough shielding here to resist four, maybe five thermonuclear detonations. It would be enough.

Oh, Fletcher and Dostya were probably right. They should have waited further away, ensured their safety. But this was the end of the war. He would be in at the death, and the Crusader would never have allowed her Princess to face the Seraphim alone.

A rumbling in the earth. A flash, so white that the entire world appeared to be filled with light. Awareness fled, and for a moment the Commander regretted not listening to his colleague's advice not to trust the Aeon. It was too late now though... too late for them all...

---

"Commander. Come in. Commander. Acknowledge."

A bender of a headache. Worse than graduation day, the red-blood pounding playing a tattoo inside his skull. And the whining from HQ didn't help matters either. He sat upright in his chair, quickly scanning the systems. Nominal. Nominal. Nominal. It was still functioning, at least. A touch of the mind, and the link to HQ opened.

"Receipt of transmission - acknowledged."

"Commander, what happened?"

He frowned inwardly.

"I lost consciousness. I was hoping you could tell me."

"Negative. Assess the situation. We're still making heads and tails of things on our end. We'll be in touch once we know more."

Helpful as always. Optical sensors online and - well, at least the Rift was gone.

Then the Commander scanned further. Uh, well that was unexpected. The coastline was also gone. And the mountains. Or rather, the coastline was quite a bit different.

"Commander?"

Rhiza's voice filtered into his comms, and he opened a link.

"Acknowledged. Apologies Crusader. I lost consciousness there."

"I'm in the same boat. Do you - do you know what happened to the Princess?"

He shook his head, and there was a touch of genuine regret in his voice.

"I'm afraid not Rhiza. She is gone - but so is the Rift. And - " He scanned the horizon " - come to think of it, so are the Seraphim."

"I'll begin reclamation protocols once we get a lander in here."

"No, no need. Look. Really look."

It was eerie. As the ACU next to his rotated, scanning the landscape, it was clear that it was all gone. His supporting batteries weren't responding, the Fatboys were offline. But stranger still, the beach here where they stood was pristine. White sand, no signs of disturbance from tracks, or footsteps even. Certainly no burnt out husks of the several hundred heavy defense units they had had to burn their way through to get to the Gateway, or even any carbon-remnants of the Gateway itself.

"Rhiza, give me a perimeter. None of my forces are responding. I'm going to get a factory online, and some scouts. HQ doesn't know what is going on either."

Military discipline kicked in. In unfamiliar circumstances, establish a perimeter. The idea obviously appealed to the Crusader too, and soon the eldritch disruptive energy that the Aeon relied on for their fabrication pulsed from her battlesuit too. Something was obviously very strange here.

[Northern Socialist Council Republics]

20th January, 936 Nuclear Era
2 days after the Incident

Samantha Rasmusdatter, more often simply known as the Commissar, made her way up the grand staircases surrounding the Administrative Bureau, one of the three great national complexes towering above the skyline of the Sound in which the complex clockwork that was the Commonwealth's administration continued to tick away.

She had always wondered why it was necessary that these government buildings be built on elevated ground, with perhaps three or four flights' worth of stairs separating it from the light rail lines of Reconciliation Street. Sure, it bothered her less than it might many of her colleagues; while she was no model of martial prowess, she kept herself reasonably in shape as was her duty as a servant of the Commonwealth - one couldn't work if one got sick, after all - and the excellent healthcare provided to the Civil Service meant that her body was younger than her age may have suggested. But it was still a horrific use of valuable time; time was well spent if she was performing some necessary function of State or if she was taking care of herself to make sure she could continue performing the necessary functions of State. The minute and a half it took her to make the climb was spent doing neither, so it was a minute and a half that was wasted. She'd have to take an elevator down to her office anyways, so what was the point in forcing her and all the other employees of the Civil Service to make this climb every morning? It was deeply inappropriate, too, for it was not the role of the Civil Service to tower over the city's inhabitants. Leave that flashy role to the cheery hypocrites of the Government. The Civil Service worked in the shadows, doing the work that nobody knew about and that nobody wanted to know about.

It had been a hectic two days since the Incident happened. The Armed Forces were put on high alert, the Defence Bureau suspecting an imminent and unusual attack when the forces of the Commonwealth's enemies abruptly disappeared from its borders. The Commonwealth's relationship with Panslavia may have been good, but no sane country left their border so unguarded. Not if they wanted to still exist in a few more years. Not even when the country on the other side of those borders was an ally. It was just practical, that was all. The armies of the Commonwealth's neighbours vanishing... that would be enough to make anyone suspicious.

But it was soon realised that this wasn't the case; it wasn't just the military forces of the Commonwealth's neighbours that disappeared; those neighbours disappeared in their entirety. The Commonwealth Aerospace Command failed to find familiar cities, military bases, and seaports when the State Council finally authorised a few flyovers of Eurasia last night. In their place... the most unusual structures, radio broadcasts in unfamiliar languages, and cities that didn't match satellite imagery captured mere days ago.

A sigh escaped her throat. There was only so long that they could keep this covered up. The Commonwealth had a stockpile of critical resources, of course, but when important luxuries like chocolate started going off the shelves, well, even uneducated country folks would notice that. Eventually the masses would have to be told, or at least some kind of excuse given, and it was her job to send out the message without causing a riot somewhere. But what could the Civil Service say? It barely knew what was happening itself.

"Long night?" a voice came. Kasper Rasmussen, her brother.

"Yes, long night" the Commonwealth Commissar for Socialist Correctness responded, without thinking of it too much. Kasper, or Junior Interrogator Kasper, as his formal title went, still harboured this non-Socialist delusion that he was entitled to the Commissar's time just because he happened to share half her genetic code. Ridiculous. Some people really did find the most irrelevant things meaningful.

Kasper made a friendly sneer, reading clearly suggestive implications into her noncommittal response. Samantha crushed her irritation. Not only would correcting the behaviour of one of her own subordinates likely reduce the labour effectiveness of the rest of her staff, but berating him would not be worth her time. She had a nation to correct and a Junior Interrogator was not important enough for her to face personally. She idly wondered, however, whether this was a sign that she had been too lenient with her department. One of the reasons why she was spoken of, correctly so in her opinion, as the most competent Commissar in Commonwealth history was the terror that her department commanded. There just wasn't enough staff or funding to put eyes and ears in every black market, public bathroom, or office cubicle across a nation of sixteen millions, after all. No... she counted on the fact that when people thought of her officers - and especially when they thought of herself - they did not think of men and women, boys and girls, but rather a force of nature that could crush lives without even thinking about it, a shadow that could descend without notice and leave nothing uncovered.

But if people in her own department were feeling comfortable enough to make suggestive remarks, well. Perhaps she ought to set an example. Certainly there was also some degree of personal emotional satisfaction to be gained from putting her irritating sibling through Reeducation.

The elevator dinged and the doors opened. Not to the clinically sterile halls of the 6th floor underground where her office sat, but to an old-fashioned hallway covered in a carpet. She strode out, quickly found the conference room to which she had been summoned, and opened the door.

A digital clock set to the back of the room informed the Commonwealth Commissar for Socialist Correctness Samantha Rasmusdatter that she was no less than forty seconds early compared to the agreed-upon time, and yet the roar of voices speaking over each other informed her that the meeting had already started. How deeply unprofessional.

"Good morning, ladies, gentlemen."

A hushed silence abruptly fell over the room, as ministers and secretaries and heads of associations muttered back their own greetings. Only two dared to face her as they ought to. The Commandant of the Commonwealth Aerospace Command, Ragnvald Rósenbergsson, sat staring at her, questioning, while the Secretary of the Department of Intelligence, Kian Rickardinpoika, idly lay back in his reclining chair, twirling a pen.

In the privacy of her own mind, she scowled, even as she schooled her outwards expressions to reveal nothing. Pitiful. These men and women were supposed to be her equals, not like the ignorant masses that went about their business in the streets of the Commonwealth's great cities like the busy ants they stepped upon. They shouldn't be ruled by irrational fear like the little men they ruled over. They, unlike those below, should know that only the un-Socialist had anything to fear from her. But she refrained from pointing this out. By goodness she hated dealing with these opportunistic cowards. If only it wasn't her duty to do so... but it was, so enough of that.

Fear was still useful, she forced herself to remember. Fear was still productive, even if it was pathetic as anything when one thought about just who it was that was openly displaying such terror.

Perhaps she'd invite Kian to spend the night at her apartment. He wasn't bad looking, was a good Parliamentary Socialist, and after two days of dealing with this mess she certainly needed to decompress a bit. And she could finally spare the time for such matters. Maybe. Hopefully.

On second thoughts, looking around, perhaps the visible terror was a sign that un-Socialist corruption had been reaching the highest levels of the Civil Service and that they did really want to avoid her attention. She made a mental note to have someone investigate that possibility. The NSRS, the beacon of freedom in all the world, could not be allowed to fall to barbarism.

With seemingly nobody else willing to speak up - what happened to all the enthusiasm these people had less than a minute ago? - Commandant Ragnvald began the meeting.

"Aerospace Command has taken the liberty of preparing an analysis from our observations of what appears to be new forces in areas where our neighbours used to be, which I have already delivered to your respective departments," he began, skipping the unnecessary pleasantries and the preamble. Nothing Samantha didn't already know, of course. She had read the report already, which was one of the reasons why she had shadows under her eyes. "To summarise, we are certain that some kind of socialist state society exists on what used to be the Ashland Colonies and there are unusual signals from other locations in the world that bears further investigation. But for the moment our priority is where our knowledge is best - this 'Nordamerika' and what appears to be their considerable military forces. If any of you have suggestions regarding this matter that involve Aerospace Command, I'll welcome them now."

The State Council quickly fell into two factions, a 'wait and observe' faction revolving around Kian's vocal claims of not revealing the Commonwealth's hand unnecessarily - who knew what kind of monsters lived in their society, and what they would want to do to the Commonwealth if they knew of its existence? - and a 'make contact' faction around the Commissar and her belief that trying to stay hidden would only sow unnecessary distrust - if the Commonwealth could hear Nordamerika's radio broadcast, then surely Nordamerika had the capability to hear the Commonwealth's.

It was a fierce discussion as usual, even if to an outside observer everything appeared perfectly polite and non-confrontational. The ignorant masses watching on the television would see a unified Civil Service working towards their freedom, welfare, and security. But the people in the chamber itself heard veiled threats, unsubtle implications, promises of quid-pro-quo rewards. To the men and women who had everything - and anyone who couldn't acquire whatever they wanted wasn't powerful enough to sit on the State Council - the only thing left to fight for was naked power itself. The joy of commanding those that were inferior to them. The delight of watching the world move to their designs. The ecstasy of crushing one's enemies beneath one's heels. There was nothing else that they didn't already have.

The result was perhaps a foregone conclusion. The public - and very satisfyingly gruesome, for the masses that watched it on the holoscreens loved it - execution of former Minister Katrin, of Foreign Affairs, last week proved beyond doubt that Jesse's Internal Security mooks couldn't protect anyone from a concerted investigation by the Department of Socialist Correctness supported by the Justice Ministry. It was public knowledge, too, that the Secretary General - hapless idiot that he was - was deep in the pockets of the National Revenue Office. With Commissar Samantha for Socialist Correctness, Chief Justiciar Asbjørn, and Director Sanja of National Revenue all on the same side of the argument and Commandant Ragnvald vaguely leaning in that direction to boot, there was no way that any of these spineless bureaucrats was going to put up a sustained resistance.

Not that it stopped the increasingly rabid Secretary for Intelligence from trying to rally such a resistance. It was perhaps understandable. Once formal contact was had with Nordamerika, the duty of infiltrating their bureaucracy and digging out their secrets would pass from the Armed Forces to his Department of Intelligence, and he'd be on the firing line should anything go wrong then. And anything could go wrong when a nation was hard-pressed in a crisis unlike any it had ever seen before, like the Commonwealth was now. But one-hundred and four minutes later, the Director capitulated.

It took three minutes shy of another hour to hash out the details, but the order was still given out before lunch. The SSS Sannhet-3, a submarine of the Commonwealth Naval Command, began making its way towards the largest of Nordamerika's cities with the order to hail any foreign military vessel of unknown allegiance it meets on the way.

Yes, Samantha concluded as the suited men and women streamed out of the meeting hall. She would take Kian home tonight; she really did need to decompress, and it would be nice to conquer someone who doesn't quietly submit for once.

[Mercatus]

7th of May, 4459 A.D.

Wormhole Anomaly Event

It had been 2 days after the event that brought unknown terrestrial civilizations to Terra Nova, and so far it seemed that outer space had been untouched. The void was all quiet, save for the occasional asteroid or meteorite, with no hint of civilization present.

That would all change in a very literal flash.

As the fabric of space itself was folded and began to tear open, observers from the planet below would be treated to a nova-like occurrence that outshone the entire night sky, a display of great terror and beauty. Operators of radio observatories would already begin picking up strange and distinctly artificial signals coming from high orbit. The mysterious phenomena would continue for four long minutes, and upon cessation of the events, a large fleet of spacecraft had appeared where space had torn open and abruptly brought back together. A sea of gunmetal grey and matte-black ship hulls filled the once-lifeless void, and with the intentions of the occupants of such vessels unknown, terrestrial nations would be understandably perplexed, excited, and terrified at the "alien" fleet that had just materialized before their eyes.

3 Hours Later...

A tall and broad-figured man paced about his observation platform on the bridge of the flagship cruiser in the fleet of 375 vessels. He was clad in a high-collared black greatcoat with gold lining and buttons and a captain's hat of the same color scheme, standard wear for a ship captain of a Corvus vessel, and his glowing-red cybernetic right eye along with the alloy plate covering the upper-right side of his face denoted his Serco origin. The man was Fleet Admiral Ranen Kratos, who had been assigned to command the fleet that would ensure the UIT complied with the demands of Corvus Prime to cease all hostilities. Unfortunately for him and his entire crew, the alarming event that had just transported them to an unknown star system ensured that would never happen.

"So you're saying we've materialized in an unknown part of space inhabited by an unknown civilization with no way back?!" yelled Admiral Kratos angrily to his second-in-command and friend, Erasmus Prosis, who stood at a mere 5'7" as compared to Kratos' nearly 8 feet of physical height. Erasmus, clad in the same greatcoat as his commander but missing the captain's hat and having a clean-shaven head, was of Itani origin. While things were rough between the two at first due to their mental conditioning that taught them to hate the other, their shared trait of defecting to Corvus eventually brought them from enemies to allies to friends.

"Yes sir, it appears that way. We've already established contact with all Corvus Prime space stations, and strangely they have been transported with us to this singular planetary orbit, with each in different locations in orbit around the planet or its moon. Engineering crews have also confirmed the complete disappearance of our jump drives from all ships, and they found it extremely concerning that they had disappeared with no signs of internal damage, like it was never there in the first place. There has been no word from the Syndicate yet on this incident, but I am sure we will soon. Meanwhile, we need to consider the more pressing matters at hand. If we are truly stranded with no way back, then it is pertinent that the shipyard be brought to full working capacity and that we obtain the stream of resources necessary to make repairs and manufacture new equipment. We must locate and secure a source of Xithricite ore, as well as conduct recon on the civilization occupying the planet this fleet is currently in orbit of." replied Erasmus to the Admiral's understandably angry inquiry.

Having calmed from his brief outburst, Kratos offered his plan, "So, we are without resources needed to maintain our fleet, and it is plausible that the planet or its moon may have Xithricite in their planetary crust. Including the unknown factor of the terrestrial civilization into the equation, they may take any attempt to enter their atmosphere as an invasion and fire upon us. It is unknown the state of their technology, so any ships we send will be blind to the kind of threats they may or may not face. I suggest we retrofit a group of ships with mineral scanners and send them down fully armed in anticipation of an attack by a technologically advanced race, so as to avoid risk to more vulnerable commercial craft. This way we can test their military capabilities and find out if the planet's crust holds anything we require to continue the maintenance of the fleet."

"I believe this to be the best option we have at the moment, Admiral," said Erasmus, giving a sigh before continuing, "however, it worries me what the terrestrial occupants will think of our incursion. If there is in fact an advanced alien race living on the surface and we find ourselves to be ill-equipped to handle them, it may well spell doom for Corvus Prime."

"Your fears are understandable, Erasmus, but like you said, it is the best option we have right now. In the meantime, I want a group of 15 Territorial Defenders and 15 CorVults to be fitted for combat and basic recon duties, after which this ship and a small group of other vessels will descend to a lower orbit to provide high-altitude covering fire, should it be necessary. I'm afraid that no matter the course of this mission all action will inevitably lead to war with the inhabitants of the planet due to our currently dire lack of resources and the likely event that any authority below will refuse to concede territory for us to begin mining operations. Should the first incursion prove successful, I want a second one to begin soon after with the goal of capturing specimens of any sapient life as well as pieces of their technology."

"Your orders will be carried out to the letter, Admiral."

With that, Kratos' Heavy Assault Cruiser along with 3 other cruisers, 8 Trident frigates, and 6 Goliath freighters moved to a low orbit of just over 780 kilometers above the surface of Terra Nova, and the group of vessels would now be visible to the naked eye from sea level. A fleet of 30 spacecraft emerged from the hangar bay of one of the cruisers, fully outfitted for combat and retrofitted with mineral scanners to conduct rudimentary observations of the planet's crust. They entered the atmosphere at full speed, on trajectory for a flyover of what would be the Nordic countries on the now-ancient and outdated globes of Earth so treasured by historians and collectors.

As observations began on the ground, a large and sprawling civilization was revealed to the eyes of the Corvus pilots. Their altitude as of then was 20,000 feet above sea level, and the sight of 30 unknown objects flying at nearly Mach 6 would likely have already tripped a few radar stations. Concerned that the small fleet will be tracked, the leading WTD pilot spoke on an encrypted channel, "All WTD pilots are ordered to activate signal jammers at this time in preparation for low-altitude observations of the terrestrial inhabitants. No other hostile action is to be taken other than this unless necessary, understood?"

With a collective "Yes sir." the WTDs all switched on their signal jammers, which blocked any radar installations in the vicinity of the spacecraft from tracking the group. The fleet then descended to an altitude of just 6,000 feet in order to gain a better perspective of who exactly they were dealing with. Observations of the civilization below revealed something shocking to the pilots: they hadn't encountered aliens, but a human civilization! The fact that they showed signs that they were a pre-interstellar nation further perplexed the pilots, as all of known humanity to them had colonized the galaxy 1000 years ago, and nothing was known of what happened to those left behind on Earth. Could they be the descendants of the lost Earth-bound civilization? It was a distinct possibility to the pilots, but one that was held with much skepticism, as the technology level of this nation was below that of when humans first spread beyond the solar system. However, theorization would have to wait until debriefing, as the mission at hand was much too important. Meanwhile, the small group of capital ships gathered in low orbit maintained an ominous inactive state, performing observations on the signals emanating from across Terra Nova.

[Northern Socialist Council Republics]

20th January, 936 Nuclear Era
2 days after the Incident

The warning sirens throughout the city sounded for the first time since the Savonian War more than half a century ago, and yet the clients of the Kastellet were sluggish to move.

Karin, the proprietor of the establishment, made a grunt of disappointment. Perhaps she was getting old, or perhaps it was just that she was a woman of the East. There were enough years on her bones for her to remember an adolescence cut short by the Great Russian War, the explosions, the fire, the noise, the terror... things that pampered rich kids who grew up behind the curtains of air defences that the capital cities of the Commonwealth boasted would never understand. Or kids that grew up too late to know a proper war at all, for that matter.

It was those memories that caused her to dive behind the counter with the second blare of the electronic horn instead of trying to herd her customers. Sure, professionalism dictated that she should take care of her paying customers, but on the other hand, it was the hard steel of the club bar, not any so-called professionalism, that was going to save her from falling bombs. Even stacks of propaganda leaflets could be dangerous if their bindings didn't come apart properly.

A paragon of patience and generosity would have judged maybe half her clientele to be conscious. These suburban neighbourhoods were always like this, filled with people just trying to forget it all by loading up with a little chemical happiness after a long day at work. It was a mystery to her why all these men and women kept going to work if they were so miserable there. It wasn't like there was any great shortage of jobs - her old friends in Kiruna or Narvik would have eagerly welcomed a helping hand or ten. But then again, it was the folly of these craven, unimaginative people who kept her pockets flush with silver, so perhaps she shouldn't complain too much. If it was chemical relief that they were after, then she was happy to provide.

All you really needed to turn money in this business was discretion and a total lack of scruples.

She heard the staccato beat of the anti-air guns going off in the distance and grinned. It was nice to hear that someone was standing up in the defence of her business. That was one of the key reasons why she decided to move to a larger city, after all. The military didn't care that much about the defence of the small outlying settlements. Or perhaps it was that they couldn't; after all, small villages were much greater in number than large cities, and the Commonwealth's industry could only pay for so many anti-aircraft guns. But she suspected that they just didn't care. It was always the poor whose interests were ignored in the halls of government.

Whatever the reason, nobody came to their defence the night her parents died.

Perhaps half a minute later, the pounding sound of guns died. The raiders left, then, or they were shot down. Regardless, her business would not be bombed tonight. Nor would she herself be.

She had no way of knowing, of course, that a mere half-hour's drive away the headquarters of the North-Norwegian Home Guards was in total panic.

Technical Specialist Jens Svenssen was trying to hail the unknown aircraft intruding on their airspace when all of the aircraft abruptly vanished from radar. Either all of them abruptly crashed for no good reason, and even then they should have at least seen them falling, or they had stealth capabilities beyond their own. Or those of their regional rivals.

The Captain of the garrison knew that perfectly well, too, which was why the order was given to open fire at the projected positions of the now presumed hostile aircraft. But hitting a target at seven kilometre's height was no easy challenge even with the radar system tracking every movement of the target - it was the kind of threat that they'd have called Aerospace Command to handle, not try and shoot down themselves. Trying to hit them on projected positions, with radar not catching anything... well. Jens would have been more surprised if they actually did hit something than he was that they didn't.

Now what, he wondered.

"Can we maybe get a satellite to look at it? Or get a ground observer to confirm?"

"Not in time to do anything," Jens responded. "It will be hours before we can get any of that up. Ground observers likely won't be practical at that height anyways."

"No reports of any bombings?"

"No, Captain," Svetlana, Jens' colleague, responded. "Or at least, not yet. Whatever the hostile craft are doing in our airspace, they haven't made any direct attempts to attack. Yet. I suspect that it's a surveillance or reconnaissance flight, Captain. That would explain their stealth capabilities as well."

The Captain clenched his teeth in frustration - it was an unusual day when a garrison captain found themselves unable to do anything when their District was being attacked - but without vision, there was nothing that they could do. One could not fight an enemy that one could not see.

Ah well, Jens concluded, leaning back in his chair. It wasn't his problem. He was just the paid grunt.

[New Saharia]

Day 13, Month 4, Year 156

18:03 ECCT (Edekar City Central Time Time)

---

Just beyond the new Earth's moon, nestled far from prying eyes, deep-blue flashes of dim light began to materialize for a moment, only to disappear. Like a lightning storm in space, seen from afar. The pulses seemed to gently shake the space around them, getting stronger by the second. It was almost as if something was trying to push through, slamming itself against the walls of spacetime itself, again and again.

In a manner of speaking, one could say something was, indeed, breaking in. But, as time will show in this strange realm, not by choice.

Suddenly, space finally caved in. Like pebbles breaching through the surface of a lake, entities sprung from the rifts. Three daggers, each a kilometer across, rocketed towards the moon, tumbling helplessly through space. These three ships would not be alone - a minute later, dozens of smaller craft had emerged, haphazardly tossed through the fabric of their realm into this one.

"Report! What the hell just happened," the Admiral shouted over the blaring of alarms. She hoisted herself from the floor and onto a railing mounted behind her chair. One of her subordinates shouted from behind her. "Hyperdrive, engines, weapons- everything but life support, Madam! Reactor is offline!"

"Initiate the re-ignition sequence - route power from life support to engines..!" After a long thirty seconds, the Ionization Reactor aboard the Indomitable awakened, sending a reverberation across the entire ship. Automatic dampers re-engaged without input, causing the ship to lurch backwards suddenly, before righting itself and coming to a dead stop. Just before the crew could recuperate, two more ships flew past them, racing toward the surface of the moon. Admiral Atkinson hastily opened comms with the two sister ships, ordering them to re-fire their reactors.

"I'm not sure they can hear us, Admiral - their comm system went offline just as ours."

"Helm, flank speed ahead! Lock tractor beams on both ships - we have to slow them down!"

Picking up speed, S.R.S. Indomitable soon caught up with the other two ships. Two rays of flickering energy protruded from either side, grabbing both of the other ships. Like a carriage driver pulling on the reins, all three ships were brought to a dead-stop. The captains of both the Liberator and the Justiciar eventually put two-and-two together, restarting their advanced reactors. There was little time to waste - the rest of the fleet was headed their way - and it was unsure if their conventional reactors could simply be rebooted. Admiral Atkinson contacted the captains of the Liberator and Justiciar...

"Well done, gents. No time to celebrate - you've noticed the rest of our fleet headed this way. We can't bet they'll restore power in time. However, if we form a 'grid' of sorts, we can use our ships' tractor beams to grab the ships as they fly past us." The two captains looked at one another for a moment before agreeing. "I'll take Liberator on the right flank..."

The plan went off without a hitch - the three capital ships grabbed the other vessels as they flew in, gently reeling them into a stable orbit around the moon while occasionally maneuvering to avoid a collision. The two cargo ships in the fleet also managed to quickly restart their power grid, and assumed formation to assist without being ordered. Through quick-thinking and resoluteness, the 14th fleet was united again. Now, onto the actual problem...

Where the hell are we, exactly?

The Admiral requested an audience aboard her ship with the fleet's senior staff - Captain Luzgow of the Justiciar, Captain Martel of the Liberator, and General Marcks. They met aboard Indomitable's meeting room, all four officers sitting equally apart, leaving the other eleven seats empty. The room was relatively ornate, adorned with Doric columns bearing strips of light. A palette of matte blacks and greys covered the room, garnished with midnight blues and strips of gold. Small ornaments and the ship's plaque lay on the thinly-carpeted floor. General Marcks picked up one of the trinkets, a golden model of a Viskova cruiser, and set it down on the table. "We've gotten real lucky with this one - all repair crews report minor damage and we've had no serious injuries." Marcks was a rather stereotypical image for a general - tall, stern, and losing hair. He paced around the room, collecting the trinkets.

The Admiral was of average height and certainly above-average in physique, having mid-length blonde hair and deep emerald eyes. Failing to catch the General's eye, she spoke. "We seem to be in orbit above Old Earth - or, at least a mockup of it. The same anomaly that caught our fleet seems to be surrounding the entire system - no way out, unless we want to risk shredding ourselves again." The Admiral fiddled with a small control panel fitted to the head of the table, causing a holographic projection of the Earth and moon to appear. "We aren't the only ones here - we have confirmed that multiple signals are emanating both from the surface and in space, some using vastly different means than others. My guess is that the planet is contested by several different factions, each having developed in isolation from one another."

Luzgow, a nigh-dwarfish man with short brown hair and dull hazel eyes, looked up from the table and spoke in a thick Slavic accent. "What if they're like us? Sent here by accident? It would explain the differences in signatures... they could know how to return..."

Atkinson thought for a moment. It doesn't matter - we should keep ourselves hidden for now - the unusual environment of this system might make us undetectable from beyond the moon. We might have already been detected, I know - regardless, we should avoid contact until we know what we are up against. Head back to your ships immediately - I want a ready-report from every ship in a day."

The staff responded in broken, unenthusiastic unison. Yes, Madam Admiral!

[Mercatus]

5/7/4459

It seemed at first that the mysterious fleet would remain docile. The rounds fired from anti-aircraft cannons took a bit of time to reach the altitude and approximate location of the unknown spacecraft, with most of them whizzing by due to the high speed at which the craft traversed the sky with. However, some of the rounds did indeed hit. The energy lost from their upward travel and the thick XiRite armor plating negated most of the effect, leaving at worst a small hole in the hull that didn't damage any important systems. Encrypted communications darted back and forth between the matte black ships, and suddenly, those seasoned to the sounds of war would find themselves much more alarmed.

The thrusters screamed as the 30 silhouettes of the Corvus recon fleet made a sharp dive toward the ground, explosives primed and energy weaponry powered. It took but a few seconds for the first missiles and rockets to slam into the ground, with both civilian and military targets in the general area the attack came from being targeted. As the distance closed between them and the city, the spacecraft began to slow down, decelerating to a speed of Mach 1.5 by the time they had descended to 1000 feet in altitude. Like kicking a hornet's nest, the brief ground attack had put but a single thought into the minds of the pilots: show them their mistake. The craft leveled out of their dive, spreading out in a seemingly random and uncoordinated pattern with the goal of confusing gunnery crews who had VFR contact with the fighters.

Symbols in Galactic Trade Standard (GTS) script flew and flashed across the visors and augmented reality displays of the pilots, who were jacked in to a neurally-controlled piloting system that allowed for faster and more advanced maneuvers than manual controls. Red triangles indicating acquired targets formed and rotated on the displays, telling the pilots what structures theoretically held defensive value. The unique sound of plasma and neutron weapons being fired then filled the air as blue and green bolts rained down upon multiple areas, be it a residential complex or an anti-air battery. The shapes of the attacker's vessels were now clearly visible to the naked eye, with their presumably unknown configurations and origin likely a cause for alarm and panic among the general population.

Meanwhile, in low orbit, Admiral Ranen Kratos stood in deep thought on his observation platform, which was closed off from the rest of the bridge with a plasma window and a code-secured door. A display monitored images and live video of Terra Nova from multiple angles and magnifications as well as transmissions originating from the planet on both electromagnetic and quantum frequencies. His quiet surroundings were interrupted by his second-in-command Erasmus Protis walking through the door. "Admiral, we've received confirmation that an unknown pre-interstellar civilization engaged our reconnaissance flight from the ground, and that our craft have now commenced an air-to-ground attack. This should provide us with an initial evaluation of their defensive capabilities, though I doubt they would be much of a threat."

Kratos gave a thoughtful "Hmm..." before responding with his own revelations, "This is good news, Erasmus. We should be able to claim some territory for mining ops relatively easily if this is the case. I'd like to share with you some of the data we've received recently that I think you would find very intriguing, so please have a seat."

Erasmus acknowledged, walking over to a captain's chair next to the Admiral's seat, taking a seat slowly. Kratos did the same, pulling up recently taken images of the surface before continuing, "As you can see here, Erasmus, there appears to be 6 large artificial objects located near the coast of a southwestern continent. Closer examination and enhancement of the images reveals that they appear to be highly advanced though crudely constructed super-sized mecha of some kind. A full analysis of their capabilities is impossible at the moment and somewhat unwise given their size and projected power, though they appear to have mechanisms not unlike the super-scale biomechanical machines employed by the Serco infantry."

Erasmus closed his eyes in contemplation, "Yes, very interesting indeed. Do you suspect any correlation with the northern civilization at all?"

"I would highly doubt such, there is visible technological disparity between the groups, enough so as to determine they may be in control of different nation-states of some form. Nonetheless, all non-Corvus assets should be deemed dangerous and a threat to our survival for the time being. The aggression of the northern civilization, even if briefly lived, showed that other terrestrial factions may well display the same hostility, and the unknown capabilities of the technology employed by the mecha in particular worry me, Erasmus."

Suddenly, alarms blared across Kratos' ship as new data streamed onto the displays of the bridge crew and the observation platform. A female voice came over the intercom, "Admiral, energy readings indicative of a space warp have tripped the sensors of our space stations in orbit of the moon. The exact number of ships is unconfirmed and their capabilities cannot be estimated at this moment, but the main fleet and all nearby stations have been placed on combat alert red in preparation for an attack!"

Both Kratos and Erasmus looked at each other, and then fixed their gaze back on the monitor. Kratos stood up swiftly, exclaiming, "What!? Who could have sent them?!"

Turning to face Erasmus, he gave his input on the sudden and unexpected situation, "My dearest friend, it could be that we have underestimated the capabilities of our now newly made terrestrial adversaries. So soon after our counterattack began a fleet of starships jumps in from Lady Serco knows where. It could be that the low technological level of the northern civilization was just a mere facade, a cover or proxy for a much more advanced power."

Kratos gritted his teeth in frustration at the perceived strategic mistake he believed himself to have made, a boobytrap was one of the oldest tactics in the book, and Kratos believed he had fallen for one. He quickly recovered from his shock, and with a voice that inspired confidence and morale, shouted into the intercom, "All capital vessels except for one cruiser are to begin withdraw and rejoin the main fleet! The single cruiser left behind will proceed to the site of battle below and complete the original reconnaissance objectives. All orders are effective immediately and preparations to rejoin the main fleet are to begin now. I wish every one of you great success and honor on the field of battle. This is Admiral Ranen Kratos, signing off."

Erasmus had assumed an analytical gaze toward the monitor, "The new arrivals seem to have brought a much smaller fleet than ours, though I question why they would muster a small force against us." he informed Kratos, who now stood still with his arms behind his back, staring out the window of the bridge and at the planet below.

"I wouldn't know Erasmus, as my tactical knowledge may be useless in inferring the origins or reason for the craft entering this system, though the fact they showed their faces so soon after we began attacking the ground crosses me as highly unlikely to be a coincidence. However, should they so much as touch our claimed space around the Moon then we shall rain wrath down upon their heads and should that not destroy them then our attack shall break their spirits!" replied the Admiral as a smirk now crossed his face.

"Um, sir, I would just like to say that as of now I would oppose such a move. I understand that even after all these years that your Serco bravado will sometimes overshadow your rationale, and with all due respect this is no insult to you personally, friend. I suggest we hold off most of our forces and toy with them to learn about their technology and possibly capture some specimens to learn more about their culture and whether or not they are even human."

"In the past, Erasmus, I would have been so inclined so as to simply scoff and have you thrown off the bridge, but I believe you may be right. We must find out how much they really know, and if they have different technologies that we can reverse-engineer and adapt to our own craft. However, I must warn you Erasmus that if such endeavors become too costly for a small force to handle then I will be forced to bring the full brunt of our military forces down upon them and destroy them."

The two did not look at each other, but nonetheless a feeling of mutual understanding was comprehended by both, with Erasmus replying, "I fully understand Admiral. I suggest it may be time to summon a meeting of the other fleet commanders to discuss what moves should be undertaken from this point forward concerning the handling of resources and what to do with the terrestrial inhabitants."

"Then it shall be done." Kratos acknowledged before both turned to and saluted each other, with both leaving to their private quarters on board the ship.

Outside the craft, preparations had been completed to move to a higher orbit and then spearhead an incursion to the far side of the moon, and all of the ships but one swiftly peeled away as the remaining Heavy Assault Cruiser dipped into the atmosphere to begin descent and make a course for a rendezvous with the reconnaissance craft.

Flames licked the hull of the ship as it entered the atmosphere of Terra Nova, the strong energy shield ensuring not even a single burn mark appeared on the hull. The 800 meters of the metal beast made itself apparent over the skies where Corvus forces were engaging ground targets. Orders had been given not to mount an attack utilizing the cruiser's weapons unless absolutely necessary, as it had simply arrived to collect the craft when they were finished with their fight and provide defensive covering fire if needed. By now, the quick descent had stopped just 1000 feet above the ground, the massive silhouette of the ship blotting the Sun from view. From there, it made absolutely no movement of any kind, hovering silently above the chaos below, simply observing the reactions of the terrestrial inhabitants and scanning for more signals coming from across the planet.

[G-Tech Corporation]

Hour 0230, Day 1 - Estimated 1620 Local Reckoning, Date Unknown

"Fletcher, report."

"Commander! Good to hear from you too."

The brigadier general's classic bravado seemed to have leaked from him somewhat in the transition. Perhaps it was just the battle-shock talking, too many hours in constant uptime. Even with the suite of nanos, endocrine disruptors, and artificial stimulants that the command team were being augmented with, the human body had her limits. With the end of the Infinite War, and the apparent temporal displacement sealing the rift had caused, it was a lot to take in. The Commander himself felt almost punch-drunk, the giddiness of success and triumph drained away by the need to figure out just what the hell had happened to them.

"We won, Fletcher. It is over."

An eloquent shrug on the viewscreen.

"Way I see it, the Aeon and Cybrans are still here. But you already knew how I felt about that."

The brigadier had been nothing but candid, on closed channels of course, about how he saw their alliance with the aliens and the traitors, as he termed them. It was a feeling that there were no few in UEF command empathized with. You didn't put aside the acrimony of a thousand years of war in a day, or even a month. Sometimes during field ops, backed up by nothing more than the goodwill of the Crusader or Princess Burke, the Commander's head had wished it grow more eyes, to keep tabs on his supposed allies.

But in their defense, aside from the obvious issues of false flags from errant Cybran nodes or the Illuminate, the other two parties of the Coalition had kept their word.

"Hall trusts them. The Crusader seems like a good sort, and Dostya."

Crackling laughter.

"You're just a sucker for a pretty face, Commander. But yeah. Dostya is efficient as all get out. She has a pretty fair sized scouting navy out patrolling near us, putting some Salems in the water. This world, whatever it is, is teeming with mass. I guess as you would expect from anywhere that hasn't already been run over by a millenium of degradation."

The Commander nodded. That assessment marched with his own. Rhiza was energy capped, but had expressed rather uncharacteristic joy about the amount of sheer matter that she had garnered from dispatching a small engineering swarm into the nearby jungles. Protocols called for ecological surveys to be carried out before deforesting a virgin world, but nobody from HQ had bothered to remind him of protocols yet, so the Commander was determined to studiously forget them until someone called him on it. Turning down such a wealthy mass supply off the bat would be foolish.

"Any word from Gustav? Anne?"

A shake of the head from Fletcher.

"They're farther out of my AO than you are - though HQ has telemetry on their positions, further southwest than you. They're alive, but we don't have any relays that'll push a signal that far. You're bootstrapping?"

Another nod. Rhiza was dealing with the defenses that were necessitated by a perimeter in unfamiliar territory, while HQ had him running a hard energy burn. Just putting together enough generators to bubble up the incongruous blastcrete building which the command team had been slapped down in was running his cycles near capacity. In a few hours perhaps they would be approaching enough spare engineering teams to start linking up more essential facilities, like the tunneling bays.

That was a secondary concern for now though.

"Same. HQ wants me on air, since we need better sweeps of this planet. I- "

A beacon pulsed on the Commander's HUD. He smiled grimly.

"That's HQ now. Keep me posted. Good luck, Brigadier."

With a brief salute, Fletcher winked away. The wrinkled head of Adjutant Anders filled the Commander's vision, and it was immediately clear that he was not happy.

"Whose irons fell in the fire?"

"No, no. Everything is going fine, so far. Just letting you know we re-established contact with your southwestern comrades. Anne has run up a beacon, so we can't push them through to you, but they appear to be in one piece." That was a relief. No telling what might be hanging out here, aside from us.

"Why the long face then Anders?"

A hesitation.

"Are you rebroadcasting?" The Commander quickly glanced over at his controls - that was a negative. It was generally something the UEF assets on the team avoided, strictly out of old habit. Information was categorically need to know under old dogma, unlike how the Cybrans liked to talk to anyone and anything. A quick shake of his head quietly informed Anders of the matter, who took a deep breath.

"We're on Earth, Commander."

"Well, of course we -"

"Earth twelve thousand years ago. Give or take."

That rocked the Martian back on his heels. He didn't speak for better than a half minute, even his heavily augmented brain struggling to grapple with the implications. Quantum travel was, by definition, a means of traveling through time - but nobody had ever found a method for deliberately exploiting the effect to create meaningful dilation. Relativity was a wonky thing, but relatively (heh) self correcting. This meant, uh. He wasn't quite sure what this meant.

"That explains the heavy hydrocarbon deposits." The Commander rejoined weakly.

"Yeah, we're still processing too. There are a lot of variables, and unfortunately we don't have Brackman here to help us with it. Anyway, keep it under your hat. And get Rhiza on anti-orbitals."

Too much to process, yep.

"Meteor impacts? Rogue Novax? Space squid?"

Anders' brows came together. It wasn't characteristic of a commander - any commander, to deploy such levity. But these were rather unprecedented circumstances.

"No Commander. We're reading orbital signatures, and weaponsfire. Somebody is bombarding the planet."

[Northern Socialist Council Republics]

21th January, 936 Nuclear Era
3 days after the Incident

"Good evening, my fellow Northerners," the Secretary for Intelligence began, with a who's who of the Northern political press clustered around him.

Unlike the less civilised nations on its borders - well, that used to be on its borders - the NSRS has long since cleansed its political space clean of the cacophonous stain that was underground publications. Scientia potentia est, after all, and keeping both friends and enemies knowing only what one wanted them to know was how the great game of diplomacy and intrigue were won. The Secretary nodded to the Censor at the back of the hall, who stood ready to cut the power from the cameras and microphones in the room should a disloyal traitor ask the wrong question at the wrong time. The Censor nodded back.

"Two days and seventeen hours ago," Kian continued with no unnecessary preamble, "the Commonwealth of Northern Socialist Council Republics came under attack from an hitherto unknown barbarian tribe. The brave souls of the Commonwealth Air Force responded in the defence of our nation, but the cowardly hostile forces withdrew before a decisive engagement could be forced. During this attack, the City of Nidaros suffered some light damages."

Barbarians outside the Commonwealth's borders may use their subjugated press to lie and deceive the public, but the NSRS was above such uncivilised behaviour. Had Kian said that so-and-so number of civilians were killed, or that such-and-such buildings were destroyed, why, then the word of the State would be falsifiable. A concerned citizen could go and count the bodies, see the ruins. Because numbers were a fact that could be checked, numbers had to be correct if presented. Lies had no place in Northern politics.

"There appears to have been a significant change in the politics of the barbarians around the Commonwealth's territory, and the Commonwealth Civil Service cannot rule out the possibility that the recent attack is related to this change."

And yet, numbers that were correct also brought about recrimination that was undesirable. The first rule of public relations was, then, to never deal in facts. As far as her citizens were concerned the Commonwealth did not border Caledonia or Panslavia or Saxia, but only 'barbarians' of unclear extent, grouped together only by their un-Northern nature. Because after all, what is 'barbarian'? It has nothing to do with what is. It does not correspond to the concrete reality of nations, warlords, or treaties. Polities of any ideology or structure could be 'barbarians', because a concept like 'barbarian' was never defined by such concrete criteria in the first place.

This 'barbarian threat' was a feeling, and while the Civil Service cared not what the country's citizens thought, it micromanaged down to the smallest particulars what emotions they felt.

"Preliminary reports from the Commonwealth Air Force shows that the threat that this nation faces is grave. It is believed that barbarians, exploring the depths of human depravity never uncovered before, has developed sophisticated weapons designed to make dust out of the Commonwealth's achievements of peace and burn her innocent civilians in their homes. Forced by the necessity of confronting this unscrupulous enemy, citizens are advised that civilian travel between Districts will be suspended until further notice and that rations may be temporarily decreased."

Never mind that of course bolts that could be aimed at the Commonwealth's soldiers could also be aimed at her civilians, never mind that of course bombs that could flatten bunkers could also flatten office buildings. Fear was a powerful tool, and there was no easier way of generating uncertainty and chaos than by the feeling that every man, woman, and child, no matter how innocuous their occupation, was effectively standing at the front with a sniper's bead illuminating their forehead. Faced with such uncertainty, what could the citizens of the Commonwealth do except flock under the banner of their Administration and abide by whatever emergency measures are necessary to keep them safe?

"In these trying times, citizens may rest assured that the brave men and women of the Commonwealth Armed Forces continue to stand guard to secure the freedom and independence of our nation. Mere barbarians cannot darken the beacon of civilisation that is our Commonwealth, and this Administration is confident in the ability of the Armed Forces to respond to and resist this latest threat."

But of course no threat could undermine the citizenry's confidence in their government. The era in which human beings could walk the world and deal in the unambiguous and concrete, the trees and the rocks and the rivers and the hares, was long in the past. More than mere buildings went up in smoke in the atomic bombings of the Great War. Along with the ashes and the radiation also went humanity's ability to survive with such extravagant luxuries like belief in a self-consistent and logically coherent reality.

The enemy was always out there, always a severe, grave threat requiring the most desperate of emergency measures, but the enemy was also always out there, primitive, inferior, barbaric, and presenting no threat at all to the guiding light of the Commonwealth.

"Thank you for your cooperation. If there are any questions, I'll take them now."

The designated people raised their hands to ask their pre-approved questions.

[New Saharia]

Terra Nova Anomaly - Day 3 - 4:00 Hours (ECT)

"What's going on down there, Lieutenant?"

"Unknown, Captain! The City's under a full aerial assault! The defenses seem to be holding their own, but their capital ships are closing in!"

"What about the rest of their fleet in high orbit?"

"Their technology is too foreign - I can't definitively say if they've spotted us or not, but a contingent is closing in on our position!"

"Helmsman, take us out of here! Regroup with Contingent Beta, let them know our presence is far from being a secret."

"Aye, flank speed, sir..!"

The Liberator pulled away from the mid-atmosphere of the planet, nestled inside a brewing Pacific tropical storm. The ship's kilometer-long dagger silhouette, broken only by its large dorsal superstructure, emerged, bathed in the rays of the sun. It quickly gathered speed, before rocketing away from the planet. Soon after, several smaller craft pulled away from their positions nearby and followed, sailing away at breakneck speed.

"Atkinson, this is Martel of the Liberator. Our presence in this system is no longer a secret. We are closing in on the rendezvous point now - estimate a dozen unidentified ships closing in on our position - a portion of their forces are engaged in an active siege of the Scandinavian civilization, although they seem to have been repelled."

Admiral Atkinson's voice came through quickly - she planned for this. "Understood. I am dispatching seven ships to your Contingent. We've got something interesting over here, too. Standard contact protocol for a non-standard situation - fire only when fired upon. Speak softly, carry a big stick. Atkinson, out."

'That bitch better have a better plan than that...'

Before Martel could interject, the line was cut. He slumped in his chair slightly and sighed. He turned to his first officer beside him, in a chair mounted just one step below his. "Brief all squadron leaders, we're making first contact. Considering what we've seen of them so far, they're the more-fight-less-talk type." Martel thought to himself, and back to his training - maybe it would be worth something after all. The ship went to Red Alert - the lively lights of the bridge dimmed starkly, giving way to the lights of the ship's stations. The sleek, almost utopian feel of the bridge was quickly morphed into a war room as command consoles revealed themselves from seamless wall panels. It represented the Republic itself well enough it its execution and elegance - strong in both Peace and War, swift to change between.

'Foreign technology... but their ships could barely keep pace with a space-whale...'

---

0:23 Hours Later...

Two Cruisers, five Frigates, five Corvettes - and one Battlecarrier made up the Saharian contingent. The new taskforce sat in standard concave formation awaiting the arrival of the unidentified ships. Standard Saharian battle formation - either the enemy must willingly let themselves be surrounded, or spread too far out and become vulnerable to a breakthrough. Captain Martel intended to have the upper-hand if it were to be needed, just like any reasonable-

"Visual range, Captain!"

The ship's main viewscreens gave form to two-dozen ships - aggressive in form, almost industrial. Closing in quickly. Liberator continued to broadcast its greeting message...

---

Unidentified vessels, this is the Saharian Republic Ship Liberator. Please respond. We mean you no harm.....

Unidentified vessels, this is the Saharian Republic Ship Liberator. Please respond. We mean you no harm.....

[Mercatus]

In case y'all were wondering, all IC names are taken from the Vendetta Online in-game name generator.

5/7/4459

FIRST CONTACT

Below the gathered orbital fleet, the Heavy Assault Cruiser sent to complete recon objectives had left the city, along with the recon fleet on board. Like an ominous shadow, the Cruiser loomed at low altitude, moving slowly along as it scanned for deposits of useful resources, Xithricite in particular. It showed no apparent sign of offensive intent, but the crew were given orders to fire upon anything that approached a deposit of any desperately needed materials, should such reserves be detected.

Aboard the bridge, the Captain of said cruiser stared intently at the monitor, examining the data flowing in every second. His black greatcoat lacked the gold lining of a fleet commander's coat, in its place being a rich blue color of lining, denoting his command over a single battleship. Sitting in his chair, the tall but lanky man, notedly of Itani origin due to the lack of cybernetic implants, was sipping a particularly strong brew of coffee, coffee that was spilled all over the pristine floor when an alert sounded over the intercom.

"Sir, scanners have detected a massive deposit of Xithricite ore directly below our current position. Recommend we bring the ship to a full stop and establish a perimeter."

"Wha-" the Captain stumbled before regaining his bewildered composure, "Uh, yes! Bring the cruiser to a full stop over this position. I want all our available pilots flying combat patrols as soon as possible. Anything foreign that approaches these coordinates is to be destroyed on sight. We will alert Admiral Kratos and the rest of the fleet immediately of this notice."

The monitor displayed the patch of land, with bright, fluorescent green spots indicating patches of the valuable ore under the surface. No one had expected to uncover such a large deposit so soon, especially from the rather low depth it was found at. Of course, the military forces of Corvus Prime were in no way equipped to extract Xithricite, as that was the job of independent contractors, civilians so to speak, all of whom were docked at stations orbiting the moon of this mysterious world. The current position of the Cruiser was relatively close to a large city detected less than a hundred klicks east, and the unusual activity of the huge spacecraft would certainly alarm local defense forces.
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Meanwhile in Orbit...

Kratos stood attentive to several monitors displaying information on the new arrivals, who had identified themselves as being in service of a "Saharian Republic", whatever that may be. His 2IC Erasmus sat down in his chair, something he did when analytically observing data before and during combat. Already, all of the available fighter craft aboard the fleet had been deployed in attack positions. Though the main fleet was split up, the remainder of the much larger Corvus fleet was already closing in from behind to engage the perceived invaders, and they would be entering firing range in just minutes.

"'Mean us no harm'? Ha! I would think not. These fools have underestimated the strategic genius of a seasoned Serco commander. They must be oblivious to the fact that we succeeded in nearly wiping out a superior military force nearly 2000 years ago, and with this proud fleet I shall incinerate their pathetic martial force!" boomed Kratos' voice as he looked with a prideful, somewhat evil grin at the displays. Erasmus was filled with the same righteous bravado as his longtime friend, with the Admiral's morale-boosting attitude having filled the small-statured Itani with great excitement.

"They appear to be attempting to surround us, I want all ships to reposition to a tight spearhead formation. My first attacks will be on the largest vessel they call 'Liberator'. All capital armaments are to be aimed and fired at full power in that vessel's direction, and all pilots will then move in and clear away their fighter craft."

The spearhead formation, a devastating offensive attack formation used by large fleets, was terrifyingly effective against groups of vessels or large and powerful targets. In such a formation, the tightness of the group made them easy to hit but hard to destroy before the target themselves were annihilated by powerful railgun rounds, missiles, and Guass cannon fire. In larger numbers, the formation could be used to level everything atop an entire continent. The determined fleet swiftly obeyed the Admiral's orders, closing in tightly to counteract the wide concave formation of the approaching enemy fleet. Following this, a massive complement of
swarm missile batteries, rail cannons, and plasma Gauss cannons were aimed in the Liberator's direction, all primed for a barrage of continuous fire upon receiving the order to engage.

While this was happening, the pilots of the fleet had already launched from their respective carrier ships. Piloting a WTD, the most skilled pilot in the Corvus fleet, Mina Kosaris, commanded the squadrons of the Corvus fleet. A female of Serco origin, she has had a proud history serving the Dominion before she defected to Corvus Prime to serve a more selfish, monetary cause. Mina has taken home 467 birds in her time, and her sophisticated and highly aggressive flying style is one feared by many.

Speaking over the comms, Mina broadcast a message to hype up the pilots before the battle ahead, "Well boys, looks like we've stumbled upon fools who've obviously never met a fleet like ours in combat. This day shall certainly bathe in fame as the first of many inevitable victories in unconquered space, and this day shall speak to the next thousand generations as a great tale of our crushing might. We shall become mythical, analogous to the great heroes of old spoken of by the ancients of our estranged homeworld and cradle. So, fly forth, and show these foolish inferiors that we embody all that is mighty!" Mina's Serco pride and lust for war could not be overstated, and rightfully so, being a pilot of her caliber.

The final preparations for the initial bombardment were complete, and Kratos had a look of great satisfaction on his face. "Captains! Confirm that your ships stand armed and prepared to carry out our assault. Today a bunch of foreign meddlers will learn to fear the hellfire of the grand Corvus armada! I look forward to our great success, may you win every fight."

"Aye sir, our vessel stands ready."

"Yes, Admiral, all weapons systems are online."

"Confirmed the rest of the fleet is ready, sir!"

Kratos had a cruel grin on his face, ready to baptize the arrivals in a hail storm like they'd never seen before.

"All ships fire!"

Upon Kratos' command going out, thousands upon thousands of projectiles emerged in an opening barrage. Numerous swarms of guided missiles were released rapidly from their silos, streaking across the void. The distinctive blue color of railgun rounds fired from the massive main guns of the warships swiftly closed on their target. A hail of positron bolts coming at an ungodly volume were released toward the Liberator
White beams from gauss cannons were fired in huge clusters. A brilliant display of color was released from the Corvus fleet, decorating the blackness of space in a dazzling and raw display of military power.

Upon the barrage streaking past them, Mina ordered the massive group of fighter craft to charge forward.

"Commence the attack!"

Thousands of fighter craft darted forward. WTDs and Corvults dashed into battle, ready to engage whatever their newfound enemy had brought with them. It had begun. The fight for Terra Nova and ultimately the survival of everyone in this area of space had commenced. The warpath ahead would be long and difficult, but there would be hope from all sides that such war would not result in their mutual and total annihilation.

[New Saharia]

The Liberator yanked itself upward in a desperate attempt to avoid the incoming fire. The first few railgun shots grazed the ventral side, before dozens more connected with the bow and superstructure. Like shards of ice, the railgun rounds arrived seconds early, pounding and glancing off of the carrier. Dark-red plasma bolts, like needles, sprayed from the ship's point-defense systems, each one connecting seamlessly with a missile. Then came the Corvus main cannons. Massive shells pounded Liberator, each one erupting violently, making the energy shield visibly glow and pulse upwards, like water splashing around a stone. "Evasive maneuvers! Ready all turbolaser batteries! Have all elements commence their attack!" The pounding was not over for Martel's crew - repeated barrages rocked the ship, each one dealing more damage, buckling the shields and smashing the armor. Finally, the ship's afterburners brought it out of the cauldron of enemy fire, revealing a warzone unlike any other - Saharian turbolasers, in bolts of reds and blues, dashing past Corvus railgun and cannon. They had endured the first strike...

...Now it was their turn. Martel stood up from his chair, the ship still shaking from scattered impacts. - "Target their frigate line! Weaken their center! We have to split their formation in half!" - A volley of turbolaser fire stormed towards a Corvus Trident frigate, a rain of deep red. The bolts quickly burst the shield, plunging holes into the hide. The plasma detonated about a meter deep, blowing massive chunks away in twisted metal and white-hot fragments. A single shot from the Liberator's main battery plunged through the bow, burrowing nearly a dozen meters in, before blowing the front end clear away. The same firing solution was executed on yet another frigate, causing it immense damage. The captain of a third frigate acted fast, and ordered the helm to pull hard to the side, leaving his ship almost completely intact, albeit without shields. Corvus's Heavy Cruiser line was not unaware of the retaliation, and began to lay down yet another concentrated volley of weapons fire. Liberator returned each offer of heavy cannon fire with a storm of deadly turbolasers...

"Martel to Atkinson! Corvus fleet has been engaged! We're outnumbered two-to-one here, but we seem to be holding our own..."

"Atkinson here. We've intercepted the enemy fleet flanking the planet. fighting it hard over here, as well. Keep engaging for as long as possible, but endeavor to avoid any and all capital ship losses. Rendezvous coordinates sent to you now - we will regroup and take on half the enemy fleet as one..."

---

"This is Gold leader, we're starting our attack run on the enemy cruiser line...!" Three Republic torpedo bombers revealed themselves to the broadside of a Corvus Heavy Assault Cruiser. A deafening barrage of flak opened up on the bombers, their shields double-front to weather the onslaught. As they neared the target, the fire from the Cruiser became even more intense - the lead bomber's shields buckled, its hull being ripped away before finally exploding, sending columns of fire in every direction. 'Almost there...' - five Corvus Warthog Defenders rocketed past the two remaining ships, before pulling hard-about and sailing back at them. Bright-orange laser cannon fire thundered from the bombers' rear turrets, punching into their hull. The Defenders responded with a hailstorm of rockets, which gored the unprotected rear of the rightmost bomber. It exploded gloriously, launching what was left of the cockpit hurtling through space.

--TARGET IN RANGE--

The last pilot pulled the release lever, revealing an immense missile from each fuselage. The torpedoes quickly sprung to life, blazing towards the starboard side of the cruiser. The ship's autocannons attempted to intercept, but it was far too late now. The warhead burrowed through the armor of the ship effortlessly, like a knife through skin. A blinding, deep-blue shockwave bisected the cruiser, engulfing it entirely. The final bomber just barely managed to escape the detonation of its own weapon. The pilot observed his rear viewscreen to see the shockwave spilling outwards unto the void. In the background, three Corvus frigates exchanged fire with a Republic cruiser.

"Gold Two to Libby! Direct hit on enemy Cruiser!"

---

The fighter squadrons of both sides were immersed in a massive bloodbath - any attempts at runs on either sides' ships usually only ended in evisceration of an entire wing. Saharian RZK-2 interceptors danced with CorVults. Saharian gunships desperately attempted to stave off swarms of Corvus fighters, only to be outmaneuvered, swarmed and crushed. Any remaining fighters acted as another layer of defense for their capital ship, saving them from missile or bomber attacks. Martel's fleet let Corvus break through their lines, only to pull his forces in tight, wrapping each half of the concave formation around the enemy. Saharia was now in a target-rich environment, the broadsides of Corvus frigates and cruisers clearly visible. This enemy did not, however, intend to play like a blunt spear - the rear half of the spearhead formation soon broke to either side, turning the entire Corvus formation into a reverse arrowhead - Heavy Assault Cruisers kept up their forward firepower against the Saharians. With their forces spread too far out, Corvus could not concentrate fire effectively. The captains of individual cruisers began picking their targets independently. The Saharian support line was on the chopping-block next, each ship having to face off against an opponent three times its size. Turbolasers and Ion cannons proved to be one of the most lethal weapons Corvus had ever seen - although plasma-based, a Turbolaser bolt was more-than-capable of tearing apart XiRite armor and collapse energy shields with even moderate concentration.

Martel's Contingent had dealt perceptively significant damage to the attackers. By this point, all Saharian cruisers and their command ship had sustained damage and were about to lose all shields - their destruction was only a matter of time. They could not win this battle.

"All ships! Fall back to the designated coordinates! All squadron leaders, scatter and regroup with the fleet!"

All of the Saharian ships peeled away from their formation, burning around and away from Corvus towards the planet's surface again. A Conqueror cruiser tugged along two frigates which had taken serious damage, and a battered and broken battlecarrier collected squadrons from any returning fighters while anchoring the fleet...

---

Result: Corvus Victory
Saharian ships retreating to regroup above Australia. Terra Nova's moon is forfeit to Corvus control.

Saharian Republic:
Destroyed Ships: 4 'Palisade' frigates, 3 'Caravel' corvettes, 37 RZK-2 Interceptors, 51 KR-11 Fighter-bombers, 8 RZK-5a Escort fighters, 12 RZK-ASVAL Assault Bombers, 2 YnH-60 Dropships.
Damaged Ships: 2 'Conqueror' cruisers moderately damaged with 1 severely damaged, 3 'Palisade' frigates severely damaged, 5 'Caravel' corvettes heavily damaged, 1 'Endurance' Battlecarrier heavily damaged, 1 'Viskova' Battlecruiser lightly damaged.

---

-Corvus Captial Gauss Cannons seem to be the only reliably effective weapon against Saharian cruisers.

-Corvus fighters bear comparable or superior maneuverability to Saharian starfighters while still being much slower.

-Turbolasers are overwhelmingly powerful. Their only disadvantage is inferior range to most Corvus capital mounts.

-Corvus and Saharian crews and pilots are of surprisingly equal caliber.

-Missiles and rockets are almost wholly ineffective against Saharian point-defenses.

-Corvus fleets will always get the first shot in a battle.

-Saharian ships are deadliest close-up.

-Runs by Ragnarok bombers are effective when they manage to slip through, but most Saharian ships can outpace them in a straight-burn.