Happenings - Semi Open, TG for invite

[Auman]

December 7, 3169

With Randalls aboard the Margaritifer, Commander Glass' job became slightly less complicated. Second in command of the Turtledove squadron, Glass was a day away from Great White when the dust up at Volcanus happened and she had been kicking herself ever since.

Stupid idiot, she thought, you should have insisted the captain take more ships with him!

When Randalls punched out in that frigid string of mountains, Glass thought he was a goner for sure. But when she found him, stumbling out of an emergency shelter waving a flare, she could let herself breathe again. Marge was in orbit of Great White now, had her digital tentacles deep into Gouge Springs and could see all, real omnipotent like.The Strategic Command Center wasn't fucking around, either... Ur'Lahn was crawling with Fleet assets, including two Gorgons, with three more on the way.

Glass was in the dark, Fleet General Tyz'Juan was keeping a tight lid on things, but an anti-piracy operation didn't call for this many fireworks. Marge had Turtledove flying combat air patrol in a wide circle around Gouge Springs, they were giving them space for now.

Glass had her head on a swivel, but her thoughts wandered. The glaring off the never ending fields of ice and snow was giving her a headache. She thought about how lucky they had been so far, with the captain... With Nills getting out when he did. Pinning down that Palfrey. She supposed it wasn't all luck, Captain Randalls had talent in spades. You don't end up leading a fighter squadron without the spark. She admired him, thought of him almost like a father figure. She was happy that he survived. As she watched the blip of the Palfrey on her radar, a few hundred klicks out to her west, thoughts of the people in that little town came to her.

The Lyboc Maneuver, as prescribed by the Aumanii Fleet, demanded a full spectrum operation to seize and sanitize the zone of control around the attacking vessel. If these pirates... No, these terrorists, were going by the book, that meant Aumanii citizen were under their boot and you could only guess that these maggots lacked any kind of impulse control. Glass shuddered at the uncertainty of what might be happening down there and despised the fact that they were sitting on their hands and doing nothing.

---

In Gouge Springs, the townsfolk had wandered out to the edge of town for the second day. Wives and husbands were in varying stages of grief. A mound of charred bodies were steaming, guarded by armed men in warm civilian clothing, each wore a balaclava as much to keep in the heat as to conceal their identities.

"We could have cured them!" A woman shouted. A pirate stepped forward and cocked his his rifle. "There's no curing this Karax. We did them a favor."

They could consider themselves fortunate, the townsfolk. Despite being bloodthirsty murderers, the pirates left the infected children alone and didn't much bother the doctors from the Aumanii Bureau of Communicable Diseases. Small gifts have large appreciation.

Nauticus was squatting in the holdout bunker on the outskirts of Gouge Springs, trying to raise anyone on the outside. Hermetic radios were next to useless, he was getting replies but he couldn't make heads or tails of them. After awhile it was just bursts of static. Something innate in his programming began to recognize a pattern... The robot snatched a pen from his plate carrier and a sheet of scrap paper and furiously scribbled down a series of dots and dashes that repeated themselves on a loop... Whoever was on the other end must have known the reception was bad, but they were clever. They were clicking their mic and using the static to convey morse code.

Help is coming. Don't give up.

---

Six strategic lifters, each about the size of two huge commercial aerojets, touched down on a glacial ice sheet about two hundred kilometers to the south of Gouge Springs. Their nose cones flipped up and from their bellies trundled lines of tracked armored vehicles, painted black and white in a camouflage pattern that broke their silhouette in digital chunks.

Colonel Arnon heaved himself out of the cupola of his White Tiger command vehicle, the thick armored plates he wore made maneuvering the hatchways difficult, but his exomuscular body suit kept him toasty and warm as he was surveying the harsh, wind blasted, plain. A stand of stick-thin trees stood off in the distance which roughly marked the beginning of the habitable zone.

Arnon chinned the mic in his helmet, "This is Rainbow Actual to Big T, over."

"This is Big T, you're coming in loud in clear. What's your situation?"

"Big T, Rainbow Actual reports successful interface. The Metacom Brigade is on the move."

[Auman]

December 8, 3169

The sun fell early and all hell broke loose. Once the Metacom Brigade crossed into the habitable zone, red hot tracers slithered in at impossible rates. Armor piercing rounds dug their way into the armor and burned through, sizzling away layers of ceramic and plastic that filled vehicles with acrid smoke that stung the noses and eyes of the men inside. Lasers twinkled, railguns whooshed and wholloped and people died.

Colonel Arnon ordered his men to button up and push through, they only stopped firing to let their barrels cool or to reload. It was a nightmare, but they were using their momentum and raw numbers to their advantage. Jaguar units, lithe and agile autonomous combat robots, were sent out by the Star Chaser to buy Captain Shagari time. He was being challenged by the Aumanii, testing his resolve... And they won. Shagari didn't have the guts to follow through on the implied threat of the Lyboc Maneuver, he just didn't have mass murder in him. His ship didn't have enough water in it. If they jumped now, they could die of dehydration before they reached Father.

So they fought a battle they couldn't possibly win. Colonel Arnon could take losses and keep on going. Even if he came alone, the Aumanii warrior could settle the score once and for all without breaking a sweat.

Shagari peered through a set of twilight binoculars, the form of a Warrior class frigate was blocking the starlight in the distance. There was the constant shrill tone of multiple target locks wailing on the bridge, the Warrior wanted him to know that Shagari lived only because they willed it. If it weren't for the people below them in Gouge Valley, it would already be over.

Treboski was studded up in her flight suit, her helmet was tucked under her arm and she was standing impatiently, chewing on a piece of gum and blowing bubbles, irritated.

Shagari moved over to the map table and considered his options. They were all bad. The Warrior was in visual range and it was armed to the teeth. That brigade down south was hardly deterred by the Jaguars. Squadrons of fighters, just the ones they could see, were flying a comfortable distance away... But he understood they could cross the distance in no time flat.

He pondered for a moment.

The fighters were coming for him next, he knew this.

"Treboski, take your ships south with a ground strike package. All of them."

Daniela Treboski saluted and a bubble snapped. She left without a word.

A pair of rails clattered to the ground with the clarity of Christmas bells, mechanical arms fed a new pair into the system, dust and ice filled the air. The White Tiger's autocannon shuddered and a stand of trees exploded, collapsing in on themselves. The shooting didn't stop for a good long while... And then it was completely silent. Sergeant Jahnke scrolled through the vision modes in his commander's sight. He caught something on his electromagnetics, several forms rent asunder, glowing warm and fading fast.

"I think that's it for now, boys." Jahnke called over the platoon net. They advanced cautiously and scanned every nook and cranny in the small wood. No more tricks.

"Sector's clear, proceed with all haste to the objective. We have a time table to keep." This was Arnon, talking with a cigarette in his mouth.

"We have enemy air!" Someone called out over the net.

Jahnke could feel it before he heard it, the ominous growl swelled up from his feet to his scalp.

BRRRRRRRRRRRRT

It was like the devil revving a chainsaw in hell. Dense rounds struck thick notes around him and the world shook.

"Situation report?"

"Baker platoon is combat ineffective." Lieutenant Keffrey sounded half dead.

Jahnke's gunner was already laying down a screen into the sky when Lieutenant Kask, their platoon commander, called them into combat cross formation.

A great tremor swelled, rounds slapping the earth before the sound of Death's thunder reached them.

BRRRRRRRRRT BRRRRRRRRRRT BRRRRT

"Fuck me, it keeps coming!"

"Hold on," Arnon was shouting, "Turtledove squadron is en route!"

Glass was swooping down onto a pirate fighter. The old as dirt Accipiter Mk. VI was diving hard, its wings folding it into the shape of an arrowhead. White tufts of exhaust spewed from the barrels of a nose mounted chaingun. Glass lined up the shot, clicked the trigger and the pirate was gone.

"Splash one bandit!" Glass' words were clipped. The maneuvers she was pulling were crushing her diaphragm and making it hard to breathe, let alone talk.

"Just snagged another." Randalls was back in the seat again.

"They're breaking off!"

Nills peeled away and hit the thrust, his grav engines reverberated heavily. The rest of the squadron took off after him.

"Don't get ahead of yourself, we don't know how many are out there! They have stealth." Glass' warning was a prophecy. Five Accipiters came screeching in from their three o'clock, cannons rumbling. Turtledove flight turned into the attack. Nills tagged an enemy plane with a lucky shot and blew out the cockpit. The pirates peeled away, with one lone, pilotless, aircraft flying a lazy circle straight into the ground.

The furball that followed was hard to track, both sides were confused but the pirates had the advantage... There were less of them, which helped them blend in with the Aumanii Dash Six's. Lieutenant Phelps and his wingman were chasing Randalls for the better part of thirty seconds before they realized they were after the wrong guy, and by then it was too late. Treboski sent a heatseeker straight up Phelps' tailpipe and stitched up his wingman with her cannon. They managed to punch out before they burned up, but one of the pirates swung in low and strafed their parachutes.

The battle raged, Metacom Brigade was able to continue their advance and that's what counted most.

Captain Velker was standing in the CIC of the Warrior class frigate, John Joseph Kaeble, he had a live feed from the cameras tracking Shagari through the windows on his bridge. Every now and then, the Huerdaen pirate would pick up a pair of binoculars and look at them. Velker felt a notion and picked up his headset, dialing in to an open channel.

"This is Captain Jeremy Velker of the Aumanii Fleet to the commanding officer of the terrorist vessel. Over."

Shagari looked over his shoulder to a lanky, curly haired, woman with fear in her eyes. He picked up a telephone and spoke.

"Captain Shagari speaking."

A tense moment passed.

"You can end all of this Shagari, call back your birds and power down."

"Can't do it."

"Just because you don't see any more options doesn't mean they don't exist, Shagari. We can do this the hard way or the easy way." Velker drank coffee from a bulb and leaned in close to a hologram of Shagari, they were nose to nose.

Shagari was saying something, Velker had his hand cupped over the mouthpiece, "Knock out his torch, X.O."

"...My honor demands no less." Shagari was finishing. Railguns peppered the the engine block, reducing it to swiss cheese in a matter of seconds.

"We can do this the easy way or the hard way." Velker repeated, steel in his throat.

"I guess we're doing it the hard way, Captain! Engage the blink drive!" Shagari's voice was hoarse.

"Light up that bridge, X.O!"

Railguns burst, lasers flashed and a harsh wind blew in the wake of Star Chaser's leaving.

[Auman]

December 9, 3169

"They're overdue three days now. When can we declare this mission a failure and move on?" Nethera Godouni, high matriarch of the Council of Eight, asked with a tinge of boredom. Nine were seated around a circular table, the room was humid and water beaded up and slid down the granite walls. Father, cloaked and enigmatic, was motionless. The council were all Dergh females, four fingered bipedal amphibians that challenged the power of mankind in the Veil of Tears and failed miserably. Their skin was a myriad of colors, mottled with subtle webs of black. Their bodies were an appealing shape, supple, soft and exotic. The women of Dergha were popular subjects of artists seeking perfection and symmetry.

"I'm not sure if we would call it a failure, sister. The Aumanii are scrambling, their communications network is fizzling out and they still have no idea who is responsible. I'm inclined to call it a victory... All for the loss of some humans and one spacecraft carrier." Said Velgona Khanna, Matriarch of Tulundo. She was the most junior member of the council, but had achieved wonders through the acquisition of over six hundred thousand mature males, her clan was growing fast and their females were very fertile. Militarily weak, but possessed of demographic power that made her words carry significant weight in these halls.

"We cannot allow the Aumanii to retrieve the device. They still have time to undo the damage we have caused. It is imperative that we find Shagari and his ship. Father's will must be done." Yilen scolded the others, she was leader of Grile clan which was known for its dogmatic approach.

A keening growl came from under Father's robes. He was displeased, this was apparent. At times, it was difficult to divine His meaning. Yilen's eyes bulged and the frondlike tendrils that swept down from her head like strands of hair tensed and turned a shade of red, signaling her admonishment.

How dare she speak for Father?

"You have disturbed him." Tutted Nethera.

"This is worthy of punishment. What shall we do?" Falken Quenn, another councilor spoke serenely. In answer, Father rose from his dais and moved slowly, yet implacably around the table, his cloak dragging in the dew and mud of the floor. Yilen shot out of her seat, taking a defensive posture. The council watched in a mixture of fascination, awe and terror. Father approached, his tentacles groped hungrily. Yilen backed herself into a corner, fear escaping her broad lips in panicked huffs... Father did not follow, he continued round and the others remained seated, stiffly disassociated. Nethera felt the embrace of the Father, wrapping her arms tightly and holding her down. His full weight settled on her chest, she struggled to breathe as Father's beak sliced effortlessly into her flesh under his darkened cloak.

The council was reduced by a factor of one.

[Auman]

December 10, 3169

Space folded around bulbous forms, the origami symmetry creasing the fabric in unnatural patterns. To lay eyes upon it unfiltered would bring a headache as questions flooded the mind as to the possibility of such a thing. The bulk of the vessels unfurled themselves in orbit of an alien sun, which burned blue and dim in the center of a desolate star system. The first step would be taken here and they wouldn't stop until Vascilia was burning.

Liehna Montogyha, high matriarch of the Vauben Exclusionary War Party, considered the historical significance of this action... And the prizes she would be awarded by her clan. The first Dergh to enter Aumanii territory with violent intent. The veil had fallen away, at this moment her kind worked without intermediaries.

Humanity clung to the world of Vauben like parasites, burrowing just under the surface of the dark world and infesting it. It was here that they would turn the weapons of humanity against them. The first strum designed to strike an ironic chord.

A fine mist floated in the air, dew settled on every surface. Montoghya streaked a wiper across the screen of her command console, a small, flat, square that extended from the arm rest of her couch on an articulated gimbal. She flexed her hands, testing the ergonomics of her station now, since there would be no time to adjust it in combat. Her fingers could reach everything with little deflection of the wrist. She buckled up the harness and the others in her crew followed suite. The CIC of her ship, the Dominant Tide, was tightly packed and claustrophobic by human standards, but snug by those of the Dergh who preferred closeness.

"Navigation?" Montoghya asked, the implication was obvious after a fold jump.

"All systems nominal, no entropy of significance to report, all vessels folded successfully and report green across the board"

A good start.

Montoghya keyed the flotilla band, "All ships, move against the green line at highest attainable velocity."

Thirty starships, short and round, burned hard towards the surface of Vauben. One larger vessel streaked off towards the sun. Montoghya had her eyes glued to the radar displays, thrust compressing her soft body against the gel in her combat couch. All pings returned clean as they came in. The hazard of working against the Aumanii, the Dergh did not possess faster than light sensing equipment. The enemy could already know they were here and be moving against them. Vigilance was the key to life as well as her own foresight.

The Supreme Matriarchy surveyed this system hundreds of years ago during the first and only expansion wave. Deemed infeasible, all prospects of colonization were abandoned. Despite its lack of material worth to her people, this system had sentimental value that couldn't be ignored in the light of human colonization. Humanity was a disgusting species, willing to degrade themselves to such pitiful depths that they would live anywhere in the galaxy. Loathsome as it was, their capacity for indignity was perhaps their greatest strength and cause for their near hegemony over known space.

"Commander, we are receiving summons. The humans are pleading." The communications technician turned to face Montoghya, the look on her face was defiant and smug. The crew were in high spirits, a victorious mood prevailed.

"Let us hear it, then." Montoghya twisted the helmet of her pressure suit into place, the speakers within made the voice sound close. The human was repeating himself, over and over again.

"...warships of the Constitutional Federation of the Peninsular, representing the Co-Prosperity Sphere of Auman. Turn about immediately or we will open fire. This is your final warning."

"Depressurize for combat." Montoghya carried out a few brief calculations in her head. These contacts were two light minutes distant. Judging by the size and mass of the vessels challenging them, they had plenty of time to respond. One advantage they possessed over the Aumanii, beyond purity of spirit, was the miniaturization of high velocity railguns. They controlled this stand off.

"Commander Montoghya, I am detecting active enemy gunnery. This is strange. The projectiles are behaving erratically." The tactical officer was adjusting her read out with slight finger movements, "This cannot be right."

Montoghya pulled up the tactical screen to see for herself. Her eyes widened, "Brace for impact!" She shouted over the flotilla band. No one had even bothered to take evasive action, they were so sure that they had the enemy out ranged. When their shells hit home with surprising impact.

"Colezhian Moonrise is breaking apart! Five other vessels are reporting massive damage, including Felixis Rainshadow! Commander, what are your orders?"

"What do you think?" Montoghya was appalled. They had trained for this!

The tactical rating just stared back at her commander, refusing to budge unless given an explicit order. More shells impacted their flotilla and tactical updated the CIC as it was happening, she was starting to panic. Montoghya's mind went blank, she was flabbergasted, why wasn't anyone doing anything? She keyed the flotilla band again, "All vessels, take evasive action and return fire!"

The hesitation was costly, more lives were lost than necessary. When the Dergh finally leveled their guns against the humans, it was mathematical certainty. These Peninsulars burned hard and wild as a stallion, fighting for dear life, but the Dergh were ultimately victorious. All for the loss of only nine vessels, the action went better than could be expected... Though her thoughts lingered on the enemy they had vanquished. Why would they fight when their demise was guaranteed?

Perhaps this is what humanity called bravery?

Montoghya peeled open the breast of her G-suit and dropped her helmet to the floor with limp hands. She was breathing hard and massaging the soft cartilage of her ribs with the heel of her hand.

"Do not worry after the dead, it's just more males for rest of us."

[Auman]

December 11, 3169

Samoth Uyghur was walking along a sullen hallway deep in the bowels of Zhamssassar Fortress, trailed by the persistent droning of his automated adjutant, the glow from its holographic avatar tinting the damp walls sky blue. He only half listened, his thoughts were dark and clouded. Communications within the Sphere had ground to a halt as data stacks at the Saint Nikolas facility seized up from cascading corruption. They resorted to courier ships to relay information between systems and the going was intensely slow. Earlier in the day, Uyghur received word of the attack on Vauben... The loss was total.

The Dergh had struck violently where they were weakest, men and women from Liaso paid the price for his spendthrift budgeting. Plan 70 couldn't conclude fast enough. The current crisis has the Fleet withdrawing from vital zones of control all over the galaxy to fly security operations inside the Veil of Tears, which the Overlord falsely believed to be safe.

The Fat Man was nowhere to be found. If Uyghur could pull every single warship and auxiliary from their stations and commit them to the search, it would still take decades to investigate every star in the blink radius... And that was only if the terrorist starship wasn't floating somewhere in interstellar space.

The truth was, the Overlord sighed at the thought, that they would never find the Fat Man. He wasn't sure what terrified him more... The complete collapse of the Aumanii state, which most assuredly would be picked clean by their myriad rivals across the galaxy... Or the reaction he was about to receive when he stepped through this door.

Uyghur's adjutant flickered, went silent and then clattered to the floor like a tin can. A high pitched frequency battered his hearing. He wriggled the discomfort from his ear canal with his pinky finger before pressing a big red button next to a pair of towering blast doors. A green light blinked on a panel above and a plume of red light enveloped him. A chime sounded, scalloped and pleasant. The doors stretched apart, pulling themselves seamlessly into the wall. Twelve figures stood in a pitch black room, thy were same shade of blue as his adjutant's avatar. They all turned their heads to him as one. They were dressed much like himself, but they couldn't be any more different from one another. Where Samoth was tall and his head shaved, Marduk was the height of a Huerdaen with a wild mop of hair... And there beside him stood Navarrone, taller yet than himself, with tightly cropped, curly black haira and an abundance of scars that resembled an abstract piece of 20th century art.

Nine Overlords from ages past watched Uyghur as he strolled to join them, and one other... The Founder.

When he had first learned of the existence of this Shadow Council, Samoth was shocked beyond words. He had heard the rumors of course, but his understanding was that it was a council of retired military officers that reviewed potential promotions submitted by the General Staff... That these retired officers were the greatest heroes of the Co-Prosperity Sphere, men that he had been hearing legends of since he was a child, warriors that had long been falsely believed to had died, never once occurred to him.

It was unnatural, a perversion of the offices and titles held by the Overlord... Military ruler of the Sphere and High Patriarch of the Foundationalist Church. Those who died in service of God were to remain dead. It was written in the Chronicles of Foundation by Zemel Caine, a man who stood before him now.

A man who was very displeased with Overlord Samoth Uyghur.

[Auman]

December 12, 3169

Despite being the middle of the night, it was still a muggy forty degrees. It was late, but the townspeople of Brine Creek on the world of Sipofene weren't about to miss this once in a life time event. If they were all about to die, then they may as well enjoy the fireworks. There wasn't quite the macabre collection one would expect of an apocalypse party, the nihilists or the thrill seekers... But rather a slice of life from all corners of the soggy little frontier community. Children ran and played in the field where teenagers smoked cigarettes and drank liquor out in the open with the regional magistrate. Tommy Oklar was setting up his telescope, as it was his duty as president of the local chapter of the Amateur Aumanii Astronomer's club to document the event for posterity. Husbands held their wives closely and whispered reassuring words into their ears.

"The Fleet will beat them. They're the best in the galaxy." Tommy overheard a man saying proudly, while he screwed on a black filter to his telescope. He thought about it and considered agreeing before relinquishing the thought.

Don't let yourself get hopeful, Tommy. Everything always goes wrong when you do.

He heard something crinkling behind him, it was his little girl holding out a bag of protato chips. Orange powder caked lips and fingers, turning into a greasy slurry from her saliva. He reached in and grabbed one.

"Thank you very much, my darling."

"You're welcome daddy!"

A five year old was never so sweet as when her parents let her stay up past bedtime. He watched her shovel a heaping handful of protato chips into her mouth. He didn't care about her manners, or that she was eating junk food for that matter. Tommy pulled her in for a hug and kissed the top of her head like he did when she was a baby.

"I love you, kiddo. Now go play. You're only going to get to do this the one time. This won't be a regular thing."

"Okay daddy!"

"I love you!" Tommy called after her. She didn't hear him. The crowd gasped and gawked up at the sky. Tommy slid on a pair of glasses and looked up to see a bright ball of incandescent light swelling before fading into the night.

"Yeah, kick their fuckin' asses, boys!" A big man was gesticulating towards the heavens, making the false assumption that he just witnessed the end of a Dergh warship.

Theirs don't brew up like that, he thought sadly, Ours do.

Dergh vessels broke apart like bursts of fireworks, which elicited exhilarated gasps from the crowd in that humid field just out of town. Someone turned up their radio.

The Aumanii Fleet, with the assistance of our brave allies from the Constitutional Federation of the Peninsular, have successfully intercepted a perfidious Dergh invasion force in low orbit of our beautiful planet, folks... And while the danger has far from passed, I have to tell you that I'm feeling pretty dang relieved. Now, the Frontier Police are asking me to tell you all that it ain't safe in the open and everyone's got to report to their assigned shelters pronto. Yours truly included. So I'll be signing off for the evening, but I'll be back, for God damn sure, tomorrow evening. This is Brett Yulein, calling it a day."

The Aumanii anthem began to play, one of the teens turned it up and the town sang along.

"From the iron fields of Mars, we came calling to the stars. In darkness we brought light, through perils wrought with fright..."

Tommy's attention drifted towards his telescope, it was tracking something. With a few subtle hand movements, he brought up a screen on the lenses of his glasses. He was recording something, it took him a moment to figure out what it was. A glaring corona, wreathed in flame. It reminded him of the sun, but it was much, much, smaller. He realized what he was seeing now... It was a Dergh battleship, its plasma shields fully engaged and being struck by a steady stream of white hot tracers. Tommy's body tensed up, he had to remember to breathe. His wife and daughter returned, holding him and singing. He remembered to stream the footage. People keyed into it, watching it on their phones or watches.

The radiators that trailed behind the battleship were holed by a string of railgun bursts, it broke away and the flame dissipated shortly afterward.

"On Earth, God made man. On Mars, man became God and He blesses each and every one of us!"

The Dergh battleship was shooting back, but the resistance was futile. Their screens went white, Tommy had to yank his glasses off.

High in the sky above them was the most beautiful burst of fireworks any of them had ever seen... Red and green, the colors of Christmas, Tommy's little girl pointed out.

[Auman]

December 13, 3169

Thousands of hammers were pounding nails into wood. The racket sounded too much like machine gun fire for Horvii Krenshak, so he ducked inside the saloon for a smoke and a pint. He sidled up next to a massive industrial robot, who was nursing a beer.

"Hell of a time to be alive, eh friend?" Horvii sighed, a hair away from having a nervous breakdown.

The big robot swiveled on his stool to face Horvii, "Sie sagen, Krieg sei eine Narrensache ... Wenn das so ist, dann leben wir in einer Clownwelt, mein Freund. Mein Name ist Pablo, wie wäre es mit dir?"

"Me? I'm nobody... But before that, I was Captain Horvii Krenshak. I lost my ship, Pablo. The Dinks shot her out from under me." The bartender pushed a foaming pint towards Horvii, he rose the glass and nodded towards his companion. They drank in companionable silence for awhile.

"Ich habe meine Freunde verloren, Horvii. Sie sind nicht tot, ich weiß so viel, ich habe nur keine Ahnung, wo sie sind. Du bist ein Mann, der Verlust versteht. Ich glaube, wir sollten uns in dieser Nacht finden und die Trauer in der Hoffnung teilen, dass es sich auf den Schultern des anderen ausbalanciert." Pablo's voice was gruff as he spoke in clean, unscented German. Horvii nodded, sipped his bitter and looked thoughtful.

"That's a fine way to think of it, Pablo." Horvii sized up the robot's thick hydraulic arms. "I'm wondering... I've lost a few of my crew and you look like you would be good on a long haul. You ever think of getting into sailing?"

Pablo chuckled mechanically, clanking like a slot machine, "Meine Freunde und ich sind von Beruf Segler, wir waren eine Zeitlang mit dem Good Ship Royal Future unterwegs."

"Well, when this all blows over and the insurance money comes through, why don't you sign on with me?"

Pablo considered the offer, but shook his head.

"Ja, aber ich muss zuerst meine Freunde finden."

"We can help you find them, amigo. Where did you last see them?"

"Beacon." Pablo's optics searched the bottom of his glass for meaning.

"Never heard of it."

[Auman]

December 14, 3169

Gravel crunched underfoot as the two men walked in darkness across a vast field. Wolves howled in the distance, but they were unafraid and took little notice. The black silhouette of a mountain loomed before them, it was shaped like a shark's tooth.

"Right there, near the top, do you see it?"

Verne squinted and he could just make out what looked like a red laser, strobing sullenly in a thicket of evergreens. They continued on, ascending a trail with their hands stuffed in their pockets, in silence.

"I don't want to go back, Verne." The other man said. For the first time in his life, Verne had never seen this man's confidence waver. It shook him.

"If we have to go, we go. Nothing is set in stone. Let's hope that you found what we're looking for."

The higher they climbed, the colder it got. Soon, the trail turned to snow, which was now sprinkling down from the sky. They could see their breath forming in the air, pluming from their mouths and nostrils.

The wolves beyed behind them. They turned and saw glowing eyes disappearing behind tree trunks. Verne wrenched a gun from inside his jacket, the other one did the same.

"They're only watching."

"The dogs know what's best for them. Here, this way." They went off the trail and into a tangled world of roots and ferns, pushing aside vines with the barrels of their pistols. The older man grabbed a long branch from the ground and used it for a walking stick. Verne was quite a bit younger, he found himself out pacing his partner, but that was alright... He'd had a hard life.

Clouds roiled overhead, purple and filled with malicious intent. A finger of lightning scratched the air and the sky broke around them.

"What ever this is here, I don't think it wants to be found."

Wind blew in from all directions. An old pine splintered down the length of it and fell before them. They went around. A wolf had a deer by the throat, both animals watched them pass... Was this a threat? Verne pulled the slide back and chambered a round. He felt a slap on the back, the older man was screaming at him but he couldn't hear a word through wind. Dead pine needles whipped around in funnels and leaves carried on like flitting birds. Verne's thick black hair was plastering itself to his face, he pushed it back with a thumb.

"We're standing right on top of it!"

Verne stepped back and looked down towards his feet, a ruby pulsed under the soil. They crouched down and clawed back the earth. It was... A drum? No, it had an optical sensor, the ruby was a dead give away. This is a robot. It dawned on Verne suddenly, when they pulled the thing free and stood it up.

"How's it going, Cleg?" The other man said, brushing dirt off the hollow cylinder of a machine.

"Sheikh Navarrone, you son of a bitch! I've been looking all over for you! Where have you been?" Cleg's voices scratched and whined like a symphony of ancient printing machine.

"I've been dead. About eighty years now."

"Don't look dead. You look like the same dumb piece of shit I always knew."

Navarrone patted the drum, "I missed you, friend. Look, we need you to do something very important."

"Oh no, oh God no!"

"I need you to find your way to Oxus as fast as you can. Turn yourself in, catch a flight, I don't care. We need you in the system." Sheikh was holding Cleg by his damaged shoulder actuators and looked deeply into his singular optic.

"Uh... I-I-I can't do it, I don't want to go back. Please? I hate it in there."

"It's an order."

Cleg's eye went dark, green text rolled upwards and his voice turned deep and mechanical, "Understood."

"I hate to do this to you, buddy. It's you or me."

Cleg didn't reply. It was done.

[Auman]

December 15, 3169

Vascilia was a shining blue sphere below them. A brilliant marble, as they would say, in the cold darkness of space. The Dergh jumped in close, a battle raged around them as Darkwater Squad took up their positions on the Valentina-Oligarska orbital ring, which curved around the globe and out of sight. It was a gambit, a poorly considered one in Baghdad's opinion. He, like the rest of his team, were robots... Expendable special forces from the Fleet Orbital Combat Corps.

Dergh infantry were streaming all over the orbital ring, attempting to seize critical points in the defense system and neutralize them. They were getting close to a turreted c-frac position. The humans had withdrawn, the mission was theirs now... It belonged to the machines. Baghdad glanced down toward the space between Vascilia and the ring, Chimera was there and she hadn't stopped firing her missiles since she arrived. Clouds of streaking meteors shot past them and erupted in blooms of brilliant plasma hundreds of thousands of kilometers away. You wouldn't believe it if you saw it for yourself, but there was a moon beyond that cacophony of violence and the Dergh armada was using it for cover. Fire was coming from every direction, their options were limited... Surrender or die. Judging by the time that had elapsed, it seemed the alien invaders were holding on to hope, they believed their mission could still work.

"We have hostile enemies mounting the western heat exchangers." Fallon called out. Baghdad turned instinctively and fired his magnetic repeater from the hip at full burn. Dergh assault infantry were flying out in the open, their space suits were thick and bulky, reminding him of Neil Armstrong.

Baghdad could hear nothing. Vacuum was a poor medium of exchange for sound, he knew this of course... Acknowledging it didn't make the reality any less strange. He scanned the full three-sixty, the whole company was tearing into the Dergh, soundlessly.

"Odd." He muttered to himself. The bullets tore threw the enemy, but they kept on coming. Hundreds of them, now returning fire with digital lasers. Vunk was cut clean in two by a swipe of the beam, then Irgud and San Frantokyo. At these angles, no one had anything approaching good cover, it was a contest of will at this point... And he possessed none of his own. His will and the Overlord's were the same. Having no fear of death assisted his patriotism. He almost pitied these people. Vunk, Irgud and San Frantokyo were being downloaded into fresh forms as he loaded a box of darts into his repeater, they'd be back in a few minutes.

The first wave of Dergh flew by over head, bright blue rivulets of blood trailing behind them. Paralytic flashes of light strobed beneath them and Baghdad took a peak. Chimera switched to guns. The turret they were defending joined the action and he followed a tracer out beyond the great moon of Ireodomea, now visible as the plasma detonations receded. A burst of sparks ignited in a cone, one dead Dergh warship. Baghdad nodded his optics in salute to the fallen foe.

The attack was still coming, hundreds and then thousands flying high or sliding low along the surface of the ring. He was sweeping the deck when his torso came free. He was cut in half and twirling back to front. His vision went black... And then faded back into reality again. He stepped off the rack and joined the line up. Filed into position, shuffled to the airlock and was handed a carbine before stepping back out into the fight. They were behind Dergh position now. The enemy had set up a temporary aid station, an inflatable shelter that he assumed the wounded were being recovered to. His new commander waved him over and he went into a low slide behind a length of liquid cooling pipe and popped a squat.

"The enemy assault is over. They're out of steam. We cannot allow a repeat of Tolst." Said Colonel Gilbert, a human, over the squad band. Baghdad immediately recalled the keyword and context... On Tolst, when defeat was inevitable, the Dergh murdered their wounded to avoid their capture.

"Understood, Colonel. I'll take Mordegrande Squad and see what I can do."

Gilbert stared at Baghdad for a sliver of a moment, the orange glare from the human's goggles bore through his soul.

"Godspeed and good luck."

Baghdad issued the order silently, his new squad flashed green on his HUD in recognition. They mounted the pipe and skidded down the length of the ring over a kilometer to their destination, their EVA packs adding to their velocity.

The Dergh Jump Master noticed them and pointed their assault out to a wave that was getting ready to move. Lasers cut into their formation and they returned fire. An intangible flash and a lance of pure destruction rose like a fist through the ring and the visors of the Dergh darkened suddenly, they were blinded by the light. Mordegrande squad returned fire and zig-tagged as they advanced, the enemy slumped over, stuck to the deck by their mag-boots.

Vascilia was burning now. Struck by ortillery in more places than Baghdad wanted to consider. Duty came first, he would mourn his world later. They reached the aid station's airlock, Mordegrande spread out to cover the breaching team, which he took the lead of.

They entered swiftly, carbines shouldered and swept the inflatable structure.

"Clear!" Called out one of his men, Clinton. They stripped down the orderlies, nurses and doctors. They found a few handguns, but nothing too serious.

"The enemy have been destroyed. The net chatter is saying they refused to surrender. There's nothing of them left." Tagger was saying over the open channel.

[Auman]

December 16, 3169

Pastor Garenne stood atop a mound of rubble. He wore a black windbreaker, his right arm was slung tightly to his chest, the sleeve hung loosely about his side. His face was grimey and battered, like so many in his congregation which gathered here today, like they had like any other Sunday, for worship. He eyed them all one by one and sighed. Vascilia, their homeworld, had suffered greatly... But he took a measure of solace in seeing their heads held high, their shoulders squared and their faces free of tears.

"Heavenly Father, when we complain that we cannot see your hand at work in our lives, remind us of the wilderness journey of the Israelites. Help us believe and live in patience, as your bigger and better plan is accomplished."

The pastor was quoting the prayer of intercession verbatim. To him, at this time, it seemed appropriate.

"Loving God, you hear our prayers: You live among us."

"Lord Jesus Christ, forgiver of our every sin, when we suffer the consequences of our own wrongdoing,  give us courage to humbly confess like King David, “I have sinned against the Lord.'"

For a long time, the people of the Veil of Tears chafed against the hegemony of the Aumanii people, themselves transplants dispossessed of a world to which they truly belonged... There were historical wrongs perpetrated by the Overlords in the name of man and God. They could not be forgiven. Only blood shall absolve.

"Loving God, you hear our prayers: You live among us."

"Holy Spirit, when we eat our fill of food for yet another day, help us give you thanks by sharing our bounty with the less fortunate."

The Sphere was unwilling to share their wealth and success with the xenos that dwelled amongst them behind the Veil, only through mutual prosperity could they succeed in the future.

"Loving God, you hear our prayers: You live among us."

"Build us up in Love, Lord God, and help us use the gifts you've given to us, for your kingdom's sake."

We must make friends with those that seek to destroy us... Only then will we find lasting peace. This war is being fought because we refused to find common cause and this alone shall be our undoing. Our military government is failing to preserve and promote the word of our Messiah, Jesus Christ, through the teachings and principles of the Prophet Zemel Caine.

"Loving God, you hear our prayers: You live among us."

"Lord Jesus Christ, true bread from heaven, send your Holy Spirit into our hearts that we may desire the food that endures for eternal life."

Material wealth is a falsehood, the consumerism of the modern Aumanii state brings only temporary relief... The Sphere must move beyond the worldly desires and seek to build a lasting and spiritually perfect legacy that will endure for all time in life and within the Kingdom of Heaven.

"Loving God, you hear our prayers: You live among us."

"Great Physician, turn our minds and hearts toward the physical and spiritual needs of all among us in pain and suffering."

Our people are suffering. In this time of strife, it's imperative to do good works in the name of our God, His son and His prophets. Go out, those of you are able, to tend to those who are not and bring relief. Do what you can, this was the implication of the Pastor's words.

"Loving God, you hear our prayers: You live among us."

Pastor Garenne drew a semiautomatic handgun from his holster and fired one shot into the air. The shot was sharp and clear as a bell, the air roiled for a time afterward.

"The love of God has won. The new life has begun. Amen."

They were here because God loves them. God had a plan for them. By surviving when so many others had not, they started on a new path... Hopefully they walked in righteousness and lived to do the right thing always, in veneration of God, the Lord and the Prophets.

"Man is made better through self sacrifice. To emulate the works of those who came before us, to live our lives in the way Christ, Mohammed and Caine had is to honor their sacrifice. Do as they would do, be kind, be furious and be wise. Our people are healing, but there will come a time where we must strike back, to set light to the enemy with the fire of God and we must have the wisdom to know when to extinguish the flame and come bearing bread."

[Auman]

In Defense!

Military vows to forge ahead with Plan 70 despite recent attacks

By: John Inoue
December 17, 3169

In a recent press release dispatched by the Aumanii Armed Forces, it has been reaffirmed that the Overlord remains committed to the oft maligned Plan 70 rearmament scheme, which seeks to increase the size of the Fleet by several orders of magnitude, create a whole new land service branch and spend inordinate amounts of money on foreign procurement. The plan has already made significant headway in recent months with the reactivation of well over ten thousand obsolete warships and the institution of federal conscription in support of the, until now, defunct Foundational Army.

The affirmation comes hot on the heels of the successful conclusion of the so called "Penvarian Sovereignty Force Integrity Project." What in the hell is that, exactly? Let me run you through the basics. The Co-Prosperity Sphere of Auman is poised to deploy large numbers of Fleet and Army personnel to the Constitutional Federation of the Peninsular and the Fenvarian Republic. In exchange for basing rights in those nations, which will position significant resources on Sol's doorstep, the Sphere will heavily invest in modern, top of the line, shipyards that will focus on the production of military logistics vessels intended to support the wholesale expansion of the Aumanii military. While the deal sounds fair, many critics have come pouring out if the woodwork to denounce the project as wasteful foreign adventurism, corporate welfare and, in some cases, a wholey unnecessary provocation of local powers.

The Armed Forces have touted the benefits of the program, at times preaching to the masses from a proverbial soapbox about the duty to protect, a Foundationalist dogmatic principle that presupposes the inherent necessity of the Aumanii state, and by extension the entire Co-Prosperity Sphere, to defend nations of quality character and support them until they are capable of protecting themselves. This doctrine has been successful in the past, Auman had received help from allies in return for previous security assistance and it is definitely on display at this moment in the fight against the Dergh invasion.

Peninsularian forces, which are one half of the recipients of resources bound for the Penvarian Program, are fighting on our behalf as we speak. Tezekian and Alexzonyan warships are providing the vital communications links that make the transmission of this article possible. Phoenixi and New Dornalian military assistance and humanitarian aid grows exponentially by the day. This is an undeniable nod towards the success of current Aumanii foreign policy... But it's been argued to be a double edged sword.

After all, if it weren't for the hardnosed approach to security policy throughout the galaxy, we would not be under attack to begin with. In October of 3168, the Armed Forces made an abrupt about face in regards to galactic engagement that had led directly to the deployment of the Aumanii Armed Forces to several war zones, the largely peaceful annexation of nearly a dozen states and the fortuitous reacquisition of our most holy Mars. These actions have caused significant anxiety in nearly every corner of the galaxy and we are now beginning to see the blowback...

[Read More]

[Auman]

December 18, 3169

The gate system went offline around midnight. Tens of thousands of merchant marines were stranded throughout the galaxy. The holiday rush was stopped dead in its tracks and now only vital military traffic was allowed to move in real space between stars.

The Dergh invasion had been halted, the momentum of their surprise attack had stalled out... This was the only good piece of news in the last few days. With the alien horde staring the Aumanii in the face, it was easy to forget about the long term crisis... The loss of the Fat Man. No leads existed, Captain Shagari's reckless blind jump away from Great White could have landed his ship anywhere in the Milky Way galaxy.

Things weren't looking good for the Co-Prosperity Sphere.

But still, the people continued to live their lives as best they could manage. Dinner with family, Christmas markets and parties all carried on, even in the most devastated regions of the Sphere. Despite the pain and the suffering, spirits were high. The people were resolved to maintain the traditions that made them a culture and celebrate the strength of their unity.

At an impromptu gathering in the staff office of the Museum of Anthropology at the University of Ciris Aphalon, something happened... Some may call it a miracle. A professor, drunk on vivesante, had stumbled out to find the washroom when he discovered something that would change the course of Aumanii history forever.

Sitting in a glass case in the center of the exhibit on High Vascilian Technology, was a piece that was not there before... A gunmetal gray cylinder, with a small log cabin scratched into the anodized coating on its drum, an emerald on its face pulsing gently in the darkened hall. The professor squinted at it, he couldn't believe his eyes and he dropped his glass.

He called the Dean of Anthropology out from the party and soon a mob had descended upon the case. They stood in utter silence.

"This..."

"This," the Dean interrupted, "is the precognitive device that disappeared from our museum over a hundred years ago."

[Auman]

December 19, 3169

"So, what's so special about this thing? It looks like a garbage can." Chip Anderson was pushing a grav sled down a wide and harshly lit hallway, they were following a red line painted on stark white walls toward the star chamber. Gul Bowman, his shift partner, shrugged his shoulders, he had no interest in chit chat while they were surrounded by a platoon of heavily armed shocktroopers. They came up to a dead end. Gul swiped his card on a panel and the floor gave way, the elevator was seamless with the ground. They descended at an angle for over an hour, there was nothing to sit on, so they shifted awkwardly on the balls of their feet. The shocktroopers just glared at them with those creepy circular goggles that gave off a weird orange glow. Lots of strange things happened at the Saint Nikolas facility, levitating objects mostly... Things would disappear and then reappear somewhere unexpected. Sometimes people. Intrinsic job hazard. Chip supposed something must be going on, maybe it had to do with the Fat Man not showing up. They replaced it with this hunk of shit, so maybe it went missing too. The guys that worked here at Saint Nik's were on a communications black out for the duration of their contract, they didn't get much news from the outside and they couldn't send anything, not even a handwritten letter to their families. This place was definitely weird, not on the up and up, but a job's a job and this one paid well enough for him to forgive his employer for sedating him on the bus ride out.

Those soldiers didn't move a muscle.

They hit the bottom of the ramp softly, a red beam scanned them and then chirped in the affirmative. The blast doors opened up and the star chamber was laid out before them. Gul pushed the sled in, giving Chip a break. These things were a team effort. They were currently on the fifth level, but the chamber itself must've gone up another five hundred meters... All said and done, they were standing in a kilometer deep cone that was lined with all kinds of pipes, wires, gantries and more esoteric equipment that had no apparent function... Gul, in more polite company, suggested that this was "High Vascilian tech."

Chip was a local to Oxus and he didn't care much for Martian history. His family left that shithole over a thousand years ago. It meant nothing to him, but Gul? He was Solarian, still kept the lanky features of a low gravity world despite having grown up, with a silver spoon in his ass mind you, on Seneca. He was always going on about this stuff.

They pushed the sled into another elevator and rode it down to level zero. Everyone was there. Dr. Tukaiyan, the director of Saint Nikolas, the ever beautiful Dr. Foy and that prick, Azimuth Manderly, who could hardly be considered a scientist.

"Excellent work, boy!" Manderly clapped Gul on the shoulder. "Absolutely fantastic effort!" Manderly's voice was nasal and grating, just like his personality. The only thing worse than being subjected to the man's words was looking at his face, with that disgusting, gray, pubic beard that was stained brown around the mouth by tobacco smoke.

Manderly lit up his pipe in the tight quarters of his assembled colleagues and blew out a thick lungful in Dr. Foy's face, the smoke stung her eyes and made her squint.

"Dr. Manderly, this is a smoke free facility." Said Dr. Takaiyan faintly. The director was a perfect fit for the administration of Saint Nikolas, he understood the science and principles of management, but for some reason he let Manderly walk all over him...

Azimuth ignored Takaiyan and turned to Foy, leaning in close and grinning at her with his greening teeth. "You are about to see the fulfillment of a legacy, my lady... The conclusion of a lifetime of inspired brilliance, some would say. I would call it the beginning of a new era, the Azimuth Epoch! We shall go down together as the greatest scientific minds in Aumanii history. It would only make sense for us to marry after..."

"This is becoming highly inappropriate, Dr. Manderly." Squeaked Takaiyan, Manderly persisted despite Foy's clear and present disgust. Chip looked away, he couldn't take it anymore, but what caught his eye was... Imperious. Overlord Samoth Uyghur, skin as black as his Cape that twirled in the breeze from the air recycler, was strutting down the ramp with the confidence of a maned Lion, surrounded by bodyguards with necks thicker than his thighs. The Overlord was impossibly tall by Oxus standards, but Gul assured Chip that he was actually short compared to an average Estruscan... Who tended towards height and dark skin.

Even Manderly stopped talking in his presence, though with great effort. Foy seemed relieved.

"Are we ready to begin, Director Takaiyan?" Uyghur's voice was smooth and soulful, with a nearly imperceptible twang that was buried in deepness. Takaiyan began speaking, when he was cut off by Manderly.

"We are primed and ready, Overlord. I can begin on... Uh..."

The Overlord fixed Manderly with a vicious glare that was digging the scientist's eyes from their sockets. Uyghur turned his gaze back to Takaiyan, his features softened...

"Director?"

"We are primed and ready, Overlord. We can begin the process immediately. Our experts have determined that the unit is an exact functional match with the Genesis Device." Takaiyan was still mousey, but he allowed some pride to manifest in the straightening of his shoulders.

"Because it is the Genesis Device, Director Takaiyan."

"Preposterous!" Laughed Manderly. You could hear electricity humming, the tension was so high.

"You dare question the Overlord?" Sneared the leader of the bodyguard, stepping forward with the butt of his carbine raised to smash Manderly's face. Chip smirked, this was a long time coming, but Uyghur raised his hand and belayed the man's outrage.

"Why would you say that, Dr. Manderly?"

"Because High Vascilian Technology is a myth, propaganda created by Zemel Caine to placate the masses and assure them of Aumanii technological dominance. Nothing about the theories pans out at all, they defy the laws of physics."

"Yes, this is true, doctor... Despite that, what examples that we possess do function. Without explanation. There are theories, of course, but none of them ever work in the face of what we considered immutable laws of reality. But here we are, in a nation where firearms grow on trees, where a robot with no moving parts can read the future and a man such as yourself gets the opportunity to save the universe." Uyghur held a hand palm out in Manderly's face and turned to Takaiyan.

"Please begin, Director. We have already wasted too much time."

The Overlord left, Chip and Gul handed the sled off to a gang of scientists in white containment suits that made them look like the Michelin man. With nothing to do, they went back up to level five and watched everything while leaning on the railing. Since the soldiers were gone, Gul was more at ease and felt free to talk.

"This is some amazing shit. That thing we just delivered is a precognitive unit. It was designed in Noriegania by the order of Markos Noriega, the ancestor of Gogol'Veht. It was considered a conspiracy theory for a very long fucking time... Time travel is impossible, the laws of physics completely shit on the concept. Here's the catch though, in order to have timely and efficient interstellar travel, to eliminate time dilation from the equation, you need it... Time travel is a prerequisite of faster than light travel."

Chip was having a hard time following along with Gul, but he was trying, "Are you trying to say that this facility is a time machine or something?"

Gul shook his head, "No, I'm saying that each and every single hyperspace gate in the universe is. This thing right here? This is a timekeeper. Without it, the gate network can't coordinate... Not efficiently. If we didn't have this, a ship could fly through an aperture and arrive on the other end a hundred years later. Not so great if you want to run a galactic empire."

"That's kind of neat." Chip said, slickly.

"Now here's the relevance of the Genesis Device, this precognitive unit..."

Down below, they could see the scientists screwing the cylinder into a large mechanism that extended the full height of the star chamber. Great mechanical arms swung down, pinning it in place and a blue beam appeared in a flash from a large coil above it.

"The relevance is that this precognitive unit is capable of considering all the possible futures at once, all things that have happened, can happen and ultimately will happen, exist in its mind simultaneously. This thing was built to give the Noriegas an edge over their adversaries, to divine the future so that they could always be just one step ahead... But it couldn't express it rationally, not through words or simple data. It was useless. At least that's what they say in GalNet. I'm thinking it might make a great wristwatch, though."

Chip looked at Gul and back down at the scene below. He considered everything he just heard and brought his hand up to his chin and struck a thoughtful pose.

"What?" Chip said in puzzlement.

"This thing, if it really is what the Overlord believes it is, can dictate the flow of time to an expansive network of powerful hyperspace gates... Presumably forever, without software updates or anything. It's a very powerful computer."

"But there's nothing in it. No circuit boards or floppy disks or anything." Chip was confused, but really getting into the possibilities.

"Right? How does that even work? I'm inclined to believe, with the Sphere's reliance on hyperspace as a medium for just about everything, that the unit's processing power exists somewhere in there... A computer that uses the volume of an entire dimension to process information in at least four dimensions."

"That sounds ridiculous, to be honest, buddy." Said Chip.

"Yeah," Gul turned with Chip and started to walk back to the elevator, "you're probably right. It is fun to imagine these things though."

[Auman]

December 20, 3169

The Battle of the Medea was difficult, complicated by the detritus of ancient, abandoned, space habitats constructed by an extinct species of aliens... Their remaining legacy was known as the Grave Swarm. This made an excellent hiding ground for a deadly game of cat and mouse between the Aumanii Fleet and their intractable Dergh enemies.

The conflict was stalling out, the operational tempo decreasing significantly with each passing day... The invaders were withdrawing, whether the Aumanii were winning, or this was simply the Dergh regrouping to launch a fresh assault, was anyone's guess. However, where only two days ago there were warships running and gunning between the debris of this battered star system, now there was a shocking serenity.

The Pioneer class frigate Vancouver was taking part in a clearing operation as part of Operational Combat Group Uranus. The crew was skeptical that they could find anything in this stellar labyrinth, the enemy could hide a thousand ships powered down in plain sight and never be sorted from the chaff. Captain Roetius didn't question it, however...

Who was he to question the will of the Overlord?

He did his duty diligently, even when the post combat crash set into his men and they started showing signs of complacency. The Fleet was too small to sustain an operation of this scale for as long as they had, which was kind of pathetic when Roetius really thought about it. Plan 70 didn't seem so bad when he washed down a synphetamine capsule with a swig of Rip-it. If you asked him about it on the first of December, he'd have told you it ripped the heart and soul out of the Fleet... If you posed the same question now, he would be too tired to care.

Fuck it, buy the whole damn Frankian Armada.

His eyes were dry and burning, but he couldn't close them if he wanted to... So he just rubbed them until the feeling passed. A warning chimed from the sensor desk, petty officer Jensen was sitting motionless, unresponsive to the urgency of the tone. Roetius whipped his drink at her and the clattering can startled the young woman awake.

"Whoa, whoa... Okay..." Jensen's heart felt like it was about to race down her sleeve. Globs of neon red liquid were suspended in the air before being sucked up by the recyclers. "Captain, we have an enemy contact at bearing two-two-five by niner-niner-niner. It's statically emplaced, looks like they're clamped onto the the hull of McKendree 37B-Prospekt Earthnoid."

Prospekt Earthnoid was the largest single habitat in the system, it had it's own debris ring, if the Dergh wanted to hide all they would have to do is go cold and let everything pass on by...

"Gunnery, light it up with your railguns!"

"Aye captain!" Came a terse reply.

Tracers streamed into the Dergh vessel, skipping and bouncing red hot in a crash of sparks in all directions, sensors reporting it to be a cruiser analogue. Thank Christ they caught it first, Vancouver was a beautiful girl, but she was an explorer... Not a warrior. The superstructure of the enemy cruiser remained intact, but it was riddled with holes. Roetius considered it killed and called off the gunner.

No signals were emanating from the enemy ship. No signs of movement before or after the action. The reactor was active, no atmosphere had vented during their attack... This was peculiar. The tactical station chief was leaning in close, counting objects on his screen and turning a joystick to maneuver his gunsight cameras.

"Oh shit, would you look at that..." the tactical chief muttered under his breath. "Hey captain, get a load of this. Tell me what you see."

Roetius brought up the chief's display on his own screen. He counted fifteen bodies twirling in space. He zoomed in close on them and noticed the growths. Metallic lichenesque fringed manes of fungus. Roetius immediately pulled the camera toward the bulky main engine cluster and everything fell into place.

"What are the odds the Dergh have confronted Voidspores before?"

The chief swiveled in his combat couch with a smug grin on his face, "considering we have never seen them leave their own star system en masse like this, I'd bet they haven't."

"One of the first ever science fiction novels had a fun ending to it. Martians invaded the Earth and were kicking humanity's ass, it looked like it was game over for mankind... We managed to pull off an 11th hour victory because the aliens didn't have an immunity to any of our diseases." Dark circles were forming under the captain's eyes.

"War of the Worlds is a classic. You ever watch the one reboot where they replaced evil alien invaders with us? It's fucking legendary, boss." The chief cracked open a can of Rip-it.

"You know, they make us watch that abortion at the academy?"

"I wouldn't doubt that you Highpointers spend all day watching movies."

Captain Roetius and the crew spent the rest of the shift discussing campy propaganda flicks, it was a great way to fight off exhaustion.

OOC: All credit goes to Vipra for the Voidspores.

[Auman]

December 21, 3169

Dergha was a slimy world, green with algae and steaming jungles when the surface peaked through the enormous cloud cover. Great storms raged during all seasons, cyclones that made those on earth pale in comparison. Life here was a struggle and technological development was severely curtailed by destruction reaped by nature. The Dergh persevered and in their struggle they found their strength in an indomitable stubbornness.

Matriarch Ionia wasn't a woman in the truest sense, and if you decided to get technical it was really just a space elevator... It was a monument to the undying Empire of Will that developed in the rancid mangroves on the surface. The towering monolith jutted outward into space like the fist of a drowning woman, rising from the ocean, refusing their fate. This structure was the only one of it's kind in the entire solar system, the sole link that connected the Dergh to the galaxy... And it had just become a biological hazard.

The Vera Morgha, an arsenal platform, returned from the human worlds benighted by corruption that defied explanation, a pox that devoured metal and ruined the minds of people it tainted. Worse yet, Matriarch Ionia, coated now in thick layers of degrading materiel, was... Blooming. Spores detached from the elevator and filled orbital space with infectious motes of fungus that had begun to eat away at loitering starships that crossed its path. Before the Dergh had chance to recognize the threat of this foreign contaminant, it was already too late. The Matriarch's council lost touch with Ionia Counterweight Station. All attempts to contact them had failed, so they sent a team up the elevator to investigate.

They lost contact with them, so they sent another... And another... And another.

It was a horrifying prospect made all the more difficult by Father's habitual feeding. As the war faltered and the crisis in space escalated, the clans were soon left leaderless, the Matriarchs holding court in Father's stomachs. There would be a reckoning soon, as young ladies contested for legitimacy and the right to rule their clans. Breeding rights would be suspended for the duration of the selection, all eyes would turn inward and all notions of outerspace forgotten until it was resolved.

The stars, for the Dergh, were eerily silent, but most assuredly not empty.

OOC: I'd once again like to thank and credit Vipra for the Voidspores and also the fungal Kessler syndrome idea.

[Auman]

December 22, 3169

A motley collection of miscreants had gathered in a tiny pillbox bunker. The world was nameless, an airless rock with gravity comparable to Earth's moon. They wore a variety of space suits, some slim and others armored with bulky overlapping plates, while fewer still were absurd alien contraptions with awkward configurations. Their helmets were off, lining a rack adjacent to the airlock. One strip of LEDs lit the entire room and an oxygen candle sizzled in the corner.

A tripedal alien was squatting at the far end of a square table from Jaren Lazak, a human with curly black hair that was buzzed on the sides and left wild on top.

"Yielth the Screeching One welcomes the human weaklings to this Concord." The tripod, Yielth, spoke through a translation machine that had difficulty keeping up with his rapid dialect, he was finished speaking long before the software was able to catch up.

"Yielth the Screeching One, you're a gracious host and we thank your for the accommodations." Jaren brought his fist to his mouth, Yielth reciprocated, this was a gesture of respect in the Dhaar Hemod culture to which the tripod belonged.

"News is dire, Dergh filth are failures and have been destroyed. Yielth the Screeching One is not surprised, nor is this form displeased by events. Yielth the Screeching One is pleased that Dergh filth and swamp dweller are subdued, this makes next phase simple."

Jarek sighed, "Yes, I suppose it was anticipated and hoped for that the Dergh would be defeated. Unfortunately, they did less damage than we had hoped."

"Great balls of Aumanii human weakling are not so destroyed as expected, gate still work. Sadness fills the mighty hearts of Yielth the Screeching one, our gonads are brimming with rage at failure of your pirate slave, Shagari." Yielth was scratching the back of his head and a sheet of orange fuzz, which covered most of his body, peeled off in a sheet. Yielth ate it, the humans winced, an Elf woman turned away in disgust and Kromark, a sauropod from Sasaanis, was completely unphased.

"Yielth the Screeching One, you are wise but at times you can be quite dense."

Yielth's three eyes twitched at the insult, Jarek held a calming hand to his own mouth.

"Shagari carried out his orders with honor and distinction, he cannot be blamed for any of this. By all rights, the Aumanii gate system should be suffering from a catastrophic cascade failure, instead it is back up and running... The Fat Man device, which is now under our control and it offers us a considerable advantage when we choose to deploy it. The Dergh are fools, they fell for our deception and the Aumanii are now distracted. This all we really could have hope for. The gates will fall and the Aumanii Empire with it, this is only a matter of time." Jarek jabbed a finger at Yielth, piercing the air between them with his conviction.

"Human weaklings talk all too much. Only good for talk. Kromark lizard thing, Yielth the Screeching One demand your wise opinion, immediately."

Kromark's speckled green eyes rolled toward Yielth, a low growl emanating from her diaphragm, its forked tongue flicking in and out if its mouth, affecting the tone in very subtle ways.

"The brother Jarek Lazak makes a strong point, brother Yielth the Screeching One. We were very well aware that this mission was a risky gamble. We depended heavily on betrayal from high ranking members of the Co-Prosperity Sphere's military government to hone in on the Fat Man. This alone could have been a honeypot operation on their part. I'm both impressed and appalled that the information given us lead to the successful capture of the Fat Man. That we were able to feed the Dergh completely false strategic information on the Aumanii and have the good fortune of them launching an invasion when we requested it? Lord of Sand, brothers, I don't think we could have asked for any more. We have a friend in brother Dergh Father, he will support us until the end... Because brother Dergh Father is very unintelligent and gullible. He will keep the Sphere occupied while we deal the killing blow."

[The Peninsular]

Abyss System, 47st Secst 2311 NC

The Abyss system was just like its name – a deep abyss. The system was small, two planets and several planetoids running around a red dwarf. The innermost planet’s position was obscured from view by the debris field that surrounded it in orbit, though through the occasional openings in it, the scarred surface became all too visible. The second planet of the system didn’t look any better. A thick layer of ice covered the surface painted the planet completely white, as it was too far from the star to receive any meaningful amount of energy.

“What kind of colony did the Aumanii have here again?”, First Officer Nimo asked as the Peninsularian ships entered the system. The massive spaceframe of the Eradicator-class Groosfuerst Friderik dwarfed the other two packs that had accompanied the battleship on this assignment. “Mining, apparently. The first planet and the ring have high concentrations of palladium, platinum and the likes I hear.”, said Commodore Bec-Islen Marko as he pushed himself into his command chair and buckled up. “All we need to know is that the Aumanii base on the first planet went dark around 60 hours ago. They were supposed to check in every 12 hours, since the debris field makes communication a bit difficult. The garrison on one of the planet’s moons hasn’t responded as well in that time frame.”

“Dergh, I assume?”, the First Officer asked. Marko shrugged, barely noticeable. “Well, we suspect them of course. But we haven’t got solid evidence just yet.” “If the station went dark 60 hours ago, they’d probably be gone by now.”, Nimo theorized. “As far as we have experienced they’re more bent on destruction than actual territory.” “Maybe, maybe not, PrinceLeu. We will see in a few minutes. Navigation, take us closer.”

The field around the first planet, actually ‘named’ C-839275, was a mess, to say the least. The backdrop of the star made the debris of rocks clearly visible on the most basic of thermal sensors, even as the flight sat at minimum engagement distance, 3 lightseconds away. On all ships, the crews were on their toes for any signs of Dergh activity. The utter loss of Allenon-Gion, the flight’s 3rd pack, above Vauben was still a fresh mark, and many had lost friends on those ships, made even worse by the fact that the Dergh had gone out of their way to commit a war crime on the surrendering survivors of the pack. Allenon Flight had fought with a before-unseen vigor in their last several engagements, and was first place in the Peninsularian task force for both “enemy ships destroyed” as well as “least casualties”.

As such, when the Sensors Officer onboard the Friderik reported that ships had been picked up among the rocks in the debris field, all Peninsularian ships sprung to life with a flurry of activity, men and women instinctively manning their battle stations, spoiling for the next opportunity to pay the Dergh back for the unprovoked atrocity that the task force in general, and Allenon Flight in particular had taken personally.

Yet what greeted them was a sight they had not expected. Sensors reported two battleship analogues and several frigate and corvette analogues of Dergh warships. But in the next seconds, nothing happened. The ships just sat there, instead of moving into a more advantageous position. Scans showed that their reactors were running and the ships were still structurally intact, but the registered energy output lay far beneath a normal value. The Flight was neither hailed nor shot at.

“What are they doing?”, the Commodore wondered, irritated, as before the Dergh had always immediately attacked upon spotting enemy ships. “Maybe their ships are damaged too badly?”, he asked the Sensors Officer. The Lieutenant just replied with a shrug. “This is highly irregular. Their ships are also putting out far less energy than usual. Something smells fishy, Sir. Scanning for signs of crew activity- Oh. That would explain that.”

The image of the Dergh battleship showed a supposedly fine-looking silhouette, but upon closer inspection, the real problem became visible. “Well, well, well… would you look at that. This group caught the voidspores as well then.”, Marko mused. “Exactly, Sir. According to scans, around half their flotilla sustained near-terminal damages from them. The battleships and the other half apparently weren’t hit that badly, but they’re severely damaged as well.”, Nimo concluded, yet was interrupted by the Sensors Officer before he could continue. “Activity, Sir. The less damaged ships are beginning to move into a stance to face us. Most of them, anyway. Two of the frigates are staying back by the out-of-action corvettes.”

It was almost painful to watch. The two battleships as well as several frigate analogues slowly begun to drag themselves in an appropriate position, but their pitiful condition became apparent. Their hulls were pierced in places, badly damaged to say the least in others. Some of them only had two of their four major engines to provide thrust as the rest were already covered in spores. Scans indicated major damage to their main weapon systems, with apparently only their VLS cells still functioning. The Flight sent out several signals demanding their surrender, but they went unanswered. The Flight was already training their major guns on the rest of the ships and preparing to fire, when the Comms Officer spoke up.

“Sir, receiving transmission!”, she told Marko. “It’s coming from the ships left behind!” “Put on screen what they’re saying.”, the Commodore ordered. The big main screen flashed as the channel was opened. It revealed what he assumed was the Dergh commander; though in the background the bad condition of the ship could be seen, with what looked like sealed-up body bags just being carried out of the room. The connection was affected by serious static, yet the translator still managed to piece together comprehensible sentences.

”This is the Cleansing Flame, hailing the [static] warships. We would [static] take up your offer of surrender. I am Matriarch [static] speaking for all the ships left behind. We-[static]”

“We’re losing the signal!”, the Comms Officer reported. “Something’s jamming it!” “Sir! Enemy warships are turning about! They are- they’re facing their own fleet!”, the Sensors Officer added. “They’re doing what?! Visual on screen!”

The view was, for many on the Peninsularian ships, indescribable. As the Dergh ships turned about towards their former comrades, volley upon volley of their last remaining weapons was let loose from their arsenal. One of the two still functioning frigate analogues, together with a corvette already falling apart, managed to jump towards Allenon Flight and out of the reach of the rest of the battle. Most other ships weren’t that lucky, and the area the rest of the ships were in was bathed in nuclear fire. As it cleared out, none of the originally 7 surrendered Dergh vessels remained. The flotilla that had opened fire on them continued to sit there, weapons falling silent, not budging.

“Sir, the Cleansing Flame and the other Dergh ship have shut down all systems except life support and are awaiting our boarding parties’ arrival.”, First Officer Nimo remarked. His voice was still filled with shock and disgust over what they had just witnessed. “The rest of the Dergh are just sitting there. They’ve been ignoring our demands of surrender, but scans indicate they’ve exhausted their last reserves. What should we do about them?”

A short, but heavy silence filled the room. The question could as well have been rhetorical, and Nimo knew that. Everyone on the ships knew it. There was only one answer after what had just happened. After what had happened to Allenon-Gion and its crews.

“They had their chance.” “Sir, yes, Sir.”

[Telros]

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CloudSpace One Process Started.
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Loading complete. Connections open. Searching.

2 connections identified. Running security check...

Connection established.

The networks used in the Imperium ran on a multi-tiered system, utilizing advances in processor technology and upgrades from the CASM wreckage. Security walls at every level, asking for handshake protocols and clearance, with secondary and tertiary backups, and constant vigilance by the AVATAR operators that maintained the network, a fusion of organic and machine to meet the processing needs without descending into digital madness. The lessons the CASM had taught were dug deep into the cultural soil; one of the effects was the development of the Cloud or Cloudspace, a place where anyone with the proper augments could jack in, at least within the same system, and be able to talk and discuss at high speeds, nearing the speed of thought. This was the same system used by the Imperial fleets and armies in war, allowing them almost real time ability to take in data, assess and enact orders in mere seconds rather than minutes, even with full on debates and arguments. Here today, a room had been set aside, in a server that didn't exist, for those whose true identities were secrets of the state, a fact of life for the Strategic Intelligence Bureau.

With this system in place, it meant more than just quick battle planning, it also meant secret meetings could be conducted, far and away from sight, mind, and truth. The SIB was a growing force in the politics and power structure of the Imperium; with every new threat that revealed itself, every terrorist attack, every Rethast plague, every destabilizing war, their services become more and more vital by the day. Through the Tudáskeltő Institute, they studied magic, the occult, and the eldritch; through their agents in the field, they gathered blackmail, information and favors, both in the light of day and the dark of the galactic underworld. Through the Vadász, threats were inspected, verified and eliminated in growing numbers throughout the Gamma Quadrant, and eventually the galaxy. Here today, a room had been set aside, in a server that didn't exist, for one whose true identity was a secret long scrubbed out, life suborned to that of the Imperium and it's future, and the other whose identity served as the foundation for the very same Imperium.

The first avatar appeared, that being of the venerable Director Fekete Suttogás, a Tezekian of advanced age, nearing his six hundredth year. The life extension treatments had done wonders for maintaining his form but his crown feathers had gone gray and continued to wilt, bit by bit, every year. Still, he lived on and now served as the master of the revived intelligence service. He wore the uniform of the SIB, silver and black, carrying the badge of their institution: three ravens, circling a tree made of stars that stood above a silver pool. The guardians of secrets and knowledge. He waited quietly, watching the room come into being; chuckling as he realized it was his private room, replete with his favorite hardwood desk, the roaring fireplace near by, shelves lined with books, glittering artifacts and soft light hologram maps of regions, systems, and even the galaxy. Across from the desk he found himself sitting at, comfortable leather chair digitized itself, and the leader of the Tezekian Imperium, Archon Avirius himself manifested, drinking tea from a cup, which he set aside on a nearby stand as it resolved itself. A moment of quiet persisted, as the Director waited for his commander to speak.

“I must say, Fekete, that the upgraded Cloudspace is working marvelously. It is very heartening to be able to enjoy food or drink during these meetings and being able to actually taste them, digital or not.”

The other Tezekian bowed his head, recognizing the compliment and authority of the Archon. “I'm glad, sir. We've been studying the Aumanii Klatch system, as much as we have access to anyway, and have had our R&D teams hard at work on it for the past year. Once all the bugs have been confirmed worked out for mass production, we plan on including it in the next update.”

“That is good to hear, but I suspected this meeting you have requested is not just for technical updates; I may prefer personal interactions for my reports but by necessity I keep most to holopad entries. What's the problem, Director?”

The gray avian leaned forward, pulling out a large bottle of scotch and poured himself a drink; a mental command opened his his desk and a projector eased up into view, activating with nary a sound to display a blueish-white version of the galaxy. The map zoomed into the Gamma Quadrant and then focused on a specific region. Avirirus nodded as it finished its zooming.

“Yes, I know this region, and the trouble with it. What has the Scythian Empire done today?”

With a wave of a hand, the Scythian Empire, once a bright blue, dissolved and was replaced by an amorphous blob of red, and swarms of data began to appear around the edges of this.

“Karma. Karma is what happened to the Scythian Empire.” A button was pressed that put a filter on, and displayed the last few days. From one side of the Empire, one could see the border, so to speak, with the Huerdaen Star Empire. Large fleets resolved themselves, and formed at expected advance points, and then launched themselves into the region. One by one systems fell; a message was sent, announcing their presence and the doom of the Empire. All who wanted to flee could and were allowed, given a week by sunlight drive, and all who hadn't left or couldn't were then annihilated by Huerdaen guns, leaving the planets smoldering cinders.

“The Scythians have a long list of crimes, as you are well aware, my Archon. They betrayed our trust with their war on our allies the Galactic Republic of Alexzonya and the Phoenixi Domain, by which only your great restraint and pursuing of diplomacy kept us from breaking our alliance. They also were made war upon by the Eridani Imperium, for their humiliating theft of their scientific copyrights and economic strangulation, proved right by the crashing of their markets later. The HSE invaded, making the Eridani a tributary and the Scythians were able to force them out but at great loss. Karax still ravages the region; certain Foundations have requested we aid them with the plague, but per my recommendation, we have chosen not to. Culminating in the new Empress' slaughter of her rivals, the Imperium has cancelled our alliance with them as well."

"Per my last report, they launched their next assault, after recovering once more, determined to fight the Huerdaen in return for their betrayal during the last war. A normal response, a welcomed one normally; while they could not be trusted as stable partners in Gamma, they could weaken the Star Empire, to benefit of all. However,-”

The Archon interrupted, eyes staring a hole into a spot on the map. “Ataster. They burned that world into glass.”

Fekete inclined his head in agreement. “Not fully, they managed to show restraint and make it only a partial lesson, but many died and it was clear the Huerdaen had to respond or others might get bold enough to follow suit. This, what you are witnessing, is their response.”

“This is informative, concerning still, but what about this required my presence?”

Another button press, another filter change, speeding up to the next day; as the Director spoke, the display changed with him. “At around 0945 hours, there was a change in the regional space time; we still aren't quite sure where it came from other than the Radiant Nebula itself, where the Karax plague started to come forth from. All we know is while the HSE burned through the Radiant defenses and worlds, a serious of energistic pulses occurred, devastating the region even further. Shortly after, the Nebula ceased to remain in this dimension; it is possible it was annihilated but our scientists have put their effort behind the theory that it was sent somewhere else. Whatever the answer, the result is the same; we have a distorted, ragged mess of space time where the nebula used to be. Karax still infests it, as well, and what probes we have sent in have given....strange data before ceasing transmission. Reports from agents in the region indicate disturbing possibilities of things coming out from it; the Huerdean have left the region and left only listening outposts and small forces to watch. Their point has been made.”

Silence reigned as Avirius considered the possibilities. Then; “What of the Scythian refugees?”

“They are fleeing in all directions, as fast their FTL drives or sublight engines can take them. As per my mandate and authority as Director, I had the 19th SG Fleet move in to provide protection and assistance, in addition to two engineering corps and a contingent of Genesis-class Foundry vessels. Citizenship is offered to all who wish it, as per your Tártkarok Protocol; those who accept are given immediate transport to the Imperium proper and settled; those who refuse or aren't willing to commit are given places to stay. Our gate system near the former Scythian territories is becoming a base for them, but its already reached staggering levels. We have SATMA assistance as others are coming in to help, and we are already constructing facilities to house them. As I issued these orders before informing you, I wish to provide them to you and confirm the rightness of it.”

The Archon clacked his beak once and the Director's shoulders eased a bit. “Magnificent use of the initiative you are known for, Fekete. We need the extra population, and with the Empire gone in such a flash, those refugees are going to be sitting worms in the dirt for less savory forces. We must gather all we can to help. However, there is an opportunity in this I must ask about: the Nebula is gone, but the Radiant had other colonies in Delta, correct?”

“Yes, my Archon. They are struggling, leaderless, our early entry of agents has informed us power struggles are common. Other states have already begun to take notice and action in regards to them. I have orders ready for a number of responses.” Five data modules appeared in front of the Archon, who reviewed each one, nodding before one and passing a hand through it. It lit up green before vanishing, with the other four fading from sight.

“Have the 7th HAC Fleet move in to take up the 19th SG Fleet's duties in the gate system, and direct the 8th HAC Fleet to subdue and peacekeep the systems detailed in that module. We must expand our foothold in Delta and the Scythian's fall has given us that opportunity. SATMA is responding as well?”

“Yes sir, the Aumanii are working with the Pennisularans for the colonies as well. We need to be prepared for there to be a summit regarding the matter, or for more conflict to break out over them. There is also the matter of Karax contamination in the region.”

Avirius clucked dismissively. “The Domain and Imperium's efforts have ensured we know how to contain and handle the threat, even if an outright cure is still in process. We will manage the threat and showcase SATMA's and the Imperium's ability to deal with such problems. Now, is this the only problem you have for me today?”

The hologram faded, leaving only the symbol of the SIB showing. The Director's feather's stilled, a solemn sign that had the Archon sitting up further.

“We were waiting for reports to be confirmed by agents in the Sphere, but as you are aware, the Aumanii gate network has been experiencing glitches, power fluctuations, disruption in traffic. Their government was quite reticent to provide us the why, but it has been determined with their help. A surprise raid on a convoy has caused the removal of the 'Fat Man', which is the center of the gate network, and has led to these issues. They have been trying to coordinate a search to hunt down and find the culprits responsible, but it was one ship and they have all of the Veil of Tears to search.”

The Archon wasn't buying it. “A concern, yes, but I've already authorized the leasing of courier ships, as have the GRA. Get to the point, Director.”

Fekete held up his hands, easing the aggressive tone of his counterpart. “As you wish, my Archon. The Aumanii have come under direct military assault.”

The Archon's beak dropped, left speechless for a few moments; the Director was not surprised. The Archon worked at being firm, almost to the point of emotionless, after the CASM War, but both he and the rest of the Imperium relied on the Aumanii reputation. They were incorrigible, reliable, they would always be there, a strong rock for the Imperium to rebuild itself upon and then be two strong rocks in the sea of the Milky Way together. It was after all, a chance meeting, a diplomatic offer that created Stepford-Arnau, then SATMA, Roundtable and now the current era. For them to be under attack was anathema to them.

“H...How?”

“We are still getting the details from the Aumanii, but there is a race in the Veil, known as the Dregh. Uplifted within the last few centuries, a matriarchal society that seems to have been vying for influence in the region before the Aumanii showed up from their Martian exodus. They were defeated before and became quiet, but have either followed up on the taking of the Fat Man, or if not behind it, are taking advantage. A force of some five hundred and twenty ships invaded the core region of the Sphere, destroying a Pennisular patrol force and have laid siege to Vascilia and other core systems."

"As for the how, the Aumanii Fleet is spread across the entire Veil, they are completely out of position for this. Vascilia itself has been hit by ortillery strikes, but the orbital defenses and what system garrisons they have are holding, for now. I have the tactical data already being looked over by our commanders at HIGHCOM and forces are being prepared, but we need your orders, my Archon.”

The hologram between them had shifted and now showed what recordings they had of the ongoing battle. Vascilia could be seen, the bright red cracks on the planet showing raging fires and destruction from the orbital fire; explosions littered the space above the world, with Aumanii vessels clashing with Dergh, electric-blue lines of kinetics, thin trails of missiles streaking through space before colliding with objects in an explosive fireball. The aliens ships were wreathed in flame, something the Archon realized was a more primitive version of the plasma shields used by the old Directorate Navy in the CASM War.

The younger avian shook his head, still trying to grasp the situation. First they get struck by CASM, and now the Aumanii by these Dergh. Even the GRA by the Nyteborne and the Scythian assault on the Arcadian League. The military expansion collectively was coming too slow and too late for SATMA, and bitter lessons were being learned. Still, he needed to respond to this and quickly.

“You know our response, Director. Send in what we can spare and aid the Aumanii in driving this back. Inform SATMA, if they don't already know and coordinate allied efforts to deal with this. They came to our aid, with but an offer during the CASM invasion. They do not need to offer for us to return the favor.”

“Your will be done, Archon.”



*******************

'LIEUTENANT-COMMANDER GRAYSON, INCOMING MESSAGE FROM FLEETCOM

The buzzing sound of the ship's AVATAR operator whipped through his skull and Grayson shivered, despite having heard it thousands of times since it was installed. They received the training and met some of the operators, trying to nip any 'mod haters' in the bud. It was made clear that many they would fight out in space, including the very CASM forces which devastated them, were capable of much more than the old fleet and this was the first step in closing that gap. Still, the blend of avian tones and digital screeching was something he could never quite get used to. A thought sent the communications he was reviewing from his command crew off to the side while the channel with the AVATAR came front and center.

'Acknowledged. Report.'

Data streamed in post verbal confirmation, showing an encrypted file which required his identification to unlock. A handshake request was sent, verified and cleared past the multiple tiers of security before the orders began to scroll down the screen, replete with images of the system and still shots of events going on there. His heart was held in an icy grip as he realized what he was looking at.

'This is...Vascilia. The Sphere.'

'CORRECT. HIGHCOM HAS RECEIVED TOP LEVEL COMMUNICATIONS FROM THE AUMANII COMMAND. A PREVIOUSLY UNKNOWN STATE QUANTITY, THE 'DERGH' HAVE MADE THEMSELVES KNOWN WITH A FULL FLEDGED INVASION OF THEIR TERRITORIES. IN THE STATE OF DEPLOYMENT REGARDING THE SEARCH FOR THE CENTRAL GATE SYSTEM DEVICE, CODE NAME “FAT MAN”, THEIR DEFENSES WERE WEAKENED.

STRATEGIC INTELLIGENCE IS AS YET UNSURE IF THIS FORCE IS BEHIND THE DEVICE'S THEFT OR MERELY OPPORTUNISTS. ORDERS ARE CLEAR; TASK FORCE ONE IS TO PROCEED TO AUMANII SPACE THROUGH THE GCC GATE IN SYSTEM, AND ENGAGE ANY AND ALL HOSTILES. SATMA ASSETS ARE IN ROUTE ALREADY AND MAY BE ENGAGED WHEN WE ENTER. REINFORCEMENTS ARE BEING GATHERED BUT FOR NOW, WE ARE ALL THAT CAN BE SPARED.'

A grim reality seized the commander and he took in a breath, letting the filtered air of his pod flow into his enhanced lungs before letting it back out.

'Understood. Inform HIGHCOM orders have been received and acknowledged and Task Force One is proceeding to the gate. Has the Ninth's FLEETCOM been notified?'

'CORRECT. REAR ADMIRAL CSATÁR HAS BEEN INFORMED AND IS AWARE OF THE DEPLOYMENT. HE IS WORKING ON PREPARING THE REST OF THE FLEET FOR DEPLOYMENT.'

'Very good. Open the communications for the entire taskforce.'

'ALREADY DONE, COMMANDER.'

As all the crew worked on the ship, continuing their patrol in one of the outer regions past Imperium borders, they all heard a soft click in their head indicating a channel opening. Upon realizing it was from their commander, they all stopped what they are doing and heeded the voice coming over the Cloudspace.

'All hands in Task Force One, listen up, this is Commander Alec Grayson. Priority communication from HIGHCOM has come in with new orders. We are to leave this system behind, with a few probes to begin setting up a VLA array, and move with immediate haste to the Veil of Tears. Aumanii Sphere territory.'

Murmurs across the personal nets of the crew came to life as they began side discussions, trying to find out why this was such a priority change and when the Aumanii would have let them move such material into their systems. A shudder throughout the vessels in the force put truth to Grayson's words, and he continued.

'A force designated the 'Dergh' have struck at Vascilia itself, and other core systems in the region. SATMA forces are on the move to assist, and some elements are already engaged. Intelligence is still sketchy, but we're seeing possibly several hundred at least making up the enemy force. We are to be the vanguard of the Imperial response. We are going to be first in, with the rest of the 9th HAC Fleet behind us, with Rear Admiral Csatár. Our orders are simple; engage the enemy and support the Aumanii and SATMA forces until the Dergh are destroyed or driven back. New orders will be issued once reinforcements arrive or as needed. Finish your tasks and prepare for CASIMIR drive activation in twenty minutes. We are transitioning to the closest GCC gate and using their network to arrive. Commander Grayson out.'

The transmission ended and the crews immediately set themselves to work; instructions to the servitors throughout the ship were changed, and any crew not in pods were rapidly putting away their work materials and moving towards them. The task force had already begun moving around, the collection of combat and logistical vessels making the slow preparation to turn around. Once all members were confirmed in their pods and acceleration protections engaged, the sublight engines were engaged fully, and the acceleration and force grew to unsafe levels for any but the servitors, who continued their work for battle preparations. As the CASIMIR drive simply accelerated the ships at faster-than-light speeds in a direction, rather than going into another direction, they needed precise calculations and the proper direction to arrive and slow down at the correct points.

As per their orders, ports open and flashes of light threw probes out into the space around them, the port's doors receding as the probes internal systems took over, a cloud of them deploying to slowly move into position in the system, to watch, observe and record. If anything happened while they were gone, it would be known and sent to a hidden relay, already deploying to a large formation of rocks in system, to be saved in case the probes were wiped out.

After the twenty minutes had passed, the fleet had completed their turn around and moved into formatino for the jump. As the alert sounded, announcing the jump, sections on the front of the space ships open, extend out great bars to the front of the ships until they were fully deployed. Once deployed, crackling energy began to surge from the tips of both poles, shooting out together at greater and faster intervals until they regularly began to interact, forming a twisting line in front. The drive pour energy into these poles to provide the necessary force to twist space time enough to make FTL speeds possible in that section in the early days of testing and now an entire field to allow the ship to dive into and move across space. And so, as one, the fields covered all the ships in question and they shot forth, image stretching into a point of light and was then gone.


*******************

One hour later, Aumanii Space, Veil of Tears, Gamma Quadrant

The GCC complex in the Veil of Tears was a well-defended hardpoint in Aumanii space; the brainchild of the Phoenixi Domain, whom wished to spread trade and security through inter-connected ties, were very keen on making sure no outside force threatened these gates. While they were built and manned, to an extent, by the Domain, the responsibility for their security and protection was up to the nation owning the territory it was installed in, which meant the Aumanii in this case. Understandbly, no ships were to be found here, all currently deployed in the search or in the battle. However, when Task Force One arrived in system, the pinging of active and passive sensors read the station was still defended; as the brief had indicated, SATMA forces had already reached the conflict and some had stayed behind to guard a key entry point.

'SECURITY SCANS HAVE COMPLETED. SECURITY PACKAGES AND IDENTIFICATIONS SENT, SATMA FORCES RECOGNIZE OUR AUTHORIZATIONS AND ORDERS AS LEGITIMATE.'

'Good. What news of the front do they have, AVATAR?'

'INQUIRING NOW. AUMANII FORCES HAVE MANAGED TO DRIVE THE DERGH FROM VASCILIAN ORBIT; SENSOR SCANS HAVE INDICATED A LARGE NUMBER OF HULKED VESSELS AND ORBITALS BUT THE SPHERE HAS IT SECURED. OTHER SYSTEMS AND WORLDS ARE BEING FOUGHT OVER AS WE SPEAK. COMMUNICATIONS OVER THE SATMA BATTLENET INDICATE DORNALIAN AND PENNISULARAN FORCES ARE ENROUTE OR MAY ALREADY BE ENGAGED. GRA FLEET ELEMENTS ARE INBOUND. SITUATION IS STABILIZING BUT MAY STILL SPIRAL OUT OF CONTROL IF FURTHER ENEMY REINFORCEMENTS ARRIVE.'

Grayson resisted the urge to curse; the inevitable flow of material and ships SATMA wide meant this war was going to end in their victory, but it was a matter of how much damage the Sphere would receive in the meantime.

'Any further updates on the location of the enemy's homeworld or fleet bases at least?'

'NONE YET, COMMANDER GRAYSON. SIB AGENTS ARE COOPERATING WITH OTHER SATMA INTELLIGENCE ARMS TO FIND THEM BUT WE ARE STILL IN THE EARLY STAGES OF THE RESPONSE. UPDATES ARE PROMISED ONCE DISCOVERED.'

'Very well. Inform the tender ships to stay here at the gate; we'll send courier probes to relay when they are needed. All other vessels are to assume combat stance and initiate full burn to the last report of Dergh activity.'

'ORDERS RELAYED, CREWS AND SHIPS REPORT COMBAT READINESS. INITIATING FORCE WIDE FULL BURN.'

The fourteen Spear-class tender ships peeled off from the formation moving to remain within the protective cordon around the gate. The remaining ships, one hundred and thirty-nine vessels total, locked into formation once more and their engines flared like miniature stars as power was shunted to push them towards the last report of enemy activity. As before, probes were deployed and sent scittering out into the void of the Veil, already beginning to scan and record, the informing relaying back to the task force in timed intervals. As the burn continued, some of these got longer and longer as the light lag expanded; still, valuable information began to come in, allowing Grayson to view some of the activity in the system up to this point. Soon after, the full burn was terminated, saving power and reaction mass as they just coasted through space, tiny jets activating to correct their course as they moved towards the combat zone.

Now came the part every member in the Imperial military hated; the waiting and the anticipation. There were often long periods between burns and corrections, with little to no updates reported as they waited to hear the start of combat operations. Many focused on their work, processing incoming reports, sending information along or checking security, others worked with the servitors to check ammunition supply and readiness, checking and rechecking their systems to ensure no failure's during combat. Those who had no roles that could be used yet played card games with others over Cloudspace, others chatted, some about everything, some about nothing, all to pass the time, until it finally came.

'ALL HANDS, ENEMY FORCE DETECTED WITHIN TEN LIGHTMINUTES. INITIATING COMBAT OPERATIONS, REPEAT, INITIATING COMBAT OPERATIONS.'

The crew sprang into action, all non-essential programs and channels terminated and orders began to ring out and execute throughout the force. Defensive probe swarms were released, moving to form a loose cloud over the various vessels, ready to intercept incoming enemy fire and engage enemy fighter craft, if need be. The Progenitor-class carriers were already deploying their own swarms, autonomous weapon delivery systems, armed with all the subminitions available to the Imperial Fleet. Kinetics, missiles ranging from fusion and explosive to bomb-pumped laser and kinetic rods. They would engage enemy fighter craft as well as enemy fleet countermeasures and point defense, seeking to open a hole for the bigger guns to exploit. The Verdure-class Dreadnoughts, both kinetic and laser variants, began plotting firing solutions and waiting, Grayson himself aboard one of the laser variants, the IFS Kalapács, watching all of this happen, the Deacon-class and Cabal-class Ward and Destroyer ships fanning out to prepare for their escort and fleet engagement roles respectively.

'AVATAR, what do we have?'

The Cloudspace blanked out for a moment before a dark void filled with stars resolved itself into being and in a blink the current battlespace revealed itself. Flowing lines of data could be seen out of the corner of his eye as he witnessed a faint hazy outline start resolving itself into a force of ships, the system matching their profiles 89% to that of the recorded Dergh classes.

'VLA EFFICIENCY AT 25%, RECORDS MATCH THESE VESSELS TO BE DERGH AT 89% ACCURACY. VELOCITY AND TRAJECTORY TRENDS PLACE THEM AT ONE OF THE AUMANII WORLDS WITHIN FORTY MINUTES.'

'Have we sent warning to them?'

'COURIER SHIPS HAVE BEEN DEPLOYED, AND MESSAGE SENT BUT IT IS UNLIKELY THEY WILL REACH THEM IN TIME. THEY WILL BE UNAWARE OF THE DERGH FORCE COMING UNTIL IT IS TOO LATE. FURTHER, BATTLNET INDICATES ORBITAL GARRISON WAS DIMINISHED IN PAST HOUR TO RESPOND TO CALL FOR HELP FROM ANOTHER FORCE.'

Dammit. The timeline was getting too restrictive for his tastes.

'How many ships estimated to be available? And how many do the enemy have?'

'CONFIRMED AUMANII FORCE IN PLANETARY ORBIT NUMBERS AT TWENTY-FOUR PER LAST COMMUNICATION UPDATE. DERGH FORCE ESTIMATION STILL BEING CONFIRMED BUT LAST ESTIMATE PUTS THE FORCE AROUND SIXTY-FOUR VESSELS. ORBITAL AND PLANETARY DEFENSES WELL-ESTABLISHED, BUT PER THE CONFLICT OVER VASCILIA, A FAST ENOUGH STRIKE BY THE DERGH COULD SEE THE GARRISON ANNIHILATED AND THE DEFENSES WEAKENED BEFORE PROPER RESPONSE COULD BE HAD.'

'Jesus. How long until we enter prime weapons range?'

Calculations ran down the side of his eye as the AVATAR incorporated the never ending rush of information with what was already known. The buzzing voice returned a second later.

'NINETEEN MINUTES WILL PUT US CLOSE TO ONE TO ONE A HALF LIGHTSECOND RANGE TO BEGIN PRIME COMBAT OPERATIONS. VLA ARRAY SHOULD BE APPROACHING THIRTY TO FORTY PERCENT EFFICIENCY BY THEN.'

'It'll have to do. Very well. Prepare the initial combat volleys i'm inputing now, updating with positioning as we get closer.'

'INITIATING NOW, COMMANDER.'

Once again, another wait, but a shorter one as they made further corrections, honing on on the prey they detected. The VLA confirmed this was a Dergh force several minutes later and confirmed sixty-eight Dergh vessels were continuing a burn towards the closest Aumanii world. Grayson found it odd that they weren't doing a full burn while within a combat system, but he counted it as luck for him. Soon enough, the range ticked itself to one and a half lightminutes, and the AVATAR displayed a screen requesting permission to fire. Grayson pressed the button, thinking aloud into the digital void.

'Let's see if we can get their attention.'

On the dreadnoughts, laserstar variants had protective domes slide down, revealing the large mirror of the laser turret on each ship. Each vessel had an internal length of mirrors to move the energy produced on the graser wavelength, allowing it to be split for more coverage but less power or turning one turret into a powerful, armor-destroying anti-ship beam. The kinetistar's coilgun batteries activated and shifted to follow the stream of numbers telling them where to fire and how much power to use. These were going to be mostly opportunity shots with the VLA not being at full coverage yet, with the majority being the lasers. At this range, Grayson knew they would not be particularly effective, especially with the plasma shields, if they worked similar to what they once had. However, if the same, they were a double edged sword; they would have to lower them or lower parts of them to be able to see or fire back. So they could range find with impunity until they realized and reacted accordingly.

As if on cue, power levels shot up and energy pulsed through the laserstars, sending invisible beams of gamma ray energy lancing out across the space. They were already experiencing decoherency issues, but still, they would do something. And several seconds later, the light lag update revealed that they had managed to strike several vessels; data indicated the lasers were dispersed quickly by the raging plasma, but the energy interactions indicated they had weakened the shields somewhat. The AVATAR popped back in,

”ENEMY COMMUNICATIONS DETECTED; UNABLE TO DETERMINE ENCRYPTION TO INTERFERE OR TRANSLATE BUT WE HAVE BEEN DETECTED. THE FORCE IS TURNING, MOVING TO AN ENGAGEMENT VECTOR WITH US.'

'Good. That'll will buy the Aumanii defenses some time to get our message and reposition themselves. However, we should be able to handle this force on our own, make things easier on the Sphere's navy. What is their velocity?'

'ACCELERATING, BUT DROPPING OFF FAR BELOW OUR OWN. AGAIN, THEY HAVE KEPT SUBPAR VELOCITIES IN THEIR MOVEMENTS. FURTHER, THEIR TURN IS PROJECTED TO BE TWICE AND LARGE AS OUR OWN. IF IT WAS TO GUESS, COMMANDER, THEY DON'T HAVE THE ABILITY TO HANDLE GEE FORCES LIKE WE CAN.'

The human smiled, his white teeth glinting in the reflected light from the displays.

'Well then, we have an opportunity, let's not waste it. How long until we hit the one lightsecond mark and estimated VLA efficiency?'

'WE SHOULD BE ENTERING THE INNER ENGAGEMENT ENVELOPE WITHIN FIVE MINUTES. DERGH FORCES SHOULD STILL BE WITHIN THEIR TURN LOOP BY THEN. VLA EFFICIENCY ESTIMATED TO BE FIFTY-FIVE PERCENT WHEN WE APPROACH PRIME WEAPONS RANGE.'

'Then by all means, AVATAR, once we hit range, pick targets and fire at will. Oh and send some some missile's down range, let's see if we can wrap this up with the initial strike. Bomb-pumped and casaba howitzer cores only. And have our E-War frigates spin up the ECW suites and link it with all crew suites throughout the fleet, make it harder for them to see what's coming and react.'

'PREPARING WEAPONS FIRE INITIATIONS, SENDING ORDERS FOR ECW SYSTEM ACTIVATION.'

The Authority-class Arsenal Cruisers came online, their bays opening to reveal the coilguns within, electric arcs surging across the rings as power was fed into the system. Flashes of blue light could be send as the initial wave of missiles were sent fourty-eight missiles, twelve from each cruiser, hurtled towards the enemy fleet. They remained cold for now, to better aid in their ability to ignore detection. As the operator stated, the Dergh was still turning about, their jets going constantly and just starting the ending turn arc when the Imperial task force came into range. With the light lag having dimmed sufficiently, the resolution of the force came into being: four carrier-class, six battleship-clas, eight cruiser-class, sixteen destroyer-class and thirty-four frigate-class. Two-thirds the size of their force, and a hard fight any other day, but they were out of position and firing solutions were plotted.

'AVATAR, let's see how much those shields can take fire. Concentrate fire using targeting package one. Initiate.'

'INITIATING TARGET PACKAGE ONE.'

Electric-blue flashes covered the kinetitstar-variant Dreadnoughts as they hurled metal at high velocities into the void, remaining at .2 c to test how hard the enemy shields were going to be. Miniature stars were seen for a brief second as spinal coilguns launched their own payloads, targeting two of the battleship-class Dergh ships, the rest of the fire heading towards one carrier and two of the cruisers, destroyers and frigates. The laserstars opened up next, still using only one turret to maximize their fire power, using the continuous mode to burn through the plasma shields. They focused on another carrier, seeking to give an edge to their deployed weapons platforms when they came into contact. The Arsenal Cruisers opened up with more missiles, hot launching them this time, still firing out of the coilguns but their own propulsion systems activated, having them overtake the cold launched ones within seconds and were filled with fusion, explosive, and more bomb pumped and casaba howitzer cores. The Deacon-class Ward ships and the Cabal-class Destroyers opened up as well, hammering their munitions towards two more of the cruiser-class, and four of the destroyer-class. The fire came in hot and heavy, with the grasers hammering away at the plasma shielding, and Grayson could already see the waves of fire dissipating under the continuous onslaught; they hadn't fallen yet, but were bleeding away quickly.

Within a matter of seconds, the kinetics came in next; the Dergh ships attempted what maneuvers they could to escape, but being two fractions of the speed of light and also their lower limit for course changes, they could not avoid enough of them. Shells impacted with with the two battleships, the carrier and two cruisers, destroyers and frigates. Large plumes of plasma erupted outwards from the force, followed by fire and metal, which rapidly melted, as the kinetic force tore through their ships. The two battleships were struggling but continuing the turn when the two spinal rounds came through and tore through them top to bottom, ejecting fire and debris through both sides. One began to drift, the plasma shield dissipating entirely above certain sections, and fires could be seen raging and giant holes torn. The other struggled, and listed to one side but stubbornly continued the burn; the remaining kinetic shots impacted the rest of the target package, with various levels of damage. The important point was, however, what the disabled battleship revealed.

'Are those points on the hull what I think they are, AVATAR?'

'IF YOU MEAN HEAT SINKS, YOU ARE CORRECT SIR. THE TEMPERATURES ARE RAPIDLY DROPPING WITH THE SPREADING LACK OF POWER IN THAT VESSEL, BUT THE RESIDUAL THERMAL ENERGY READINGS INDICATE THEY SERVED TO VENT HEAT.'

'I'd wager that if we can target those, the plasma shields will become untenable. Also I imagine they can't keep them up very long, if we strike those. Include them in the targeting package two I am inputing now.'

Whatever response the AVATAR was going to give next was cut off when alarms sounded and screens popped up to reveal the source: the Dergh vessels had given up on the turn, instead forcing their ships in a general pointed direction of the Imperial force and had opened fire.

'READING INCOMING MISSILES AND C-FRAC KINETICS. COORDINATING DRUNK-WALKING ACTIONS TO AVOID AS MUCH AS POSSIBLE. BRACE FOR WEAPONS IMPACT.'

Grayson and the other members of Task Force One braced themselves, gripping into their harnesses, many shutting their heads and praying to whatever forces existed to not get hit. The Imperial and Dergh missiles crossed paths with each other, the Imperial's using their manuevering jets to dodge most of the missiles, a few collided in explosions that threw others off course. The kinetics kept screaming in, even as the defensive drone swarms reacted, moving to intercept the estimated angle of the round and exploding at calculated times, hoping to damage or even divert it. The WDS (Weapon Deflection Fields), the sole gravitic tech the Tezekians owned, courtesy of the Domain, did what it could to divert some of the energy or the round itself, but it wasn't enough. The Kalapács remained unharmed but, rounds slammed into the fleet, explosions riddling down hulls, several ships torn apart by the sheeer destructive force, others struggling to deal with the damage. Grayson could only watch as the counter fire, as sloppy as it was, laid hundreds to thousands of lives to waste.

'AVATAR, report!'

'REPORTING MULTIPLE HITS ACROSS THE TASK FORCE. TWO KINETISTAR DREADNOUGHT VARIANTS, ONE SEVERELY DAMAGED, AND DRIFTING, THE OTHER IS RECOVERING BUT HAS LOST HALF OF ITS GUNS AND ONE OF ITS ENGINES. REPAIR SERVITORS ARE EN-ROUTE AND THE CAPTAIN HAS INDICATED THEY ARE STILL ABLE TO FIGHT. ONE CARRIER, ONE ARSENAL CRUISER HAVE ALSO BEEN HIT, BUT SIX WARD SHIPS HELPED INTERCEPT THE BLOW, LEAVING THEM WITH ONLY MEDIUM DAMAGE, ALL SIX WERE LOST WITH ALL HANDS, HOWEVER.'

Grayson closed his eyes as he automatically had the system start filing Killed-In-Action reports for the slain and threw it angrily into the background tasks queue. Losses were always hard in combat, and this strike was no different. It was a minor hit at most compared to the damage unleashed on the Dergh fleet. Sensors indicated one-fourth of the ships were moderately damaged or worse, and their missiles hadn't even come into range to do their own work. This was a desperation counter volley, but it didn't make the losses of the crews he had worked with for the past two years any easier.

'And the rest of the force?'

'FIVE DESTROYERS MISSION KILLED, CREWS ARE NOT RESPONDING TO COMMS, UNKNOWN LOSS OF LIFE. CURRENT ESTIMATED LOSS, ELEVEN SHIPS, ONE CAPITAL DISABLED, ONE HEAVILY DAMAGED BUT STILL ABLE TO FIGHT, TWO MODERATELY DAMAGED. ORDERS?'

'Initiate target package two. All available guns are to fire; laserstars are to focus on estimated heat sink locations, the rest are to hammer them to pieces, capital ships first.'

'INITIATING.'

The next volley was launched, with the laserstars single turrets hammering away with pulsed configurations this time, leaving explosions across the battleships and carriers, with the shields rapidly diminishing soon after. Now the missile swarm came rushing in, and Dergh point defense lit up and Grayson could only bitterly chuckle at the sight.

They have little to no point defense; they must not know of the galactic standard of missile density in volleys. Well, I hope you enjoy your fiery hell, you stupid fucks. This is for my people.

With perhaps a little too much enthusiasm, the commander watched as explosions throughout the swarm occurred as kinetic guns rapidly fired from the hulls out against the swarm but it was too late. Explosives came in first, ramming themselves into the shields; those with shields remaining vaporized many but some still came through, others had their hulls pockmarked with holes and explosions as they ripped into their armor. Fusions followed after, seeking this weakened spots and turned them into gaping holes; a cruiser split apart in a kinetic shock fireball, disintegrating before the sensors eyes, while another battleship was wreathed in flame, plasma and nuclear as it begin to tumble into a death spin.

And no mercy was given, for the next wave was the casaba howitzers and the bomb-pumped grasers, both cold and hot launched; explosion sent beams of hot energy to rip through the enemy decks. Frigates and destroyers melted like ice, bodies and shards spilling out into the void, and the remaining carriers and battleships were ripped into eagerly, hulls warping and twisting as the might of the Dergh war machine was found wanting by the Tezekian weaponry. After the first two salvoes, the Dergh fleet was down to thirty eight ships, with another volley on the way to finish them off. This battle would be finished in short order and Alec could see about tending to his people. As one of the last carriers was cut into pieces by the laserstars, the operator's voice interrupted him.

'INCOMING TRANSMISSION, IT APPEARS TO BE FROM THE DERGH FORCE. TRANSLATION ALGORITHIMS HAVE BEEN ENACTED BUT IT IS IN GALACTIC BASIC.'

For a moment, he felt the hot flood of hatred and disgust fill his guts and an intense desire to simply fire until nothing left remained. All of the lives lost in this region, Dergh and SATMA were not needed; whatever failed ambition they had could have been curbed at the start, but no, hard lessons had to be dished out this day. Feeling only a little guilt at watching several more frigates flash flare into shards before his eyes, he nodded.

'What do they say?'

'IT APPEARS WE KILLED THE COMMANDER OF THEIR FORCE AND THE ONE WHO TOOK OVER CAN SEE TARGET PACKAGE TWO'S TARGETS AND REALIZES THEIR PREDICAMENT. THEY ARE REPEATING OVER AND OVER A REQUEST FOR CESSATION OF HOSILITIES AND ARE WILLING TO COME INTO OUR CUSTODY.'

A sigh.

'Very well. Have the all ships cease firing and have the missiles stop where they are, but do not detonate them. We may need to use them if they betray this convention.'

'AND THE KINETICS?'

'Let them hit their targets; they made war upon SATMA, this is the price they pay. Whoever survives, inform them their surrender is accepted and to shut down all weapons, power down all shields and non vital systems and to await processing. Any and all attempts to do anything but what was instructed will result in the annihilation of all remaining ships. Verify.

'VERIFIED. COMMUNICATIONS SENT. KINETICS FROM TARGET PACKAGE TWO HAVE IMPACTED. SCANNING. REMAINING DERGH SHIPS, FOURTEEN, MOST HEAVILY DAMAGED OR LISTING.'

A grim nod. Victory, bloody as it was, was still victory. 'Inform HIGHCOM of the situation and request some Assault Cruisers to clean this mess up. And get the Tender Ships out there, we have some wounded to clean up.'

'INITIATING.'

[Auman]

December 24, 3169

"This entire project is held up by the will of the people. We are merely shepherds of the faith placed in the ideals of the Sphere, do you understand that?

Samoth Uyghur found himself, once again, facing his predecessors deep within the shadow bunker of Zhamssassar Fortress, this time he was being bitched out by Jan Verrus Kruger, the most recent Overlord to be killed in combat. Uyghur's lips were sealed during the disciplinary process, he nodded and averted his gaze.

"Look at me."

Uyghur fixed his gaze on Kruger's, he was an old man with a square jaw and a bald head "Yes, Overlord, I understand."

"This may seem harsh, Samoth, but these sessions are something we all had to go through. Everyone, even people in our position, are accountable to someone." Verne Hikurangi's ghost was was standing side by side with Sheikh Navarrone, they were wearing field uniforms and their hair was disturbed by a fierce wind. Uyghur wondered where they really were, their voices were raised as if they were struggling to be heard over the weather.

"This is the worst thing to happen to us since we were hit by the Quickbronze. Only two men in this room fully appreciate your predicament." Idris Aleph was sitting cross legged, no chair was apparent... He was floating six feet off the ground. Uyghur looked at Navarrone and then to Zemel Caine. He didn't know which man had it worse. One that lived through a state sponsored terror attack that sent their people barefoot into the galaxy or Caine, who forged the nation on Mars with dedication as his only weapon, while the Fractal Emergence tore physics to pieces. Either way, Uyghur internalized the context, his position could be worse... But as he swept the others with a glance, he thought it could be a lot better.

"If the people lose faith in the ideals of the Sphere, the whole thing falls apart. If we lose the people, we lose everything. This nation that we have built and maintained is the lighthouse of the Aumanii people. So tell me, Senecan, do we still have them or should we just let the wolves have us?" Jan Verrus Kruger's words were biting.

Samoth Uyghur thought on it for a moment, he couldn't find an answer. Most of the Sphere had hardly been affected, the worst of it was interrupted GalNet service and late parcels from the Post. In the colonies, it was bad... And much worse on Vascilia, which was extremely problematic. This world was the eternal flame that burned with the idea of sovereignty as its fuel. If he looked outside now, at half past eight in the morning, it would be darker than midnight. Great plumes of dust were kicked into the atmosphere blocking out the light, would the flame of freedom burn bright enough for the people to see their way clear?

"I don't know, Overlord."

Jan Verrus Kruger spat and turned on his heels to face Zemel Caine, their own venerated Founder, the prophet of the fourth way and kneeled reverently. The others followed on, Samoth kneeled as well, bowing his head. Caine looked uncomfortable, he never felt like much of a prophet and didn't particularly care for the idea of his private journals and correspondence with his friend, David Tashkent, being used for the foundation of a future war cult.

"Get up."

They rose and listened.

"You guys have built a very good thing. You have all been faced with hard decisions..."

"And you, the most difficult of all, my Lord." Said Cad Mbewe, his words echoing in the shadow bunker.

"Yeah... You've all had some tough calls to make. You have had the benefit of guidance and support from this council. We can get through this, so long as we believe in ourselves. If we can do that, if we can get through the tough times and make the best decisions available to us, then the people will keep the faith. Their faith is all we need."

---

Uyghur was resting in his suite in the Apex Tower, a spire that jutted out of the east ring of Zhamssassar Fortress and ran parallel to the space elevator for quite a way. It was the finest he had ever had in his career. Seneca, his home and first post, was a vast ring world left behind by the Anciients, the first civilization to occupy the Veil, and urban planning tended towards the sprawl. There was no reason to build upward. But here, on Vascilia, the land of fjords, mountains and limited real estate, great spires jutted from the landscape to join beautiful, lush, green vistas.

It was still dark at noontime, little light broke the cloud cover. He could see fires burning in the distance, where ortillery struck in the Bekanel range. Uyghur supposed they had gotten off light, no rounds fired by the Dergh impacted inhabited areas, no cities wiped off the map, though a vast tsunami swept through the Cronos archipelago and seismic events flattened many towns and hamlets in the savage east... But the brown snow that fell from the sky was a decent reminder of how close they had all come to planetary extinction. There were casualties, the emergency services were still working on a firm tally of the dead, however, the way he understood it, things could have been much worse.

He had his allies to thank for that. The Peninsularians, a young galactic polity whose men and women fight with tremendous bravery and compassion. The Dornalians, who were like brothers to them despite being so different, a kinder people, so fierce, never existed. The Tezekians, despite suffering so badly in the past year, fought for the Aumanii like they were their own people, just as committed to the ideal of freedom as the Sphere. The Phoenixi, wise and eternal, who could just as easily have turned their backs and cloistered themselves for eternity in their data stacks, turned out and fought for the cause of justice, time and again... And their friends in the Galactic Republic, mild mannered, logical and fearless, who stared the terrors of the galaxy straight in the eye and never blinked. Without these people, the Sphere would be nothing and Samoth was eternally grateful for them.

The patio doors slid open abruptly, wind and thick flakes of dust rushed in and parted the curtains, blowing an empty vase over with a crash. Uyghur hurried over to close it and when he got there, he could hear a droning below him at the base of the fortress. He stepped onto the patio, disregarding the air quality outside and peered down. It was a sea of candles. Hundreds of thousands of people were singing Christmas hymns. This wasn't organized by the state, there were no appeals by the Church to put this on for appearances, he checked with his virtual adjutant and there was no organization or planning of an event to take place today that he could find on the nets.

So this was spontaneous.

It seemed, Jan Verrus Kruger found his answer.

[Lady Scylla]

Martian Sovereign Republic
Official Declaration from the Foreign Office
Foreign Minister Alexander Coventry
Deputy. Foreign Minister Rolyn Ross
December 24th, 2175 MST

---

This missive comes by way of Her Majesty's most esteemed government, represented thereof by the honourable Prime Minister Wynona Churchill. It has been forwarded by the Martian Foreign Office under the discretion of the Ministry, having been approved via the Prime Minister and Her Majesty, and further approved unanimously by the Martian Senate in both houses of the Admiralty and Secretariat, and by the Senate's honourable Chairman, Fredrick Van Allen.

---

To our most humble neighbours, of which compose the Solarian Reaches, and who have strong connections to many of the old and new powers of Sol itself. I write to you on the heels of a most troubling occurrence, which has shaken many a respected state in the coming days. There comes a time, for any reasonable and honourable government, and by extension, a nation itself, to consider and promptly cast aside the bitter rivalries and quarrels of the past in pursuit of a common goal.

It came to this esteemed government's attention, of which Her Royal Majesty has so generously supported, that there exists hostile forces that could threaten to destabilise not only our relatively peaceful home, but threaten the very nature of security and stability across a galaxy with great repercussions. Such forces have already made their mark upon our neighbours, the noble Aumanii, and their trespass against the tried and tested custom of a nation's sovereignty, since times immemorial, has indeed caused great concern not only among the Martian Senate, but among other powers.

Behind closed doors, this esteemed government met, and upon a decision reached within the Martian Senate, legislation was handed on to the HM's Ministry for final approval. The weight of this simple document could not be understated by any means, as it carried with it but only a few lines, and potentially thousands of Martian lives. Further deliberation amongst the Ministry yielded a well-crafted declaration that had been approved upon all levels of the government, and that of which I have been given the honour of delivering upon the international stage.

As of this writing, December 24th, 2175 Martian Standard - the Martian Senate approved a Declaration of War upon the Dergh for their hostile acts against a Martian ally, being the Aumanii. It is both with great sadness, but also great pride that we find ourselves on the cusp of a great undertaking with foreign powers to correct the contrived delusions of a hostile state, though my sadness cannot be misplaced as it will undoubtedly cost Martian lives, whom I've no doubt, among their vigorous training and national loyalty, lies a heart of the utmost sacrifice for the sake of peace, even if they may never see it.

For as long as Mars and the Aumanii have existed, a relationship going back two centuries, these two old states have not always been on the same footing. And while no official alliance has ever existed between these two, the MSR upholds the sanctity of Martian blood. And that where Martian blood, no matter its origin, is spilt, it is our duty to ensure that we do not stand idly by. It is, upon our culture, the greatest of honours to defend other Martians and to bleed with them in times of great conflict.

I humbly thank the foreign ministers, or counterparts thereof, for taking the time to acknowledge this missive

Prime Minister, Wynona Churchill

[New Dornalia]

CRS Warrior
In Orbit Above Vascilia, Co-Prosperity Sphere of Auman
December 15, 2300 (Dornalian Standard Calendar)/3169 (Aumanii Standard Calendar)

For a long time coming in these rather busy past few weeks, the Colonial Republic of Earth had been doing its part to help the Co-Prosperity Sphere recover The Fat Man. A rather important component of the Aumanii gate network, the loss of the Fat Man would be a disaster for a vital Dornalian ally if not rectified.

So far, the Haggar Administration--busy with juggling multiple prairie fires in the former Starways Congress, the Furumi Crisis, and elsewhere--had been providing assistance with the help of the External Research and Intelligence Service. ERIS’s assets at the Aumanii Desk, as it was known, had been running operations to try and help figure out where The Fat Man had gone. Everyone from analysts--such as the rather indominable Ken Ferguson--to even the odd Naval Corps of Engineers exploration vessel sent on a random journey with limited information and a high intolerance for questions about said information had been working to try and provide what assistance was possible.

Operation Natal--GKNATAL in ERIS cryptonym format--wasn’t an overt or even flashy effort, but it was one conducted with the spirit of that being an around the clock goal to beat the mother of all deadlines on short notice. But that was nothing compared to the surprise attack upon the Sphere by the Dergh. An attack which forced the CRE to take their efforts in a more overt direction.

And as such, Battlegroup Warriorl had been formed. A relatively small group centered around the Mercury-Cain Battlestar CRS Warrior, it was the tip of what was anticipated to be a much larger spear. Having been sent to Vascilia as a show of support from the CRE to its Aumanii allies, Battlegroup Warrior would become involved in the midst of some rather fierce action.

***

The Warrior’s Gracie unit monitored the rapidly declining battlefield environment from the bridge. Despite being an arguably high-powered ship’s AI, she maintained a holographic avatar which insisted on typing in commands and looking at screens, even as Gracie-Warrior pretty much took care of that business automatically. And what she saw was a very interesting situation. The Dergh were hiding behind a moon, attempting to storm the orbital ring around Vascilia, and even at times bypassing it to reach the planet below, so as to open fire upon it.

Gracie-Warrior of course, was not quite about to let this go unnoticed. After all, command had sent her in as the overall commander of this battlegroup, so it fell on her to make the tough yet necessary decisions.

The AI, perhaps out of superstition or habit, adjusted the Stetson hat on her head--it came naturally given that the Warrior’s Gracie was wearing no less than the Red Serge uniform of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police--as she began to make her next move.

Tapping the console rapidly, she began speaking to the various ship commanders in her group.

“Alright, people--there’s no time for bullshit. I’m sending you all the most up to date information we have. We have defenses to shore up on an orbital ring and we have a bunch of alien baddies skulking about, with no telling what they’ll do. I want Marines down on the Orbital, and I want ships and fighters tearing into the sons of bitches. Keep me posted. Gracie-Warrior out.”

***

The Orbital Ring would soon have new people helping to defend it from the incursion by the Dergh. With swift retribution and a lot of interest in the fine art of “getting shit done,” the Dornalian Marine Corps would begin rushing to bolster the Aumanii defenses.

Aumanii soldiers on the ground would notice that their new companions weren’t the technomedieval armor-wearing madmen as seen in many pieces of Dornalian fiction sold abroad. No, these people in the initial attack wave were armor-wearing madmen wearing more traditionally man-shaped armor suits that didn’t seem as bulky, with fully enclosed helmets whose lines had a nod to the stereotypical M1 helmet with which many Dornalians were often associated. They had the same blasters though, and some of the Marines had larger, bulkier plates attached to the suits which also held a squad automatic weapon.

The Dornalian Marines also hadn’t skimped on the accoutrements of support. Teleporter beacons which were thrown down to allow more Marines to deploy, missiles and heavy weapons, so on. Either way, the Dergh would be met with unbelievably large amounts of weapons fire.

One such delivery system of this unbelievably large amount of weapons fire was the Panther Tactical Level Power Armor--a small mecha really. And one of these Panthers was named Lucille, and amongst its crablike-chicken walker design one could find an image of a young woman playing a guitar, crooning to the viewer with a sly, seductive wink…..and using the guitar as a convenient form of censorship.

This mecha of course, was piloted by one Lieutenant Ramon Maldonaldo. Maldonaldo, like most Tactical Level Power Armor teams, worked closely in concert with infantry units to ensure the best quality support.

And right at that moment, his kind of quality support was becoming quite necessary. A group of Dergh fighters was locked in conflict with the men of Charlie Company, and amongst the blaster fire being exchanged with the Dergh, the call went out from Charlie Actual to, and I quote, “Provide immediate assistance against enemy counterassault before these homicidal things kill all of us.”

So, with a hearty, “Roger, Charlie Actual, proceeding to provide assistance. Standby,” Maldonaldo proceeded to move. He worked the joysticks on Lucille and pushed a few buttons before shoving the sticks forward. The effect would be to cause the mecha to speed up rapidly, before engaging jump jets to make what was a surprisingly long, agile bound for such a heavy war machine. Lucille wouldn’t have long before getting stuck in, but it would require landing on a roof, and then making a running leap off the roof….

...into the middle of a Dergh horde.

The Dergh were caught by surprise, and for a brief moment the Dergh were disoriented, and looked at Maldonaldo, and vice versa.

Then, the shooting started.

And then, the Dergh immediately began to regret their decision.

The HUD lit up with many, many hostile contacts, the diagnostics helpfully noting that the men of Charlie Company were lasing targets for Lucille to neutralize in her own way.

Maldonaldo’s first action upon seeing the multitude of contacts--which did admittedly merit an eyebrow raise and widened eyes gazing at the HUD--was to slap a box on the console. Music began blaring inside and outside of Lucille’s cabin, appropriately fast paced and motivational for the fight ahead.

Then, Maldonaldo rushed to activate his jumpjets again, engaging the shields to full in front before rocketing forward with all the subtlety of a bowling ball. It began as an inexorable run to the tune of the drums which built up speed, and then, with the singer’s proclamation that a “top fuel funny car was the drug for [him]”, Maldonaldo engaged the jump jets to full, ramming into a large number of the Dergh. The effect sent a number of the Dergh flying backwards to all number of positions like bowling pins, and left a rather nasty efflua trail in its wake as the Dergh began falling back to defensive positions, eager to stop this absolute madman rushing about.

Of course, following one opening gambit with another, Maldonaldo then began spinning up the Rotary PPC and revving the electric motor on his onboard autocannon with an unthinking, instinctual series of switch-flicks, and then spun around himself, working the jump jets to dodge to the side before landing and charging again, firing at the Dergh even further to hurt--or at the very least suppress--their assault.

The action would continue of course. Maldonaldo raked a Dergh position with PPC shots, sending out hot, purple colored beams of angry charged particles--combined with minimissiles coming from the center of the PPC’s cluster of particle cannons--that made a most violent explosion, ripping apart Dergh and structure alike with a shower of vaporized gore and destroyed building materials. At the same time, Maldonaldo, moving around rather aggressively with the sort of speed normally reserved for a video game protagonist, moved the other arm with his controls, firing bursts of autocannon fire with a BOOMBOOMBOOMBOOMBOOM at the Dergh infantry, with predictable and very messy results.

Of course, the Dergh had concentrated their fire upon Lucille--seeing a fast moving killing machine blaring loud rock music out at you will get your attention--and thus began firing back--not that it stopped Maldonaldo from marching forward--with the occasional jumpjet powered side jump--and firing heavy ordinance at the invaders.

The Marines took the hint after the first few moments of this display. True to surprisingly disciplined form, the men of Charlie Company began to press their counterattack. One man could be heard screaming, “LET’S FUCKIN GO!” as the Marines began to push onwards. Not being completely insane, they were doing so using bounding overwatch--one fireteam providing grenade and repreating blaster fire, the other element moving up. All of this was preferably done under the careful watch of Lucille, who was right now, to the tune of a rather raunchy ballad about a woman who “had it all”, ripping into their ranks.

The Dergh of course, were making an effort to not surrender. The prospect that the average Dergh grunt was not going to stand up long against the combined firepower of the Aumanii and Dornalian soldier evidently didn’t compute for the Dergh, for their response was to just keep firing. Even with the presence of the Army in their rather clunky looking T-60 Armor/X-01 Armor fireteam combo sets--which really seemed to be putting the pressure on the Dergh invaders--the Dergh refused to stop fighting.

Although he was busy fighting and kicking the snot out of the Dergh, squad by squad, fortification by fortification, Maldonaldo had to admit. While it would be nice if they could surrender…he didn’t mind the fact the Dergh kept fighting. As a fellow spacefaring group that prized the act of fighting to the last, the Dornalians could understand why the Dergh refused to stop shooting.

That being said….the Dorns had a job to do. And thus, the fights went on and on. Dornalian casualties were taken, for sure. But the Dergh were losing even more, and the Dorn-Aumanii forces had the advantage.

***

With many, many other such scenes playing out wherever the Marines and Army landed, it was clear that many things were not quite turning out as the Dergh had hoped.

Of course, if the Dergh were thoroughly angered by the full force of the Dornalian ground-pounders on the Orbital Ring, the Dergh were going to be especially upset when the ships of Battlegroup Warrior made their attack. Gracie-Warrior knew that the Aumanii had the Dergh invaders pressed on three fronts, and it would take just a little more persuasion by the Dornalians hopefully to make the Dergh break.

So, she had an idea. Recognizing that the allotted Marine and Army units had been deployed on the Orbital Ring, Gracie-Warrior left behind a contingent lead the CRS Ray Bradbury--a Heinlein class explorator ship that was much, much more well armed than the name suggested--and proceeded towards that moon. Gracie-Warrior herself picked up the comms and dialed in all the ships she had sent towards the foe, including her fellow Gracies.

“All ships, this is Warrior Actual. Maintain formation. Execute play Computer Blue. Repeat, Computer Blue.”

***

The first ship to greet the Dergh in combat was the Warrior herself.

The Dergh would, at first, notice the lone Dornalian ship moving closer. And closer. And closer still. It would move closer in a headstrong run, firing gauss cannons and energy weapons as it got closer at any ship in its path, jumping to random positions along an inexorable trajectory.

The Dergh commanders would roll their eyes. They had enough problems to deal with and this interloper wasn’t going to make things any easier. Weapons were made free, and fire directed upon the Dornalian ship.

The thing is, the Dornalian ship wasn’t stopping. Whether it was the fast movement or the stout shielding or what, it was clear the Dornalian was not going to be stopped.

Attempts were made to hail the Dornalian vessel, which had so far slammed into a Dergh ship and broke it in half with the sheer force afforded to an unstoppable force meeting an object that got in its way. But the ship insisted on still moving.

And then, when it got into the midst of the Dergh force, even bombarded by fire, the Dergh would hear a message over comms.

“I AM GODZILLA! YOU! ARE! JAPAN!”

At that, the ship would disappear….

...and then suddenly reappear alongside a large number of other ships around the fleet, along with a large swarm of Dornalian fighters. Then, the Dornalian ships began firing….

***

Virtual Conference Space--Session No. 291

The reports came in quickly and rapidly into the Virtual Conference Space set up by the Gracies to coordinate their effort. The complete and utter manifestation of what happens when a bunch of AIs get together for a bit of “girl talk” about strategy using rather sophisticated networking--so sophisticated the Ta’Nar had expressed interest in the Gracies--the Space itself resembled an old style war room, with a table, flunkies pushing unit markers about, and runners bringing in messages on sheets of paper and telegram. The only distinguishing feature of the Space was the presence of Christmas decorations insisted upon by Gracie- Warrior, since well, it was Operation Natal after all. There was a warm fire, a kettle dispensing hot beverages, some muffins, and stockings on the wall and a Christmas tree with all sorts of ornaments on--not a large one, but one which fit on the end of the refreshments table. There were TVs and radios over which guncam footage and comms traffic could be heard.

Right now though, the gift every Gracie in Battlegroup Warrior was hoping for was the progress of their strikes on the foe. And the news was good. Almost too good--in some ways, it was depressingly easy. The enemy ships were collapsing in large numbers, their relatively weak construction resulting in many of the ships collapsing like butter exposed to a hot knife. The fact that the bulk of the Dergh were pressed against a moon and pressed by the Aumanii themselves wasn’t helping the Dergh’s case either, and neither was their suicidal insistence on fighting to the last soldier. On the ground, there wasn’t much difference either.

Gracie- Warrior was proud of herself, smiling as she read the reports. The gamble she had taken with the Battlegroup was risky. Even with the comparatively primitive weapons of the Dergh it was not a wise idea for a Battlestar to solo an entire force, even if it The crews were reporting damage and it was a miracle that casualties were not higher.

As for the other ships, Gracie- Warrior saw the various Gracies within the room, looking over the map in their various avatars. Some were more focused on the map than others--Gracie-Jeishka of Caeralfar, for example, stood in her elven glory taking reports from the map and the message runners, issuing orders to the others.

Gracie- Warrior herself walked over to the other Gracies, holding a mug of coffee in her hand as she asked, “Any word, folks?”

Gracie-Jeishka reported, with a shake of her head, “No updates, I’m afraid. We’ve got them on the ropes.” WIth some concern in her voice, she then said, “They refuse to surrender though. Ground forces are reporting minimal, if any, prisoners taken. Likewise, those ships we manage to scatter just keep coming back for more. The only way to stop the Dergh frankly, is to wipe them out to the last man.”

Gracie- Warrior nodded, sighing as she sipped her coffee. Sure enough, video footage could be seen on small monitors taken from guncams and other such sources, and Gracie- Warrior wondered out loud, “What drives the Dergh? Why won’t they give up? I mean, I would have expected them to give up by now--you’d have to be a complete idiot to waste so many sapients on a fool’s errand.”

Another Gracie, Gracie-Ray Bradbury--clad in an academics’ outfit of a simple sweater with vest, collared shirt, glasses and slacks in imitation of Ray Bradbury--piped in with her thoughts.

“Well, maybe they’ve got that streak we’ve got. The one that refuses to surrender. The one that tells the odds to go fuck themselves.” Shrugging at the skeptical looks she generated, Gracie-Ray Bradbury simply said, “Well, it makes sense. As you said, boss, any rational sapient would have surrendered or tried to flee by now.”

Gracie- Warrior nodded at that, and said simply, shrugging, “Oh well, their loss. Continue pressing the attack, salvage what you can, but otherwise, just keep shooting.”

Just then, turning to the TVs Gracie- Warrior saw one feed from a Valkyrie pilot. The pilot had transformed into walker mode, and stuck a three-point landing on a Dergh hull, on the engine manifolds. Pulling out a torpedo, the mecha slammed the torpedo onto the hull before it leapt off, a massive explosion erupted, sundering a large portion of the rear off as the Valkyrie flew through space to do the same thing again.

The Gracies in the room looked at each other, and collectively declared the action, ”Nice!” with a raise of their beverages.

With spirits like this, things would end up all right. Well, for the Dornalians and Aumanii at least.

[Alexzonya]

Orion Bastion, Co-Prosperity Sphere of Auman, Gamma Quadrant
Events of December 13, 3169 (by the Aumanii Calendar)

The 14 surviving Dergh warships, of their original 20, announced their orbital victory in fire, raining down on the political capital and industrial areas of the Aumanii colony. As they leisurely selected targets on the green and blue marble below, the Dergh Matriarch, Lanketona, examined reports on the peculiar wreckage of the warships her force had overcome in seizing this system from the human imperialists. A half-dozen Aumanii frigates, what the humans called Switchbacks, were shattered into thousands of fragments in high orbit. Those were expected, and dealt with.

The subject of analysis had been some larger, sleeker, saucer-shaped warship. It had uncharacteristically armed with energy weapons, and wreathed itself in fiercely glowing aura-like shields, but whatever it had been it was overwhelmed and died with its comrades. Unlike them, it ended in an enormous blast that scattered its remnant particles across space. Such a large scuttling charge seemed wholly redundant, but perhaps the Aumanii lacked the finesse of the Dergh. Now, Lanketona scowled at her science officer, who was in the process of interrupting her target selections with some sort of conspiracy theory, and thus forcing her to unhappily explain the junior officer’s errors.

“The Aumanii must have accepted their inferiority,” the Lanketona was stating, “and thus sought some way to compensate for the inferiority of their kinetic weapons technology. That ship was likely a testbed.”

“That is… perhaps sensible,” states her science officer, but with a stubbornly unconvinced undertone.

She doesn’t miss it. “Do you disagree?”

“I… I am not sure...”

“You question me? My judgement?”

The science officer looks panicked, and starts babbling. “What if it’s not Aumanii? They’ve never used beams like that, and the alloys in the construction are all wrong and that blast…”

“Silence!” the Matriarch commands.

“... that blast couldn’t have come from an Aumanii reactor, and so it must be…” she finally trails off.

“Who else could it be?” the Matriarch interjects. She gestures to the Marines in the bridge. “Take her to the brig. I’ll deal with her insubordination at my leisure.” The science officer slumps as she’s dragged away. Lanketona returns to her bombardment.

A few hours later, there’s a panicked chirp from her tactical officer. “What?! Oh no… oh no, this isn’t… this isn’t possible!”

“What? What is it?!” Lanketona snaps, turning her attention back to her second.

“N-new contacts jumping in! Over a hundred!”

“That can’t be right… most of the Aumanii fleet is tied up elsewhere! Check it again!” she orders.

There’s an awkward pause, as the tactical display begins flashing the approach of new contacts: bursts of Cherenkov radiation followed by the appearance of more sleek-sided saucers with nacelles. Worse, they were less than a light-minute away, having jumped into the system in close proximity to the planet.

“... enemy warships confirmed, Matriarch,” states the second, her face pale. It seems to echo through the silence in the bridge that had replaced the jubilation of annihilating the colony below.

The Matriarch looks at the screen, and feels a primal fear in her breast as she sees the enemy force. 134 ships, saucers and nacelles, furiously blasting themselves through space with gravitic engines and heading straight towards her formation, now suddenly outnumbered by warships the Aumanii couldn’t possibly possess. She freezes. Seconds pass.

“Depressurize for combat! Evasive maneuvers!” she snaps. “Break orbit and burn for jump positioning.”

Over the next half an hour, the Dergh warships burn to leave orbit, and get into combat positions even as they expect that they’ll make their escape without issue; the enemy commander must have miscalculated, and appeared too far from the planet to attack before the Dergh could clear the gravity well and charge their hyperspace drives.

“Matriarch, we are receiving… a transmission.” It appeared on screen. In traditional fashion, it has included a video element. A man, a human in a navy uniform, but not an Aumanii. This was something else. Lacking the high-collared uniform jacket of the Aumanii fleet, the insignia was all wrong. The colors were wrong. The… demeanor, was wrong, though no less furious than could have been expected, given the devastation the Dergh had wrought on the planet below.

“Attention Dergh warships. This is Admiral Harrison Matthews, Commander of Task Group Bombard Bravo Formation, Galactic Republic of Alexzonya Starfleet, operating in support of our ally the Co-Prosperity Sphere of Auman. Your warships are ordered to power down your primary combat, propulsion, and reactor systems; and surrender unconditionally and immediately. Failure to comply will met with annihilation. This is your only warning. End transmission.”

There’s a pause on the bridge.

“... the Aumanii must have kept a force of these new ships in reserve. It’s a bluff; there’s no other civilizations of note that these could be. Father will want to know…” she hesitates, “... that they are stronger than we were led to believe. I’m sure he will be eager to punish of the failures of… not us… those responsible...” She trails off.

“Matriarch, boards are green. We are ready for hyperspace jump.”

Lanektona smiles grimly. She had expected as much: whatever Aumanii crewed these warships must have been green, to come out of FTL so far away from them. Now her force would easily slip through their stubby, human fingers. “Send these humans a transmission.”

“Admiral Matthews, whoever you are, I must refuse your... request. So sorry, but your warships won’t be anywhere close to engagement range prior to our hyperspace jump. Send my regards to your filth planetside… what’s left of them.” She reviews and sends the transmission, and then turns. “Coordinate jump pattern. Mark… go now.”

The Dergh ships power up their hyperspace drives in unison, their reactors pumping them with power as they prepare to breach reality and brutally contort the laws of physics in an attempt to go really, really fast. Instead, two of the warships, both frigate analogues, shatter, throwing their remains as tiny grains of particulate matter in all directions as they disintegrate, obliterated by subtle ripples in reality. The rest shake, taking various amounts of noncritical damage from the aborted jump as their hyperspace drive failsafes kick in.

“... what?!” demands Lanketona, turning on her navigation officer, furious. “Why aren’t we…”

“Matriarch, two of our escorts are gone! Something…”

“Damage report!” calls a watchstander, the engineering officer, interrupting. “Hyperspace drive core is damaged and offline. Repair duration indefinite. Capacitors on battery 3 have overloaded. Repair duration expected 6 hours. Shield projectors 6 and 14 are non-responsive, repair duration indefinite... ”

Flashes of red appear on the tactical display, showing similar damage across what was left of the Matriarch’s battlegroup. Two of the ships are seemingly gone, though if you looked hard enough you could see the debris fields that they now composed. Silence prevails.

“... Matriarch, we are receiving another transmission from the enemy warships.”

The Alexzonyan Admiral reappeared, and nearly is able to keep his voice level, devoid of both fury and triumph. Nearly.

“Duly noted. End Transmission.”

Immediately following the transmission, the light on the Dergh’s sensors showed the enemy warships beginning to spew childcraft, missiles, into the void, which formed clusters and then began accelerating, rapidly, towards the Dergh formations. The Alexzonyans elected not to risk casualties in a knife-fight; they were perfectly capable of pummeling the Dergh formation into bits from minutes away with an onslaught of missiles. The lopsided numbers made the outcome inevitable.

Over the missiles’ travel time, there was little the Dergh could do but wait, and watch, and perhaps make their peace with their lives and mistakes. And then there were a few seconds of point defense fire, and then there was silence again, as the last of the Dergh warships over Orion Bastion went to pieces, shattered by the Alexzonyan barrage. If any Dergh warships attempted to surrender to GRA forces after that first contact between the Alexzonyans and the Dergh, it never appeared in the official reports of Task Group Bombard.

[Auman]

January 21, 3170

It had been nearly a month since the shells landed and the streets were still flooded. Fallout from the landfalls settled to the ground and turned the streets into a slurry of brown muck. Carol Mazzocca grabbed a bottled water from the fridge, it wasn't working but it was as good a place as any to store the family's non-perishables that they got from the Army. The mosquitos were getting bad. The kids were falling behind on their school work, even though her husband was trying to teach them anything he could think of, running through flash cards and having drawn out conversations about planets and dinosaurs and whatever else he could think of to catch their attention.

They read a lot of books during the daylight hours. Every other day, Fabbiano would step into a pair of hip waders and check around the neighborhood to see if the old folks needed anything. Mrs. Torres, a retired receptionist whose husband had passed a few years back, died in her home a week ago. There's nothing that could be done about it, Carol's husband wrapped her in a sheet and just left her on the bed. The kids were used to seeing her in the garden and wondered about the nice old lady, but Carol didn't have the heart to tell them.

Things were getting back to normal in Anotros proper, but out here in the suburbs, the dates were tentative at best on when they'd get the resources for a real clean up. She worried though, doctors were flown in every morning to Karlin Heisgechter Memorial Highschool where people could get themselves some medical treatment... And from what she was hearing, there were medieval diseases rearing their disgusting heads in the neighborhood. Besides the threat of cholera, Carol heard from Mr. Brownsville that the Karax outbreak in Botanica was pretty much in its final stage. The whole city, which used to be home to a couple hundred thousand people, was depopulated and under quarantine.

She went upstairs to the solarium. A thick layer of dust had settled on the window that overlooked the harbor. She could still make out the ships out at the anchorage, cargo ships and an flat topped aircraft carrier that always had helicopters taking off and landing from it. At the port, dock gantries that were boomed up and idle, it was flooded just like everything else and teams were working on repairing the damage that came with the tsunami. Her family was spared the worst, they were uphill. The homes down at sea level were completely destroyed, lots of them washed out to sea. She could only imagine how bad it must be in other parts of Vascilia if the wreckage down there was the least of the government's problems. Fabbiano said that the thick ruddy clouds that blotted out the sun in the first few weeks was "indicative of severe terrestrial impacts" and that the tsunami meant "something struck the ocean with enough mass and velocity behind it to wipe out the dinosaurs." Fabbiano worked with the city government as a civil engineer, Carol supposed he knew what he was talking about for once. Smoke carried over from the mainland and it smelled like being downwind from a campfire, it dried out her throat and the kids were coughing in fits. They stayed inside most days. Things were getting pretty miserable, but when she was feeling desperate, she shut her blue eyes tight and prayed. It would come to her, that she was lucky to be alive and safe with her family.

She sipped at the bottled water and cried. She told herself it was the smoke from the forest fires just irritating her eyes, until she started to sob.

[Auman]

January 28, 3170

Vascilia was burning and Gogol'Veht smirked. His face, a tanned work of marble, sculpted by the hands of God himself into an immaculate masterpiece. Though the image was plastered all over GalNet, only the most bitter of men could bring themselves to hate it... Gogol, the ruler of Leptis Prime and the throb in the heart of girls and women throughout the Sphere, could get away with a little bad press. It was his looks and charisma that often made the eyes of the galaxy turn away from his less savory actions, focusing on the bright full lips and cut lines of his jaw. Black curls of stylish hair fell about his ears, the man would often make himself seen without a shirt, the rippling abdominal muscles and the shaped, oh so carefully, pectorals often being included on the front page of tabloid sites and publications.

He looked good and he knew it. This, beyond the massive army and the fleet of starships built in secrecy, was his most powerful weapon. He smirked as he watched the capital of the Sphere burn and precious few people could bring themselves to care. Leptis Prime was now the most powerful system in the entire nation and this brought him joy. A change was coming, a shift in politics away from the liberal humanitarian values and martial pride of Vascilia, toward the discipline and authoritarianism of Leptis... This was a long time coming, a process that had begun on Mars with his great grandfather, Markos Noriega. A struggle between the tribe of Auman and the Noriega clan that was now reaching its final, inevitable, conclusion.

And all he had to do was wait.

[Auman]

January 31, 3170

Patroling was a necessary thing that Hank Hershey did as a part of his job. It wasn't his favorite part of the week, ranging out into the high desert, he wasn't accustomed to it as a city boy from the Medean grave swarm. At home, he was raised in the ever comfortable climes of the artificial constructs left behind by the Anciients. When his truck broke down, a month ago, he had taken it to Bill Friendly, Landfall's only mechanic... He said it was going to take three months to get the right parts shipped in from Great White, if they were lucky. Great White wasn't much bigger than Landfall, and it was still recovering from a pirate attack that rocked it last December, but as far as this place was concerned it may as well have been a cosmopolitan ecumenopolis. Thankfully, the Aumanii Frontier Police was a traditional institution and drilled horsemanship into their troopers during their time at Depot, so Hank wasn't without options. He borrowed Mathilda from the livery, his partner, an Autonomous Robotic Comrade unit named Arturo, signed out a stallion named Fire Eater, and they had set out on Friday. Over the course of two days they trekked through the Garibalid hinterlands, it was quite nice... Great painted mesa rose from the plain and a lazy river wound between them. They spent most of their time riding along the banks of that river, known locally as the Devil's Fork because once it split, the rapids went wild and white. You were wise to stay off of it with your boat, since boulders were concealed beneath the rushing waters and whirlpools have been known to suck in canoes whole. The foaming river also kept the dust down, which was a relief because it was red, sticky and cloying. Despite every effort to stay clean and comfortable, Hank and Arturo returned to town covered in grime from their journey. It wasn't all bad, of course, they managed to catch a few tribbleheads, furry faced fish with scales on their flanks that shined like stainless steel. They were good eating at that, Hank was hoping to treat the kind Ms. Louisa to some supper, once he had a chance to take a bath.

"Hey Hank, want to grab some sorbet before we get cleaned up?" Asked Arturo, swiveling his optical dome towards his partner. Hank knew full well that Art didn't eat ice cream, so he assumed that his temperature may have been running a little hot. A benefit, he supposed, of a best friend that was constantly monitoring your vital signs for irregularities, was that they always made sure you were comfortable.

"I suppose that wouldn't be so bad." Said Hank, he unzipped his utility vest and red fleece jacket to let the heat vent out. Hank and Arturo trotted up to the boardwalk and tied their horses off to the hitching post in front of the general store. Arturo took a glove from his glimmering mechanical hand and beat the dust off of his chassis, his exomuscular body sheath rippled with every sharp movement.

"I'll meet you inside, Hank. I'm going to run these ponies back down to the livery."

Hank pinched his lips into a line and nodded stoically. A bell jangled behind him, Hank turned towards the door to the general store and Ms. Louisa was standing half way out, her eyes as wide as saucers, just as warm and brown as he remembered them. She hugged him before he could warn her about the dirt, but she didn't seem to mind anyway as she pulled him in close and tight. She breathed in deep and then sighed.

"I missed you too, Ms. Louisa." Hank chuckled, "Mind if I buy you one of those sorbets?"

She looked up into his eyes, a blush spreading on her cheeks, and smiled... And Hank couldn't help but return it. She kissed him on the lips and it seemed that after all the time spent in the hinterlands, with the lack of good food and the dehydration he was suffering, the only thing he was truly missing on that patrol was her.

He felt his muscles unwind instantly, his body settled, like water poured into a cup, into her arms. "I think I would like one of those sorbets, Sergeant." Louisa hooked her arm into his and they went into the general store. Hank nodded at Max Fleischmann, the owner and proprietor of Landfall's primary commercial establishment.

"Two of those fancy ice creams, Max."

"Sure Hank, what kind... I've got eight flavors. Vanilla, strawberry, mango, knaacksrut..."

"I'll try out the mango, I haven't had that since I was a kid spending summers at grandma's orchard!" Hank beamed. Louisa hooked her arm into her beau's and smiled.

"And for the lady?" Max asked, scooching his glasses up to the top of his nose.

"I'll have the same, please, Maxwell." Louisa's voice was very soft and pleasant to listen to. She was the most popular wireless operator in the Frontier on account of it.

Hank paid up for the treats and went on a stroll down the boardwalk with Ms. Louisa. She told him about all that happened while he was gone and he was glad to hear that everything was going well. They stopped at the edge of town, which was only two blocks from Max's store, and looked out into the red-green desert beyond. Fluffy white clouds gently wafted across the bright blue sky. Hank took a deep breath and let it out slowly, it felt good. He was content. Which is something he never thought he'd feel again after Laramie was murdered. Hank ate a spoonful of the mango, it was smooth and creamy, almost the exact opposite of the real thing, but the flavors were all there.

A notion came to Hank and he asked, "Have you seen Constable Otis today?" Louisa shook her head. "We should head over to the station house and see what that ol' dog has gotten himself into."

They crossed the street and were at the front door of the station, Hank could already hear clamoring from inside and Otis preparing his excuses for why it was such a mess. Hank threw open the door and... It wasn't so bad as he would have thought. Constable Otis came skidding out from behind the desk, his long nose pointed right at him, his lips forming a ring of surprise and elation.

"I trust you upheld the principles and honor of our fine institution, constable?" Hank knelt down and scratched Otis behind the ears, he howled in delight, nuzzled his knees and jumped up to lick his face.

"You old dog, you. I missed ya, boy!"

"Arrroooo!" Said Otis, in the fashion of a beagle... A rare and particularly vocal dog from Earth. While Hank and Otis were getting reacquainted, that crotchety old miner, Polus Harimachi came streaking in the front door.

"It's a got dang crocodileocracy out there, sergeant! Those rootin' tootin' sons of guns have finally decided to take Landfall for themselves, I swear on the Founder in heaven!" Polus hooked his thumbs into a pair of greasy rainbow suspenders that held up a soiled pair of faded brown slacks. He was barefoot, drunk and ranting about the lizard people, so it was a pretty normal day for Polus.

Constable Otis' tail was swinging back and forth like a nuclear powered metronome and Hank struggled to face Polus, because he felt like it was betraying his oldest dog friend.

"Alright Mr. Harimachi, let's slow down here and start from the beginning... There's a what now?"

"Crocodileocracy! In our humble, God fearing town!"

Hank stared wide eyed and expectant at Polus Harimachi, who realized he may have been being a little overactive again. He straightened out the front of his longjohns, cleared his throat and tried again.

"Some of them lizard folk are down at the saloon talking all kinds of nonsense about a city council and... elections!" Polus' voice ended on a sinister note.

Ms. Louisa gasped and instinctively drew a hand to her mouth.

"Well this is pretty serious. Thank you for bringing this to my attention. You know if they're still down there talking all this sedition?" Hank was checking the cylinder of his revolver as he asked.

"You betcher butt they are, sergeant. It's that Borukka Kalgugakar idjit from the mine, again!"

"I told him to knock it off. Arturo, you catch that?" Hank was talking over the net now, to his partner across town.

"Yessir, I have eyes on him now. Are we taking him in?" Arturo's voice came in clear across the net. Hank grabbed a Moland carbine off the wall rack and pocketed a few extra magazines, "How many people are down their listening to that vitriol?"

"Eh, to be honest, Hank? It looks like the crowd is fixin' to lynch Kalgugakar." Arturo snorted.

"Really?" Said Hank with an upward inflection, proud that he served a town of such patriots. "I guess we better break it up for his sake, then."

Hank moved towards the door, but Louisa stopped him with a kiss. "For luck." She said nervously. Hank nodded and went to tip his hat, realizing he looked a fool since he wasn't wearing anything but the auburn hair his mother gave him.

When he got to the saloon, he could hear glass breaking before he even stepped inside. Folks were yelling and throwing bottles at Borukka Kalgugakar who, to his credit, didn't even flinch when one shattered over the thick scales of his forehead. Kalgugakar was a Sarassid, an enormous reptilian alien from a planet inside the Veil of Tears and just like Polus was saying, he was giving an unfaltering speech about the merits of democracy, even though his crowd most assuredly did not like it. Arturo was out front trying to calm everyone down, but it was unlikely that these people were going to listen to a robot. Hank slung his Moland carbine over the shoulder and drew his revolver, sticking his arm outside and firing a shot into the sky. The patrons of the saloon winced, then turned slowly around.

"I think that's enough outta all of ya."

Kalgugakar droned on, however.

"Sergeant," a wispy man with a wide brimmed hat and a handlebar mustache stepped out of the crowd looking a bit shaky and a little embarrassed to be admonished by the law, "He just won't shut up, to be square with ya, sir. We ain't really mad about nothin' other than his interruptin' a show that were being done by these here Senecan dancin' queens." The man gestured over to the bar, where a quintet of extremely tough looking drag queens were standing, looking very unimpressed. Hank was having trouble processing everything. He blinked hard, holstered his firearm, turned around and walked away.