Derelicts: Praxis (FT, Open)

[Kostemetsia]

“Fleet, this is Jackson, stand down. Allied forces, recommend you stand down immediately. All units, fire only when fired upon. Meanwhile,” Jackson says, cutting the link, “very nice work, helm. See if you can bring that maneuver to its logical conclusion.” There is still no response from Ironsides, so the Kostemetsian fleet is pulling up near it, ostensibly in a protective fashion. Jackson is aware that below the fleet is the Brio, still waiting on the authorisation to launch the Red Cross skiff.

Partly, this is a humanitarian gesture. Partly, it's psychological. The fleet is aiming to encapsulate the Ironsides, and from personal experience Jackson knows being inside such a bubble can make one feel rather small and powerless, which should throw the Huerdae off balance a bit if they're not robots inside. With some luck it will also be a not-quite-actionable taunt to the Rethast: we have your allies and you can't do a thing about it, nyah nyah.

OOC: Huerdae, I'm gonna assume you're okay with this, given we had an MSN conversation similar to this a short while ago. Lemme know.

[Huerdae]

Praxis - Beta 5, I.M.S. Heartsblood

"Captain! The Rethast have negotiated a ceasefire, but the Kostemetsians still have the Ironsides surrounded, sir. Looks like they may not wish to let her go."

"Shit. Shit. Alright. Bring us around. The Gate is ready, we can get there. Helm?"

"Confirmed, sir, but we're building up too much on the hull, we won't be able to move dark until we drag another planet."

"That's not important. We're going back. Ironsides doesn't deserve this."

"Yes, sir!"

The crew on the bridge, like any who knew that they wouldn't be left to rot in a position where they were vulnerable, were excited. They didn't want to be caught in the mess that was the conflict that had been started, but they wouldn't leave their brothers and sisters to die at the hands of an enemy. Dropping the stealth systems, the Heartsblood came about, diving into the Gate that dropped it directly into the Alpha cluster.

Praxis - Delta Cluster, I.M.S. Ironsides

On board the floundering Ironsides, the crew were still trying to locate the commanding officer. The bridge had been utterly destroyed, and while most key systems survived on emergency power, only minimal defenses were in place. The reactor had scrammed shortly after a particularly violent and lucky impact, and part of the core now lay exposed, threatening to send the reactor into a super-critical failure if the ship attempted to come back up to combat status. From the limited viewports around the ship and the gunner's slits, the crew watched, nervous, as the Kostemetsian cruisers bracketed them in. Quietly, the guns tracked the enemy vessels, until finally, a nervous, young voice sounded over the comm.

"This is Junior Lieutenant Ramses, I am now the captain of the Ironsides." there was a pause, and then he went on, clearly halfway terrified. "We are dead in the water, and the ship seems to have sent out the automated mayday. We have no communication to outside forces except for broad-comm array, so anything we say -will- be heard by our enemies. We will-"

Suddenly, a Gate opened, just off port side of the damaged Brio, and the solid, thundering force of a Huerdaen cruiser slipped through, her spinal guns pointed directly toward the damaged warship. Thrusters fired and the ship went careening to a halt, nearly slamming into the Kostemetsian vessel. Without waiting for the Heartsblood to speak, the Ironsides foolishly broadcast to the conflicted groups.

"This is Junior Lieutenant Ramses, in command of the I.M.S. Ironsides. Please abandon your position so that our brothers and sisters of the Star Navy can drag us from this hellhole."

The voice, understandably, was nervous, uncertain, and entirely trying to put on a brave face, but the grizzled voice of an experienced captain soon followed, from the Heartsblood.

"Kostemetsian vessels. You are ordered to re-locate yourself to a position at a minimum safe distance of 5 km from the I.M.S. Ironsides. We will be performing salvage and tow operations, and closer proximity could endanger any ship in the area, as well as our own. As of this point, if your vessels do not comply, we will consider that willingly putting members of the Huerdaen Star Navy in deadly peril, akin to firing upon our warships. You have one minute to comply and reposition your forces."

The voice was stern, but more important than the voice was the charged and ready weapons aboard the Heartsblood, a vessel of identical design to the cruisers earlier in the fleet, a design which had already been witnessed to fire nuclear ammunition. In a separate, private message shot directly to the Rethast, the Heartsblood spoke again, giving orders quickly.

"This is Captain Gal'Nasa, please take up a defensive position at a distance of approximately 3 km from the Ironsides. this should put you in a position to shield the remains of your salvage operations should enemies continue to fire, and we will attempt to give you time to recover those still remaining on the station before we Gate out. Thanks for the assist, friends.

[Otagia]

The Otagian bombardment stopped as suddenly as it began, SCCAMs and drones taking up defensive positions again as the fleet moved into an enveloping position around the Ironsides. The massive ebon shell of Sobek's shields rested a scant hundred kilometers from the crippled vessel, a half dozen battle cruisers sitting with their business ends trained on the Huerdaen ship as well. All around, the ever present emerald-ringed singularities swarmed like demented fireflies.

Aboard the Ironsides, two platoons of Chimeran soldiers consolidated the beachheads around their Caoranach, lithe Pooka Skins darting between a quartet of hulking Grymkin. Behind, a few Morrigan Skins hunkered down, their massive frames barely fitting in the tight quarters. One had blasted their way through the hull above its, sealing the holes with its ventral missile batteries and turning itself into a massive turret. For now, they were content to spawn more bodies from the Caoranach's molecular forges, bolstering their forces, but the arrival of the second Huerdaen vessel had them on edge: Many of the Pooka could be seen toting breaching charges alongside their battle rifles, and the Morrigans twitched between possible points of egress, eager to fight off a counter-charge with their rotary cannons.

Their boarding teams had just arrived, and weren't about to give up their prize without a fight.

__________

My lord Sobek, force designated Huerdaen has been routed. Two vessels remain. Vessel designated Ironsides is crippled, the other boarded by limited elements of the Chimeran first responders. The undamaged vessel has tacjumped and is currently threatening Kostemetsian flag assets, and demanding the surrender of the Ironsides. Your orders, my lord?

Threats to the Kostemetsians are irrelevant. We will not relinquish our prize. Relay this message to the Huerdaen vessel.

Affirmative, my Lord. Herald out.

__________

Orear sat back, observing the situation. It was unlikely he would be able to sneak a drone through the sealed airlock, and he only had power for a few more hours of stealth. He could overload the drones and squeeze twenty or so kilotons from each drone, but he'd lose possible intelligence assets, and anyway, where was the sport in that? He'd noted the change in the gravitic pings that the Avatar Fleet was sending out, and triangulated the changes as they'd happened: First a hop to Beta, then straight into the middle of the Otagian formation, the gravy waves becoming thick enough to make out features on the room's guards. Odd that they'd choose to hop straight into a hornet's nest...

Shaking his head, he decided to go with a more direct route.

Dust began to swirl about the room, rapidly forming a miniature tornado in the center of the room. Quickly, the dust coalesced into the from of a man, the chest of his skintight black armor emblazoned with a rearing Chimera. Raising a hand to his brow in a lazy salute, Orear grinned. "Colonel Caleb Orear, Chimera Tactical Solutions. Currently in the employ of the Otagian Avatar Fleet and in possession of forty kilotons of high explosives. Take me to your leader."

[Rethan]

Siren Class Minus All - Praxis
Narton lowered his head and slapped his hand against his forehead.

"Oh for the love of everything unholy... Why do they have to make this difficult? Get on the Datastream to command. I somehow doubt the Kostemetsian's are getting away from this arrogance lightly. Let's see what we can do."

"Captain, the Carrion is indicating that it is ready for Inertialess Acceleration, requesting permission to leave system. They say they can be gone in thrity seconds."

"Why is everyone calling me captain? Does it not say 'Admiral' anywhere on my uniform?"

A quick check revealed it, in fact, did not say Admiral anywhere. Nothing like making a fool of yourself in front of your troops.

"Carrion has clearance. Get their salvage out of here and take the Nostros with them. I don't want slow ass carriers around if things start getting violent."

Many thousands of kilometres away, the two carrier began recalling their drones. Mass shadows dropped rapidly and the carriers picked up speed and what should have been lethal acceleration levels. In a second, with all Drones recalled, the carriers vanished, reaching superlight speeds in an instant. And then they were gone.

"Okay, now let's see if we can salvage this fuck up. Get a message to both Huerdaen vessels that we will move in close as we can and have Stormtroopers ready to deal with any potential boarding parties. And prep a Ravager launch. Pays to be prepared."

The fleet, or what was left of it, began slowly edging their way towards the downed Huerdaen cruiser, weapons tracking but kept cold. No sense in ruining the ceasefire agreement. At least not yet. Within the bulk of the Leviathan, squads of the huge Stormkorp soldiers awoke from their stasis, servos whirring and sinister masks clicking in place. Like machines the supersoldiers moved to their designated boarding craft. The Otagian fleet was ominous, but the Rethast cared not. All that mattered was getting their allies back safely, and they felt secure in the knowledge that, thus far, no weapon they had seen had outpowered their Ravger missile.

Everything was on ice never the less. Very, very thin ice.

Directed Private Stream to: Huerdaen Vessels
Huerdaen ships, we are endeavouring to move as close as possible without risking our breaking of the ceasefire. We don't want you shot down when we're so close to evacuation. We have Stormkorp units ready for deployment in case of help required due to boarding actions. We await your reply.

[Babylon Commonwealth]

Task Force Command:

Longsword Bridge,
"Receiving orders from Kostemetsian fleet command. They're calling for a cease fire." Admiral Benton quirked an eyebrow, looking over the tactical display on his console. "Respond affirmatively. All vessels stand down aggressive stance and hold fire. All ships are to return fire only." He released the button on his console. "inform the support group. We need a medical ship and a salvage ship on our location." He paused for thought. "Open a secure channel to the lead Kostemetsian vessel." He waited a moment as the communications offcier spoke up. "channel established." Benton nodded. "Attention Clarion. This is Admiral Benton, BCS Longsword. Requesting a SitRep, and maybe an explanation of what the devils going on?"

The Commonwealth fleets guns went silent. Meanwhile Task Force Two began to slow down, adjusting their course to meet up with Task Force Command. Behind the Longsword and her escorts a single blue white vortex swirled open in space. Its center flashed twice as two Cotton class fleet tenders exited, the vortex closing behind them. One of the two ships was brightly painted white with red markings. It moved forward and launched a number of shuttles as a dozen starfuries broke formation and began to search around the wreckage of the corvettes for survivors. Meanwhile shuttles docked with the damaged corvettes to evac wounded.

Task Force Two:

Cassius Bridge,
"Flight control, launch shuttles with suited evac teams. have them check the Lecherous for survivors... and to make it ready for being towed back to base.

The carrier launched two shuttles which made their way to the drifting Satyr class. The carrier slowed, two of the Satyrs broke formation to cover it just in case. Meanwhile the first Cotton class tender, its markings were minimal, began to launch maintenance tugs to collect the crippled Olympus corvettes.

[Kostemetsia]

Jackson closes his eyes. <Sakaki,> he says levelly, <where do the Conventions stand on this?>

<Under the Fourth Convention, chapter one, article seven,> the AI calmly responds, <wounded, sick and shipwrecked persons, as well as members of the medical personnel and chaplains, may in no circumstances renounce in part or in entirety the rights secured to them by the present Convention, and by the special agreements referred to in articles six, ten, thirty-one, thirty-eight through forty, forty-three, and fifty-three.>

<Right then,> Jackson says. <Unfortunately, the Huerdaen aren't signatories to the Convention. Most likely they can feel entirely free to renounce their rights.>

<Indeed,> the AI says. <Given the fact that we cannot overcome our inertia sufficiently to avoid ordnance from the Heartsblood, I recommend we withdraw in order to avoid being neutralised.> It pauses. <At this point, we would also be doing the … 'decent' … thing, were we to withdraw.> The tone suggests the AI has certain doubts about the concept of decency in war, but Jackson chooses to ignore that.

<Excellent.> “Fleet,” Jackson says, “withdraw–”

And then the Otagians appear. The AI wordlessly highlights a new bubble outside the Kostemetsian one: SCCAMs and drones galore, a good few active singularities, boarding parties in transit, and uncomfortably close aft, ONV Sobek.

Most importantly, the Kostemetsians can no longer retreat.

Jackson considers for a very short time. <Sakaki! Get me a channel to the Huerdaen.>

<Open,> the AI says tersely.

“Clarion to Heartsblood. Do not fire,” Jackson says urgently. “The Otagian Avatar Fleet is presenting a hazard zone and we will not be able to withdraw without colliding with the Otagians.” He thinks hard for a moment longer. “As a gesture of good faith,” he adds, “we will deactivate our weapons and cease moving.”

<Change channels. Give me Ramses.>

<Done.>

“Clarion to Ironsides. We will comply with your implied request to cease operating. However, we are now physically unable to withdraw given the presence of the Otagian fleet. Please show understanding as we try to resolve this matter.”

<Change: Sobek.>

“Clarion to Lord Sobek,” Jackson says flatly, “please move your forces. We have been asked to remove ourselves from Ironsides' proximity zone, and legally we must comply. We will not be able to move in realspace without encountering your ordnance, and the technical limitations of our drive mean we cannot jump out. We trust you will be entirely able to deal with a single disabled ship even without our support, so we would ask you provide us with a way out.”

The Kostemetsian fleet now has a relative velocity of zero, and is running power to nothing but lights and light support. Below, even the Brio, far out in a zone full of potential enemy fire arcs, has stopped moving.

[Huerdae]

Praxis Delta Cluster, I.M.S. Heartsblood Cargo Bay

The arrival of the man in the room spawned an immediate alert, and scanners swept the room, isolating anomalies quickly. Weapons were raised, and a few rounds were fired, ricocheting off the far walls before the men and women of the infantry calmed, their eyes narrowed. It was annoying to see that something was there, in the first place, but to think that they had permitted it entry, as it was only in the cargo bay....it irked them to no end.

And then, the man spoke, threatening force, against a Huerdaen warship. He was trying to hold the ship hostage, and that....while it was a valiant effort against most enemies, probably was not the best choice. Huerdaen policy was very strict concerning hostages, and the anger that was showing on the faces of the infantry around the avatar was absolutely recognizable. They were put in a position where a fight could mean their deaths...but where submission almost certainly would. Those who took hostages were -never- expecting to release them, and the Huerdaen embraced that idea with simplicity that made them unique in their pride.

A series of crude acts concerning his mother, expletives, and profane offers about himself and how he excreted waste met the man's demands, finally culminating to a point where a man wearing armor bearing a single golden armor plate on his powered armor stepped forward, eyes narrowing.

"FUCK no."

Luckily for the Huerdaen, however, the captain had been alerted to the event as soon as the alarms went off, and the comms quickly opened up, speaking from an indeterminate location within the cargo bay.

"You just threatened my ship, Otagian. Why the hell should I be talking to you?"

Praxis Delta Cluster, I.M.S. Ironsides

On board the Ironsides, things weren't quite so peachy as they seemed. It was clear that there were events going on outside of the walls of the ship, but they were terribly ignorant of what they were. Eyes were cast out the few view ports as the Otagian menace arrived to complicate matters, and the Huerdaen sweat, worried. Everyone was now armed, ready for combat, but as the Kostemetsian message came through, it was garbled into a terrible object of irony.

Clarion ......sides. We will .......... request to cease o......... we are now .......able to ......... given the presence .........Otagian fleet. Please ...............

The message cut out, garbled and broken beyond recognition. However, Junior Lieutenant Ramses was not experienced in command, and the message was ominous. The Otagians had something to do with the Kostemetsian refusal to move, and without proper information from beyond the hull of the shattered ship, he made his decision.

"All hands to pods. All hands to pods. Arm and ready for boarding action. 2nd Defensive platoon remain to guard the reactor, all others prepare for launch in thirty."

The remainders of the forces aboard the Ironsides were stunned, but being able to do something, even something that risked their lives, was better than staring in fear. Grabbing their weapons and hurrying to the pods along the undamaged side of the ship, the crew strapped in quickly, with doors slamming shut all around them.

Unfortunately, Ramses had miscalculated. The 2nd Defensive platoon had been utterly annihilated during the disabling of the ship, and when he arrived at the reactor, he was alone. Standing calmly with his sidearm, he looked at the destroyed area, and the great blast door that shielded him from space, almost immediately outside the room. The blasts had torn into the very heart of the ship, and even the dull lighting in the Huerdaen vessel was low, with much of the auxiliary systems already failed. Alone, he finally took his seat, drawing out the combat knife he carried and began picking at his fingernails, sidearm on the console next to him as he worked, quietly, with the reactor controls using his cybernetic link.

Along the outside of the ship, plating burst open, revealing the armored pods within, shaped like the armor-piercing darts they were. Without warning, they shot off the ship, headed directly into the side of the slow-moving Brio, piercing the armor and opening the flaps that allowed the Huerdaen to leap aboard, deadly side-arms and rifles firing at any who did not bear the dread black of a Huerdaen uniform.

[Kostemetsia]

Jackson grunts as a long loud urgent beep suddenly sounds through his head.

<What is it, Sakaki?> he asks. Around him, people are beginning to murmur, apparently seeing something on their consoles that he is not. This annoys him immensely. He's also starting to get the beginnings of a headache and that doesn't help either.

<Urgent alert,> the AI returns. <IMS Ironsides has launched a salvo at HMS Brio. Processing now.>

<What?! Channel out to Heartsblood. Bring the fleet to full ready.>

<Processing,> the AI says, its feed distorting slightly under the processor load.

“Clarion to Heartsblood,” Jackson snaps. “Withdraw your forces immediately. Ignoring all other circumstances, our one minute to move has still not elapsed.” He checks the clock. True enough, they still have thirty-seven seconds. Of course, he has no way of knowing that the Ironsides hasn't taken anywhere near all of his message. Huerdaen naval architecture is beyond the Kostemetsians at this point.

<Processing complete,> the AI abruptly informs him. <Attack profile matches boarding action.>

<Inform the Brio immediately!>

<I suspect they already know, sir,> the AI says sombrely.

---

fshwtBOOM. The frame of Her Majesty's Ship Brio shivers like a baby that's just been pulled out of a swimming pool.

Fleet Captain Rikki Kandahar is pretty well aware of the deal, and has been for about thirteen seconds. She grabs up her mike as the tactical centre around her bursts into renewed activity. “Counterboarding unit, come to arms! Boarders in sections gamma fourteen through eighty-one!”

“You don't need to tell us,” someone responds. It takes Kandahar a moment to identify him as Sergeant Michael Matthews, the CO pro tem of Brio Counterboarding 3, which is currently located in … she checks … a bunkroom on deck seven starboard. Wise choice. Bunkrooms, as a rule, generally tend to include bunks, and Kostemetsian bunks make very good cover. The mattresses alone are probably hard enough to stave off a grenade assault single-handed.

–

“You know, ma'am,” Matthews says conversationally, “if you were to perhaps seal starboard aft door twenty-seven slash eight, that would be a massive help.” There is no verbal response, but something thunks down at one end of the corridor outside. Rifle fire comes from the other end as Counterboarding 1 (badly) takes the brunt of the Huerdaen assault.

“Boys and girls,” he says, turning to his squad of four, “the enemy force will have to come this way to get to anywhere they can do major damage. We do not engage head-on, understood?” Nods all round. “Excellent. Instead, we lay down suppressive fire and try to keep them from getting close enough to that blast door to destroy it. If that blast door goes down, it's lights out, most like, so …” He looks at them. Everybody nods again. “Unfortunately for us, even if we keep them back and support arrives, support is going to have to arrive through said door. As such, we want to be keeping their attention on us, rather than the poor bastards from Two and the rest of Three, who'll have to meet them head on.”

Pause. More nodding.

An order to prepare for boarders was issued when the starboard hull was blown away. Maybe responding to that order wasn't such a good idea as far as personal survival goes. Still, they have a fair chance – and there's always hazard bonuses. And it's duty.

---

Outside, the fleet begins to, with difficulty, whine up to full capability again. The point defence grid integrates and locks, and the AI begins trying to find a viable W-space entry burn. This may be extremely difficult given the amount of mass in local space – the fleet is just as likely to reverse into an Otagian singularity as it is to find a viable vector into a safe zone.

The ensuing of hilarious consequences is now in full swing.

[Otagia]

Orear's grin widened at the tirade from the Huerdaen officer, and mentally filed a note for QUETZAL to send him a transcript of the conversation. There were some good curses here, and the colonel didn't want to forget any of them. As the stream of epithets died off, he sighed inwardly, and prepped his drones for action, stopping only when the captain's voice rang out across the room.

"Why not," the colonel shrugged. "Only reason I bothered mentioning that I'm carrying is to keep you from blowing me away the moment I said hello, like last time. Anyway, forty kilos is nothing when you consider the amount of ordinance that Sobek hit your fleet with. Right now, I'm pretty much all that's stopping him from turning this ship into rapidly expanding gas. Every minute we talk is one more minute that he refrains from opening fire, and I'd really prefer that we come to some sort of agreement: Less work for me, less chance of everyone on your side dying horribly.

"Mind you," he mused, "I can only speak for Sobek and his subordinates. Likely, the Kostemetsians would require a seperate agreement, especially given tha-"

The colonel's projection stopped speaking and cocked its head, as if listening to someone behind it. Frowning, it turned back to the Huerdaens.

"Especially now that you just broke your goddamn ceasefire with the Kostemetsians."

__________

Abruptly, the Otagian fleet began to pull back, accelerating quickly away from the Huerdaen vessels.

Confirmed, Clarion. We will withdraw to one light second range, and provide an exit corridor for your vessels. In return, we are requesting permission to provide counter-boarding assets to assist Brio. Sobek out.

__________

Aboard Ironsides, the commander of the boarding teams noted the abrupt departure of nearly all crew aboard the vessel. Immediately, he gave the command for his troops to move out, Pookas and Grymkin moving rapidly towards the remains of the bridge and other high value assets. Gesturing at one of his subordinates, he transferred the order to investigate the sole remaining crewman. Nodding, the Pooka bounded off, running on all fours towards the reactor, drones racing out before him.

Stopping at the reactor's blast door, the drones pressed themselves against the slab of metal. The barrier was thick, but hardly impermeable to gridar, especially given the massive source of gravitic emissions within the chamber. The drones observed for a moment, their controller considering his next move. Then all but one dropped to the floor, effectors re-tasked to a more important course of action.

__________

In the reactor chamber, a patch of air seemed to shimmer momentarily, before solidifying into the image of a golden haired dog, muzzle parted to let its long tongue pant. Sitting back on its haunches, it scratched at the glossy black collar hanging around its neck. Tilting its head, it stared inquiringly at Ironside's last remaining crewman.

"Hello," the dog said calmly. "I'm Ripley. What are you doing?"

[Rethan]

Siren Class Minus All - Praxis System
"Sir, the enemy fleet is pulling away from the Ironsides. Should we move closer?"

"Negative. Ironsides has broken the ceasefire and right now the best thing we can do is not antagonise anybody any further. If the Huerdaen request it, I want us to have Leeches ready. Prep a battalion of Marines for boarding actions just in case."

In the bowels of the ship, more specifically in the Tactical Section, the Marines rushed past stasis pods containing ground forces and APCs which sat idle. Leech Craft whirred to life as the squads boarded and checked their weapons. One by one the doors slammed shut, hissing closed as the boarding craft prepared for launch at a moment's notice. The Marines which stayed behind began setting up deployable cover shields and activating Sentry Drones to prepare for a counter attack, while in the dark and humid Hibernation Chamber, monstrous Stormkorp units disconnected from their stasis beds and thundered to life.

"Captain all units are-"

The unfortunate Rethast found his sentence ended abruptly when a magnetically accelerated bullet tunneled through his head, leaving a clean and bleeding hole where his right eye had once been.

"I know I'm a recent promotion, I know it doesn't actually say 'Admiral' on my uniform. But if any of you so much as think of calling me Captain again, you will be flushed out the airlock! AM I UNDERSTOOD?!"

A resounding chorus of "Yes, Admiral" rang around the bridge as two security guards dragged the bloodied corpse away, and Narton sat back down in his chair. On the viewscreen in front of him, Narton watched as the Rethast fleet moved back to give the Otagians room. Glancing sideways, Narton spoke to the comms officer.

"Status of the salvaged ships?"

"Ready and fully operational C-Admiral. Tech teams say they have the deployable Inertialess Fields set up as a backup in case they can't get the in built in FTL systems working. Should be out of system in five minutes."

"Have the remaining Strykers and the Penance go with them, keep them guarded. We poured too much effort into getting them to let these bastards shoot them down."

"Yes, C-Admiral!"

Oh you are so close to having an extra body cavity... thought Narton.

[Huerdae]

I.M.S. Heartsblood, Praxis System

In the middle of their lovely negotiations, the actions on the Ironheart ruined any real chance of peaceful co-existence. And any chance of the crew being returned to their empire. It was something that the captain wasn't at all interested in, and only the next sudden realization drew action from the Imperial captain.

"Captain, the Ironsi-" The captain cut him off, not at all interested in waiting.

"Get us the FUCK out of here! Reverse Gate!"

"But si-"

"GO! NOW!"

The Heartsblood Gated, immediately, out of the system, back to the location it had been at Beta-5, and from there, it broadcast to the other ships that clustered around the Ironheart.

"Allies and enemies alike. The Ironsheart shows critical systems failures akin to those implying a super-critical reactor failure. Abandon the vess-"

I.M.S. Ironsides, Final Moments

Inside the reactor room on the Ironheart, Ramses sat quietly picking at his nails, as the reactor sequence continued, bypassing normal safety protocols. The shimmering air was lost on him until the dog appeared, and the man actually for a second thought that it was a hallucination, brought on by the stress of the situation and the heat the reactor was giving off, unable to contain without the proper shielding. At the animal's words, Ramses smiled, actually placing the knife down on the edge of the console next to him, and glancing over to where a small point of blue light gathered, and his cybernetics confirmed what he already knew. Turning his eyes to 'Ripley', the Junior Officer simply smiled.

"Killing you."

The vessel's damaged side buckled inward suddenly, and then the whole of the ship seemed to tear down the middle as that side collapsed, drawn inward toward the center of the vessel, slightly toward the rear. The starboard side was drawn inward, and the port section was torn apart as if it were nothing more than paper, and then the critical failure reached super-critical levels, and the whole heart of the vessel collapsed. For a moment, it was as if someone simply took the ship and wrapped a cord around it's center, puling the cord taught until the ship had been crushed down to nothing around that point, like a string drawing closed the center of a bag.

In moments, however, the the fore and aft of the vessel were drawn inward as well, leaving a gaping lack of anything in space as forces pulled anything and everything inward toward it, all nearby ships facing the forces that the Huerdaen themselves feared so rightly. It was a dread thing, to see a ship destroyed in this way, and the name Ironsides would no longer be used in Huerdaen vessels in respect for the loss. But the loss of the vessel was not all that occurred. Seconds passed with the great pull of the deadly singularity running out of check outside the confines of the systems that kept it docile, and just as quickly as it started, the pull stopped, releasing those who were unlucky enough to be nearby from it's pull. An instant of peace reigned under the light of a small, glowing blue point that illuminated unerringly the sides and hulls of the starships and stations.

And then, the energy shattered it, blasting outward in all directions like a hateful demon, intent only on destruction. The energy tore at all it touched, intense waves shooting from that point of light in ever-decreasing waves, until it was nothing more than a spacial anomaly, fading into the distance.

Through the aftermath, a voice crackled as the Heartsblood once more contacted those in the area, showing pain and true emotion in a way that no Huerdaen captain had up until this point.

"The actions of Junior Officer Ramses and his crew are in conflict with the deal established with the Huerdaen Star Empire. As such, they are no longer under the protection of the Star Empire, nor are they considered Citizens, should you wish reparations for their actions. We cannot act with you against them, but we can assure you that we had not foreseen their actions, or we would not have acted as we did. To the Kostemetsian Empire, we apologize for all damages incurred during the time of ceasefire, and assure you that we will not fire upon your vessels during your time in Praxis, as long as you continue to abide by the ceasefire. If you wish to end the lives of those who boarded your vessel, you have every right to do so. If you wish to return any survivors to us, I can assure justice will be served, on level with their crime."

[Kostemetsia]

Prior to the blast
<Alright,> Jackson says to the AI, <order a full retreat.>

<Working,> the AI says, a note of irritation in its tone.

Allies and enemies alike, the Ironsides shows critical systems failures akin to those implying a supercritical reactor failure. Abandon the ves

The transmission cuts out. Jackson looks up at the screen, startled. Nothing there. In fact, a lack of anything except the Ironsides. The Heartsblood has disappeared. Strange.

<Clarion to Heartsblood, say again, your transmission is breaking up. Confirm supercritical--?>

The Ironsides begins to buckle. Jackson’s reaction is instantaneous. <Sakaki! Go!> The fleet spins and runs for its life; the slow, lumbering Clarion reverses its engines and pumps out a blast of thrust at two hundred percent, damaging its reactor but pushing it away from the self-annihilating Huerdaen ship at what is, considering the tonnage of the ship, an excellent rate of speed.

Sadly, not quite fast enough.

<Sakaki!>

<Working. Working. Working.>

<Priority one order: authorise gravitics overload.>

<acknowledged WORKING>

As the Clarion rockets backwards, Jackson reasserts his moderate Christian faith and prays. Hard. Meanwhile, the Clarion’s reactor suddenly diverts all power to the gravity rods on the hull, which maintain the gravitic shield that, to a large extent, protects and preserves the great vessel. Its balloon of exotic energy suddenly expands from touching the hull to one kilometre out, overlapping with almost half the corvette field. Again, good, but not quite good enough.

Then the Ironsides explodes. It does not pass go and it does not collect $200.

<WORKING>

Jackson closes his eyes.

---

Some time later

<Damage report,> he says.

<Working,> the AI replies.

He looks around. The bridge is pristine, as ever. Anything big enough to disrupt it without touching it would have destroyed it entirely. A vaguely unpleasant smell of smoke is coming through the conditioning vents, however, but that’s about it.

<Damage report return,> Sakaki says. <Clarion has lost gravitics. Engine performance is down to sixty-seven percent nominal. Ship under emergency power.> That would be the unpleasant smell, then – burning plastic from overheated power cables. Sakaki continues, <I have lost forty-three percent of my processing capacity. Some functions may be impaired.>

<You know what I meant,> Jackson says tiredly. <Fleetwide?>

<Checking ... Brio intact.> Excellent. <Two class-2219 heavy cruisers – Ely and Exeter – lost to the singularity.> Jackson’s stomach drops. <Light cruisers Ealing, Earlswood and Eastleigh also disabled. Corvette shield no longer viable.> Even worse. That comes to some three or hundred crew all up. Such indiscriminate killing does not exactly warm Jackson’s heart toward the Huerdaen, but –

<Give me the Heartsblood,> he says.

<Processor offline,> Sakaki replies. <Please select station manually.>

<Very well then,> Jackson says, twisting a dial on the arm of his chair. The Heartsblood has been assigned band seven. He manages, “Heartsblood,” before he is interrupted.

<High level of local interference thanks to dish failure. Suggest you redirect power to communications,> Sakaki advises.

<Do it,> Jackson orders.

<Working.>

There is a short pause, then there is an open channel to the Heartsblood. “Heartsblood, this is—” He is forced to stop, having to cough as the smoke reaches him. “Heartsblood, this is Clarion. I am James Jackson, commodore of the Praxis fleet, representing the – Kostemetsian Empire.” The name sounds suitably honorific and indeed imperial, and he decides to roll with it. “We are currently re-establishing operations at an emergency level. I have, however, been informed that parties from the Ironsides are currently engaging aboard the Brio. While we will attempt to reply non-lethally I would ask you find some method of ordering them to stand down; given that they have not broken international law they will not be executed.” Which is, basically, his way of saying: We’ll deal with you later.

[Rethan]

Siren Class Minus All - Praxis System
"You heard the man! Full reverse, get those salvaged craft out. NOW!"

Seconds later the Huerdaen craft buckled in on itself, before exploding in a shockwave of energy. The Rethast flotilla, owing both to the two enemy fleets in the way and their own agility, managed to escape a huge amount of harm. Two Strykers had been disabled and the final Penance had been utterly incapacitated, its own self destruct kicking in to preserve the technology within.

"Report?"

"Fleet reports minimal damage. The enemy fleets must have shielded us slightly from the blast. Strykers Talon Four and Six have their engines damaged and shield systems offline. Weapons operational. The last of the Desecrate wing has been vanquished. Self destruct went active, there's nothing left of her or her crew but dust, Admiral."

Narton sighed and slumped in his chair. How had a simple salvage mission gone so horribly, horribly wrong? The only bit of satisfaction he could get from this was that the Carrion had made off with quite a substantial steal in the form of the Gunstars, not to mention the capture of a Whitestar.

"Reorganise the fleet and see what we can salvage from this. Any word on command from the Datastream?"

"Negative Admiral. Nothing yet."

Narton nodded and returned to examining the damage reports as they came in. It seemed only the Minus All had escaped any form of damage, while the rest of the fleet had all suffered some kind of damage or other. Shields critical, weapon systems unstable, hull breaches. If this fight kicked up again, Narton very much doubted his ability to see it through to victory. But if he had to die, then he'd be damned if he wasn't taking a whole lot of these bastards with him.

"Sir, salvage teams report good to go."

"Then go. Have them take the standard precautions, I don't want to lead these people back to Rethan. Random vectors and waypoints."

Narton watched as the Corellian Corvette and Gunship engage their Hyperdrives and vanish into the distance. Narton breathed easily, looked like techs were good for something, he did not want to have to tow those ships out. But they'd figured out how to work the Hyperdrives....or at least activate them. For all he knew they were going to wind up in the middle of a star somewhere, but at least they weren't here.

"Get me an open comm. Ravager status?"

"Two missiles armed. Thirty seconds to launch readiness."

Open Stream to: All Vessels
From: Admiral Narton, Siren Class Minus All
To all parties. Ceasefire is still in effect. We request permission to regroup and leave you to collect your dead and wounded. Our allies have lost much, and we seek to end this unnecessary bloodshed. We require five minutes to prepare for Supralight travel. Failure to adhere to the ceasefire will result in the deployment of Endgame weaponry. That is all.

[Vocenae]

Praxis III

The things were bugs.

Or at least, that's what they looked like. The mining shaft that had been discovered by the Orpheus's away shuttle sent to rescue two stranded engineers had run deep into the planet's crust, terminating in a large cubed chamber roughly the size of a football field. Filling the chamber were massive, centipede like robots, flimsy and frail looking things of sandy colored polymer and twig-thin limbs that fed large chutes mounted on their backs. They were arrayed in many different shapes and poses, some form fitting against the walls, half-mined cubes of ore in their manipulators. Others were frozen in motion, cubes of ore nearly entering the chutes and some headed to and from the single other technological fitting in the room: the massive ore filled hopper.

The Vocian away team were given specific orders: bring the machines back to the Orpheus for study.

"This place is giving me the creeps. I hate bugs"

"Heh, girls usually do"

The slightly smaller model of power armor punched the shoulder of the larger suit next to it before moving towards the closest machine. "Yeah, yeah, sexist bastard." Fiari growled, getting a heart chuckle from Juriel, her only other companion aside from their own robotic transport. "Strange that they just left all these here, including the ore. Whoever the alines were, they must have been in a big hurry". She slowly moved around the alien machine, her suit's video feeds recording the various micro-tools embedded in the dozens of limbs.

"Or they were wiped out. Wouldn't be the first dead civilization the ISR has come across. Whatever happened probably happened so long ago that there's no remains left, if they even had a presence here at all, for all we know the entire planet may have been automated."

"Not very efficient. If these things made the strip mines then they've been here for a long ass time. Hey, check it out, power supply." The power-suited woman had reached the end of the machine she had been recording, stopping at the bulbed tail that suddenly opaqued at her approach. Inside the bulb was a small spinning orb of yellow energy.

"These things are still active, Juriel."

"No shit. The eyes could have told you that."

"Eyes?" Fiari asked, looking away from the orb and down the length of the large machine. "I don't see any eyes".

"Right beneath the head. I just noticed them. Creepy looking things, like spider eyes." The man in the large suit visibly shuddered as he turned and walked towards Fiari.

"Girls afraid of bugs, eh?"

"And I'm the sexist."

"Sometimes, babe. Sometimes. C'mon, get the rover and let's see if we can get this thing loaded."

[Morningstar Coalition]

****************************************************************************************************
Praxis System - Praxis III Surface - Mining Trench AH-32
****************************************************************************************************

The drone's seismic first registered the unexpected activity, bringing the machine back from it's slumbering state. When it's assigned task of inspecting the loaded ore hoppers had suddenly stopped, it and every other drone on the line had halted in mid-task and transmitted a request for sapient oversight to correct the problem. Internal chronometers had registered the passage of time, and when no response was forthcoming after the first week, each of the drones had gone into standby mode, conserving power by shutting down everything but a handful of external sensors and low-power status-alert subroutines.
If a machine could dream, these drones had been doing so for quite a few months since being abandoned, and now drone VTK-7715-H's "mind" returned to full awareness as precious energy trickled into it's primary processing centers. Optics registered the movement of humanoid figures in armored suits, however VTK's programming did not allow the machine to fully comprehend what was happening around it. Electromagnetic sensors detected the comms traffic between the two humanoid figures, but this too was recorded without comprehension. The machine felt no apprehension, no curiousity. VTK felt nothing at all except perhaps what might be considered an inhuman impatience to return to it's assigned task again.

It wasn't until the humanoids attempted to remove VTK that the machine even reacted at all. Synthetic myomer muscles whirred, or they would have if there had been atmosphere to carry the sound, and the machine moved. Initially all the drone did was attempt to return to it's initial place and posture. The humanoids' actions so far did not constitute a threat, and so the drones' only responses would be to escape those trying to remove them, so that they could return to their tasks.



****************************************************************************************************
Praxis System - Outer System (90 degrees spinwards from Delta)
****************************************************************************************************

The Exodus was finally over, and the fleet was arriving.
Initially it was just the advanced scouts, handfuls of small frigates which appeared on the edge of the system in flashes of light and exotic particles. Space filled with tiny Whisker-class sensor drones, expanding outwards into spherical networks to gather as much light-lagged data as possible before the fleet itself entered realspace. The news gathered by the sensor-net was not good.

The crews of the scout ships scurried in something akin to panic. The sensor-net brought them evidence of a major conflict near the gas-giant designated by TRIAD as Delta. Multiple fleets were detected, including two whose ships were well known to the Coalition. It was already too late to alert the fleet. By now they would have initiated their jump sequences, and they would already be in-transit in null-space. The shipminds of the scout vessels were instructed to inform their fellows aboard the incoming ships the very microsecond they appeared. Every ship was to go as dark as it could. Until the warships arrived, the best the Coalition fleet could do was stay quiet and dark, and simply hope that those fighting down deeper in the system's gravity well did not notice their arrival at all.

The plan was wistful at best. One hundred eighty-seven ships, including three of the kilometer-long Sleeper ships. Their appearance amid the micro-star bright flashes of light, and the shockwaves of exotic particles discharged on realspace re-entry would be very hard to miss. The light which had brought news to the scouts of the battle was almost two hours old. Unless that fight was still raging, then in another two hours when the light of the Coalition fleet's arrival reached Delta, their presence would likely become known. Possibly sooner if any of the faster-than-light particle front was noticed by those deeper in-system.

For now, the fleet could do nothing more than wait, hold it's collective breath, and pray...

[Vocenae]

Praxis III. High Orbit.

Zari was mulling over a cup of warm coffee, watching the hacked feeds of the Orpheus's shuttle crew trying in vain to load what looked to be a rather large centipede into the cargo bed of their almost humorously small rover. She grinned as the machine bucked the two crewmen away as they manhandled part of it into their vehicle and skitter back to the very position they found it in, leaving the two Vocians in a state of bewildered suprise.

Then it happened.

It was one of the students that noticed it first, taking time away from his conversation to glance at his console's screen. If it hadn't been for the sudden quiet around the othrwise noisy area, Zari wouldn't have even noticed how pale the man had gone. One of the other students ran for one of the actual, a tall, skinny man who looked rather bored as he strolled over to the console in question. The crewman stiffened visibly before he shoved the students out of the way, his hands flying across the controls. Curious, Zari ran her hands across her own controls, minimizing the hacked communication feed to monitor what the sudden suprise was all about.

The information coming from the other console was nothing but an unintelligible wash of energy lines and power fluctuations followed by a number of generated causes from the ship's basic data-core. Zari watched from her station as the crewman scrolled down a series of otherwise random numbers and charts, clicking on various options until all that was present was energy present upon the solar background after the Vocian's arrived in the system. It was nothingbut a solid green line with minimal disturbances, mostly rsidual energy from the fleet's engines and the flurry of probe drives as they had been launched into space...

But then the line came alive, jumping sporadically and carreening downwards before rocketing upwards once more. The crewman isolated these signatures and ran them through an analyzer before accelerating the chart towards the event that had now made the entire bridge go silent. The line dropped to stillness for a brief moment before exploding in a storm of activity and filled the screen with jagged green mountains, the earliest (and tallest) ones being cut off the energy sources were so high. Then, as quickly and violently as the event had started, the line dropped back to tranquility as if nothing had happened.

The crewman ran this through the the analyzing program, the previous entry having completed and stored under the rather ominous heading of "Atomic Disaster", with smaller entries being labled with codes that Zari didn't recognize from her own training. Feeling a tinge of apphrehension, she began hacking into the the few probes that were facing star-ward, seeking an answer.
_________________________

Praxis III Surface

"I wish those two would hurry up. Kinda tired of sitting down here with my thumb up my ass"

Turik leaned back against the quarry wall, relaxing his neck after craning it to look at the stalled shuttle that had, up until a while ago, had been coming to pick he and Uri up. Now the wedge-shaped vessel was hovering near the narrow ledge that gave access to the 'cave' the two pilots had told them about. The next thing either of the engineers knew, the shuttle had stopped it's descent and the pilots had disembarked, heading into the cave while the ship's computer hovered there like a loyal dog.

The coring samples that Turik and the rest of the survey team had been here to gather were done, so at first, he and Uri had taken the opportunity to relax and enjoy the bleak alien vista that had been provided for them. The fears associated with the epic size and scale of the previous inhabitant's mining operation were gone and true enough, the planet felt like the many others that had come before.

Of course, you've never had to worry about running out of air before, either, he said to himself, watching as Uri picked himself up and went back to looking over the glass-smooth walls of the quarry. It wasn't a major worry at the moment, the Goliath suits stored an amazing amount of canned oxygen, but the amount of time the pilots were taking for a simple 'lookyloo' was starting to make him anxious.

"It be better if we could at least talk to them" Uri said, voicing his concerns as he recorded more of the alien mining marks. "you know, tell them to hurry up instead of being stuck here while our pickup is braindead a hundred feet over our heads."

"Real comforting thought, ain't it?" Turik said, craning his head once more to llok at the shuttle. Where were those bastards...

[Huerdae]

I.M.S. Heartsblood, Praxis Beta 5

The response from the Kostemetsian warship was about the only beam of hope that the Huerdaen Captain had at this moment, grimly knowing that many of his friends had given their lives in this engagement, and that the actions of a junior officer may have cost the lives of many more. But the hope was vague, minor, and not at all a certainty. The man on the other side of the conversation was a ship's captain, but Gel'Nasa wasn't about to play so fast and loose with foreign policy to put his own name and ship on the line. Opening a channel to the Clarion, he spoke slowly, careful to hide his emotion behind the stoic Huerdaen demeanor.

"Confirm, Clarion, Ironsides did not break ceasefire? Confirmation on this fact is needed before an issue arises, we can not act without confirmation. PLEASE CONFIRM."

--

Kostemetsian Warship Brio, Contested Zone

The Huerdaen were pinned in a small side corridoor, with three major passages. By the time the Kostemetsians arrived, the Huerdaen had fanned out of their ships, laying low the unfortunate crew that had been in the passage, only two or three in total when they arrived. The arrival of the enemy marines, however, found them still preparing for them, with armored half-walls in place to give them cover against the enemy fire on all sides. The half-open door to one side was watched by a small number of Huerdaen, with most of the forces concentrated around the path that led further into the ship. With the Kostemetsian Counterboarding 1 firing from the side, the Huerdaen continued to put an excessive amount of fire forward.

Fire richocheted down the halls, bouncing off the cover that had been emplaced as well as the walls. The Huerdaen were a motley bunch, a group of infantry and crew, with a varied mix of weapons. Most of the crew had pistols, weapons which used small magazines that were unassuming at first, but the first hit was enough to remind anyone near that the weapon was not to be ignored. The weapon was the 'Siren', a rail driver pistol that bore only three rounds in a mag, but the whining of the ultra-sonic rounds filled the halls, punching holes in most bulkheads that found themselves before the weapon, and sometimes turning the same cover the enemy used into shrapnel when the cover was weak enough. Every Huerdaen had a shield, able to take a small number of rounds before actually being hit, but it was the Infantry that truly proved their mettle. Surging forward, they put their powered armor to good use, with the enhanced shielding bouncing several shots as a small squad made it's way forward, blasting indescriminately at the defenders until they had reached the very opposite side of the Kostemetsian's own cover. Without remorse, one of the Infantry turned her eyes upward, using the under-slung grenade launcher to bounce a grenade off the ceiling, landing it immediately on the opposite side of the cover, while another peeked out, using the same attachment to let loose a highly destructive shotgun blast before returning to cover.

The hall was already filled with smoke from components and systems ruined during the boarding, as well as that damaged by weaponsfire. Already, several Huerdaen crew lay dead, and a few infantry as well, but their fire was deadly accurate, high degrees of training mixed with cybernetic enhancement making the surprisingly small humans a particularly deadly foe. Even the infantry in powered armor did not reach the height of 6 feet, with the majority of the crew reaching a rather minimal 5'3". This gave them a surprising advantage in the ship, as smaller targets and high accuracy made them deadly foes, and soon the Siren's song was mixed in with the screams of the dying and the wounded. Quickly, lights in the area were knocked out, making any sort of effective visibility against the Huerdaen attackers much more difficult, and allowing their cybernetics to give them further advantages over their foes.

However, despite their bravery, the Infantry were few in number, and even with their shielding and armor, the charge brought one low, leaving the bloodied corpse laying prone in the hall. Behind them, covering the rear, a small swarm of crewmen picked their shots, the Siren pistols singing death as three infantrymen towed a wheeled weapon out of one of the boarding pods. They were armored in a dull bronze, instead of the standard black, and the weapon they turned to face Counterboarding 1 was a huge, 60mm cannon fed by a large magazine. The weapon was put down, and despite fire bouncing off the blast plate of the long, powerful weapon, the crew set the stabilizers for the Hephaestus gun as if they were simply out pruning bushes. Within moments, the weapon was ready, pointing down the hall at the vulnerable defenders, it's back to the closed door with only a few crew between it and the door. It's back was exposed, but it was mounted on a swivel, forcing any assault to be quick, or risk the heavy fire of the weapon and it's devastating rounds.

[Kostemetsia]

“Clarion to Heartsblood–”

The man at Tactical suddenly shakes his head frantically. Jackson says clearly, “One moment please Heartsblood,” then turns to the man at Communications and makes a rapid cutting gesture at chest height. The channel is muted. “What is it, Tactical?”

“I've been analysing their previous transmissions,” says Tactical, now with time to speak. “Just now, they said the crew of the Ironsides, the surviving crew that is, would no longer be citizens of the Star Empire, but that they would receive justice – 'justice will be served, on a level with their crime,' I believe were the exact words. Sir, our people died. These people will be executed.”

“Fair point,” Jackson says after a moment. “But what is your point?”

Tactical seems aggravated that Jackson isn't seeing it. “Sir, we've just been asked, in sort of very pointed terms, if the Ironsides broke ceasefire.” He replays the transmission. The tone is clear. “We're being asked to say that it didn't, and I think for good reason. If we say the crew of the Ironsides broke ceasefire, then the soldiers aboard the Brio will be executed.”

“But they broke ceasefire,” Jackson protests.

“I'm not so sure, sir,” Tactical says. He puts up an image on Jackson's viewer of a rough outline diagram of the Ironsides. Many areas are highlighted in red. “Assuming certain basic principles of ship design, Ironsides was so heavily damaged – by us I might add – that it would never have known there was a ceasefire. If what I think is the comms assembly actually is,” one specific area lights up in a different colour, “that was pretty much mangled by the time the battle ended. Sensor resolution wouldn't have been too good either,” he lights up another area. “As far as Ironsides would have known, the battle was still in full fury. Sir, it would be …” he makes a grandiose gesture, “inhuman of us to resign these people to execution.”

Jackson stares at the diagram for a few seconds. “Perhaps … I think we'll err on the side of caution here, Tactical.” He waves a hand to Communications to resume signalling.

“Sir–” Tactical begins, but Jackson waves him down.

“Clarion to Heartsblood.”

He considers.

“Confirm, Ironsides did not, did not, break ceasefire. Repeat, Ironsides did not break ceasefire.”

[Morningstar Coalition]

****************************************************************************************************
Praxis System - Praxis III Surface - Mining Trench AH-32
****************************************************************************************************

If VTK-7715-H's processing "mind" had been complex enough to allow such a thing as emotion, it would have been feeling fear and confusion right about now. None of the recent unexpected events matched any of it's pre-programmed response criteria, and without Sapient Oversight to give it new instructions, the drone could only attempt to return to it's tasked position and await orders. For a while VTK-7715-h dutifully recorded events as the two humans attempted several times to try and move it into their craft. The machine did not understand what was happening, much less why; it only know that it had to remain at it's post should Oversight arrive, or work resume.
It wasn't until one of the humans made a mistake. Perhaps he was likely frustrated by the centipede-like machine's escapes. Whatever his reasoning, the man had picked up a cubic chunk of loose ore and thrown it right at VTK-7715-H. The optics and other sensors dutifully recorded as the dense mineral sailed through the low gravity, smashing into the machine's "head", destroying the optics and several other sensor systems.

The reason this was a mistake was because now the humans actions fit within an acceptable response profile. Dormant programming within the nearest ten drones flickered to life. One of their number had been deliberately attacked, and defensive subroutines were now engaged. VTK was now blind, though it's seismic sensors still functioned. Elsewhere a machine that resembled some kind of beetle dropped off the wall and turned towards the humans. Other drones were now coming to life, turning and advancing on the humans. The beetle-shaped machine opened it's carapace, extending four multi-jointed arms from beneath; each ending in a plasma cutting beam. As the machine advanced, one of the beams lanced out towards the midsection of the human which had attacked VTK...


****************************************************************************************************
Praxis System - Outer System - Coalition Fleet
****************************************************************************************************

Damn you to the Pit Ssaliist! You were the one who urged us to come to Praxis! Even after the losses we've suffered, you were adamant that we'd be able to recover and forge our own safety once we got here! Now look! You see the ships, yes? Rethast and Huerdaen! Here in Praxis! How in Saaben's name are we safe while there are multiple war fleets fighting in this system!" Admiral Enaara's voice shook even as her voice became louder with every word. Her fur, where it showed beneath the uniform, was nearly a kaleidoscope as it shifted through the color spectrum. For his own part, Ssaliist looked torn between defiance and despair himself. The Ssslakai's quills hung limp along his spine, his four hands clenched and unclenched.

High Admiral Turehk shook his head and laid a hand on Enaara's shoulder, trying to calm her down. The "Undying Hope" had been one of the vessels badly damaged in the unrelenting pirate attacks the fleet had suffered on it's journey to Praxis. The normal conference hall where the Admirals normally convened was still being repaired, and the five of them were now meeting in a small briefing room aboard the battleship. That one of their number, Admiral Dessit was still in stasis aboard one of the medical cruisers was testament to how hard times were in the Coalition. There now was not a single soldier or citizen who had not lost someone during their long trek. Tensions were stretched beyond the breaking point, and there had already been several suicides once news got around that they might well have to fight for Praxis.
Turehk sighed as Enaara's anger finally broke, devolving into great sobs. Turning to the other three Admirals, he outlined his plan. "It is far too late to start laying blame. We must decide what we can do about the current situation. That the fleets fighting here have not yet reacted to our arrival indicates that either we have not been detected at all, or they are too occupied fighting each other to deal with us. Regardless, our first priority is to identify the combatants and determine why they are here. Many of our vessels are critically low on fuel, and we must launch harvesting operations. We need to establish contact with the mining facilities on the inner worlds, to determine if any of the infrastructure is still intact. We need to dispatch teams to any of the shipyard platforms to determine if there is enough equipment to get repair facilities online."

David and Hailey Allister both nodded at each of the Tejhiik's points. Enaara got her sobs under control and added her assent. Ssaliist predictably was the sour note. "And if these invaders do not wish to let us go about our business? We are too wounded to fend them all off Turehk, and you know it!"

"If we must fight to inherit what TRIAD left behind, then so be it. We will fight, and we will make these interlopers pay dearly should they seek to deny us! Before we charge to war, we must determine their intentions." Turehk growled low at the Ssslakai. This was the closest Ssaliist had come to calling him a coward, and Turehk was tired of the serpent's behavior. "Do not argue with me on this, or you will be the first casualty of this battle. We have too much to do, and too few left counting on us for leadership to allow bickering to tear out our throats. You know what needs to be done. Do it."


It was less than an hour since the full fleet had arrived in the system. Up to this point, they had seemed to huddle together, hiding in the shadows like a cornered animal, hoping that the redators nearby did not notice them. All that changed, suddenly and dramatically. Thousands of whisker-class sensor drones were launched from various vessels, suddenly bathing the system in both sublight and FTL scan emissions. To most sensors, it would appear as if the system had just sprouted a second sun. The fleet now moved with purpose, keeping the bulk of the civilian ships corralled within a picket of the strongest remaining warships, while multiple task groups broke off.
The main fleet began moving at half-C towards the gas giant designated Alpha. A group of almost twenty ships broke off and moved ahead of the main fleet. Another group of four ships slipped deeper into the system, towards the inner worlds.

For the moment the ships of the Coalition fleet simply scanned everything in range with powerful, deep scan emissions. They did not hail anyone, did not attempt to communicate with those fighting near Delta. They simply moved with purpose and intent...

[Rethan]

Minus All - Praxis System
"Uh, Admiral? You might want to take a look at this."

Narton breathed heavily. The Rethast were still cut off from their allies, and for had been sitting around waiting to see a possible course of action that would not have either of their fleets blown halfway to the underworld. He stood and walked over to the alerted crewmember, hoping that this might prove to make things interesting. As heavily unfavourable as things were, Narton knew how to fight, not stand around waiting for something to happen.

"Just less than an hour ago, we picked up some slight FTL particle emissions. Estimated point of origin here." The screen flashed briefly as a small red dot bega blinking roughly two light hours away from Delta.

"We ignored it, because the emissions could have come from anything, and - excuse my bluntness - we have bigger problems. However, just now... Well, it looks like a sun just popped up."

"A sun?!"

"Not quite a sun, sir, but it's bright. Could be scanners, could be engines. Could be something we haven't thought of."

Narton nodded slightly before turning to the Comms desk.

"You, get on the line to the Huerdaen and let them know where we're going. To avoid straining tensions, we'll leave only the remaining Strykers to watch over things here. Reapers and the Minus All will investigate that emission site. If it's some bastard bringing in reinforcements, it would pay to know about it."

The huge Leviathan and the surviving Reapers broke off from the overwatch and sped away from the Otagian and Kostemestian ships, leaving the Strykers behind to make sure things didn't get anymore fucked up for the Rethast. The group that moved with the Minus All dropped their real mass rapidly, mass shadows shrinking as the ships approached half-c speeds at dizzying acceleration rates which should have torn them apart. They knew they could be off regarding the location, and as the object began moving they changed their course to intercept.

On board, Narton watched on his monitor as what little was left of the Rethast fleet split up, the gapgrowing larger by the second. Was it perhaps tactically foolish? Most definitely, but these opponents did not seem like the kind to break the ceasefire and even still, Strykers - and their crew - were expendable assets. Narton's train of thought was broken when his monitor suddenly changed, receiving an incoming text transmission.

<+BEGIN DATASTREAM DECODING...
AUTHORISATION CONFIRMED CLASS ALPHA-ULTRA-ULTRA-ZERO-ONE-ONE
BEGIN TEXTUAL TRANSMISSION+>
Admiral Narton. Authorisation has been given for Endgame weaponry usage. A reinforcement fleet has been dispatched consisting of the Labyrinthine and Interdictor Wing Wraith. All salvageable sites are to be destroyed at any cost. Elimination of enemy fleets is secondary. Rendez-vous with the Labyrinthine at following co-ordinates.
<+END TRANSMISSION+>

Narton was breathless. Command must have really wanted everything dead here if they were sending not just an entire Interdictor wing, but a Xentrifuge...

"All units, stand ground. Secure system for now."

Leaning back in his chair, Narton watched as his monitor returned to its original display and the blue blips representing the Strykers moved away from he Huerdaen, Otagian and Kostemetsian ships to rejoin Narton's Leviathan. They had a long wait ahead of them no doubt, and Narton had no intention of leaving this system until relieved.

Directed Private Stream to: I.M.S. Heartsblood
Encryption Level: Maximum
Heartsblood, this is Admiral Narton of the Rethast Leviathan Minus All. We have reinforcements inbound as fast as possible, but they are being slowed down by a Xentrifuge class. Unknown time of arrival, but they'll be here soon. Until then hang tight and let's try not to have ourselves blown up. Narton out.

[Huerdae]

I.M.S. Heartsblood, Praxis Beta Cluster

The many attempts to respond to the Huerdaen query were met with first annoyance, then frustration from the Heartsblood. The captain was veteran, like many among the Huerdaen, but to see someone so obviously not sure of his course of action, especcially to a possibly enemy ship, was disheartening. How could they have been beaten by such people? Of course, it was not them they lost to. A dark glower turned to the tactical readout, focused on the Otagian fleet, when suddenly, Jackson actually decided to -finish- what he was saying.

And that response brought a cheer from aboard the Huerdaen warship, a cheer that was cut short by the captain himself, barking angrily at his soldiers.

"Enough! We're all glad, now let's get our people out of there. Helm, take us back there, get us alongside where we can pull them out."

"Understood, sir, but we've made too many Gates. Two more and we're going to be at dangerous levels, if we gate now, we won't be able to leave the system safely."

"Are you telling me that because of a chance of catastrophic failure, we should leave our brothers and sisters to die? Bring this fatass lady around and put us alongside the fucking Brio!"

"Sir! Yes sir! Four minutes to Gate." The words were said in perfect, crisp, military fashion, but there was an anger to them. The Heartsblood had Gated more than any other ship in Praxis, and Gating so much, especially so soon, put them in danger of collapsing their own Gate when they moved through it. Yes, he wanted to save the survivors of the Ironsides, but at the possible cost of the Heartsblood?

Ignoring it, Captain Gel'Nasa settled back into his chair, and his voice once more shot out to the Kostemetsians, this time somewhat more controlled, possibly due to the anger that had entered into his voice.

"Confirmed, Jackson. And thank you. Gate drive will be spun up in five minutes, expect arrival and assistance with removal of Huerdaen crew at that time. We have been unable to contact the Ironsides' crew aboard your ship, however. They may need to be informed of the situation. "

Almost before the message was done, the Rethast message was conveyed, and Captain Gel'Nasa nodded, with much of the crew becoming grim. They had no illusions of the intentions of the Rethast or their methods, but they respected them for their prowess in battle, and the honesty which they held, and so few others did.

"Admiral Narton, this is Captain Gel'Nasa. We're in no condition to continue the conflict except in a support role, and only for a short time. We will be returning to your battle fleet within five minutes, please determine a preferred course of action. I'm a captain of a ship, but I've never led a fleet in battle, so I'll cede control of fleet operations to you and yours. Just tell me where you need me. As soon as I get the crew from the Ironsides, we'll be returning to your forces to provide what little support we can. Alternatively, we can leave this in your hands. Victor is in need of repair and refit, and would like us to return to them prior to return to our space. We carry several items of interest in our hold, and will be happy to share what we learn."

Finally, with so much done, and so much waiting ahead of him, the captain leaned back in his seat, only to sit up straight once more, switching comms quickly to the cargo bay.

"You still down there, Otagian? Enjoying the ride, my boy? I'll be letting you and your little toys off aboard the Kostemetsian warship Brio, we'll be docking with her within a few minutes. Do not resist, we have located all your devices already. I'm a little disheartened, my boy. You didn't even get out of the cargo bay. What sort of saboteur are you?"

[Otagia]

"With all due respect, sir," Orear laughed, "If I were a saboteur you wouldn't have much of a ship left right now, or have you forgotten Ironsides? You do have my compliments on your quarantine procedures, however."

With a gesture of his hand, the colonel summoned the pair of drones to orbit his body, their pitch black hulls glinting in the light. "As for these little pets of mine, keep 'em, they're light. It's been fun, let's do this again some time."

With that, his form simply disappeared, a single black drone falling from his hand to clatter, seemingly inert, on the floor. The other pair touched down quietly next to it, skin seeming to dull as they settled into lifelessness.

[Kostemetsia]

OOC: Send all complaints about the amount of offensive language in this post to my puppet /dev/null.

---

“Clarion out,” Jackson says briefly. The channel cuts. “Son of a bitch.”

“No kidding,” Tactical replies tiredly. Murmurs of assent come from around the bridge.

Jackson waves a hand in the vague direction of Communications. “Get me Kandahar.”

---

Fleet Captain Erica 'Rikki' Kandahar is not in entirely the best mood at the moment. Half of her ship has been blown off, the rest is having trouble even putting up a decent pretense of drifting powerlessly, and to top it off it's been boarded. Therefore, when she answers the Clarion's hail, it's entirely reasonable that instead of any kind of jovial greeting, she simply says, “What?”

“Brio, this is Clarion.” It's Jackson (no shit Sherlock). “Have you still got a Huerdaen problem?”

“Brio. Shit's still going down, Clarion,” Kandahar replies most unprofessionally. She fiddles with a control knob, clamping down another faulty internal powerline. A light above her blinks as reactor output is rerouted. Across the bridge, Brio Tactical is being carried away from his station after being severely burnt thanks to an electrical misfire through the metal frame of his console. Second Tactical is ascending from Brio Planning below to take his place.

“Got it, Brio,” Clarion replies. “Play them this.”

An audio clip is played across the channel. It sounds like it's being played underwater – Kandahar rather suspects the low quality is because Brio is receiving a bunch of interference over the top, which is being filtered by the fleet computer. The interference is probably all-but-all-encompassing, seeing as how the comms array has had half of its protective coating burnt off or otherwise removed by passing shots and glancing hits. Nonetheless, the resulting noise-removal effect is annoying, and a worrying reminder of the ship's mortality.

The first clip sounds like Jackson. “Rethast and Huerdaen hostiles – cease fire immediately –” To Kandahar, the clip sounds like it's been cut from a longer, possibly compromising one. Nothing too obvious, just some of the timing of the words.

The second clip sounds like a simulant of the voice of the Rethast admiral. Again, nothing too obvious, but after a while in the fleet you learn to pick up simulants, no matter how realistic. “Directed private stream to Kostemetsian command. Our fleet is regrouping and we have accepted your offer of a ceasefire –” The simulant makes sense in context: as far as Kandahar remembers, that was a text communication and not really playable over comms as such.

“Confirmed, Clarion,” she replies. “Playing it now. Brio out.” She turns to Brio Communications. “Record everything between when I say 'start' and when I say 'end'.” The young blond man in the seat nods. Kandahar says, “Start,” and immediately replays the 'ceasefire' clips at earsplitting, hilariously annoying maximum volume. She then says, with a stern authoritative tone in her voice that's taken years of practice, “Huerdaen soldiers, there is a ceasefire in effect between your command and our own. Please stand down immediately. Repeat, immediately. Kostemetsian soldiers, you are ordered to cease fire now.” She waits a tick. “End.”

“Got it, Captain,” Communications says. “Clean. One take.”

“Right,” Kandahar replies. “Play it over the tannoy, decks three and four, all sectors.”

“Got it, Captain,” Communications says again, turning to his terminal. “Playing it now.”

“Incidentally,” Kandahar says, leaning back, feeling tired, “where on my uniform does it say Captain?”

“W-well, it, it doesn't, ma'am,” Communications stammers, turning around from his terminal. “I just thought … You know … Fleet Captain, Captain … Same role, and–”

“I know,” Kandahar cuts him off, waving him down, regretting ever bringing up the subject. “Sorry, Ensign, it's been a shit day.” She jerks a thumb in the direction of the half of the ship that's not there anymore. “I'm a little stressed. I had to take it out on somebody.”

---

“Jesus fuckin' wept,” Corporal Martinez hollers in his broad Alabama accent, leaning out to loose off a burst of fire at the defenders from his amusingly small submachine gun. Matthews alternates with him, occasionally firing his own assault rifle with its baritone rumble, most of the time simply leaning out so his implants can forward film of enemy strength and armaments to Brio Planning. The pen is mightier than the sword, after all.

Of course, as Pratchett said, this is only if the pen is very sharp and the sword very short, and as Pratchett did not say, both the pen and the sword are helpless in the face of a good incendiary exponent such as the one the Huerdaen are deploying. Martinez, a self-described dumb grunt, is ironically the first one sharp enough to pick up the presence of the gun through all the smoke and other miscellaneous waste of battle. “Hey, Sarge,” he hollers, “check that shit out,” and points down the corridor towards the cannon, then ducks as another burst of fire comes past, loudly enough that it's evident why Martinez always hollers instead of speaking normally.

“Shit,” Matthew yells back by way of reply. Something squawks in his ear. He can't hear it over the gunfire, which is infuriating, so he retreats to wait for the message to repeat, which it should. It doesn't. He frets as the seconds tick on, and Martinez keeps leaning out to pick off the occasional well-chosen Huerdaen soldier, almost getting his own head shot off in the process.

Finally the message comes through. “One! This is Two! We're on the other side of the engineward blast door, the broken one. Where do you want us?”

“Where the fuck do you think we want you,” Matthews screams back over the general noise.

“Not helpful,” Two's sergeant hollers back, sounding annoyed. “Specific directions!”

“Hit the cannon! Hit the Huerdaen from behind!”

“Say again, One!”

“From behind! Hit them from behind hitthemfrombehindfuckingHITTHEMFROMBEHIND!”

“Got it!” Two replies at equal volume. “Handling it now! And you don't have to swear so fucking much!”

“FUCK YOU,” Matthews replies at the top of his voice. He's normally not a swearing man. In fact, he's the type of man who sits in the officers' bar by grace of the captain, sipping a light beer and dramatically recounting completely false war stories in his man-of-the-world Cockney tone to a group of variously interested, horrified and aroused ensigns … Nonetheless, he feels the situation warrants a healthy dose of profanity.

That aside, Two ignores his signoff. From the other end of the corridor comes a long cry: LEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOY JEEEEEEEEEEEEENKIIIIIIIIIINS. Matthews reflects that this is a strange and completely unfitting phrase to be yelling as one descends into the maelstrom, but nonetheless the ensuing screams either indicate Counterboarding Two lopping off heads and various limbs with gay abandon, or being horribly massacred themselves. Either way is equally effective at getting rid of at least one of Matthews' problems.

Then the order to surrender comes over the tannoy and Matthews suddenly has a new problem. Martinez, who heard it too, turns back to grin at him, someone else's blood splattered across half of his face. “Shit just got complicated,” he informs the room at large.

“No shit,” replies Jonny Deibank. Yeoman Deibank is the Marine squad's linguist and Navy liaison. He's here because … Matthews isn't sure why Deibank is here. The kid just turned up when the order was given to assemble at ship's starboard. Good of him.

“I don't give a shit,” Matthews yells back at Martinez. “We don't stop firing until Captains Oblivious down the hall do–! If anybody asks, we didn't hear the order!”

[Huerdae]

Assault down the corridor was deadly, and with the boarders and defenders starting to break down, the real strength of the Huerdaen showed through. As the infantry reached the barricades guarded by Three, they simply vaulted over them, using the powered armor and cybernetic enhancements to their advantage, trying to throw, smash, and otherwise brutalize the Kostemetsian defenders. The infantry carried swords that bore a dully glowing red sheath of energy around them, which they used to cut through flesh and metal alike, tearing into the Kostemetsian defenders with brutal strikes. Still, however, the hall had been littered with Huerdaen dead and a few wounded, crying out in pain. At the head of the charge, after his fellow sergeant fell, Corporal Viloyesz took his own squad to the heart of the enemy, using the sturdy assault rifle as a club in one hand and the wicked curved blade that the Huerdaen infantry favored in the other, trying to breach through the Kostemetsian defenses. Behind him, rifle butts met fists and bodies, as the unarmored crew tried to widen the gap started by the powered-armored infantry, but with only cybernetics and fists, and whatever weapons they could lift from the ground, the fighting was far, far more brutal. Close-ranged rounds blasted through bodies and ricocheted off bulkheads as the fight continued, trying to end the fire from one direction on the Huerdaen forces.

Suddenly, from near the entrance point, the dull whump-thud of the autocannon pounded it's way down the corridors, HE rounds blasting into the position held by One with the clockwork precision of the Huerdaen military. The gunner aiming the weapon stood behind it, powered armor allowing him to drag the heavy weapon from target to target in a devastating stream of rounds. The Hephaestus fired at one round a second, and with both loaders, the stream of bullets was nearly uninterrupted. However, the sudden rising of the door that had protected the Huerdaen flank brought an end to the endless stream of fire as the loaders turned to take cover, leaving the gunner's back exposed. Without an officer, or even a sergeant left standing, the soldiers clustered around the weapon, trusting in the heavy firepower of the gun to keep them from a pincer. With Two charging in from behind, the Siren's Song began anew, drowning out much of the message that was playing for their benefit, and mixed with the deep pounding of the autocannon, only when the gunner was forced to set the weapon down and reload did one of the crew hear it, turning to the gunner.

"Norzek, did you hear that? Over the comm?"

Of course, right about then the fire from One increased, and Norzek dragged the heavy autocannon back into position, returning the huge rounds toward those who dared fire upon him and what remained of the crew of the Ironsides.

"What the fuck are you talking about, Na'Bar? What do you hear, music? Because if it isn't someone screaming for mercy, I generally don't give a shit!"

"Norzek, shut the fucking weapon down!"

It was one of the sergeants of the Star Navy, a man now carrying a pair of Sirens, firing into the mess of embroiled combatants barely six feet from the gunner's back, protected by the stalwart sergeant Yo'Mai and little else. Technically the ranking officer, and arguably a man who had seen as many boarding actions as he had seen women's beds, the ugly fellow kicked the rear of the Infantryman. With the last round of the magazine empty again, Norzek reloaded, but this time, more of them heard the end of the broadcast. With the yelling of the melee, however, it was hard to make out specifics, and Norzek simply turned to join his fellows, one of which had several holes blasted in his armor, now fighting from his knees. "Get them the fuck out of here! Yo'Mai, make sure they don't come at us from the front!"

With the shift in the lines, there remained no Infantry facing One, and the twelve crewmen huddled around the makeshift cover ceased their fire. However, comms and the air were still filled with yells, screams, and every manner of noise polution known to man other than the high whine of the siren. Already, however, the Siren had dragged blood and organs from enough Kostemetsian bodies to paint the halls surrounding the Huerdaen position red. The weapon dragged blood and gore out the exit wound from the weapon, making even the strongest man into little more than a hollow shell as his weak, vulnerable organs were pulled through the wound by the vacuum created by the speed of the round. Often, the exit was small enough that the act of leaving the body shattered the organs, making the entire sector of the ship drip with Kostemetsian blood...as well as some Huerdaen, after a few of the surprisingly powerful weapons had been captured by the defenders.

However, it was the autocannon that likely inspired the most fear in the defenders, with the 60mm shells exploding upon hitting the walls, and blasting the entire area in shrapnel and concussions, knocking gashes in the bulkheads as if they were nothing more than paper, and shredding flesh from bone with the blasts from the round. One of the last rounds hit a power conduit further down the hall, and the entire area was suddenly bathed in darkness, making any who weren't prepared for it suddenly blind, and forcing those stuck in melee to wrestle blindly with whoever they could find as eyes adjusted and cybernetics strained to compensate for the lack of lighting to help distinguish the surprisingly small Huerdaen from the larger Kostemetsians.

Slowly, the Huerdaen facing One lifted their weapons, and Yo'Mai called down the hall, trying to be heard over the gunfire and the melee that still continued behind them as the ceasefire was starting to take effect with the same chaos of all war.

"Hey, get your fucking weapons up, you damn assholes! Anyone in command over in the middle of that mess of cuntbag whorelickers?"

[Morningstar Coalition]

****************************************************************************************************
Praxis System - Near Alpha Jovian - Coalition Fleet
****************************************************************************************************

High Admiral Turehk had taken to the bridge of the flagship of the fleet, the Battleship Undying Hope, eyes sifting the data in the main holotank for answers for his people. Already sensor returns had confirmed Huerdaen and Rethast vessels, but that was already known. While the national identity was still unknown, scans had identified the Babylonian ships as being familliar designs from their days as part of TRIAD, and in fact some of these very hulls had once been constructed here at Praxis.
The other two combatants were totally unknown to the Coalition, and that was enough of concern, however the gravitic signatures of the Otagian ships evoked a mixture of apprehension and something akin to greed among many of the Coalition officers. Gravitics technology of any form was something the Coalition would pay dearly to aquire once again, so these unknowns were tentatively tasked as a people to be contacted at first opportunity.

Turehk had expected someone out there to come investigate the large emissions signatures of the fleet, and he was not disappointed on that score; however what did give him pause and concern was that so far the only faction out there to turn towards them, were the Rethast. "Priority alert! All vessels to alert condition Cee-Two! Escorts to defensive positions to cover the industrials. Monad, open communications using the protocols recorded from our previous contacts with the Rethast. No, belay that. I want this on an open transmission, all known protocols, with a sub-channel for the Rethast using their language codec." Turehk wanted the others here in the system to hear this as well, so the message would be transmitted using all forms of electromagnetic, tachyon, and short-range FTL communications known to the Coalition. Odds were that at least one of these would be received by everyone in range. Even as klaxons went off around him, the Tejhiik commander kept his eyes on the holotank, glancing aside only when Monad's avatar gestured that communications were ready.

"This is High Admiral Turehk of the Morninstar Coalition Defense Fleet to approaching Rethast vessels. Cease your approach immediately or we will be forced to classify you as hostiles. This system was once the territory of TRIAD Enterprises, and we her descendants now return to claim our inheritance. We do not know the nature or terms of your conflict here, however we are willing to open negotiations to reach a mutually beneficial arrangement. All we ask is that you honor our right to make use of the shipyard facilities, and to harvest resources from the worlds in this system. We have no wish to come to conflict over this claim, however we have no other options at this time and we will defend this claim if provoked. Please identify yourselves and state your intentions. Turehk out."

The primary grouping of the fleet had slowed to a stop at the Rethast approach, the formation shifting to place the bulk of the warships between the incoming ships and the "Industrials", the civilian ships. Sensors would register power levels climbing across the warship compliment, and soon TRIAD-based combat barriers flickered to life across hulls. The fleet readied for battle, should it be necessary...

The advance group which was heading to Alpha accelerated, also coming to combat readiness among her escorts. The bulk of this group though set up in orbit around the jovian, soon launching a number of smaller craft which angled down to dip into the atmosphere of Alpha.
Meanwhile, the four ships sent to the inner worlds continued on course, headed for Praxis VI, Praxis I, Praxis V, and Praxis III. Each ship appeared to be one of the smaller, frigate-type, vessels that the Coalition possessed.