When Presented An Opportunity (CLOSED)

[NanoTech Syndicated]

The Biesel Solarium, 52nd Lustrum



It was supposed to be the gateway to a new age of prosperity. Infinite energy delivered at rates that put fusion to shame. An open mouth to a realm of endless matter. The currents would have fed NanoTech like servants feeding grapes to an emperor. Even the most conservative of estimates would have turned the company into a galactic superpower over the course of a week.

Those on board the project knew the idiom about too-good truths. They were not stupid, those men and women. It took years to work around current models, poking holes in the theory, looking for cracks. Only when there was utmost confidence that the end goal could be achieved without disaster did they move forward, under the careful watch of a thousand administrators with the full backing of the company resting on their shoulders. There was nothing else they could have done, not even a slight possibility that they could have uncovered the unseen variables that inevitably brought their... deaths? Disappearances? It's hard to say.

Maybe some day we'll know what happened to them.


The Tanabiku Galaxy

The Biesel System yawned wide as the sun itself rotated madly, its surface stretching and casting stellar ejecta every which way. Sunheat blasted the Biesel Solarium, trapped in the maddened star's pulsating gravity. From the prototype dark matter collectors, an invisible haze like liquid light permeated into realspace. It streaked across the system, lashing out, tearing at whatever it could reach, pulling planets and pushing the star. If only the telescopes hadn't burned off, the Solarium might have been able to share the haze's power with Central Command. If only.

On the cosmic scale, it really wasn't all that important. In thirty thousand years, another light somewhere in the night sky of an alien world would wink out, just like thousands of others. The haze collapsed in on itself, dragging the Biesel star and the Solarium into its maw. It pulled too quickly on a number of planets, obliterating them with light-speed accelerations that left catastrophic antimatter reactions in the wake of the disaster. Like that, Biesel was gone. The outer debris cloud scattered to the solar winds, cast once more into deep space. An entire star system faded out of the Paradise Cluster. No one believed it, not even when rescue vessels drilling into the edge of the bluespace anomaly reported nothing on sensors.

While Central Command struggled to cope with their loss, the anomaly toiled with energy. It gave no signals in realspace. A ship could fly, unperturbed, through where the Biesel star once shined. To the un-attuned minds of NanoTech Syndicated, they believed their feelings of dread and loss to be natural responses to such a catastrophic event. It was not unusual to grieve, but this was amplified by something else. The anomaly pulsed with psionic energy, calling faintly to the psychics across the galaxy. Though it gave nothing to triangulate its location, those who wished to seek it would simply know where to go. Its strength ebbed every moment: those who wished to investigate would have to do so swiftly, before the anomaly died out completely.

[United American Colonies]

The Trucker

In the vastness of the cosmos nothing isn't really heard besides well UAC Truckers communicating 24/7 across the trade routes. One of these many truckers is currently on route from Atmoran Port to Illrian with Anti-Psychic metals for a UAC researcher currently working near the Illrian state. He looked to his cargo camera monitor which rested near his dashboard. He would casually look down at the monitor and see the metal seeming to light up to what he suspected was some kind of magic wave or something that may have occurred. The Trucker as any responsible UAC citizen would suspect Atmoran fuckery and decided to attempt to follow the signal grabbing one of the many ingots from his cargo bay. The Trucker used the ingot as a makeshift compass with him pointing the ingot and seeing where it was most bright. Soon the Truck would begin to shift towards its new location The Trucker still had time to investigate and bring down the cargo. The Truck would begin to sling itself across the cosmos, The Trucker following his odd compass to wherever the magic/psychic business occurred would ponder why the Atmorans would do such a thing so far out while the Truck continued its journey.

[NanoTech Syndicated]

It made sense, at first, that the trucker would overshoot his target completely. Leaping in and out of subluminal speeds hardly gave his cargo-made compass time to adjust, constantly demanding that the single-crew ship turn back and try again. Again and again, the "truck" missed its mark by dozens of light years. Radio waves from a bubble yet unknown to the trucker evaded him, too weak to register on the dedicated hauler's sensors. Eventually, skipping in and out of realspace brought him to his destination: the Biesel star system. As the anti-psychic metals plunged their way into the heart of the anomaly, whatever remained of the ebbing signal coiled back like an injured serpent. Each beating emanation surged, and for a moment, the trucker's precious cargo shined like white-hot plasma.

Then it dulled, falling to its usual luminosity. The anomaly, if not outright destroyed, was at the very least prevented from spreading its waves. Whatever dark mysteries that Biesel withheld were gone, unavailable to psions and anyone else hapless enough to plunge into the heart of something they could not understand. None would ever solve the mystery of the Solarium, now or ever. Not that the trucker knew the gravity of his actions anyway. Sensors reported a mystery of an entirely different kind.

Weak as they were before, the radio bubble now utterly enveloped the craft. Waves buffeted passive sensors from several directions, but... the charts marked this sector as uninhabited. No species had ever entered the galactic stage from this zone. The closest contender would be Illrian, some untold light years away, yet here were radio transmissions kept in neat little packages. To discern their contents would be near-impossible without computers that matched the myriad coding languages and numeral systems used to form them; possible for an exploration vessel, maybe, but to build a cargo freighter to such specifications was beyond the scope of most civilizations.

What the trucker did not know was that there were several other vessels already in the system. They pored over Biesel's debris cloud, searching for any sort of entrance into the inner star system. Too far away -- light months and even years separated them -- neither group had sensor information on the other, though the trucker who had so heartily plunged himself into Biesel was met with an astonishing sight. Right there, in front of his very eyes, the Biesel sun's last fledgling rays of light dissipated. It winked out of existence not with a calm cooling or a sudden explosion, but rather with a meek disappearance. As light lagged to follow the events, he saw first-hand the liquid haze that swallowed this sector whole, then recoiled with speeds impossible to track with the human eye.

The malevolent, magnificent horror that had befallen this place danced around the limits of his uncomprehending mind.

[United American Colonies]

The Trucker

The Trucker was rather confused by the current goings on of whatever just happened but decided to see if anything was around and sends out in binary a hello across the ruins of the system. He would keep his truck there for the time being contemplating if he just got magic AIDs meanwhile going to check his stock of metals as to ensure after a massive blast of light came out of the cargo bay one didn't explode or anything of the like. The Trucker was much more concerned with his stock rather than any cosmic horror which may have caused this and so any chills quickly subsided as the Trucker worked with the songs of the UAC blaring throughout the ship.

[NanoTech Syndicated]

And so the trucker spread his message. The freighter's sensors continued their meaningless struggle to understand the myriad anomalies spawned by whatever cataclysm wreaked havoc on Biesel's worlds. Meanwhile, the trucker's message was met with silence.

Time passed. More silence.

Yet more silence.

It was probably because it would be an odd year or two before the signal actually reached the last vestiges of the star system -- that is, the debris cloud that clung stubbornly to the void's unraveling gravity. Then a few more years for the signal to reach the next star over, and maybe a decade or two before it spread across the whole sector, but by then it'd be so weak that there wasn't an antenna this side of the galaxy that could pick it up.

Hm.

Maybe he could perfect a hobby in the meantime. Knitting has always been a favorite of those with time to kill. Of course, a party-goer might take this chance to master zero-G beer pong, or try to make some new moonshine recipes out of the fuel container. But a trucker with more class, well, they might want to spend the time exercising to keep their body strong in the low-grav environment-..

It wasn't but a few hours before sensors registered an object some few hundred thousand kilometers away, appearing as if from thin air with a burst like lightning. With the freighter's sensors working away, it didn't take long for a plethora of information to filter through to the trucker. LIDAR mapped out its curious frame, registering a vessel no larger than a typical UAC shuttlecraft. No more than perhaps one or two decks tall, its unusually flat hull stretched out to twenty meters, give or take. But infrared told a different story: searing space with heat, its nine engines burned with the signature of a warship. Gravitics confirmed that this vessel was not the pushover that its structure would suggest, bearing enough mass to suggest heavy armor and densely packed fuel.

Its sensors picked up the trucker just a second sooner. Moments passed where it did... well, nothing. Then the unknown craft kicked it into high gear, hurling forward at an acceleration that would have knocked any human out cold. Its sudden action was made no less startling by the boggling fact that it did not put out any visible exhaust.

In spite of the bizarre nature of recent events, the trucker most certainly had the presence of mind to react before any further action on the part of the unknown vessel.

[United American Colonies]

The Trucker

"What the hell?" The Truck quickly began to move towards the command console for the cargo bay quickly gating up the goods as armored panels slammed down into the racks of anti-psychic medals as he decided not to grab his M-63 as well he did not feel like getting shot the moment the airlock would be open. The large 60mm Rotary gun placed on the top of the Truck began to whir as to ensure his own safety as if it fires anything he can engage quickly. The Trucker would also grab a small envelope as per first contact protocols.

[NanoTech Syndicated]

Lead Pilot Amydale Nott rechecked the sensors herself, standing out of her chair even as the navigation systems tugged the vessel into action. The other two pilots weren't lying: there really was a ship of unknown design. Her mechanical eyes squinted at the feed, triggering a zoom-in feature. That's when she saw it. Light glinted off the metallic barrels of the freighter's gun. The bridge blurred with action, eliciting a mixture of uncomfortable responses from the Defensive Readiness Force troops sitting in the corridor outside.

The NDV Atomic Hopskotch, a Skipjack-class skirmisher vessel, was one of the many ships designed to facilitate a rapid and relatively inexpensive response to threats all across NanoTech Syndicated's precious Paradise Cluster. Could it do solo combat with a cruiser? Well, no, but it could interdict wildcatters and providing emergency services to others. This kind of scenario -- a Skipjack intercepted what more or less classified as a civilian vessel with sparse low-tech weaponry -- was just what its creators had in mind.

All twenty four gun pods scattered around the skirmisher's hull pulled open to reveal a flurry of dual-barrel 20mm turrets. Cheap and compact, they trailed the freighter with unnerving precision, though the great distance between it and the skirmisher still left room for error if they engaged. Though each turret was doubtlessly weak on its own, at least half could lock on target at any point. It didn't help to think that they might be loaded with grenades rather than proper rounds; explosives in space weren't particularly useful, but if they were loaded with something meaner like a shaped plasma charge, engaging could turn out real nasty real quick.

It helped some that the freighter hadn't decided to move. The presence of weapons on both sides made damned sure that tensions were high, and LP Nott sure as hell didn't need any more excitement in her life. Without a chase, the skirmisher attempted to close in while remaining below the freighter (and well out of the gun's firing arc).

[United American Colonies]

The Trucker

The Trucker realizing they had many many more guns quickly went to his communicator and begin to move the ship further downward tilting the Truck as to face the ship constantly. The Trucker would then begin to send a radio message to the Gunshuttle. "This is the UAC Derringer Freight Company Vessel "Diana" please immediately state your national or corporate identity before continuing forward." The Trucker begin to move his ship slowly around the vessels gun still revved unsure if they could even speak English. During this he was quite panicked due to the fact of Illrian defenses being a rather large distance away though would remain stoic as the ordeal continued.

[NanoTech Syndicated]

Without the equipment necessary to read the transmission, the best the NDV Atomic Hopskotch could do was try and record the signal so analysts could sift through it later. Noting the vessel constantly maneuvering to keep its gun on target, LP Nott aborted the approach. Turrets and sensors receded into their pods while the skirmisher broke off, cutting acceleration to the engines. It drifted in a more or less straight line almost a full light second off the trucker's port bow, perhaps trying some sort of stealth tactic or displaying peacefulness.

Although the skirmisher wouldn't be engaging any time soon, jets of terribly hot and partially radioactive particles streamed into space, dissipating quickly as they cooled. This encounter was becoming very bizarre..

[United American Colonies]

The Trucker

The Trucker continued to rotate his truck along with its gun though began to slowly close in. Once getting closer the Trucks large gun began to stop as it continued towards what it assumes would be an airlock of some kind. The Trucker during this closing in would begin to don an NBC suit as to not spread any UAC-Galactic illnesses. The Trucker would before placing on the helmet take a shot of whiskey to try and steady his nerves further as the two mysterious ships were closing in.

[NanoTech Syndicated]

Having remained at his station, the trucker witnessed something ominous. All at once, a maw of dark matter and energy erupted around the hull of the venting skirmisher, swallowing it whole before vanishing in an instant. The sudden anomaly brought on a swirl of miniature lightning spasms, sparking chaotically between trace particles. They never came close to the freighter.

This must have been some sort of FTL device. Outright teleportation? Dimensional transference? Hard to say. Maybe the radioactive particles were some sort of shielding device, or perhaps emergency coolant meant to handle the immense heat from operating a drive of such power. Either way, the trucker was suddenly alone; just him, his whiskey, and a whole lot of empty space.

[United American Colonies]

The Trucker


The Trucker would decide to guessing which end of the ship was the front FTL to where he assumed it had traveled having ANTI-FTL measures activated as to not ram into a sun or something similar and continued his investigation. During this travel time he would contact the deep space UAC station near Illiria Horoscope Blue and tell them about the current events. Those on board would observe at this point with Dropshuttles being loaded onto FTL rigs as to provide Marine security as to ensure the Truckers safety.

[NanoTech Syndicated]

Performing an analysis comparing the direction of the Skipjack's apparent travel to the nearest objects in the system took time, as did engaging the freighter's various systems designed for faster-than-light travel. With UAC estimates placing the next jump at half an hour, the void seemed peaceful for now. At minute twenty three, the trucker's sensors lit up with another report. There was another signature--

Two, three..

A total of six vessels dropped out of bluespace, casting a crackling and disorderly series of bursts into reality! They were practically on top of the cargo ship, brazenly taking up formation just twenty thousand kilometers away. NanoTech spared the truck's interception no expense: leading the squadron was the NDV Maximum Sentence, an Almayer-class Patrol Cruiser that sported a hull two hundred and fifty meters long. Laser banks the size of a double decker bus extended from its port and starboard quarters. Towards the bow of the ship, both sides held four broadsiding cannons each, their protective gun ports opening to reveal their vacuum-exposed muzzles. Then to the front, two massive blast doors remained sealed, holding who knows what behind them. The ship's armor extended almost like a protective umbrella, with extremely thick protection on the top and sides. Perhaps to make way for the hangar (which was now opening), the bottom sections had been left with "only" a meter of hull and plating.

Concealed behind the vantablack figure of the Maximum Sentence, a frigate of considerably less size meekly planted the large cruiser between itself and the freighter. Though sensors couldn't get a good readout, what little they could see marked what more or less came out as a civilian vessel. No bristling weapons or anomalously massive armor here; it was just a Clarion-class frigate, with plenty of equipment strapped to its external hull as further sign that it wasn't meant to get into combat zones.

Evidently, these were the last of the available large vessels. What followed were four Manticore-class Skirmishers, though these were no laughing matter. Though only slightly larger than a Skipjack, they were built purely around combat and wasted no space on passengers.That, combined with more expensive manufacturing methods and materials, made for a nasty little craft. Evidently built around the idea of dodging shots rather than taking them, the Manticore's armor seemed mostly focused around the engine blocks, with negligible protection elsewhere. Though their mass made for a much smaller gravitic signature, their heat readings were rapidly climbing up to levels only seen in much larger ships.

If the trucker was planning on aborting his calculations and making an emergency jump to get the hell out of dodge, now was the time. The Manticores were busy venting super-cooled gases, and the larger Almayer's hangar doors were still pulling themselves open.

[United American Colonies]

The Trucker

The Trucker would quickly slam down on the FTL button careening out from the encircling ships the Trucker practically shitting his pants in fear. Soon after this the trucker would be docking at Horoscope Blue as to tell his story and have the UACN begin a search for the ships and give them a proper UAC welcome. Though this would not be for a while as the Trucker is still currently in FTL back to the station near Illria.

The Captain

Captain Arytus looked upon the preparing Dropshuttles and began to prepare his own frigate for FTL out of Horoscope Blue to the Dianas last position. He would look across to his Navigator and nod for sync of the FTL rings and the Frigate to commence. 10..9..8..7..6..5..4..3..2..1.. ticker the counter to 0 and the moment it did the small flotilla began its journey.