Rocks in Space [Maint][Semi-closed][FT]

[The Peninsular]

Pallin Union, Embassy of the Constitutional Federation of the Peninsular

Ensign Max Lamber sat at the table in the lobby of the Peninsularian embassy, drinking a cup of Breu. It was near noon in the city already, but Lamber was one of the people who drank the strong caffeine-filled drink at any time of day. "Ensign!", the voice of his commanding officer, Colonel Trippler, interrupted him. He turned around to stand up and salute. "Yes, Sir?" "The ceremony begins in 20 minutes. I'd recommend you go get your dress uniform." "Yes, Sir!" Lamber was still in his on-duty khaki fatigues, the uniform members of the Peninsularian ground forces wore most of the time. He finished his cup, standing up and walking down the corridor to his quarters.

The embassy was comparatively large. While he was a member of the Ground Forces, he was here as a military attaché, and thus had a room of his own. As he walked along, he dialed a number on his wrist computer. It was picked up effectively immediately.

"Hi!", a feminine voice chimed from the other end. The sounds of a busy street were audible in the background. "Hey Amy!", Lamber answered. "Just wanted to tell you quickly, the ceremony begins in about 20 minutes. The company should be starting to march over here by now." "Oh, I know.", AMI answered from the other end. "I can see them from here." In the background, the distinct sounds of Peninsularian marching music and steel tipped boots were audible. "Okay, good. After the ceremony, let's meet somewhere... you know that bar across the street?" "Okay, I'll meet you there. See you!" "Yeah, see you too!"

Lamber quickly made his way into his room. The change into his dress uniform was quick, though he made sure it was extra clean. The occasion was special, as the changing of the guard company of the embassy was about to take place. The annual ceremony happened both at the Federal embassy in Arcadia City as well as the Pallin consulate on Liaso, signifying the friendship and alliance between the two nations.

After putting on the uniform, Lamber quickly made his way back again. Coming through the lobby, he could already see the old guard platoon lined up in the square in front of the embassy. A number of small barriers had been put up, as the ceremony had drawn quite the crowd. As he went outside, Lamber could already hear the marching music and steps coming closer, and quickly joined the embassy diplomats, other officers and the few other ensigns on a platform that had been built up. He spent the next few minutes looking through the crowd, and soon spotted AMI among it, as she stood out among the crowd with her distinctive fur color.

Lamber and all other soldiers present snapped to attention as the new guard company with the leading military band marched around the corner. All the soldiers were dressed in their dress uniforms, with backpacks containing some of their equipment, though most of it had been shipped days prior already. The company formed up on the square and also stood at attention, facing the old guard company. The band continued to play the march, ending after about a minute. At this point, the speakers - Chief Diplomat Kresse and Colonel Trippler - stepped forward to hold a small speech each. The speeches addressed the relationship between the CFP and NEGL in general, the Pallin Union in particular, for the most part, and the guard platoon as well.

Afterwards, the band started playing again. Both platoon now began to march towards each other, meeting in about the middle of the square. There was a loud bang as the soldiers saluted each other, part of which was slamming their heels together, which were shoed with steel. The commanders exchanged insignia, and then the units began to move again. Maneuvering around each other, the two platoons switched sides. After a while, the band stopped playing again.

Colonel Trippler stepped forward again. Lamber was somewhere else with his thoughts, as this section usually adressed any promotions or awards for the guard soldiers or the other soldiers at the embassy. He himself was still an Ensign, and though it was a large step up from his original position as Infantrist, regulations would likely have him stay ensign for at least another year. The first two people called forward were two other ensigns, receiving their promotions. An Infantrist was called forth, who had broken up a particularly brutal drunken brawl a few months prior while on leave.

"Ensign Maximillian Lamber, please step forth.", Lamber heard Trippler announce. He immediately snapped out of his prior daydreaming, stepping forth almost automatically. What had he done? He couldn't remember doing anything extraordinary. He was still puzzled until Trippler affixed a small silver square to his right upper arm. "Congratulations for your promotion, Leftenant." Lamber was confused. He hadn't known anything about a promotion. "Thank you, Sir!", he instinctively replied, saluting. Stepping back into line, he waited for Trippler to finish up the ceremony.

After a few minutes, the band started playing again. The ceremony was coming to a close. This time, the band played the Federal anthem, "We shall persevere". Afterwards, Lamber and the soldiers and officers snapped into a salute as the old guards executed a number of drills, and faced to march the route the new Guard platoon took, followed by the band, now playing Peninsularian marching music again, to the spaceport where their transport was docked.

After a few minutes and another speech by Chief Diplomat Kresse, the crowd began to disperse. Trippler turned around to the officers and soldiers on the platform. "The ceremony is hereby closed. Sergeant Fielt, Leftenant Dennis, come with me, we will show the new unit to their quarters. Everyone else, event in the mess hall tonight as last year. Be there. Dismissed."

As the soldiers and officers descended from the platform, Lamber caught up Trippler again. "May I ask a question, Sir?" "The promotion, Leftenant? Regulations would've meant you'd have stayed an ensign for another year, but due to your position as military attaché, higher-ups thought a promotion to an officer rank was due." Lamber nodded slowly. "I see. That wasn't my question, though, Sir." "And what would your question be, Lieutenant?" "May I bring a... friend tonight?" Trippler raised an eyebrow. "She is a Captain in the Union Navy, currently on leave.", Lamber added. "First time we see each other in months, Sir." The Colonel chuckled slightly. "Alright, Leftenant. But make sure to be on time for the meeting tomorrow." Lamber's face visibly lit up. "Sir, thank you, Sir!"

[The Peninsular]

Somewhere in the corewards Alpha quadrant...

"Kontake brennen weiter mit vierzig Gravos, konstant.", the sensor officer on board the cruiser Remberg II reported. Commodore Kalin rolled his eyes and stared at the main course plot with a more than annoyed expression.

'Wer auch immer die Idee hatte, uns und nicht die Aufklärer auf so eine verdammte Jagd zu schicken, gehört gefeuert.', he angrily thought while the pirate vessels were easily matching the acceleration with which his unit was pursuing them. 'An diesem Punkt veräppeln die uns ja nur noch. Und wenn sie dann endlich drauftreten und wir ihren Staub essen, lachen sie sich ins Fäustchen.'

Indeed, the pirates in question - part of some Betan or Gamman collective, as far as fleet intelligence had been able to discern - were having their merry way. While completely unable to stand up to the naval unit in a fight, they were much faster than the Federals, and were having quite some fun watching the slow destroyers and cruisers do their utmost to catch up. Over the past hours, they had accelerated out of combat range, then slowed down to fall just within effective range of the squadron, and then immediately accelerated away again... rinse and repeat.

"Wie lange bis wir wieder für einen Schub klar sind?", Kalin asked his first officer. "Chefingnieur meldet, noch fünfzehn Minuten, mehr oder weniger.", she replied. "Wobei ich ehrlich gesagt nicht mehr den Sinn dahinter sehe. Selbst wenn wir sechzig Gravos für ne Stunde hinlegen können, dann gehen die halt auf achtzig oder neunzig. An diesem Punkt können wir uns das echt sparen."

Kalin sighed frustratedly. "Da haben Sie wohl leider recht, Kapitän. Na schön, wir verfolgen sie noch so lange, bis sie an der dritten Umlaufbahn sind, dann brechen wir ab. Kann sich das Divisionskommando so viel beschweren wie sie wollen, dieser Mist ist ja nur Treibstoffverschwendung."

A minute of quiet followed, sporadically broken by some crewmembers slurping from their drink containers. Suddenly, though, a quadrant on the main plot flashed, then two, then three. The sensors officer immediately threw away the sandwich he was busy eating (which, thanks to the Federal Navy's well-developed edible glue, did not fall apart).

"Neue Kontakte - sechs, achteraus dreihundert-sechs Punkt vier sieben. Rechts zwanzig Punkt zwei, unten achtzehn Punkt dreiunddreißig. Peilsenderidentifikation ist - verbündet. Semondes ATCRS, Armeegeschwader Fünf-Acht-Eins.", he reported quickly and loudly while the plot was updating.

"Kommodor, sie schicken uns eine Komm-Anfrage.", the communications officer added calmly. Kalin nodded and gestured for a channel to be opened. Almost immediately, the face of the Semondois commander - a middle-aged Savoen, by the looks - became visible on one of the other viewscreens.

"Vous avez besoin d'un peu d'assistance, mes amis?", the officer asked, grinning. "On dirait qu'ils se moquent bien de vous, ces pirates, monsieur Commodore!" He laughed.

Kalin sighed again. "Mit allerhöchster Wahrscheinlichkeit.", he admitted. "Ich bin mal so frei und nehme an, Sie haben vor, daran was zu ändern, anstatt sich nur einen abzulachen?"

The Semondois officer nodded enthusiatically. "Ah bien sûr, Commodore! Laissez-les nous, ils cessont de rire bien assez tôt. Terminé." With that, the connection ceased, and moments later, the Semondois vessels lit up their drives, accelerating hard.

"Verbündete Einheiten beschleunigen. Hundert- nein, hundert-zwo Gravos. Da ist ein Fougueux-Klasse Zerstörer dabei, der übernimmt wohl die Führung.", the senor officer reported. Kalin rubbed his chin. Yes, the pirates would indeed stop laughing soon enough.

"Contacts still burning at 40 gee, constant."

'Whoever had the idea to send us and not the scouts on a goddamn hunt like this, deserves to be sacked.'
'At this point, they're just messing with us. And once they step on it and we eat their dust, they're going to be laughing up their sleeves.'

"How long until we're clear for another boost?"
"Chief Engineer reports, fifteen minutes, give or take. Though I really don't see the point anymore. Even if we can put out sixty gees for an hour, they'll just go to eighty or ninety. At this point we can really just save ourselves the hassle."

"Unfortunately, I believe you're right, Captain. Oh well, we'll chase them until they've reached the third orbit, then we abort. Division command can complain as much as they want, this crap is nothing but a waste of fuel."

"New contacts - six, astern 306 decimal 47. Right 20 decimal 2, down 18 decimal 33. Transponder identification is - friendly. Semondes ATCRS, Army squadron 5-8-1."

"Commodore, they're sending us a comm request."

"You need a little help, my friends? Looks like they're making a lotta fun of you, these pirates, mister Commodore!"

"Most probably. I'll go out on a limb here and assume you intend to do something about that and not to just sit here laughing?"

"Oh of course, Commodore! Leave them to us, they'll stop laughing soon enough. Over and out."

"Allied units accelerating. 100- no, 102 gees. There's a Fougueux-class destroyer there, it'll probably take the lead."

[The Peninsular]

Rear Admiral Herfort scratched her chin and eyed the data displayed on her desk with folded arms. The reams of numbers had an important meaning, after all, and one that pleased neither her nor anyone who belonged to the numerically largest doctrinal faction within the Federal Naval Defense Forces.

For years, the theory that properly coordinated point defense nets and arrays could stop any missile attack by an opponent equal in tonnage had been considered the reality, and with good reason. The FMVK, in terms of point defense in general and point defense against missiles in particular, were very capable after all; sometimes people had even gotten carried away bragging about the absurdly high efficiency ratios.

But this view had recently been dealt a severe blow, during the space combat phase of the so-called "Shieldwall" operation. A single missile cruiser of unknown design, belonging to the Adistia Hegemony, had actually managed to inflict a highly dangerous blow on an entire squadron and put an entire fleet unit in severe distress.

While the Federals and their allies had ultimately prevailed, and the squadron had held out far longer than an equivalent allied one would have (and survived the engagement as well), from the point of view of many naval officers, the mere fact of such a threat was cause for concern. So the decision had been made to refrain from building new Hornet-class ships, and instead to come up with a design to solve this problem.

This, of course, had not been done without opposition. Unlike the Federal Ground Forces, where, due to their decentralized structure, there was constant, lively discourse about new developments and where even junior officers could push projects through, there was much more conservative thinking in the Naval Forces. After all, why not? Unlike the FBVK, which had had to admit to some embarrassing mistakes and weaknesses after "Shieldwall", they had done well in space with tried-and-true methods.

But still, Herfort couldn't help but admit in her mind that junior and non-commissioned officers of the caliber of the ground forces would really be of use now. Not everyone in the navy who held a rank lower than principal lieutenant was willing to speak his mind openly and directly to high-ranking officers - among the 'mudskippers' such behavior was the rule, especially as far as doctrine and equipment were concerned. This was also how the FBVK at the time had pushed through the introduction of personal drones and vehicle modernizations, which (despite criticism due to the projects they had supplanted) had proven to be highly valuable.

So now they were looking for ideas for a new class of ship, and as was often the case, different people were imagining different things, all of which might be suitable as a solution. Already, proposals for larger versions of the Shield-class close-in defense cruisers, unmanned corvettes to be used as cannon fodder, and the idea of a support unit designed solely for electronic warfare had passed over Herfort's desk.

The Rear Admiral considered all three of these approaches interesting, but not really practically useful. Ships designed solely to shoot down or confuse missiles, while approaching a Projector-class frigate in size, seemed to her and her colleagues on the technical committee to be grossly overspecialized, especially since they almost completely lacked offensive capabilities. Overall, the proposals weren't particularly creative either, which only reinforced her secret desire for a few ground force officers versed in naval matters.

A soft pinging sound caused Herfort to awaken from her thoughts and disengage from the statistics on her screen. The sound signaled the arrival of another e-communication. 'Probably someone again who thinks they've designed the most innovative ship since RaKaP III and then presents me with an oversized Anker cruiser,' she thought sarcastically, navigating to the e-comm application used by the Federal Military.

The message was titled with the default subject for ship designs, and included the standard formatted attachments in the form of blueprints, engineering estimates and three-dimensional renderings. They were all titled with the design name, ship type, and the preliminary name of the ship - the latter was "Parlament", which seemed relatively unimpressive to Herfort, but still had a good ring to it, especially since Parliament was highly appreciated in the Federation.

What puzzled the Rear Admiral, however, was the ship type: the design was identified as a 'hybrid indirect combat and support cruiser'. This was interesting to the officer in that neither point defense nor electronic warfare were mentioned (which pretty much every single design received so far had done), and the ship had been described as 'hybrid' - an adjective that was usually only used internally in the FMVK for ships with multi-role capability.

With a few clicks, she transferred the relevant files to her local system and pushed the e-comm message to another of the five screens on the desk. First she wanted to take a look at the ship, then see what the person submitting it had in mind. She was just flipping open the three-dimensional display in an application system designed for that purpose when her eyes caught the list of offensive ship equipment. Her brow just furrowed, and immediately the system finished importing the visual representation and popped it up.

"What by all the stars is that?!"

[The Peninsular]

Unindexed planetoid
Away team, NCRCî "Le Viseur Malchanceux" & FZS "Taureif"

'Hmmm, hm, hm, hmmmmm, hmm hmm hmm hmm hmm hmmmmm', the incessant sound of a song being hummed unmelodically kept on coming out of the loudspeakers in Karlaus' old helmet, making the middle-aged prospector roll his eyes and let out a long sigh. The notes, or at least, what notes were recognizable, belonged to a popular Cîmois song, one which he had had to listen to far too often already on this mission for his tastes. Without lowering the bulky, decades-old electrobinoculars, he lidclicked the volume of his own voice up a few notches and coughed noticeably into the microphone.

The humming was interrupted for a few seconds, and the figure standing a few meters to his right, similarly looking through binocs, turned around to him. "Not even a little bit?", they asked, to which Kalaus simply replied with an affirmative grunt. "Keep watching. We're looking for a long cylindrical object-"

Kalaus couldn't see what his partner was doing inside their helmet, and he wasn't too familiar with Savoen facial expressions anyway, but it was probably something insulting. "I know full well what by the stars we're looking for, but I'd rather not die of boredom either. How long we've been standing here? Two hours?" "Three."

The Savoen - Kalaus didn't actually know their name - made a gesture in the air, or lack thereof, and then at the wreck sitting about a kilometer away, which they were overlooking from a steep cliff. "Three hours! And I thought being an explorer was gonna be more exciting than that bulkhead staring club de mèrde back home.", they cursed. "No movement, no nothing, thirty year old equipment and a grumpy Penguin. Great. And there aren't even pests around I could take some potshots at."

The Peninsularian decided not to pay the comment too much mind. The crew of the Viseur were a restless bunch, perhaps explained by the name of their ship. None of the Taureif's crew were superstitous, far from it, but they could've all sworn the name of the ship was just asking for trouble. Nevertheless, the expedition had been going well enough so far. Looking through his binocs again, Kalaus considered the potential additional salvage in the wreck ahead.

The crash site was old, decades, perhaps centuries, though even then the fact that somebody had actually managed to crash on a planetoid still impressed the prospector. On the other hand, it did not matter why the wreck was there - it was valuable, perhaps enough to make the entire trip worth it: This region of space was neither known for adhering to the normal rules of reality nor particularly safe at all, so the expedition had been frought with false alarms by nervous sensor officers. A bigger than usual paycheck would do wonders for morale. Only one hinderance was still standing between them and a salvage of glorious proportions.

"Anything yet?", the voice of the coordinator on board the Taureif reached their ears through the headphones in their claustrophobic helmets. Both grunted something resembling a 'no'. "It's dug in there like a Nerrenian tick, whatever it is. Might have to flush it out, then kill it.", Kalaus asserted and the Savoen nodded in agreement.

"Let's use an F33 container.", the Savoen suggested. "We have a couple of spare ones in the cargo hold. Normally use it for cleaning off flammable residues in the ignition chambers, but I can say from experience, that stuff don't play nice with biologicals."

Kalaus grunted in approval. Whichever local lifeform had the gall to get between him and his payday deserved to get its behind melted for all he cared.

[1/?]