The Dagger War [FT, TG, IC, ATTN MAYFLY]

[Alfordshire]

THE DAGGER WAR

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OP: ALFORDSHIRE - CO-OP: MAYFLY/COSSACK PEOPLES

OOC Information thread releasing in a few days with more details on the belligerents. Alfordshire is currently playing the ETO, a UN-esque organization based off the current world that Alfordshire is in.

"Confirmed RADAR Contacts; I got bursts of radiation all over the damn place!"

"This is Weaver-3, currently engaging enemy forces with MACs - DAMMIT"

"VAMPIRE, VAMPIRE, VAMPIRE. BEARING 290, GROUP OF 8."

"ETS Heart of Admen is down with all hands."

In the heart of the general chaos of the Elysian Fleet was the Helios-Class Battlecruiser "Aren's Dagger". Taking up position behind an asteroid, it had the duty of providing long-range support against the sea of ships that were facing them.

The ships had suddenly appeared and taken out 4 of the fleet's 8 frigates with lasers. 2 were downed due to overheating shield generators, 2 more were downed as missiles pumped hundreds of joules of energy into their shields and armor. The rest of the fleet had to make emergency FTL jumps to more advantageous positions, resulting in the current predicament - every ship was behind something. Captain Erin Davies checked her crash gear as her crew stayed at their stations, attempting to make the best of a bad situation.

Pound for pound, Elysian ships could easily outmatch the unknowns. It was the simple fact that they were heavily outnumbered - 6 to 30 - that made this much more difficult. Each and every shot he took would take his MACs out of the fight for a few minutes, and provide ample opportunity for the unknowns to strike back. While MAC rounds could core through their ships easily - those missiles would be able to easily take out her frigates and a swarm of them would take out the cruiser. Their missiles were crazy - they had the power of a small energy projector behind them, and had a sophisticated EW suite - making them hard to shoot down. Some of the only counters would be hundreds of coilgun rounds or PD missiles, but that wasn't guaranteed.

"CONTACT!"
She snapped out of her stupor and back to the active battle. The officer rattled off targeting information and the identification of the ship as she checked status on the MAC guns - fully loaded. Step one would be to bring the ship out of concealment.
"Fire aft maneuvering thrusters. Fire MAC 1 and missiles once we're clear, and then bring us back."

The ship rumbled out of its position as the thrusters fired, the thrusters allowing the ship to expose it's guns - a 500 ton round lanced out of the barrel at 0.25c, the speeds necessary to connect at these ranges. Evasive engines of all sorts flared up as the unknown ambushers attempted to evade - but to no use. The round vivisected the poor ship, splitting it in two. Missiles dumped out from the Bowman and Reaper pods scattered throughout the ship as Aren's Dagger dumped all sorts of munitions out into space, nuclear, kinetic, conventional, it did not matter.

Five Reaper missiles were armed with a kinetic payload, a fancy term for 5 darts that would use the kinetic force of the missile to slam into enemy ships. The darts would swiss-cheese enemy ships, and it was for this exact reason why some KE Reapers were fired.

The Reapers approached their targets, a cohort of smaller Bowman missiles acting as an escort for the Reapers. The reapers received guidance from the sensor arrays of Aren's Dagger, allowing them to guide themselves in the vast expanse of space. The Reapers then activated missile radars, allowing each missile to choose a single target. With them rapidly closing on their targets, lasers started to rapidly swat away at the missiles - shooting down hundreds of Bowmans launched from Aren's Dagger and her escorts. At the exact second of the missiles running out of fuel, the missiles released their radars and payload, allowing the KKVs to slam into unprotected ship hulls.

They worked flawlessly. As Bowmans lanced smaller ships with smaller detonations, the KKVs slagged multiple ship hulls - resulting in the complete destruction of said ships. The missiles were rapidly followed by detonation of 10 nuclear warheads, the placement of these warheads temporarily illuminating the battlefield with the power of multiple small suns and overloading visual sensors in a sea of white.

"VAMPIRE, VAMPIRE, VAMPIRE. BEARING 032, 50 MISSILES."

Captain Erin cursed. The amount of time they had spent out in open space was too much, and the enemy had launched their own missiles. The stress was written on her face as the missiles got ever closer.

100 kilometers. The first of hundreds of PD missiles lanced out of their pods as the Frigates ETS Harmony and ETS Defiant fired over 50 "Helper" Point Defense missiles at the vampires. The downed a grand total of 10 missiles, the EWAR suite being too powerful for the majority of Helpers to burn through. Both frigates received a grand total of 2 vacuum pumped lasers, completely overheating their shields and cutting their armor. Both ships would be lost with all hands.

75 Kilometers. The Battlecruiser ETS Founder Kandall had become a swirling maelstorm of death, the BC using its missile armament and MACs to great effect in the battle. No longer. 10 missiles were targeted at the Founder Kandall, and point-defense coilguns were able to down a good amount. 7 got through, and pumped hundreds of joules of energy into the weakened shields of the Founder Kandall. The shields were rated for a few megatons, but one of the missiles had the right frequency to bypass the shields. Despite the fact that the shields continuously changed frequency for this exact reason, a few seconds were all that were needed to cripple the ship. The Founder Kandall would eject 3 escape pods, with all other crew being presumed KIA. A starchart to the southern systems would be found in the escape pods.

50 Kilometers. The point defense coilguns fired hundreds of 50mm rounds at the incoming missiles, with predictive AI able to predict where the missiles would be. The two remaining frigates launched 50 more "Helper" point defense missiles, but were quickly overwhelmed by the amount of missiles and the active EW suites. Even with Home-on-jam active, they were only able to down a few missiles. Both frigates would be lost in a similar manner to the ETS Harmony and Defiant.

25 Kilometers. Autocannon rounds lanced into space as the Aren's dagger attempted to defend itself. With the coilguns firing off hundreds of 50mm rounds, it seemed like the defenses would hold. That was until multiple missiles breached point-defense, and pumped hundreds of joules into the shields.

Captain Erin slammed down on the emergency button to abandon ship as the shields overheated, and klaxons sounded before the ship was cut in half by 5 superheated lasers. Aren's Dagger would be lost with all hands.

It was a anticlimactic but expected end to a dramatic battle.

---

1 week later
NAVCOMCENT, Elysia

The Naval Command Centre was a vast underground complex, rated to survive orbital bombardments. There were no concerns about the security of the complex, as it was located in the middle of a no-fly-zone and guarded by a legion of Landeers. This security was further augmented by a 80 ship strong home-fleet, and hundreds of defense platforms in orbit over the planet.

Due to this, it was decided to hold a general strategy meeting at the complex. Admiral Bill Jones would be summoned, as he would have jurisdiction over OPERATION ARADEN, the operation to strike at the unknowns and secure the southern territories. Jones was born to a middle-class family on Arsan, and would have a uneventful childhood. Joining the navy out of a sense of duty and pride, he became known as a cunning and ruthless tactician - he had continually gone up stacked odds, and somehow pulled off a victory.

Ensuring that his suitcase was still sealed, he took a breath and went down into a lift. The lift roared to life as it sped down the metal passageway, flickering lights making it seem more like an acid dream than an important meaning. The door above him slammed shut with a start, startling him on the way down. Wires and pipes to places unknown sped by, a constant reminder of how fast the lift was moving.

The lift suddenly slowed down as it a large door creaked open, and two Landeers marched out, assault rifles at the ready. One of them pulled up a datapad and confirmed his identity, then motioned for him to follow. The small group marched through a maze of drab gun-metal hulls, the standard color for everything naval-related. His escorts opened a meeting room and he was greeted with 4 people; the most influential officers in the Navy.

Admiral Aidan Hall, the overall commander for the entire navy, and with buckets of political influence.

Admiral Mike Stander, the commander of the "Naval Intelligence Branch", the average intelligence agency.

Admiral Daniel Radire, the commander of the "Central Naval Group", the main naval group consisting of a battlegroup of newer shielded ships and hundreds of older ships.

Admiral Colton Renas, the commander of the Homefleet, a gargantuan fleet consisting of the newest ships, many of which were brand-new.

Taking a seat and shifting uncomfortably on the metal base of the chair, Admiral Jones quickly received a packet from a aide. Rapidly skim-reading it, he noticed that NAVCOM wanted him to shore up the Southern systems with new ships, and that he would be receiving a contingent of 10 Ares-Class Frigates to be combat tested against this new enemy. Apparently, the Areses' combined hundreds of innovations to match a single destroyer in a compact package - but they weren't cheap.

He was to present the readiness of the Southern Battlegroups to the admirals to ensure that the fleet could stand up to this new enemy. Standing up, he cleared his throat. "The Southern Watch BGs are some of the newest ships we have. They should be able to hold all systems with relative ease, and the addition of the Ares-Frigates will help our situation. A counter-offensive will have to be held off until the NIB can grab a star-chart of their territory or until we backtrace their jumps."

There was no need to present the effectiveness of Elysian Armaments to the group. They already knew that from black-box data that was automatically updated - and they had a estimation of their enemies' power level.

"Until then, i'll be shoring up New Ulaki, Adena and Aernes with our fleets. Those systems are closest to the incident, so we ought to fortify them. I'd like a few more squadrons to be assigned to the Southern BG's, or else we might be spread thin."

Admiral Radire pitched in with an offer.

"I can offer BG 2 of the CNG. It's the newest ships we have, all shielded. I can also route BG 4 to your location - it's mainly just unshielded ships."

Nodding his head in appreciation, he gave a plain reply.

"Alright, that's dealt with. Please have those routed to Fleet Anchorage New Ulaki, they'll be acting as a reserve."

The meeting rapidly dragged onto logistical aspects and other such necessities of war. Not much was said as the Admirals exited the building - the ETS Aren's Dagger would be avenged.

[The Mayfly Men]

Year 3244 Vachnadze Relative (VR) Interstellar Space

Sorcerer’s Doll

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They did it.

The Direnan was a crafty foe. Powerful. All-encompassing. Perhaps, for now, beyond anything but an elementary understanding. But direnan was foolish, in its own way. Direnan was too sure of its ability. Direnan was not cautious. They thought their purge of man was thorough, that the disappearance was complete. But Man, now Mayfly, was crafty as well. Man died, but gave way to Mayfly amongst the stars. Mayfly learned the stars, stretched over them, and forged their weapons. One day, the old admonition went, the enemy will become known. It is not Man, but it is that without. For centuries, the Mayfly waited patiently for the enemy who tore their home, their Üy, from them. For centuries, the Mayfly steeled themselves from diversion and subversion for the Direnan to reveal themselves. And now, they had their time.

Asheen Tandokavy felt their heart race as they reviewed the footage again, again, and again. They grimaced in sick pleasure as the adrenaline that was first felt when the Direnan’s spacecraft appeared on their scopes returned, albeit faded in intensity. It was unthinkable. Tandokavy was raised on the legends that told that there would be a time when even apparent gods would be struck down by their suén, their collective will– and to think that they would strike the first blow!

It had been many cycles ago; the sensor net of his typrawa– his detachment, his own command– detected the signatures of volatile gases and artificial constructions. They had just ceased use of their Sabanqyeva devices upon reaching their desired position, and the opaque sheath of their Alcubierre bubbles unfolded to reveal the stellar assembly known now as AT-0024G. Asheen Tandokavy, selected by the Genelcheye’ni of Ynkera to lead this now-legendary expeditionary detachment, had acted on his genetic instincts, the historical files would read. The Kandrovy had spotted eight direnan, who, still unaware of the typrawa’s presence as their light had not yet reached them, cruised blissfully ignorant of the fate that awaited them. It had, admittedly, caught even the member of the Kandrovy by surprise. The Ashugh Guraj was in the midst of cycling its crew from the gel-filled transport chambers to the rest of the ship after its journey, and the computer onboard the ship discovered the sensor discrepancy just as soon as its human operators. It was unknown, it was presumably alien, and it was thus dangerous: it was direnan.

It would have taken ten minutes for the signature and transmissions of the furthest reaches of the typrawa, some ninety spacecraft strong, to reach their unidentified foe. It took four minutes for the typrawa to orient itself, and their decision was quick: the direnan was visible, and deserved death. The steel and ceramic holds of the Ashugh Guraj shuddered as it loosed several twelve-ton GL-7192 missiles, whose bright fusion rocket plumes joined the new constellation of plumes unleashed on the aliens by the typrawa’s warships. The sensors of the typrawa lost their resolution as the missiles began their self-protective EWAR rituals, flooding the vacuum with electromagnetic noise as they fought to preserve themselves and befuddle their target. The Direnan noticed their presence, but all too late: by the time they registered the entry of the typrawa in the AT-0024G system, their weapons had already been launched. Some semblence of evasion and self-preservation was shown by the aliens, but the scopes became whitewashed with noise as the nuclear-tipped missiles detonated under 300,000 kilometers from their targets, pumping their petajoules of energy into directed lasers. Tandokavy did not see the death of the direnan personally, but the aftermath was clear.

It was the Kandrovy’s fault they had let their guard down; the direnan’s own weapons reached across the void and went amiss in the violent release of energy that made up their ambush. The Jurchedei Guozhi, one hundred sixty-four crew, and the Hewtiy Eneshan, one hundred forty crew, were suddenly illuminated as some unknown weapon presumably hit critical parts of their vessels, leaving nothing behind of the spacecraft except scrap metal. It was the urge of every Syndicate vessel to immediately reclaim this metal, but these circumstances were unique. Asheen Tandokavy, hero of whatever battle had just occurred, ordered the remains of the direnan examined. A shuttle brought back in its holds a patch of half-ablated skin of the alien creature, bearing the symbols, “O-U-N-D-E-R”. From the stricken bodies of the enemy, minute survivors of technology were gathered and catalogued, before Tandokavy knew they had thrown away enough time. They burned into the AT-0024G system, whose yellow star shone upon ten natural satellites, and took up orbit alongside the moon of the first planet, an atmosphereless, sulphuric, terrestrial planet.

What if that was only a segment of the alien? the Kandrovy had thought. What if they had drawn the attention of the ancient beast? These were troubling thoughts. Before he popped a shuíkh and drifted to rest, Tandokavy ordered a vessel to hasten to Ynkera, to inform the Genelcheye’ni of the developments of this voyage.

Asheen Tandokavy awoke anew. Prying themselves from their crash couch and its gel cushions, Tandokavy fixed their long, black hair into a knot at the base of their skull. The harsh, white light of the habitation section of the Ashugh Guraj brought out the terrible paleness of their flesh, as well as outlining the unnaturally thin and tall physique of the Kandrovy. Tandokavy had been raised to lead, and that is why the young ones in the corridors of the Guraj parted with crisp urgency at their passage. The Ashugh Guraj was a long vessel, fitted with eight drive cones at its aft supporting a narrow, wedge-shaped body that bore the typical bulky resemblance of an Eighteen Day-Class starship. It was what was called a ‘platform’-- that is, a militarized warship built with the intent of carrying and utilizing massive amounts of what Syndicate vessels could ill-afford to throw away willy-nilly: drones, probes, and missiles. Its size made it an easy vessel to occupy as a command ship, forming the centerpiece of the typrawa. The typrawa was mostly later generations of the Main Combat Vessel, armed more heavily than the hybrid warship-generation ships of its predecessors; however, there were still significant numbers of purpose-built warships, such as the Drotenyo-Class, as well as some specialized ships, such as two Well Operations Support Craft (WOSC) and a dedicated support ship, a behemoth amongst the detachment.

The Kandrovy made their way to the control center of the Guraj; a wide, flat space crowded with displays and digital readouts and surrounded by the hardened titanium carapaces of the crew’s acceleration chambers. The Duizan (Captain) of the Ashugh Guraj stood on the deckplates, secured by the magnetic attachments to his boots.

“Drunaiz!*” The Duizan exclaimed, saluting the Kandrovy’s entrance.

Asheen waved him off. “What do the scopes read?” The Syndicate’s vessels were not equipped individually with very powerful sensors and telescopes; rather, through datalinking with other vessels, they create a synergistic effect to provide higher and higher resolutions.

“Look here: our scopes have registered non-natural EM signatures, well into the next system. Whatever they are, they’re on the order of ten years old.”

“I see. In that case, I want to have our Niuhér** fellows set up a base of operations on AT-0024G I; it would help fortify our position as we wait for our reinforcements from Ynkera.”

“Yes, sir.” The Duizan bowed.

“Now, I want to make an announcement to the typrawa!” The officer nodded, as they had been taught since their birth, and made the preparations. Gesturing the Kandrovy to speak into a nearby display, the Duizan then stepped away, back straight.

“Haidenizya***! The Syndicate salutes you! We honor those who have died in the struggle– for now is the time! We shall soon release our generations of resolve as part of sweeping flare: for we now know our enemy, the very that took our Earth from us, and have vanquished some of them already! Now, we seek out more of them– to avenge our ancestors and protect our species! Our nastya**** will sweep in after us, and we will drive the blade home! Because man will not be extinguished today! Man will not be extinguished tomorrow! Man will never be extinct! Not while this Syndicate, this Syndicate of Mankind, still stands! To victory, Drunaizya, to victory!”

The Kandrovy signaled for the transmission to be cut. Enough had been said– after waiting for generations, the Mayflys were finally ready for action. Leaving vessels behind over AT-0024G I to look over the construction on the planetary surface, the remaining typrawa moved clear of the orbit of the first planet and activated their Sabanqyeva Devices in unison, transforming into opaque bubbles as space contracted before them, and expanded in their wake. They lurched forward at subluminal speeds, diverging in their paths until all came to a halt, eight minutes since the start of their transit, at various points in the system. The Guraj was stationed lightseconds away from the nearest vessel, and brought itself in sync with the aimless revolutions of a nearby asteroid.

Along the hull of the Guraj, and similarly across many other vessels unseen to the observer, bursts of dazzlingly short light marked the release of a myriad of cheap tricks customarily used by the Mayflys. Petals of subpar aluminum-sulfide chaff floated lazily away from the hull of the Guraj in a cloud, accompanied by fusion battery-powered decoys, blasting away painfully intense bursts of radiation at different ends of the EM spectrum. The final touch was the snap of a pulsed megawatt lase straight into the carbon crust of the asteroid, ablating its peppered surface and allowing it to cover the Guraj’s position. The overall effect, combined with the presence of asteroids, was what the Mayfly spacefarer’s called ‘riding silver’. They would conceal themselves with the debris and detritus of the natural universe, careful to not expose their numbers to an observer and produce uncertainty of their exact position.

The vessel they sent back to Ynkera would be at least two weeks out with their reinforcements; while the typrawa awaited the support they would receive from their Genelcheye’ni to push forward without fear, they sat in wait, scanning the stars ahead, and plotting.

---

* - Big man, or more commonly comrade. Drunaizya plural.
** - Complement, non-crew individuals, such as attached Jianoha or Zhenturo soldiers.
*** - Term referring to spaceborne Mayflys, or the Syndicate’s spaceborne combat forces
**** - friends

[Elysian Treaty Organization]

ETS Event Horizon
2744 AC, In FTL

Frigate Squadron 2 had failed to report. It was a relatively common occurrence for fleets to miss check-in times for a few hours at most, but a entire fleet going unaccounted for a day had not happened since the tumultuous days of the Aaren conflicts so long ago. In those days, it could be assumed that the fleet had run into pirates or simply disappeared- lost to the yawning maws of space. It was not those days. FTL relays had ensured rapid communication between Fleet Command and fleets. The disappearance of FS 2 was summed into into 3 words by a local admiral, "What the hell?".

With this news, Fleet Command had decided to send the ETS Event Horizon to the last known location of the squadron.

Captain Daniel Ericks wiped the sweat off of his brow. The Oblivion-Class cloaked destroyers had ridiculous reactor thresholds to run the reactive camouflage system, to the point where life support and other necessities would be partially disabled. This resulted in sailors having to hook up to the vast oxygen tanks located on the Oblivion, and wear a full vac-suit at all times. The sailors would also be tethered to the ship in case of depressurization or bridge stability being compromised.

The ship sailed through the kaleidoscope of blues and whites as it sped towards the outskirts of AT-0024, the last known location of the squadron. Ericks checked his crash gear as the ship rapidly approached its destination, as the sudden transition would hit most sailors like a brick. The titanium hull creaked as the ship exited FTL, the stresses on the material far exceeding ordinary limits. Ericks buckled into his crash gear as the ship sped to a halt. Before he knew it, the ship had disgorged a single communications buoy, allowing the ship to communicate with NAVCOM. The buoy shimmered as it adapted to the nearby environment, turning itself pitch black to stay hidden in the confines of vacuum.

Emissions bafflers opened up as the ship worked to minimize electronic and EM emissions. 12 decoys sped away from the ship to create a sea of sensor noise and to hide the point of origin, while the ship searched for errant IFF and transponder signals.

The whirr of motors rapidly interrupted Erick's train of thought as the ship prepared for extended stealth operations. He was running on a timer - he had 4 hours of time before the capacitors ran out and the stealth systems deactivated. His sensors rapidly scanned the vacuum around him, searching for any sign of the squadron. A star burned in the distance as the small ship searched for the last remmants of the squadron.

His sensors officer spoke up, delivering the news that they were all waiting for.

"I have errant IFF signals from a cluster of debris and 2 black-box transponders."

Ericks issued a line of rapid-fire orders, pushing the fact that the entire squadron was destroyed to the back of his mind.

"Prepare 2 shuttles to recover the black-boxes. Helm, bring us to full flank, order weapons to prepare Nuclear Missiles."

Shuttles disgorged from the small hangars as the small craft sped towards their objectives. The ship rumbled as the fusion engines lit up, propelling the ship towards the debris field. For his part, Ericks picked up a datapad and sent a simple message to NAVCOM - "FRIGATE SQUADRON 2 DESTROYED WITH ALL HANDS. CULPRIT UNKNOWN, ASSUME HOSTILE FIRST CONTACT. WILL INFORM WHEN BLACKBOXES RECOVERED."

The message sped through the FTL datalink. Whatever happened now was out of his hands.

---

Fleet Anchorage New Ulaki

The message had been recieved, and FANU turned into a hive of activity as the two assigned RRFs prepared to move to the Frontier Systems.

Thrusters rumbled as 6 ships roared out of their berths, the mixture of light cruisers, destroyers and frigates moving to systems millions of kilometers away.

Battlegroups entered assorted readiness conditions and moved to fleet staging points.

2 Escort carriers roared into FANU as CG 2 rotated back from patrol duty.

[United Lords of War]

System Whitefeather: OZY-AN55-BZ98-JC78

Beatrice the twelfth of Sept Kril of House Ca'Nara scowled at the holo tank before her. It showed the remains of two solar forges, now partially destroyed into wreckage, still circling the blue giant star. This might have been considered 'accidental' except that the blast marks from someone's weapons were quite obvious. Apparently, the raiders had only smashed the forges point defense systems but left the solar cells and the counter gravity drivers in place. <I assume a complete loss...how many ingots were lost?> She growled out in low Var.

<Hersuz,> her new baz'ar of refinement began to reply <All were lost, 24 ingots of final sage, 24 of middle stage, 24 of early stage>. Beatrice didn't turn to the chaos advisor to do the calculations, they were simple enough. Twenty four super ingots of refining polymorphous semiconducting material was not an insignificant amount of either investment or trade value. The value of the materials before processing alone could buy most of a Var Orga Class dreadnaught. Considering that to process large ingots required a star that was less than one hundredth of a percent of all stars and equipment only the most advanced star races could muster...it was not a small number.

<You tell me six forges lost earlier with just as much?>

<Yes, Hersuz..Also several mining craft disappeared in the outer belt, mining rare isotopes and metals...because they didn't effect the consolidated balance sheets the previous Hersuz ignored the losses...> Ba'na of engineering replied.

Beatrice huffed at this, <I was named Hersuz of Whitefeather to fix Erea Basarum Za'Herna's incompetence at maintaining equipment. But now I find that he has let there be an infestation of thieves. Do we have any idea who these thieves are?>

Beatrice turned her attention to the youngest member of her cohort. A young blonde human named Elsa Vandorn. "Ah, do you mind if we speak Terran ma'm?" Elsa swallowed at this, looking for anger in those deep blue, inhuman eyes. Elsa may have been a recent attendant to the newly appointed Hersuz but the legend of the death walker within the forces of House Ca'Nara was nothing to sneeze at. The death walker's assignment to clean up the mess at Whitefeather was sign that House Ca'Nara was unhappy with House Za'Herna's inability to deal with the problem.

"No, practice in the Terran tounge again I must. So know you, know who robbed the Houses?"

"Well, I think the records from House Ne'Zem might reveal something. As I briefed earlier, they originally had rights to develop this entire region of space but never did, apparently losing control of the nearby systems with habitable planets. No one was able to use this star for forging large crystals till House Za'Herna found the Oberon to support the engineering and technical staff" Elsa spread her arms around the command cabin. Indicating the vast, old carrier that had been turned into a base orbiting the farthest planet of the system to avoid most of the radiation spilling from the massive blue star. Radiation and heat that made all the system's native bodies uninhabitable and would make most space stations into death traps. Only the dense battle armor of the Oberon allowed it to act as cost effective platform to host the system staff.

"Ah, House Za'Herna was robbed, thieves same now rob House Ca'Nara?" the Hersuz replied.

"Maybe...but I need to dive into those records..."

"Elsa, your path honored is. Forth go, authority Herzus's yours now....let stand in your way no-one"

Beatrice turned to her Ops Ba'zar. <Patrol the remaining solar forges. Increase the sweeps of the inner system. > switching back to low Var.

The relatively young Eldrin nodded and switched the holo to show the system swimming around its star. <If set the task force...>

<The Task force was sent to force Erea and Oberon to bend to our will. Lord Za'Herna was not eager to let House Ca'Nara establishing control of this partnership. I am to send it back once it has accomplished its mission.>

<Ah...> The young officer begins.

<Detail the patrols with Oberon's gunships and fighters...we have excess pulsars in inventory so arm the prospectors and miners with part of the stockpile. I doubt the thieves will enjoy finding their pray can now hit back at hundred times their former range and with a gravity fueled warhead. And have the scout ships lie waiting in the ort cloud. If any of our thieves decides to run away, the scouts are to follow them.>

<Yes, Hersuz...are we going to keep anything else from the task force besides the missiles?>

<The task force is going to be having a 'word' with these thieves...As I will be having a word with his Lordship after this meeting.>

The younger officer just swallowed, being assigned for most of his life to the backwaters of the Union, he had never dealt directly with the Var, let alone the High Var of a High House. The Voadin could see the Eldrin's inherent fear of the Var. But that was the difference between the two almost identical races. One had joined the Var as fellow warriors, advisors, and confidants...the other had been defeated in war.

<Yes, and I know that he shall instruct me to teach whoever thieves from the Lords of War the penalties are death...>

System Whitefeather: OZY-AN55-BZ98-JC78

Hersuz Beatrice 12 of Kril Ca'Nara sat with her eyes closed in her flag atria. The sound of water burbling out of the rock on the far bulkhead before flowing back along the various channels cut into that very rock and back into the bulkhead soothed her mind as she considered her newest problems. So far she had almost sixty petitions from various petty Sasuri complaining about various ignoble decisions made by her predecessor. It seemed that not only had she to deal with thieves who could steal rampantly from an upper House of the Var, but the various attempts by middle managers to profit by picking Ca'Nara's pockets. To try and keep herself from going over to the Oberon and slicing a few minor Houses petty Sasuri into kapumma and sending the results back to those minor Houses petty little Lordlings she now sat in her relaxation cabin.

The light gong of the cabin door announced that she had a visitor. She opened her eyes looking through the darkness of the room, illuminated by only false star lights covering the dome over her head, to the red numbers discretely hovering over the door. She sighed, she had only a few more minutes before the message drone back from Lord Ca'Nara reached broadcasting range.

<Come...let the Hollow rise> she stated. An artificial moon rose up increasing the light as Beatrice's terran aide entered through the hatch.
<Elsa, I had though the task before you would take more time?>

Elsa, gave the proper headbow and salute of hand to weapon arm before speaking. <Ma'm, you are correct but I discovered information that I thought you should know immediately. It appears that one of the crew of a prospecting ship, sent to purchase supplies in an inhabited system noted engine and sensor signatures similar to those deemed phantoms near the theft.>

<A prospector? I should think such a crew would be more interested in the minerals of the system's minor bodies than the signatures of other vessels in system...>

<Their sensor tech is a reservist senior sensor tech from the Horde, he is here to assist his contracted's brother enterprise by temporarily replacing another who proved unsuited for the position.>

<Ah, so...I doubt it is a confirmed match...>

<Yes...similar engines and sensors but these could be simply two different ships from the same yard or modified to the same specification...to identify such would require far more precise sensors than found on a prospector.>

<Yes...>

Beatrice was interrupted by the three tone gong announcing the arrival of the Lord's message. She gave a small nod of the head to her assistant as she turned to stand and face the holo projector mounted into her atria. The unit came alive and a 3d projection of Lord Ca'Nara appeared. The three meter tall creature wore the traditional black robes of his office. The deep cowl of the hood hid the facial features but the six membered claws emerged from their sleeves as the recording gave the standard hand signal of welcome and for senior house members to sit.

Elsa stared at the projection with a lump in her throat. For her short years, she had not yet come in contact with the Var themselves or even her own Lord or his senior Variana. Only seeing them through projections such as this, but somehow here in a senior's atria it seemed even more real than those larger broadcasts she had watched as a youngling of House Ca'Nara.

<Beatrice twelfth of Kril…> The multifrequency of the Var's natural voice could be heard as it spoke Low Var giving it an unreal and unnatural flavor to most of Terran origin.

<…We are warmed by news of your success. We also worry upon the news you provide. The thieving of our Whitefeather project shall not be tolerated. You requested that the task force remain in your custody to enlighten and enforce the rights and will of House Ca'Nara's in the region. Let this be so.> The glowing eyes of blue seems to slightly brighten as it began to speak on the next subject.

<You have requested to push our claims on nearby territory falsely settled by others. It has been many cycles since the last attempt to enforce those claims. We thought to let matters lie, but you have convinced us. If we do not force those in the area to recognize that violation of our rights in those systems induced a consequential response, they have no reason to assume that violations of our rights in Whitefeather will induce a response.> The Var’s had gestures and glowing eyes have become even more animated and brighter on this topic, even as the deep tonal voice changes little.

<Better to throw the gauntlet now then face any of these squatters when they come to steal Whitefeather.>

Beatrice smiled slightly at the orders, it was the kind of thing she had spent a lifetime learning and training for. She changed her attitude slightly as the screen suddenly shifted and a different Var with another Beatrice suddenly appeared in the holo screen. This Beatrice seeming to be standing with a slightly more pronounced belly that her counterpart here.

<Beatrice beloved daughter of…..>

<Stop playback…> the Hersuz ordered turning to look at Elsa.

Elsa swallowed and looked to her senior.
<It seems that my Sept’mer has added a message improperly to the Lord’s such that it switches automatically. Per his Lordship, send scoutships to the system you have identified and see what can be learned before the task force’s arrival.>

<Yes, Ma’m…> Elsa saluted again and left the atria to let the Herzus receive her private message.

---

System Alken: OZY-AN59-BZ92-JC55
A week later…

The scout ship Nara-72 sits quietly at the inner edge of the Alken system Kuiper belt. Her long cigar shaped hull points towards the system with her stern pointed towards a significantly large planetesimal that dwarfs the ship. Nara-72’s outer panels mimic the color of the planetesimal, rather than the standard space black, to avoid optical recognition. With six of her eight gravitational sensor masts raised, giving her the look of giant dart, she sits quietly pondering the Alken system itself.

Nersuz Booth stands in the center of the sensor bridge. He turns his head looking at the horseshoe screen wall. His eyes noting where the hours of hiding in the Kuiper belt have help to even better refine the gravimetric, electromagnetic, optical, and signals intelligence on the facilities, craft, cities, and people currently occupying the system. The stealth sensor probes he’s launched at 0.1c

As he again sweeps his eyes across the screen wall, he notes that the current signals tech is bouncing up and down in her seat ever so slightly. Her movements caused caused by a foot that is tapping to an unheard beat. A tap on the shoulder induces her to half turn sheepishly while pressing a few controls. Both the Nersuz and the intelligence officer begin to hear the music signal in their own headsets.

The two look at each other, though the music has no tactical value it is a catchy tune apparently being broadcast on some powerful, primitive long wave radio signal. Booth continues to listed to the almost completely instrumental song while watching as a group of ships in orbit around the habitable planet are once again in view. The signals tech turns back to her work, glad she has avoided a reprimand.

A <Sir…please report to the bridge> interrupts the tune as it beings to swell and climax. The Nersuz does not respond to his watch officer, but simply turns and looks up at the dials mounted into the bulkhead above him.

Long practice identifies the issue quickly. The thermal capacitance tanks are heating up faster than they had been earlier. Booth scowls at this, Nara-72’s RTEG (Radio-Thermal-Electrochemical-Generator) could power the Nara’s sensors, EW, active stealth, and basic air scrubbers for the next twenty years without needing to create the huge, and observable, magnetic and gravimetric signatures her fusion bottle required. The problem wasn’t power, the problem was heat.

Heat could only be expelled into space as part of mass or as heat waves. Two things that could be observed by those wanting to detect a scout ship. The solution was to only allow heat waves to be emitted into space where no one should see the signature utilize thermal capacitors. The thermal capacitors were effectively a layer of super freezing ice that acted as both armor and allowed the scout ship’s waste heat from the RTEG, the electronics and crew to be suppressed as long as possible. Normally, the Nara-72 should have had another four or five cycles before reaching that point.

As Nersuz Booth entered the bridge, his eyes noted that four of the six heat projectors that had been on line were now offline. He looked to the officer of the watch, <Report…>

<Sir…we missed it earlier but this body we hide before has a low rotational spin…such that part of the heat from four projectors began to be reflected back into the system. I turned them off before trying to figure out an alignment…but another issue also developed.>

Booth just raised an eyebrow for her to continue. <Sir, we’ve been monitoring a couple of vessels in system that appear to be acting as pickets. The one that’s been moving near the small gas giant has been a problem to resolve and you sent probe alpha to get a better look at it and see if there’s any facilities in orbit we haven’t seen.>

Booth nodded, <I take it that that particular target has done something…>

<Well, she changed course and speed…such that she’ll be within the 50,000 km reaction pre-set of the probe unless she changes speed or direction soon.>

Booth winced, at that range the probe would assume it was trying to be intercepted and would follow its presets. When the target vessel got that close, the probe would sacrifice its remaining battery life to power up its gravity drive, accelerating at 800 gravities on a path to reach the kuiper belt. Upon reaching the belt, or the distance from its interceptor dropping below 500 km it would use what little power remained to induce a gravity driver inversion, causing a millisecond lasting singularity to destroy the probe. (Turning into a much smaller, lighter version of a pulsar warhead.)

The process was effective for preventing technology from being captured. However it could inform either a cagy, or bumbling, local they were being stalked. It would also do a fair bit of damage to any foolish enough too closely follow or try to intercept it.

<I see, do we know if the target identified the stealthed probe?>

<Maybe, Sir but they seem to be taking their time and would currently not actually intercept the probe just get a close flyby.>

<Which could be that they want their own passives to take a look without appearing too show that their sensors are good enough to have detector our probes. It does not matter, even if we told it to change direction now the pulse of the drive would signal to them the presence of the drone.>

The officer of the watch nodded as they both stared at the tactical holotub. <…What we must do then is plan on withdrawal. We have at least mapped the assets of this system and have the data to establish known gravity map and baseline. Obviously it would be better to send word to the taskforce and then wait to observe what changes occur before the Hersuz arrives, but we do not have such a luxury.>

<Yes sir,>

<Prepare a FTL message drone to be ready for launch…Also pulse our gravity drives from reserve to give us forward momentum out of the gravity well of the belt to allow transition into FTL space. I want us to be far enough away from the belt such that when the interception warning reaches us the message drone may successfully drop into the Z U-plane as we slip into the N.>

<Are you not worried that our engine pulse itself will be detected first by gravemtric sensors?> Booth nodded at the intelligent question. The problem with gravity was that changes transmitted were naturally faster than light and effective signals to those who knew how to watch. The issue was that to 'read' those signals required either massively size sensors or significantly refined knowledge of the background gravity fluctuations to identify those signal events from the natural flux and variation occurring in the local and galaxies space time; though for most it required both.

<Time will tell…but the taskforce is expected, my plan is to send our data and then leave behind it before we can be intercepted.>

<Yes, sir…>

<I will be in my star cabin composing a quick summary report to include in the message drone packet before launch…It appears I have perhaps two more hours>

<I will consult with the chaos master to confirm but I would say we have only thirty minutes...sir.>

<Then so be it…I will return in twenty...prepare the drone and the ship for transit.>

<Yes sir, preparing message drone and ship transit....> The watch officer gave a salute and began to issue orders to the bridge crew.

[The Mayfly Men]

Year 3244 Vachnadze Relative (VR) 37 Hours after the attack Between the 3rd and 4th Planet

Born of the Abyss

---

“What do you think?”

The Kandrovy's head craned forward, scrutinizing the image. The battle and its aftereffects left many crew cycles sleepless, either by excitement or the demanding workloads as their superiors tried to piece together what happened. But the Kandrovy could care less about the comfort or restfulness of the sagüiya* in the holds of the Ashugh Guraj-- answers were needed, and it was the obligation of the typrawa to provide them. Tandokavy would have liked nothing better than to take a sleeping pill and drift away, but they steeled themselves and focused on the screen.

It came in and out of focus, gradually shifting its resolution tighter, then repeating the process in a different range of the spectrum. Those that watched alongside the Kandrovy watched intently, blinking almost in unison, soaking in and mentally sorting the information as they had all been conditioned to do. They watched the carnage of the battle unfold in its detached, long-form way, with telemetry changes and time-to-targets indicated near the actors in the battlespace. MHDR-53 was nothing on their scopes but a blur of energy, its metal cylinder body occluded to both them and their targets by waves of disruptive electromagnetic energy, streaking closer and closer to the direnan whose central location in its formation indicated some value. MHDR-53’s hydrogen-laden exhaust plume terminated in a brilliant release of energy, at the prescribed 250,000 kilometers from target, and released its invisible payload with visible effect into the skin of the direnan. It produced a shimmering effect across an ellipsoid area from the target, as well as causing the overwhelmed surface of the alien to erupt as the area affected by the bomb-pumped laser turned from a solid to superheated gas nigh-instantaneously.

Curious.

Curious that their weapon caused such a phenomena, suggesting that this field (which was their best idea of what it was) could be somehow responsible for the dampened power of their weapons, but more importantly, how simple it all was. This was the mythical direnan, the ones who supposedly scoured their homeland from existence? The ones who annihilated every particle of old Earth, of Neptune, and nearly of Proxima Centauri, were vanquished as easily as that? It could be true, Tandokavy reasoned, that the direnan had been relatively static compared to the rapid seven hundred-year development of the Mayflys, but for these contacts to be that very same direnan, it should have certainly been more of a fight. Were these the direnan-- or something else? The Syndicate taught that it was almost statistically impossible to find extraterrestrial life– outside of their common enemy– in one’s lifetime, so what did that make this? Was this the direnan? Was it a thrall, a probe, or merely something so below their notice as to not immediately smite Mayfly civilization from the face of the universe? Tandokavy could not decide– after all, they were a kandrovy, and the Kandrovy consigned decisions like that to their Genelcheye’ni. It was not a decision the Kandrovy had to make, is what it was.

“The direnan acted as separate units,” Asheen Tandokavy said finally. “The alien shows independence of action.” The Ashugh Guraj’s information center was rigged for use on the float, allowing the assembly of dozens of representatives from each spacecraft of the typrawa, physically or by proxy, to rest at various points (and inclinations) in the compartment. This sort of gathering was common among various governing and military bodies in the Syndicate– it first maintained complete security in the transfer of information, then allowed for decision-making and deliberation free of light delay, and secondly, it maintained a form of insurance on behalf of the administrator, for with each delegate was the key to the genetic banks of each vessel– without them, their vessel and its generations of passengers would come to an end.

Listening to their Kandrovy drew several nods and murmurs from the assembly. The Duizan of the Bogdaya Homan motioned for his turn to speak and the compartment was silent. “I concur– they appear to not have known to expect us, and these beings–” The officer was careful to avoid uttering the word ships, “-- were disjointed in their response to us. Our sister ship, the Hewtiy Eneshan, had reported that the counter-attacks were not taken in the most logical way. Individual direnan seemed to try to preserve themselves.”

“They are not one,” mused the captain of the Guraj in agreement, “they do not have one mind, and they were too vulnerable to have been the warmaking arm of the direnan.”

The Kandrovy nodded. “Our first exposure to the enemy leaves us with more questions than answers. I expect a reprisal– Abidovya, how goes the outpost on AT-0024G-I?”

Compared to the lean, blood-fat flesh of the spacefarers, the Duizanash** could almost be mistaken for a different species. Abidovya was a stocky, looming figure shaped by a lifetime of physical conditioning, genetic optimization, and grueling training. As a Zhenturo, their geneticist had gone without the typical gender-dampening manipulation, in contrast to the scrawny and androgynistic haideniz, in order to produce a stronger specimen. Nevertheless, the Zhenturon all looked the same anyway; arms that could crush one's head, stubble-ridden skulls, and an ever-present state of alertness brought on by the focus-enhancing drugs which the Zhenturon presently ground between their molars. Abidovya had been woken earlier from their stasis pod after approximately eighty-nine years, making the woman (?) chronologically the oldest at 117 years of age, and until recently the only one with combat experience.

“The construction of the non-critical base facilities will be done within a week. Currently, the modular reactor plant has been established as well as primitive living quarters, and preliminary protection is given by a pulsed gigawatt laser, taken from the stores of the Hetaw Yaigzo. We expect two more laser assemblies, as well as interceptor launchers and necessary fortifications to be ready within two days. My Niuhérya have budgeted their time well, and we will be on schedule, Kandrovy.” The Zhenturon’s language was brief, clipped, and unusually accented. Despite the tough veneer that the Zhenturon were known to have, the Kandrovy could see the exhaustion of cryosleep tug at the corners of Abidovya’s eyes and mouth.

“Superb work, Duizanash. I will want the facility operational should the direnan retaliate, or attempt to find their way to Ynkera.” Tandokavy responded.

“With all due respect, does the Kandrovy expect we will withdraw from this system?” Asked the Guraj’s Duizan. The Duizan had successfully managed to work any shock or disagreement from his voice, but failed when it came to the questioning gaze.

“As I have said before, if this is the very direnan we expect it is, I expect retribution. Therefore we cannot linger, at least not without bringing a better picture of the situation back to Ynkera. We must push forward.” Tandokavy responded flatly. His comment caused some disturbance to wash over the room, culminating in:

“But we hardly know what we’re up against!” Sputtered a proxy for a small spacecraft.

“If we do not go and find out, then those that come down the same path after us will find themselves in the same fate, potentially even worse off. We are the tip of the blade– we cannot afford to be dull now, lest the rest of the dagger break. We must find out more and report it to the Genelcheye’ni, so that from there the Syndicate can grow wise of this threat.” The Kandrovy answered. With their voice, reeking of assured command, many internal arguments were settled. To die for generations to come was a worthy cause for most– a majority of Mayflys entered and exited the cycle never knowing such a purpose, never mind fighting against a threat to life everywhere. Their course was set. From the typrawa came a detachment of four ships, all Generation 4 MCVs, sent out towards the remains of the direnan to bring back more debris for study. They emerged from the orbit of the seventh planet, rocketing themselves along on a typical turn-and-burn maneuver.

Hours later, the collective telescope made up from the sensors of the typrawa’s numerous spacecraft were directed outward to the cosmos; from there, the nearest stars and their constituents examined, their movements plotted by gravimetry so long ago and now confirmed and strengthened with the finer tools the typrawa had to offer. Among those many stars (five, ten, forty light years away) peculiarities were spotted; certainly no bigger than some asteroids, yet several times larger to be a speck of dust: a satellite?

It took a precarious orbit around the unusual three-star system, sitting on an unlikely lagrange point, making it all the more unlikely to be natural. As their sensor resources were refocused, resolution increased, omitting the brightness of nearby stars and getting a clearer picture. It was not natural by any means, as its human observers confirmed. This decision understandably took less time than the last– within an hour, a far larger detachment had been sent out, forming together briefly before vanishing behind their Sabanqyeva devices, sending them out into the stars. It consisted of an Eighteen Day-Class starship, one WOSC, eight MCVs, and two Drotenyo-Class cruisers, leaving the remaining of the sixty-seven members of the typrawa to remain in position in AT-0024G. This force, due to its mission, was only appropriately handled by the Kandrovy themself. Aboard the Ashugh Guraj, slipping into an acceleration chamber as it filled with a flowy cement-like mixture, Asheen Tandokavy breathed heavily. They pondered the task that lay ahead, with its crippling unknowns and dangers and, though the Mayfly did not admit to themself, the uncertainty of their purpose. The aggression that had filled Tandokavy when they had first spotted the direnan had almost felt like a force other than their own will; rather, a genetic impetus, ingrained into his being as much as the blood that flowed through their veins. What if the conditioning was wrong?

But now, strapped into the acceleration chamber with the impossibly viscous mixture now reaching their sternum, was not the time to think of such things. Rote technique taught Tandokavy since they were a young one to secure their loose hair, collect their psyche, and combat the primal panic that filled them as they seemingly became trapped in the gel. Asheen cleared their lungs just as the mixture dribbled into his gaping mouth, and breathed in a new, harsh breath. The gel choked the flesh, but the mind was allowed to breathe. The lights in the chamber terminated as the Sabanqyeva device of the Guraj activated, drawing from its impossibly intense power source to bring the material of the spacecraft into a bubble, from which the fabric of space could be manipulated. Tandokavy felt nothing as it happened. They ought not to: the Guraj was not accelerating, yet it was still travelling at hundreds of times the speed of light. Eventually, the Kandrovy’s heart rate lowered as they became reaccostumed to the experience of seeing nothing, not feeling the sensation of drawing breath, and being unable to lift a finger. This sensory darkness was indistinguishable from sleep, and before the figure knew it, they were.

---

* - Plural form; lifestock, unimportant crew member
** - Zhenturon equivalent to duizan, captain. Commands a battalion of Zhenturo (~700 soldiers)
OOC: The Kandrovy is heading to Danerville, the trinary star system-- specifically heading for the science station.

[Elysian Treaty Organization]

Danerville I
ETS Leonidas

Commodore Daniel Eran sipped his coffee, enjoying the bitter taste of the beverage. His ship was a top-of-the line Hades-class, and carried a standard spinal MAC and energy projector. The ship formed the centerpiece of a rapid response force, a QRF that acted as the first line of response to any incoming enemy threats. RRF Akhan was stationed at the Danerville system after a squadron had gone missing, and to protect a burgeoning colony on one of the systems planets. Eran admired the 3 stars of the system, the stars lighting up the system with a kaleidoscope of light. 3 frigates roared into formation - the rest of his fleet.

"CONTACT!"

A sensors operator butted into his line of thoughts as he rattled off bearings and targeting information, giving the crew enough information to respond. 12 blips popped up on LIDAR and RADAR screens, feeding information to the targeting computers of the ships. Buckling his crash gear, he depressed a button on his console - throwing his voice on the intercom.

"General quarters, general quarters, general quarters. Set condition one across the ship, route of travel is from the aft to port side and port to aft side. This is not a drill."

The distinctive alarms started up in the background while lights bathed the ship in a sea of red. Landeers grabbed a mixture of weapons, reporting to airlocks across the ship. Officers clad in white dress uniforms rushed towards the bridge - the sound of metal shoes clanking along the metal deck. Captain Eran buckled his crash gear and threw on a vac suit in case of emergency decompression, as the rest of the bridge crew prepared for the upcoming battle. Sailors frantically made preparations for the worst, preparing hull-sealing kits and manning fire suppression stations.

Scores of autocannons and coilguns rose out of their mounts, giving the ship some semblance of point defense. Sensors started to run in overdrive as they sprayed emissions into the void, attempting to maintain a target lock. The ship creaked and lights flickered as energy was redirected towards massive banks of capacitors, charging the energy projector and warming up the MAC gun. A 700 ton projectile was rammed into the main spinal gun - the final preparations for battle.

"All ships are reporting REDCON 1, sir!", a officer yelled.

The bridge was silent - waiting for him to give his orders. The hums of consoles and clicks of computers filled his ears.

"All ships have clearance to engage. Tell the squadron to follow us and engage at maximum range of their weapons, we're going to move into engagement range."

Pausing for effect, he let the next words roll off of his mouth.

"Hail the enemy fleet. Tell them 'We remain here most excellently.' "

Officers moved to execute his orders as the ship rumbled to life, the 4 fusion engines propelling it forward in the dark void. The rest of the fleet followed - excluding the ETS Ackenar.

The bow of the Ackenar was enveloped in sea of blue as it charged a laser. TAAL Anti-armor lasers were refined over hundreds of years worth of naval experience, and a direct lineage could be traced from the first PD lasers mounted on seafaring ships hundreds of years ago. Lasers had been consistently refined since those days, and the TAAL Mk.2 was the result of that refinement. New supercaps allowed it to release megajoules worth of energy at any unsuspecting target, while focusing arrays turned the TAAL into a precise weapon - allowing it to target exposed enemy bridges or core through spinal weapons, mission killing the ship.

A operator inputted in targeting information for a enemy ship into his computer. Focusing arrays clicked and whirred as they made minute adjustments to the firing arcs of the laser - giving it the famed accuracy that all Elysian lasers were known for.

A blue tendril split forth not a second later.

---

ETS Event Horizon
2744 AC, AT-0024G

A shuttle sped into the ETS Event Horizon - carrying the answers to the questions of High Command. The blackboxes were tenderly offloaded and given to the Captain, who played them to the bridge crew. It was a silent affair - with thoughts of revenge bubbling into the minds of many of the crewmen. Captain Ericks sighed as he halted the playthrough, analyzing the weapons of the unknowns.

Murmurs spread throughout the bridge as they witnessed a MAC round cleave a unlucky alien ship in half and as superheated lasers cut through frigates with surprising efficiency.

"So, uhh... We know that the enemy uses pumped-laser warheads and is reliant on missiles. They seem to have a similar doctrine to us - relying on the Alpha Strike to destroy enemy fleets before they can react". Ericks said, garnering a number of reactions from the crew.

"Well, can someone explain this?"

A officer played back to the exact moment when a laser had bypassed the shields of the ETS Founder Kandall - slagging the entire ship as a result.

"Sir, 4 incoming ships. They're heading for the debris field - orders?"

That had interrupted the rapidly growing discussion. Crewmen once again locked into crash seats as the Event Horizon sped away. A predatory smile quickly grew on Erick's face.

"Set up the nuclear mines."

The Event Horizon rumbled as it released 10 nuclear mines, the mines cloaking themselves among the wreckage. The enemy would have to bleed if they wished to glean the secrets of Elysia from the stricken ships.

[Elysian Treaty Organization]

Danerville III

Utter and complete chaos.

Everything was on fire. Elysian Land Forces had been sent out to protect the airfield from the colonists, and ensure that evacuation proceeded in an orderly manner. Of course, this did not happen. It only took one hour for the crowd to start rioting, and the once beautiful avenue turned into a scene of destruction and chaos. Lt. Brown watched as the once beautiful street burned, a kaleidoscope of oranges and whites filling her eyes. Another fusillade of CS gas grenades lanced into the air, the primitive riot control instruments popping open their internal cans of CS gas.

Smoke filled the tight street as the gas disoriented the rioters, giving the platoon a opportunity to charge. A furious burst of water knocked the first line of rioters off of their feet, followed by 60 men charging forward - riot shields in hand. The clanging of batons filled the street as the platoon advanced, retaking meters of the stricken street.

A evacuation shuttle roared to life, the Mercury Class corvette roaring into the sky at full thrust. The roar of the dual T3-440 engines filled the sky, galvanizing the rioters to start charging once again. F320 UCAVs fell into formation with the corvette, the gleaming arrowheads zipping past the crowd with a start. The rioters redoubled their efforts, attempting to breach the riot line.

Their efforts were for naught. Another fulisade of CS gas zipped by their heads, disorienting the crowd and turning the riot into a disorganized mess.

Lt. Brown sighed - it was going to be a long day.

---

The Hermes Class frigate roared to life, splitting off formation from the diplomatic ship assigned to negotiate terms of annexation with the Alken. Fusion engines shined a bright blue as the ship propelled itself forward, the ship pushing itself forward with the power of two of its engines.

Captain Adam Smith sipped his coffee. It would be a boring day - diplomatic missions were much like this. He was entering a standard 3-2-3 patrol route, a basic loop around the 3 planets - then the star and diplomatic ship. Active sensors were off to prevent the ship spraying off electronic emissions into the distance. Transponders were open if any freighters came in - but that was rare in this section of the galaxy.

"Sir, passives are noting a small anomaly. Shall we move to investigate?" The sensors officer butted into his thoughts, bringing him back to his ship.

"Yup, bring us in. Seems to be stealthed, we're going to play cat-and-mouse." He replied, annoyance evident in his voice. The SOP for such an occurrence mandated this - chances were it was nothing. Cat and mouse was hell - boring, tense and dangerous.

The ship adjusted course as Smith locked himself in - his crash gear absorbing the sudden movements of the ship.

It was time to play.

[United Lords of War]

System Alken: OZY-AN59-BZ92-JC55

The probe didn't attempt to change course or do much of any response as the frigate approached, like a mouse completely unaware of the cat. The array of passive sensors transmitted data to the sensor 'brain'. A simple matrix of exotic salts fabbed into light channels collapsed the data and encrypt it before transmitting back masked as nothing but background electromagnetic noise.

The probe didn't really know anything about what might cause an alien crew to detect it. Build up of particles from the giant open fusion reactor (the star) in the system on some of its sensor surfaces was one potential. The turbulence the caused in the local solar wind another. Or even noticing that it was a dark spot in the electromagnetic spectrum, since its outer skin absorbed almost all of it but retransmitted none of it would make it noticed by an alert cat. The generator based on electromagnetic salt brines met its limited energy needs efficiently as it coasted like a happy little mouse unaware of any cats.

The probe's security 'brain' just noted the approaching fusion reactors and applied its simply heuristic routine dumbly. Like a dumb mouse who saw the cat but didn't care. It did nothing about the approaching ship, just kept moving on its marry way. Letting the locals 'see', if they, could the odd long shape with various antenna radiating out from it. It looked not like a rocket, but like a giant mace flying butt first through local space.

Finally, the frigate did something, wander too close, turn on an active sensor signal, something that caused one of the security protocols to flag that it had been discovered. Then the craft 'woke up', for even the dumbest mouse finally realizes there is a cat.

The craft's capacitors began to discharge, releasing thermal waste energy as the do so. It send an encrypted gravemetric message pulse out to its mother ship. The gravimetric drivers, who previously had just been making small ripples to navigate through the system, now begin to heat up as massive amounts of power drive through them. And instead of a ripple there is a psudo-singularity off the end of the space mace. The probe drops into the gravity well and keeps on dropping, accelerating as the singularity itself moves with the probe. The always moving gravity well allows the probe to accelerate like Speedy Gonzolas mainlining cocaine while on a bullet train. In a few seconds it had increased speed to 0.2 c and isn't slowing down as it approaches 0.3 c.

---

Nara-72 continues to like doggo watching the system. Its array of gravmetric sensors notes the transmission and the sudden appearance of the s drive. The light speed data continues to poor in, light minutes behind what is occurring in the system.

The Nara-72 begins moving forward silently, physically lowering the array of sensor arms back down along her hull. Getting away from the gravity wells of the stellar object that would enable Nara-72's Z drive to push her message probe, and herself, into the various layers of inter dimensional space that the LOW used for long range FTL travel.

[The Mayfly Men]

Year 3244 Vachnadze Relative (VR) 16.6 AU from center of AT-0026 trinary system

Koly Tebe Nema

---

The Kandrovy awoke to a foghorn of an alarm. Low-frequency digital noise cut through the slurry, startling them to consciousness, and without warning the harsh white light of their chamber began to appear before Tandokavy’s eyes as the acceleration gel was quickly evacuated. The Guraj had stopped– not that it could be told empirically, but to the Kandrovy, there was a inward sense that seemed to lend him that idea– and on the display next to the exit to the acceleration chamber was an urgent, flickering notice informing them of a message from the navigator of the Ashugh Guraj, one who had stayed out of the security of an acceleration chamber to monitor the progress of their transit.

TYPRAWA REPORTS FOUR UNKNOWN CONTACTS, AT0026 SYSTEM

APPROX RANGE 16.6 AU, RESOLUTION 48%

GURAJ’s DUIZAN ACTIVE

AWAITING ORDERS

So it was time. Their objective, some form of vault or kind of facility lay ahead of them, but blocked by opponents vaguely recognizable as the ones used by the direnan in their previous engagement. It all suddenly struck Asheen Tandokavy as awfully mundane. Unless there was something under the surface that their eyes had missed, the all-powerful beings were being awfully disappointing. All that cosmic power that after a millennium mankind had barely scratched the surface of, and where else was it spent: skulking around a trinary system?

Tandokavy cleared their nostrils of the leftover gel and pulled their weightless body to the display, tapping out a response.

KANDROVY: STATFLT. CALC TD.

Interstellar combat favored the bold. More specifically, it favored initiative– with the advent of superluminal travel, it made it so to the fixed observer would see an approaching ship arriving before its own transit; moreover, it allowed those with faster-than-light travel to ‘drop’ themselves in the ‘light pool’-- i.e, the inbound ship would see other ships that have idled in the system long before they would see the inbound ship, because it had cheated its light cone with the wizardry of FTL. Thus, initiative was everything. It had been demonstrated in the Pogrom against the treacherous Genelcheye’ni that forgot their place, and now, it was being used against a new kind of enemy.

DUIZAN: ALL VESSELS REPORT CMBT READINESS / TIME DELAY 1-3-8 MIN, RNDED.

KANDROVY: ACTVT CMBT COMP / BGN EWAR / GIVE ANCHOK TSEREBIY FOLLOWING ORDERS . . .

The Kandrovy tapped out on a separate application their orders for the Anchok Tserebiy, a Generation IV MCV; once completed, they embedded it into the dialogue with the Guraj’s Duizan.

DUIZAN: MESSAGE LASED TO TSEREBIY / N - E FURTH ORDERS ?

Tandokavy pulled up the sensor information on the diminutive display– small diamond-shaped icons of red represented their foes, the bodies of the system were faint outlines of translucent yellow, and their objective a dotted outline of a square– and wrinkled their nose in thought. The previous group of direnan they met in open space was larger; what did less mean here? Surely whatever the dotted square outline represented was important enough to be better protected? Was there something that, in their haste, they had missed? More of the direnan combatants, perhaps– hidden, or lying in wait?

Based on previous knowledge, rationalism cast away those thoughts. The opponents seemed bound by space and time just as they were, the significance of such a distinction unimportant to his position as Kandrovy, which meant that if they were quick enough, the operation would be a success. The Hemat Soniya, the Well Operations Support Craft (WOSC) attached to their excursion, lit up its three fusion thrusters and steadily accelerated together with Anchok Tserebiy on a dog-legged course; angling their trajectory away from the objective, but ultimately intending on reaching the area around the alien station. The rest of the force, with one-hundred thirty-one minutes to spare, began to burn and spread out hundreds of thousands of kilometers, as well as begin to close the distance between them and their targets.

KANDROVY: SIG TO BEGIN CMBT

After forty minutes, weapons were launched, leaving two GL-7192 missiles gunning for each of their four opponents, and a menagerie of a dozen lighter GR-6111’s which, though of limited effectiveness at this distance, could at least provide jamming and EW support to the larger GL-7192s.

As the missiles began their desparate weave of death to their targets some four hours away, the now-ten warships made abrupt course changes, seeking to keep the group’s next position as nebulous as possible for their opponents, some 110 light minutes away. As they sought to engage the four direnan posted above the first planet of AT-0026*, the Anchok Tserebiy burned a hard eleven g-forces towards the alien station, with the Hemat Soniya in tow.

For their enemy, after one-hundred thirty-eight minutes, the detachment of Mayfly vessels suddenly appeared, letting the three frigates and one destroyer examine the seven minutes of deliberation taken, and every action taken after that before the waves of electromagnetic noise from the ubiquitous Syndicate electronic warfare suites frazzled any onlookers. Forty-two minutes later, the missiles became visible, though the battle had started long before that.

* * *

It was odd to think that as the craft they served on furiously bobbed and weaved all while changing position and trajectory unpredictably, most of her crew was either unconscious or idling in their acceleration chambers, struggling to breathe. But those unfortunate enough to tend to their obligations during the long, drawn out battle felt every kilogram they put on as they pushed the thrust of the Ashugh Guraj to eight g-forces, nine g-forces…

It was minute one-hundred forty-two, and their opponents had to know of their presence. The typrawa could not yet see their opponent’s response, but it went without much thought on what the manner of their response could be. The Guraj, with its companions less than specks from its perspective, had closed roughly three astronomical units in this time– shaving the light delay, minimum, to about one-hundred ten minutes. That was not counting the movements of the direnan, however.

Thankfully, the computer of the Guraj, as well as the artificial intelligence upon their self-guiding weaponry, did most of the thinking for the Kandrovy, wetly gasping in the locker-sized acceleration chamber. The gel they used in the Guraj was second-tier, as the ship was not meant to accelerate as hard as its peers. Nevertheless, it kept them alive.

Minute one-hundred forty-three brought a wave of alarm, as the direnan very visibly charged and presumably fired off a weapon– but dozens of lightminutes away, the laser or weapon apparently did not make its mark along the trajectories the typrawa’s spacecraft held an hour ago. Meanwhile, their weapons were now sixteen light-minutes closer to their opponents, kept safe with a wall of preceding electronic warfare noise in conjunction with the uncaring light delay that formed the crux of this battle-to-be.

Four days after the attack 52 AU outside AT-0024G system 15 lightseconds from Elysian debris field

Peklo

---

Suspicions had been raised as soon as the work of the Event Horizon’s decoys covering their mothership’s tracks reached their passive sensors. Ordinarily, that would have been no easy feat– the pack of four ships, shooting out extremely hot plumes of spent hydrogen as they made their deceleration burns, would perhaps have missed the arrival of their faceless enemy.

“High signal strength– however, signals themselves are erratic. There’s nothing we can discern from this.” Reported the Lu Naxwe’s communications officer. The Duizan of the Naxwe ground their teeth. With the magnitude of their drive’s exhaust directly between them and the direnan’s debris field, there was effectively an opaque screen in front of some of their highest resolution sensors, denying them a seriously close look at what was going on. But whatever it was, it wasn’t natural. Unless direnan, when killed, happened to transmit on nearly every corner of the light spectrum.

“Jamming.” The Duizan observed grimly. “Link with the Khang and Wezreg Malbharova to see if we can triangulate and cut through this racket. What is our ETA?”

“Three point five hours to the vicinity, duizan.” Answered the navigator. There was a tenseness in the Lu Naxwe’s command center– one that could only be detected by those who had lived with their fellow crewmates their whole lives, and whose remains after life would be put through the same machine to recycle themselves, as their ancestors and those before them had. And now that biological closeness to their spacecraft, their cradle and coffin, history and legacy, was under threat. Direnan was a danger to the generational plans of their hermetically-sealed, metal container of a world, and if they waded into the jaws of that enemy, then at least it was not prolonging the inevitable– it was better to secure their lines’ future than fight for one more day, wasting breath that would be the final of its kind.

The Duizan jolted themselves back to the matter at hand as a flash of pain erupted from their molar. It vexed him– there was obviously hostile activity at their destination, yet they couldn’t see a damn thing, with their damn exhaust in the way…

“Navigator, cut our thrust.” The Lu Naxwe shot ahead of its distant companions, who continued to slow at a hard pace. The Naxwe was brought to a slow spin, bringing its telescopes to bear on their target. The course they were on would have them overshoot the debris field, but they would at least prevent their companions from going in blind.

“Link with the others; let’s figure out this mess.”

Multispectral analysis, with the facilities of the Naxwe’s visible and IR scopes now available to work with the less precise but wide-reaching sensors of their peers, took time, but as they approached, the picture at least became clearer. The four MCV’s could make out around ten jammers, if that was their sole purpose, on random trajectories: but their source, if there was one, could not be seen.

Relaxing the tense muscles caused by their high-g deceleration, the Duizan found themselves something to chew– no matter what happened, it would be a lot easier for him to go about his business without that damned tooth hurting.

Six days after the attack Ynkera System In orbit over Bareköl

Cosmic Messenger

---

The Poev Yuribao announced its arrival as soon as it could. The spacecraft was old– with about one and a half centuries of service under its belt and said to be held together by tungsten bolts and the suén of the crew, the Yuribao was laid down around the back end of the second generation of Main Combat Vessels, though since heavily modified to keep pace with recent developments. As such, it was not unsurprising to see such a decrepit vessel serving húnàoai** duties. The Genelcheye’ni was impressed that the Yuribao even got to serve as anything other than fodder.

Which irked the warlord, as every craft his Zone Defense Force lost justified the creation of one more starship factory over Ynkera.

For the foreseeable future, Stas Matsevh was the Genelcheye’ni of Ynkera. While the Bareköl planetary government (forming themselves as a commune, pfaw!) struggled to tame the alien environment and erect the industrial and civilian infrastructure in order to join the productive worlds of the Syndicate, Matsevh kept their administration in line with Syndicate ideals and ‘helped to foster an environment of security and sense of community with mankind as a whole.’ Which meant, of course, that nothing got done without his lifting a finger, and if he failed in his duties, then somewhere down the line of decades or centuries the whip-cracking Syndicate watchdogs would come around and wipe out his entire genealogical line.

But that would neither affect Matsevh nor be allowed to happen. The Genelcheye’ni had before him in his suite an overview of every necessary detail to be known about Ynkera II’s (Bareköl's) development, its excess of information being cycled out constantly on a wide blue glass monitor. Kilocalories were contrasted to square meters of arable soil, tangibly theoretical growth estimates and industrial projections put alongside qualitative data, such as images of the typical mid-sized abode hewn out of a rock face down planetside. If Matsevh and his twenty-seven years of education and development were worth their salt, then Ynkera would hoist itself to the status of the core systems within five generations, tops– depending on the breaks.

There was, however, trouble. Ynkera was still on the frontier; ergo it was the Genelcheye’ni’s responsibility to oversee the propagation of human life to every bordering system. That became slightly problematic when the survey force sent out weeks ago reported engagement with a hostile force.

Matsevh saw it all. The footage, the signature analyses, the catalogued remains, and more: but what the Genelcheye’ni was left with were questions. How could this be possible? Was this the direnan? Probability dictated that it was– there was a higher chance of the Genelcheye’ni living to be one-hundred three than to encounter two different forms of separate alien within a single civilization’s living memory. Why did this first encounter end in victory? Perhaps, it only appeared like victory; the warlord read the private notes of the Kandrovy he assigned to lead the force, and agreed with the conclusion that though these entities may have appeared and performed like warships, that could really be their translation of minimal self-defense. Did that mean retaliation was coming? There were no chances to be taken.

The bright display was closed and the Genelcheye’ni’s eyes began to adjust to the dim lighting of the station. He became reacquainted with the harsh metal edges of the Cadurin Ola Terminal– the knowledge of whoever Cadurin Ola was had been lost to him– as Matsevh summoned his aides to dole out his urgent orders.

The Ynkera system was going on high alert. The mass of hundreds of ships that had lingered or carooned around the system in lazy patrols were now dispersing, performing equipment checks, and readying for combat– ships began to lie in wait, using the sole cover of planets and planetoids to conceal themselves. Meanwhile, outbound from over Ynkera II and racing to the edge of the system were messengers– one to Sonvade, one to Pellegawa, some to the prosperous Bezayama system, the Genelcheye’ni’s home system– however, Matsevh took special care in arranging one of the húnàoai: aboard a Pedrassub-Class burner, the only one present in and one of the best ships of the Zone Defense Force, he tasked a duizan with breaking the news directly to Vachnadze, some nine-thousand lightyears into Syndicate territory. At the Terenti Baoyi’s whopping 1400c Sabanqyeva Drive cap, it would take the dedicated interceptor six-point-four years to reach the heart of the Syndicate. Matsevh privately begged his ancestors that someone on Vachnadze knew what to do, and was able to do it, before whatever hammer fell on them swept up the rest of the human race.

Finally, the Genelcheye’ni granted the Kandrovy’s request for reinforcements. From his ZDF’s three hundred-fourteen FTL-capable spacecraft, he sent away fifty-three vessels, mostly late MCV’s in a formation led by four Drotenyo-Class spacecraft and a single Puzhuo-class burner. Matsevh wished them all the luck he had to give. It was hard to tell if any amount of luck would make a difference.

---

* - Danerville
** - Superluminal spacecraft detached from main group for the purpose of military communications; typically sent before confrontation for survival

[Elysian Treaty Organization]

CONTACT
CHAPTER 4 | ARC 1

Danerville

ETS Leonidas

“VAMPIRE, VAMPIRE, VAMPIRE, GROUP OF 18.”

A disconcerting silence filled the bridge of the Leonidas as they watched the missiles inch ever closer, the screen lighting up the incoming missile tracks. The Commodore watched with a passive face as he watched the missiles approach, waiting for them to reach range for softkill and hardkill measures.

Massive fusion engines flared to life as they deactivated safeties, Elysian ships unfolding radiators as they prepared for a concerted effort to escape the detection cones of the enemy missiles. Sailors buckled into crash cushions as the ships exceeded 20G, making a mad-dash to escape enemy sensor detection. Radiators lit up as the amount of waste-heat dumping into the wings of metal and steel was excessive, temperatures almost exceeding the tolerance of the radiator array.

The silent pings of the FTL sensors immediately noticed the Mayfly missiles a few hours out, giving the Elysians plenty of time to prepare. The ship rumbled as it ejected the first of many soft-kill measures, Helgast active jammers folding out of their mass driver tubes. Space was filled with electronic noise as the jammers went live, hundreds of megawatts worth of jamming power filling space.

The commodore watched as four tracks sped off into space, heading for the active-decoys he had emplaced so long ago. They fell off the radar, the CAI marking them as killed - they were no longer a threat. Fourteen more tracks remained - weaving hard in an effort to throw off kinetic PD.

A number of active decoys popped into space, burning away from the Elysian Fleet. VLS cells opened for split moments to release buckets of chaff or active decoys, releasing soft-kill measure after soft-kill measure. Soft puffs of checkered chaff filled vacuum in a valiant effort to throw off incoming missiles, the advanced Mayfly missiles easily discriminating against the primitive EWAR implements.

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CMDR: 10-30-80. 9 IM. 10-31-80. 5 IM. | ENY MSSL WEAVING | WEAPONS FREE |

CPT [ACKENAR]: UDRSTD. | PILUMS AWAY - 10-30-80|

Active sensors and directional jammers lit up the remaining missiles, spewing emissions down-range as they maintained PD locks and attempted to spoof or throw off the guidance of the incoming missiles. Pilum AMMs erupted from their launch cells, riding a wave of gas as they went live, vectoring into the incoming wave. They pushed their engines to the limit as they rushed forward at a blisteringly fast 5G, clawing for the C-fractional speeds they desperately needed.

One - two - three Pilums tore themselves apart under the stress, casting a wide net of metal shrapnel as they unfurled to reveal hundreds of little metal bits. Distant flashes flashed against sensors as the shrapnel impacted, tearing into the eight GR-6111’s like wind through smoke. The outranged -6111’s had neither the propellant left to evade nor the ability to hide behind their own jamming; the Pilums’ home-on-jam capabilities found the interstellar weapons surprisingly easy targets. That was, however, by design. The GR-6111’s departed from their Cellular Launch Systems the same time as their GL-7192 counterparts, but the missiles themselves were surpassed by the latter’s superior acceleration, allowing only the noise of the electronic warfare precede them. So, by the time the self-defense missiles reached the muddled sources of the jamming, they were already self-destructed or with a steady trajectory in the absolutely-significant fractions of the speed of light– in the opposite direction.

While the results of their point-defense efforts were a rapidly diminishing seven seconds behind, the remaining eight GL-7192 barreled forward at their hard-earned 0.14c, picking out their targets with electronic sensors that reached across the spectrum. The onboard computers of the weapons used their target identification logic to discount spoofs based on previous passive data; through the wash of sensor noise, the computers capped the energy levels of noise it received, and focused on the wavelengths in which ships typically reside– namely, the stretch of the electromagnetic spectrum from radio to ultraviolet. They discounted data points that exceeded projections of target maneuverability, with Syndicate vessels as a reference to the alien creatures they now faced. In the face of the electronic noise, at least five were able to keep track of their targets.

The entire fleet erupted in flame and fire as the first of the Rodeo Block IIs emerged from their cocoons of metal, initiating hot-launches from the spacious VLS cells they lived in. Their engines desperately drove them forward at a fast 12G, driving towards the remaining missiles with a vengeance. The Commodore silently watched as the two tracks approached each other.

Each missile had 1 ton of proximity fused explosive. 20 Rodeoes barreled toward their targets, vectoring into enemy tracks as they silently approached their targets, radars going live as they discriminated friend from foe - missile from debris. Last-second acquisitions left two missiles gunning for each vampire, firing maneuvering thrusters as they barreled towards their targets. 12 lost locks in the vast expanse of space, speeding off into the distance.

Four tracks disappeared from the sensor array as the Rodeoes reached their target. They left 6 more vampires to deal with, the tracks glaring at him as they silently approached the fleet. At the 3-light second mark, a shrill beep came from the sensor array - lighter PD preparing to engage.

The last of the soft-kill measures sped out of their pods. More chaff and more active decoys filled space, a last-ditch effort to throw off the incoming missiles. Laser dazzlers went live as they blinded enemy electro-optical sensors, attempting to compound the effects of the soft-kill measures.

It was for naught.

Choosing their targets, two missiles went for the small Dolos. One went for the Ackenar, the other the Leonidas. The blue plumes silently approached the fleet as the Commodore painfully watched the missiles creep ever closer, the tracks almost overlapping with the point-defense range of the ships. Their point-defense had a range of one light-second, they would be running it close.

As the enemy missiles continued forward at their fast speed of 0.14c, the first particle accelerators moved to meet them.

The tubes turned to the right, pulsing their anger at the incoming enemy missiles. They bled through metal and sensor alike, burning missile after missile. The commodore cursed as he realized that the accelerators did not have enough power to burn through - the Mayfly Missiles were much too armored.

He watched as the Dolos lit up, followed by the Ackenar and his flagship, the Leonidas. He watched as hundreds of 20mm rounds were carelessly sprayed down-range, swatting one missile out of the sky. He watched with uncontrollable horror as the missiles weaved through the nets of 20mm counter-fire, nimbly avoiding the streams of tracers.

Each ship had three centimeters of ablative armor. Lasers splashed against the armor as it held firm - the Leonidas holding firm.

“PROJECTORS 1, PROJECTOR 2, DOWN!” A spacer yelled, panic filling his voice. Two projectors were down - the ablative shielding system of the Leonidas compromised.

Frantic yells filtered through the Commodore’s hardsuit as the bridge crew jumped into action, dispatching damage control to formerly sealed bulkheads. He stayed impassive as status symbols flashed red or yellow across the impacted section, the slagged armor exposing bulkheads.

Like a switch was flicked, automated countermeasures sprinted out of their pods. RM-03 missiles shot out of their cells, sparkles of ablative and reflective material filling space as they rushed towards the laser - with the overall objective of bleeding some energy away from the laser.

Hundreds burnt as the defensive missiles unfurled wide nets of metamaterials, slamming them towards the laser. The laser found itself diffracted as its energy was bent, corkscrewing it away from the Leonidas. Chaff shined bright red under the pressure, the metamaterials redirecting a majority of the energy.

On the other hand, the Dolos was not so lucky. Lasers carved a deep gash in her armor as her point-defense fell silent, the guidance systems slagged. Escape pods shot out of the ship as horrified silence filled the bridge of the Leonidas. The cries of the crew were audible through staticy radios as hail-mary salvoes erupted from the remaining VLS pods, riding on a wave of gas as they oriented towards their targets.

The ship was being bisected before their eyes - and they were powerless. Completely powerless to save the crew of the Dolos. The Commodore’s eyes scrutinized every detail, his expression filled with anger as he watched the ship be cut in half. Explosions filled his view as the lasers breached the hundreds of missile pods on the Dolos. Certain death awaited the crew.

A dazzling explosion filled the eyes of every sailor as the Dolos finally fell apart, her ammunition stores detonating. Sensors went haywire as her reactor went critical, the safeties on her reactor destroyed. The ship glistened as it started to bubble, the reactor detonating as the armor failed in one last hurrah.

She broke in half as her keel was reduced to dust, the remains of the ship spinning out of control. A dazzling blue sphere encompassed the remains of the ship as the Ackenars armor shined bright-red, buckling under the stress. Sensors were blinded with the dizzying opacity of an uncontrolled reactor meltdown as the Ackenar fought to stay alive.

Hundreds of little canisters popped as they released gallons of fire-suppressant, the damage control element filling the decks with gallons of foam. Damage control teams navigated the destroyed deck as hoses went live, the hoses roaring to life as they fought back an inferno.

Commander First Class Rocinate Cervantes gave off a grimace as he hoisted an attack line above his shoulder, the damage control team descending into the wide caverns of the ship. They finished minute checks as they descended, checking hard-suit integrity and their equipment.

They would need it all. A shattered space-ship was not conducive to fleshy humans running around, even with a basic disregard for safety. It would not be missiles and guns that would win this battle - no, it would be the fast-attack hose and firefighter.

“Right, everyone ready?” Affirmations filled his ears as the small team approached their task -
There was no time for silence, for memorial. It was time to fight - to sharpen their swords, hoist their hoses, and give their all.

They emerged into an inferno of fire and flame. A metallic taste filled his mouth as he advanced. They had to get this done - the ship was leaking atmosphere by the minute, and time was ticking.

“Open it up!” He yelled, motioning to his hose team to open the valve. Firefighting foam roared out of the hose, the viper of white smothering flame after flame as the team advanced. He watched with satisfaction as other teams pushed up, suppressing the fire as they worked to save the ship.

---

“We got a sensors lock!” An excited sailor yelled from his console, the Commodore watching as the ten enemy ships popped up on his console. They glared red at him - pests, to be exterminated with extreme prejudice. He checked his crash gear and grav-suit, ensuring that he was ready for the maneuvers they would pull.

Sighing, the Commodore motioned to his officers to initiate a tight-beam transmission. The small laser rushed out, connecting with the other ships of the fleet as he started his orders.

“Fire missiles.”

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ZZZ: URGFLASH - MISSILES AUTHORIZED | SPECAUTH 118R9 | ALLOCATION TO FOLLOW…

Hundreds of missile pods slid open as a mixture of missiles initiated cold-launches, erupting from their vertical launch cells with a silent pop. The exotic mixture of gases vented out into space as the missiles righted themselves, maneuvering thrusters roaring to life as they turned towards the Mayfly fleet. Hundreds of blue plumes filled space as the missiles activated, driving themselves towards their objective - towards retribution.

“Helghast” type active decoys detached from their ships, spinning out of mass-drivers as they unfurled. They burnt away as they worked to throw off incoming missiles, spraying off electronic emissions as they silently moved in the vacuum of space. No missiles would barrel towards the decoys - they were there to masquerade movements, to provide some sort of barrier to the impressive Mayfly sensors.

All sorts of thrusters popped up as the fleet started to jink in all sorts of directions, small puffs of blue throwing the fleet in all directions. Main thrusters roared to life as the fleet rearranged itself, providing cooperative sensor-cover and point-defense coverage. They would not have the Dolos happen again.

In the midst of the fleet, a single CiC was filled to the brim with activity. A weapons officer silently sat at his console, contently watching the outgoing missiles. His mind was preoccupied with task after task - coordinating point-defense, tracking enemy ships - it was a blizzard of activity.

A single message played over his console.

ZZZ: URGFLASH - CDR. ORDERS TYPE “B” MISSILE ATTACK ON ENY SENSOR TRACKS. FURTHER ORDERS WILL FOLLOW - NUCLEAR WEAPONS AUTHORIZED.

The allocation and type of missiles he had to fire automatically displayed on the console. He looked at his colleague and nodded - it was time to fight.

“Right, deactivate missile safeties.” He flicked a single switch and a loud beep filled his ears, adding to the ever-present chaos in the CiC.

“Deactivated.”

“Plot missile paths.” The AI automatically did that for them.

“Set missile modes.” Another switch. He flicked it to the right.

“Initiate launch sequence.” He sighed, and pressed down on the button.

An electrical signal rushed across the ship, barreling towards the missile pods. The silo doors silently slid open, revealing 20 nuclear missiles. They silently rose up into the air, riding a wave of gas. A quick blast of maneuvering thrusters oriented them the right way.

The missiles roared to life, barreling towards the enemy fleet.

---

Across the Danerville system– or as it was clumsily known to the Mayflys, the AT-0026 system– most of the tempo of the battle was similarly managed by a machine. For the human component of the Syndicate typrawa, those that were lucky were left unconscious, as some of their manual duties would entitle death in the high-acceleration conditions; the higher-ups did not have the luxury of that with their cerebral burdens.

The Ashugh Guraj, the furthest of the group, had eight hours of warning and preparation; the nearest, the Anya Mu, had only seven and a quarter. No coordination, not of one mind, my rear-- thought the Kandrovy derisively. The direnan was clearly coordinated now– perhaps the greater engagement range, rather than the recklessly-close contact in AT-0024G, had given them too much time to prepare. The distance between the typrawa and their opponents was on average ninety-four light minutes, and the nearest only had ninety-three; while this allowed the enemy to make off with this now-closing volley of projectiles, it gave the Syndicate forces time to ready their own defenses.

The combat computer had laid out the options, which seemed obvious only after they were presented. Of course, the first option was the simplest. Macron dischargers across the hulls of the ten Syndicate spacecraft erupted in controlled plumes of fine particulate (macrons), projected away from their mothership at tens of thousands of meters per second. These plumes expanded into clouds, and then into fields along the projected angles of approach of the enemy missiles, sometimes the same sector being doubled back on to properly cover that vector. From the exterior metal scaffolding of the Anya Mu and Peyov Kolegovich MCVs, Jansky autonomous jamming platforms broke off from their mounts and were deposited behind the maneuvering spacecraft like debris– their own propulsion (which paled in comparison to their motherships) lit up, and their purpose became clear soon enough. Jamming and chaff, macrons and maneuvering, would serve as the first line of defense.

It would be tested soon enough.

The first volley came in force. Hours had let their countermeasures disperse, covering an area so vast that their sensors could not both discern a single macron and outline the field as a whole. These weaponized particles were, to the typrawa’s benefit, well-placed. What seemed to be the vanguard of the volley of guided weapons were the first affected– around thirty one Elysian missiles flashed as the combined impact velocity, equivalent to each grain of sand impacting with a final velocity of Mach 105043, tore through the skins of the spaceborne weapons and punctured warhead and propellant storage alike. Those that followed were given a similar treatment, each new trajectory for the missiles increasing the probability of a hit. Ninety more missiles, those that did not slip through the gaps, joined their comrades in the first wave; the Dolos’ volley were scratched off by fourteen.

The electronic warfare provided by the Jansky drones, pounding the medium of space with megawatts of noise and active deception, served its purpose. Those missiles with passive seeker heads, or those with active radar that were spoofed, barrelled in on the position of the two telephone-pole sized objects; only to find drones instead of the Mayfly ships they sought. Burning too hard in the wrong direction, fifty-four Elysian missiles met the end of their useful life to be able to catch up to the Syndicate force.

The remaining three-hundred forty-nine missiles of the first volley would have to be dealt with, reinforced by the lagging hail-mary volleys dispatched from the long-dead Dolos. The space surrounding the typrawa was enveloped in invisible energy as the low-power proximity systems of the “Zönsovin” High Energy Phased Laser Array were activated in preparation for the many ships’ defense; supercapacitors were charged, hundreds of thousands of kilojoules at the fingertips of each one– and there were eight of these arrays per MCV. The two Drotenyo-Class vessels had an even more advanced system, and the Ashugh Guraj had the merit of having nine vessels between it and the enemy to protect itself, its own capabilities notwithstanding.

A wave of FASTSTRIKES and Reapers violated the perimeter of the Anya Mu first. It, and the supporting Peyov Kolegovich opened up with point defense lasers automatically once the projectiles crossed the four lightsecond mark– the heavy metal casings resisted the heat up for so long, before ablation cleaved through their armors; but while the focus was on these hard targets, it allowed the slower Bowmans to creep closer. Last-ditch ejections of the ships’ macron projectors took dozens upon dozens of missiles, but the tougher missile targets were found to be too time consuming– by the time seven FASTSTRIKES and thirty-nine Reaper missiles were destroyed, it was the beginning of the end.

Several FASTSTRIKE missiles detonated, drowning Mayfly sensors with blinding opacity momentarily– in those moments, the point defense of the Mu and Kolegovich were paralyzed, with no targets able to be discerned along the wavelengths they used. Those moments were all their opponents needed to slip through. It didn’t matter which missile went and struck the killing blows on the two spacecraft– the result was the same, after all. The habitats for generations were torn open in an instant and left perforated husks.

The munition stores of Mu and Kolegovich went off within a heartbeat of one another– massive releases of explosive energy seen only as flickers against the backdrop of the void. This complicated the defenses of the next nearest ships, producing more or less the same effects as the FASTSTRIKE.

Due to the dispersion of the typrawa, the remaining two-hundred seventy-four missiles of the first wave plunged through the gap in the formation left by the recent Mayfly losses. However, then came the second, uncoordinated mess of the Reapers and the Dolos’ Bowmans on the horizon.

The Kandrovy watched within their acceleration chamber, face distorted, as the Mu, then the Kolegovich flickered, then fell off the tactical display. They had known the bloodline of the duizan of the Kolegovich well– to have been overrun by the direnan’s machines!

KANDROVY: ORDER TYPRAWA TO CLOSE GAP / BEARING 10 AZIMUTH 208 IMMEDIATELY / ADDITIONAL MACRON SCREENING NEEDED

The Guraj had about three minutes of time before they were in any serious danger, but its escorts did not have the same privilege. As if in slow motion, the outer flanks of the formation furiously closed in on the gap to no avail; all that could be done was to put as much laser fire on the incoming missiles without being so careless as to commit friendly fire on the other side of the gap. The Yinarmen Ka, a Drotenyo-Class spacecraft, was the silent guard to the Ashugh Guraj while her sister provided overwatch. It’s hull shimmered in and out of view from the missiles’ perspectives as the space between them was filled with ripples of macrons; with the Kolegovich and Anya Mu already having met their fate, there was no risk of these particles impacting friendlies.

It was like watching a game play out by itself. Hundreds of missiles met hundreds of Syndicate reactions, course changes with countermeasures and counter-fire. The MCV’s beyond the scope of the main drive of the volley did what they could, extending the range of their point defense to fire wildly at the vulnerable profiles of incoming missiles, while the Ka made a last desperate attempt to preserve itself, burning well beyond the normal safe limits to evade its pursuers. But to no avail.

A chain reaction was set in motion that the Ashugh Guraj was not able to observe. The Yinarmen Ka was struck– its profile to the Guraj was half cool, half superheated metals as its hull was raked with energy from a FASTSTRIKE. Milliseconds later, just as the thermal signature of the vessel’s radiators began to bloom exponentially, a combination of Reapers and Bowmen administered the coup de grace– as the antimatter reactor’s volatile systems were disrupted, the Ka disappeared.

The Kandrovy did not need the sensors to tell them that. An instant passed and everything suddenly seemed wrong. The lighting had changed from a sterile white to a rusty red-brown, and instead of the tasteless, smell-less acceleration chamber gel, the Kandrovy found himself tasting metal. His head was on his side, and an acute pain came from his neck, his eyes, his internal organs, and his ears…

An alarm blared as the ship finally caught on to the situation. Asheen Tandokavy’s head shot up from his seat– the ship’s thrust had gone. They were dead in the water. Glancing at the mounted display in the chamber, which was nearly on the fritz, they noticed that the duizan had requested their presence– apparently, as the duizan had already left their acceleration chamber, they weren’t going to move anytime soon.

Tandokavy cycled out of the acceleration chamber, his rebreather whirring as it adjusted from the thick gel to the climate-controlled atmosphere. Pulling themselves out of the chamber was like stepping into a natural disaster. The alarms along the corridor echoed and reverberated– apparently this passageway was still pressurized. Some displays along the way were shattered, and maintenance panels were floating freely. Taking hold of a bulkhead, Tandokavy launched himself down the corridors, seeing plenty of effects, but no sign or clue to the cause. They came to a bulkhead with the doors shut tight; placing their hand on the door, Tandokavy grimaced as the cold leaked through their glove. Vacuum.

The Kandrovy dragged themselves to a panel on the wall that wasn’t shot through– with some negotiation and plenty of permissions input, it would be a simple matter of gradually decompressing their position on the spacecraft before moving on. Checking their suit’s helmet seals first, the Kandrovy managed on the second try to close the bulkhead behind him before withdrawing the atmosphere from his section– the door in front of him slid open without fanfare as next to no atmosphere vented into space.

A window had been carved into the hull, making the stars and blackness of space visible. No actual impact had occurred that the Kandrovy could see, but the edges around the gouges showed the scorches of ablation. The atmosphere must have forced its way through the armor once it had been whittled away.

The corridor ended in an airlock before the command center; it offered no trouble in letting the Kandrovy through. The duizan was already there, light spacesuit hastily donned.

“What the hell happened?” Tandokavy asked bitterly. Their black hair was pulled into a tight knot that rubbed uncomfortably against the back of their neck in the suit.

The duizan, contrary to ceremonial protocol, did not look up for more than an instant. “The Ka went off. Antimatter, at this distance– it was too perfect for them. Half our hull on one side got cooked off. Magazine doors aren’t responding, and–” The duizan, half hissing, forcefully tapped the console that consumed his attention. Before the Kandrovy could respond, the duizan of the Ashugh Guraj pulled someone up on comms. “Jishueka (Lieutenant), what’s the status with the damned reactor?”

The Kandrovy recovered from their initial shock and remembered their place. “Duizan, how serious is the damage? Why are we not under thrust?”

The duizan put off talking until the gargled reply over the comms finished. “Our radiators saved most of the ship– but now we’ve had to increase reactor output well beyond the safe limit to cast off this heat. We’re having trouble with the tap-off cycle and with the beating we just took, that’ll probably be a mechanical failure of some kind. We can’t run the reactor until we fix this, or at least we can’t after this heating issue goes away, else I’ll have to figure out how to look on the bright side about being dissociated into my base atoms. That, and external readings say the drive cones are at danger of cracking, and we can’t check all of them until the heating on that one side goes away.”

“And we have people on it?” The Kandrovy pushed.

The duizan gave Tandokavy a thinly disguised sour look. “You want to know?”

---

The crew space of the Ashugh Guraj was a dimly-lit pandemonium. The nonessential, redundant personnel that filled the bellies of Syndicate spacecraft as a form of genetic security, or Sagüiya, were not as protected in the ship as their officer class.

The lights were dim or flickering, the air seemed filled with particulate shaken loose from whatever place. A smell of recently extinguished electrical fire hung in the air, and the sounds of weeps and screams of pain or horror echoed down the ceramic and steel corridors. The duizan followed the lead of their superior, and launched themselves softly up the corridor. Doctors, white eyed and trembling, looked after the crumpled remains of what once was a person, caught on the lip of their failed acceleration chamber. Moving this scene to the corner of their vision and pressing on, Tandokavy could not ignore the sudden realization of how much blood there was; it stained portions of the walls as fatalities were dragged away to rejoin the cycle, and tainted the air with its rust-colored stench.

“It isn’t as bad as it looks, Kandrovy.” Called the duizan amidst the ruckus. Tandokavy looked back to see the duizan wipe their forehead before pulling themselves through a bulkhead. “All in all, about forty-two percent casualty rate. We can replace losses with transplants.”

The Kandrovy furrowed their brow. “What did you have to show me down here, then?”

The duizan shrugged in the noncommittal Mayfly way, with their hands. There was a glimmer of something in the duizan’s eyes Tandokavy could not put a name to, however. “Only wanted you to show your face. Morale is always an issue around here in the den.”

Tandokavy sighed and stopped their momentum at the next bulkhead. Alarms momentarily went off, before returning to silence. “What is the tactical situation, Duizan?”

The duizan adjusted themselves against the bulkhead. “The enemy is in the process of withdrawing; only covering actions as of yet.”

“What about our losses?” Tandokavy murmured.

“Mu, Kolegovich. Bana also destroyed by the Ka’s detonation, Malbharovna unresponsive, assumed heavily damaged. Then there’s us.”

A sense of grave seriousness struck Tandokavy. Processing it, they replied, “Let’s return to the control center. There’s no good in staying here.”

A nearby corridor screen, its display unreliable, chimed. The computer had tracked the officers down and brought the news: the Tserebiy had engaged the enemy.

---

Hundreds of active-jammers detached from the scattered ships of Akhan, the jammers spraying off electronic emissions in vacuum. Chaff detached from the scattered ships as multi-spectral spoofs went live, specially designed retroreflectors interacting with ersatz radio communications and lases designed to fool enemy SIGINT assets into thinking something was there. They weren’t exactly fool-proof, the lack of engine heat would cause them to be revealed if enemy sensors officers scrutinized the contacts.

Commodore Daniel Eran watched as the strips of metal filled space, throwing off active radar locks - if any came. He was well aware that he had lost the initiative and was on the road to an inevitable defeat. Sighing, he motioned to a communication officer. The portly man rushed up to his side, ready to hear his orders.

“Right, transmit this to Tharsa and the ECG. Standard distress message, hopefully they arrive in time.” He said, the officer saluting and rushing back to his position - sending the message through the scattered buoys in space.

Ogley looked at a single picture. Three happy faces - no four, were suspended in a moment of pure elation. He smiled as he remembered the moment that they took that picture.

He swore a single impassioned oath, his breath turning the oath into a series of mutters. Ogley would return to his family, as he cursed those bastard unknowns who had thrown him into this predicament.

“Right, give them a few gifts. Fire nuclear missiles a mile or so ahead of us, cloak our movements under the flame of nukes.”

Ogley contemplated his next move for a few minutes, thinking about how he would regain the initiative. Memories from his days in the naval academy flashed back, the roar of strict teachers filling his ears as he remembered.

“Slingshot us around the fourth planet. It’ll take a while, but it should give us some element of surprise.”

His crew nodded as they moved to carry out his orders. Three lased messages rushed into his station - affirmations for the upcoming battle. 5 nuclear missiles sprinted out of the various launch pods on the Leonidas, the missiles sprinting a single mile away and detonating - cloaking the activities of the ships. A buoy sprinted out of one of the ships, providing some guidance to the scattered missiles in the air.

The comforting roar of engines filled Ogley’s ears as the fleet moved to counterattack.

---

“Incoming boarders, incoming boarders, incoming boarders! Prepare for immediate combat. This is not a drill.”

“Kick some out there, eh? Make sure to leave some for me.”

Corporal Aidan nodded as he slammed a magazine into his R9 rifle, the rifle clanging as metal hit metal. The weapon chunked as the charging handle charged forward like a bull, priming the weapon. He flicked off the safety with his index finger, ensuring that he was ready to fight.

The fleet had engaged a group of 10 enemy ships a few hours ago. RRF Akhan had retreated somewhere, and the scientific station was left alone with a platoon of infantrymen to secure it. The infantrymen had no intention to let them take the station, come hell or high water.

He adjusted his helmet and ensured that his HUD was in working order as he completed final checks on his exoskeleton and weapon. Despite sharing superficial similarities to the soldiers of old, the Elysian infantry had been consistently and constantly refined with the newest technology available on the battlefield. The most important of the improvements was the exoskeleton and HUD, allowing soldiers to carry heavy loads and monitor ammunition supply.

“Those fly-boys really can’t do their job, eh?”, A fresh-faced Private said, forcing a response from Aidan.

“Well, I don’t know. Only been a good few days, can’t judge their performance yet.” Aidan replied, his flat inflection filling the room.

“Righttt.”

Finishing his weapons checks, he took in his surroundings. The room was sparse and filled with lockers for 60 men, and were filled to the brim with soldiers making final combat checks. The sounds of talking and machinery filled the room, the noise almost deafening Aidan. The Lieutenant yelled out in his baritone voice, his imposing figure forcing his way through the room.

“Are we all green yet? We’ve got incoming borders and I will be damned if we let those darned alien idiots on this pristine station.

I ain’t a scientist, but something tells me that those aliens want something for themselves. Well, the only thing that they will be getting is a faceful full of lead!

We’ll be damn happy to oblige them in their request, ain’t I right?”

Jeers and yelps filled the room as the 33rd Landeers roared through the small and cramped room.

“I can’t hear you!”, the Lieutenant said, motioning to his ears.

The Landeers had roared even louder, punching weapons into the air.

Landeer teams finished their final checks before they rushed out of the armory, weapons in hand. Aidan clutched his R9 as the Landeers rushed into their stations, setting up sentry guns and other implements of war.

---

Far away, the Hemat Soniya and Anchok Tserebiy approached, one facing away and slowing, the other facing towards and closing rapidly, nearly obscuring the Soniya in the intensity of its drive plume. As the Tserebiy gathered closer to the station, one of its axes dispelled millions of specks which were left behind in a rapidly-expanding tail of the ship. This process continued for merely fifty seconds, and in time the station appeared to have grown from microscopic invisibility to a swiftly emerging speck on the star-saturated horizon. The Tserebiy, drawing nearer than it would have normally liked, broke off seconds from reaching the station, rocketing out of the battlespace.

In its wake, besides spent hydrogen atoms, was the cloud of macrons it had cultivated and brought to a range of speeds the mach unit was not meant to measure. Released on a trajectory towards the station, they soon reached their target like a hail of arrows. The skin of the station gave way to countless silent flashes as each particulate impacted with the energy of an artillery shell.

However, still on course was the Hemat Soniya, from which a boxy form emerged, lighting up its own propulsion as the Soniya itself veered off.

---

The shuttle rattled violently like claptrap. The interior lights of the shuttle’s bay flickered, but did not fail. An alert went off nearby reminding the jam-packed passengers to remain in their acceleration positions, with a flashing indicator that showed the g-forces they were taking on. The passengers were still, save for the occasional jerk as the shuttle maneuvered. All the while, the zhenturon focused on their deep, steady breaths. The acceleration, which showed within their HUD, held itself around 5.3 G’s, which within the suit felt quite comfortable. Far from comfortable, however, were some of the zhenturon’s companions, who even in heavily padded hazardous combat suits were comparatively scrawny to the Zhenturo’s armored spacesuits.

It felt strange to celebrate his one-hundred tenth birthday with a combat op. Flexing his hands, which remained clammy from stasis, the mechanical counterpart imitated his movements. It felt good to be back in the suit, like a warm blanket and hot meal after patrolling the cold subsurface depots back on Monokhiin. It was odd, too, to have been briefed on the final enemy of the Syndicate. Disoriented at first to have awoken so far from home (his barracks), the zhenturon accepted the knowledge of different life in the universe with practiced apathy. After all, the zhenturon was a soldier– it was better to leave the existential thinking and speculative talk to others. In any case, there was a job that needed doing.

An unusually violent rock shifted the zhenturon’s thoughts outward. With an umph, one of the eight small fellow passengers, seated across from the eight suited individuals, grunted and squeezed the arm supports of their crash couch. Some of their smaller friends were the knowing-types, pulled from the depths of the Hemat Soniya where the cattle worked, because apparently this mission required technical know-how. Others, the zhenturon recalled with a derisive chuckle, were Jianohan. The Jianoha were amateurs compared to the Zhenturo– just Haideniz cattle with guns, and the impression of versatility.

“Keep it down.” Muttered the Tyekhuyuanist (Technical Sergeant, Lieutenant) through the subvocalization module in their suit. Using his chin, he navigated to a better view of his suit’s suite of cameras, and looked over at the Tyekhuyuanist. The officer was set apart by a self-interrogating IFF band off the side of the helmet, which shone quite similarly to the bands present on the Yehinas (Corporals). Dalaichinash First Rate Tor returned his view to its minimalist version. He was subordinated to Yehina Jia as part of Gunnery Unit Gimel, subsection of 2nd Complement, 1st Group, Hemat Soniya Combatant. They were going in comparatively light, as the shuttle could, if opened up from the wastes of space that shivered in front of Tor, hold twice the amount of zhenturons, and as briefed, fast. Against the brutal force of the artificial gravity Tor’s assisted arm raised his hefty personal weapon, checking the chamber for a round, and scanning over the linkages between the feeding port and the suit’s kidney compartment. With any luck, this would be over quick.

“Bet, Gimel, Dalet, prep for insertion.” The technical sergeant barked. Nearly in unison, the zhenturos tested their thrusters, but keeping their rockets cold for now. The rattling and noisy strain of the shuttle then began to dim as the cabin began to depressurize. The shuttle then made a rapid motion, spinning the passengers’ sense of ‘down’, before thrust was apparently cut. The Tyekhuyuanist wasted no time.

“BET! GO! GIMEL! GO! DALET…”

The side of the shuttle shot open, and in a practiced fashion the zhenturos waded out into the darkness.

Tor pulled himself out the door and pushed off rapidly, joining his comrades-in-arms in the natural environment of the Zhenturo. The IUAP suit dimmed the stars, letting Tor focus only on his comrades and their target, dead ahead. The three gunnery units ignited their fusion rockets as one and shot forward to their target, burning to their limit. The suit’s sensor suite gave Tor a picture of what lay above him, scanning for threats but finding itself unable to picture anything amidst the debris. After seconds, the unit swiveled at the same point in space as they passed through and began their deceleration burn, almost a harder feat than the acceleration as they were thrown off by the brief respite. Within a minute, the half-strength complement had arrived at their destination at a reasonable velocity.

The suit shuddered with the impact of his boots against the station’s hull. The station was left fairly intact– penetrations riddled its skin, leading to some visible slow releases of gas, and in some places, the shimmer of the shattered scraps of alien composites and other materials. Tor felt his heart turn icy cold as he received a signal from Jia to form up. Activating the electromagnets of his boots, which worked on this surface to some surprise, Tor strode over and assumed a point position, with the Yehina tens of meters behind. A tactical map minimized to the corner of his view showed the zhenturos in a deformed circle, scanning the outside of the station.

“Bet Clear.” “All clear, Gimel.” “Gee-You Dalet reports all clear.”

“Acknowledged,” came the familiar voice of the Tyekhuyuanist. “Alef making final approach.”

Scanning the digitally-imposed blinders for any HUD indicators, the wall suddenly opened to include more markers from the shuttle, with the little flares of propulsion announcing Gunnery Unit Alef’s transit. “Switch to secure comms.” The voice came again.

The low-power microwave transmissions were then replaced by the much higher resolution laser comms, as the Yehina and Tor were attached to the Tyekhuyuanist’s command system. Tor felt a tremble carry up his leg, and his HUD’s situational awareness systems confirmed it– they were all here.

“All units, possible entrypoint marked on tactical map, approx forty meters from position. Bet will lead, then Gimel, Alef, and tailed by Dalet. We will wait for support to breach, and then Bet and Gimel will push. Weapons free on any and all targets. Understood?” The officer said. The Yehinas confirmed. Without much fanfare, the eight zhenturons broke from their positions and advanced, using their thrusters to maneuver. They ended their silent procession in a two-by-four formation. Tor used his sensors to look up towards their support, the Strizhan armed shuttle that ferried them out to the station.

---

The macrons tore through flesh and armour alike, ripping open scientific labs and airlocks. The civilian personnel on the station were lost - exposed to vacuum, ripped out of now-insecure shelters. A loud klaxon started up as the station was bathed in red emergency lighting, generators going online as they utilized whatever redundant power lines could be found.

In a small airlock, a single macron had hit a volatile battery array. Already stressed by the hundreds of tasks it was providing, the macron tore open the safeties of the battery. Flammable gases stored within combusted for a split second - it was enough to disorient and kill a few defenders.

Corporal Aidan woke up with a severe headache. His suit screeched at him as he noticed a deep gash in the hard-suit - atmosphere was leaking by the minute. He grabbed a patch and affixed it - it would work for now.

It was almost miraculous that he had survived. He looked agape at the casualties of his squad - it had taken a few seconds for them to simply die with no fanfare, with no glorious death. A disconcerting thought filled his mind - what would the actual boarding sequence be like?

It was the wavering voice of his Lieutenant that had brought him back to reality.
“God! Status Report!” He yelled, voice a far-cry from the cocky officer so long ago. He had lost 10 men within seconds in indirect combat, no chance to engage the enemy granted.

The Strizhan fired its micromunition accelerator, and the entry point was gone in a violent flash. Superheated materials ejected from the explosion were still loosely gathered around where the airlock-analog was when the Tyekhuyuanist gave the order to advance. Gunnery units Bet and Gimel rushed forward– GU Bet detached themselves from the station’s surface and used their thrusters to bring themselves in front of the opening, guns at the ready. Gimel stopped just at the base of the opening, ready to follow Bet in.

“OPEN FIRE!” Yelled the lieutenant, panic filling his voice. It had taken a few seconds - the airlock had been blown in, followed by the biggest figure that Aidan had ever seen. Telltale weapons discharges filled vacuum, spitting round after round down-range. A weapons team ran up, their 30mm MG clicking into place as it expanded. A fusillade of 30mm rounds sprinted down the tight corridor, the tracers shining in Aidan’s thermals, bright white in a backdrop of complete darkness.

The robot, human, supersoldier - whatever it was, shrugged off the small arms fire with ease. 7mm rounds bounced off his armor, the efforts of the Platoon futile against hundreds of years of constant development of armor, of the well-honed enemy robots or suits - whatever it could be called.

In a knee-jerk reaction, the Yehina and Dalaichinash of Gunnery Unit Bet squeezed the triggers of their personal weapons– releasing salvos of rounds upon their foes. Tor could see through their cameras what they were firing at; to him, just dark figures and bright muzzle flashes. Tor saw the Yehina’s armor flash with the deflections of bullets– then, in a snap, the Yehina was rocketed backwards. GU Bet made their final shots before rocketing away from the breach.

Aidan ducked as rounds screamed over his head, the barrage of bullets sailing over his head. The others were not so lucky. Flesh was torn apart as the platoon scrambled to cover, five men crumpling as they were too slow. The machine-gunner let loose with another barrage of bullets, loosing hundreds of small darts in an effort to keep the enemy away.

Now in relative safety, the Yehina’s over-the-shoulder machinery sparked brilliantly with damage. All the while, that same zhenturon stiffly made the hand signal for Comms inoperable. The Dalaichinash stepped in. “High threat weaponry present, sersheng.”

The Tyekhuyuanist’s response was quick. “Frag it.” Originating from the hefty ‘shoulderblades’ of their suits, a spread of micromissiles shot away from Tor’s section and redirected themselves directly through the airlock, seeking a target to hit.

Bright white streaks erupted from the airlock, the scattered men of the platoon running for cover as the micromissiles wreaked havoc on the platoon, throwing shrapnel in all directions.

“STATUS REPORT!” He yelled, receiving affirmations from the remaining men of the platoon. The 30mm was slagged, burning up the small amount of oxygen left in the airlock. It was punchy, CQC, zero-g combat. It was the definition of desperation.

Missiles zipped by as Aidan grabbed his rocket launcher, aiming it towards the airlock. One of those juggernauts would die today - Aidan would personally make sure that happened. He slid back the safety and took a deep breath, aiming it at an enemy soldier.

“Gimel,” came the Tyekhuyuanist, “Light up electronic support. Advance with Bet and Dalet.”
Tor squared his shoulders and took a deep breath. The reserves, Dalet, came up from behind and all of a sudden the resolution of his surroundings went down as the electronic warfare implements of his companions flared on. The designers of the suit allowed for some mercy shown to friendly sensors, but to Tor’s annoyance they hadn’t completely figured it out. With a jerk of the neck, the microwave FCS of his autocannon came online; and with a tensing of a muscle his magboots came offline. The remaining member of Gunnery Unit Bet stood across from the rest– the damaged Yehina awkwardly maneuvered themselves back to the station’s surface. A practiced signal sent them all into the fray.

Tor saw the enemy much clearer now– figures, not much unlike their own, scrambled amidst their dead behind fortified, jagged positions. The corridor was an fascinating sight, for the split-second Tor considered examining it. Perforations in the hull of the station let pinholes of light stretch across the airlock, peppering the environment in a form of half-light. The artificial lighting of the station had since disappeared– now, it was replaced by the flash of firearms.

Aidan’s Helmet rapidly switched over to thermals, standard visuals being much too bright for any form of prolonged engagement - not if one wanted to shield their corneas for future use. He depressed a single button, and the missile flew out - scorching his face as he ran back to cover, grabbing his rifle and returning fire.

He crouched behind a small metal barrier as autocannon rounds zipped by. The machine-gunner crumpled to the ground, staying exposed for much too long - the round had predictable effects on the light armor and exoskeleton he wore.

It was a ballad. A ballad of death and desperation, but beautiful nonetheless. Constant movement and suppression met brute force in a clash of doctrine, of advancement - of technology, of tactics.

Only one group of “dancers” would emerge as the triumphant party, the dice-rolls of war determining who survived, and who didn’t.

Aidan grinned as he felt the heat of an explosion. He had gotten one of them - but he was unsure if they had survived. The dice had rolled in his favor, for now.

To Tor, the few remaining seconds of the boarding action seemed like an eternity. Pumped full of focus drugs and naturally-sourced adrenaline, Tor did not feel like he was actually there– the scene dissolved into the suit’s sensor outputs being reacted to methodically by flesh and piston inputs. Tor momentarily forgot he was hurtling down the corridor with his comrades. His focus let the launch of a specialized enemy munition occupy his thoughts only for a flash, and the suit’s warning of a nearby detonation lingered far from the forefront of his mind. Without Tor’s knowledge it so happened that every bullet caught inches away from his flesh by his armor was a roll of a die, death playing a disinterested game of chance. Likewise, as targeting solutions lined up shots for the soldiers, their computers played their own game: spitting off the probability of hits and of kills for every burst.

The invaders slammed into the defenses, or what remained after the trading of fire. A sheet-metal barricade buckled before Tor’s momentum, casting the defender behind it aside in a bloody collision. Tor’s suit made him aware of the furious melee that enveloped this battle line– moving from that barricade Tor swung his autocannon like a hundred-kilogram tennis racket and batted the nearest hostile away, turning a figure into a mist with the sharp whirr of hydraulic servomotors. The familiar pings of small arms against his armor plates and that battered his chest drove Tor into a single-mindedness. His perception was now focused on one thing: violence.

“Jesus Christ!” Aidan yelled, as he watched the soldiers crash into the metal barricades with ease. A furious burst of fire was loosed from the remaining defenders as smoke filled the corridor, launchers going live as the remaining 10 or so men ran back into the station and pulled the release lever.

The corridor released with a distinctive thunk, the metal scraping against metal as retrograde thrusters fired what little fuel remained - the hall was going down, down, down. The thrusters sputtered blue fire as they started to run out of fuel - the macrons had done a number on the solid fuel cells.

Aidan took a deep breath as he slammed a fresh mag into his rifle - they would be back. Silent clicks of another autocannon being set up filled his radio as the last remaining weapons team set up another chokepoint.

It would be down to the dice.

[Elysian Treaty Organization]

“Bet, Gimel, Dalet, your status?” Crackled the Tyekhuyuanist in Tor’s earpiece.

Tor looked around– of the five who had rushed the defenders, three remained.

“I’m hit!” Gurgled the remaining zhenturo from Bet. Looking over, GU Bet’s dalaichinash had locked their boots to the metal plating and stood still. Their breastplate bore the flower-like splatter of an expanded bullet. He must have taken one, or several, of the large caliber weapons that the defenders boasted. Even with the trauma gel that filled the cabins of their suits, they were bound to be seriously injured.

The technical sergeant and their second arrived on the scene, floating past the detritus of bullet casings and impact debris. The Tyekhuyuanist locked in to the same plane as Bet’s dalaichinash and examined the readout on the side of the suit.

“Fractures– arms, legs, ribs. Just like their unit mate. They’re secure: leave ‘em for now.” The technical sergeant gestured with their autocannon to the end of the hall. In Tor’s ear, the sergeant vocalized, “Jia– get ‘er.”

It did not occur to Tor where his higher-up had ended up– in the mash of barricade, gibbed flesh, and metal scrap that had been flung to the end of the corridor, floated the Yehina. Tor detached himself and zipped over; the machinery on the Yehina’s suit was busted to hell. Taking hold of the leg of the suit and gently twisting the body around, Tor flicked through his suit’s cameras until he could get a good view in the dark. The blood splattered against the fractured faceplate and the impression of the buckled breastplate told him all he needed to know.

The Tyekhuyuanist cursed. “Alright, form up.” It took seconds for the full force of zhenturos to do so; their wounded secure, they returned their focus to the mission at hand. Their opponents had fled deeper into the station, while detaching the section they were in– it would not help them except to give them time, Tor thought. After standing still for a moment, their mouth motioning silently, the technical sergeant took control of the situation. “Soniya’s science team need only a portion of this station intact; the core–” an indicator appeared on Tor’s HUD where the defenders had fled, “– does not appear necessary. Collateral be damned– don’t give these innie bastards the pleasure to know what hit them.”

“Insurrectionists–” A zhenturo from Dalet scoffed over comms, “And here I thought we were fighting aliens!”

“Quiet, let’s move out.” Came Alef’s second-in-command. The five detached from their positions, and skillfully thrusted themselves out of the corridor the way they came. The station had been slowly drifting away from them– or rather, they drifted away from it– but it was a short distance to make up.

“CONTACT!”

The Elysian autocannon tore through the doorway, the rounds tearing through the now empty hole. 30mm rounds slammed into flesh and armor alike, punishing any response.

It would be futile. This time, the Mayflys would be far less reserved. Jetting out of the field of view of the station core’s final bulkhead, many of the blindly fired rounds went wide of the Zhenturo detachment. Being inside the station and getting to see their enemy face-to-face helped ground the Zhenturo in the situation and calm their nerves– as well as know how thin the station’s walls were. Each Zhenturo, armed with just under two hundred rounds of ammunition held in a carousel around their stomach, was more than capable of causing mass devastation on their own. Tor squeezed on the trigger of his AZT-725 in unison with his comrades, and threaded strip after strip of the station with his bullets.

A barrage of rounds slammed into the remainder of the platoon, their numbers ticking down by the second. Red filled his eyes as the platoon crumpled to the ground as the Lieutenant grabbed him and threw him down to the cold metal floor. A loud ringing filled Aidan’s ears as he was thrown to the ground, the inky black nothingness filling his eyes.

The science team arrived by the shuttle after it was all done. Their reddish rubbery pressure suits seemed inadequate as their rear mobility packs thrusted them into the darkened interiors of the station, as the knowing-types took in every detail of this foreign, alien architecture and design. Entering into the core of the station, which by battle damage alone was far from intact, their fascination was balanced by the complete indifference and boredom of the Zhenturos who half-stood, half-floated across from them.

“Caught one.” Was all the Tyekhuyuanist piped over the radio. The lead knowing-type froze, half by canceling their velocity, half by genuine shock.

“Nast, these are supposed to be direnan! Is this some practical joke?” The lead knowing-type shook his head in disbelief at what lay before him– the alien lieutenant’s (?) environmental suit, patched up by the devices of Mayfly origin, was all too familiar and all too otherworldly. As well as that, the frame of the specimen was uncanny– far too short and stocky to be a spaceborne Mayfly.

“Don’t know what to tell you. Bleeds the same blood, that’s for sure. Maybe you tupitsenegya need to get your eyes checked, eh?”

The knowing-type continued shaking their head, spinning to take in the station around them. One of the knowers, Dasjal gun in hand, knelt down to examine the figure which lay on the floor. Tapping Aidan’s visor with a finger, they asked, “Are they still alive?”

“Yeah, but we’re Zhenturo, not doctors. Figure whatever air they’ve got left they don’t have much more of. Speaking of, when do we get out of here?” The Tyekhuyuanist returned.

The lead knowing-type responded slowly, still perplexed. “Our team needs specimens– we’ll split up and have you accompany us to uninstall what we need. In the meantime,” the knower nodded towards the captured Elysian, “we need to bring this one in.”

“What about my wounded?” The soldier asked indignantly.

“They’ll be medevac’d in short order, friend, but there are more pressing issues. We need to act swiftly.”

Tor grinned as the superior officer made a profane comment on private comms to his men; they paired up, with Tor’s smaller companions immediately swarming the wide airlock. Waving them aside, he plunged the slender metal fingers of his armor into the doors, wedging them apart with its hydraulic power. “I lead, you follow.”

Hours later, the science teams had enough of their ‘specimens’ to fill several flights of shuttles, and the battle light-hours away had taken a different kind of character. What seemed to be communications equipment, sensors, various electronics taken for their so-called ‘novelty’, sections of hull cut away with industrial equipment, and even sections of the power generation removed piece by piece and taken away for examination. To the scientists, it was like some grim joke– the first face-to-face meeting between two races ending in the cannibalization of the other’s technology from the dead hulk of a station.

The Hemat Soniya, with the Anchok Tserebiy since regrouped after its pass by the station, burned hard away from the station. Once enough time passed, a nuclear GR-6111 missile fell away from the accelerating spacecraft and rocketed towards the station– it penetrated the core of the station before detonating a millisecond later. What remained of the alien station was now superheated gas and dust.

---

Dead in the water for hours. Across the system inside the rigid and thin hulls of the Ashugh Guraj, its crews had worked tirelessly in unison like a colony of insects to revive their üy-- their home. They were at least given some reprieve in the fighting during this period of vulnerability as their opponents repositioned deeper into the system. The Duizan had directed efforts to screen the damaged equipment and fought to bring the reactor back within safe limits as their escorts licked their own wounds while taking protective positions of their flagship. The Kandrovy’s mind, in the meantime, had been fixed on two separate dilemmas on opposite sides of this damned system– their original goal, the station, and their adversaries, out of reach for now but a formidable match to their own vessels.

As the Soniya and Tserebiy reported their success, the Kandrovy breathed a sigh of relief. It was at least one of those very dilemmas resolved. They beamed them their rendezvous coordinates and directed them out of the system; meanwhile, the excursion team aboard the Soniya transmitted a rather hefty file regarding their initial encounter with the direnan– Tandokavy skimmed the friendly casualties and battle-related minutiae without looking at any fine details before tossing it from his focus. That was a finished battle– they had to be ready to fight the ongoing one.

As soon as the Guraj’s duizan reported their propulsion systems to be operational, the typrawa of now five ships, excluding the station raiders, set off at as hard a burn as they could muster. The Malbharovna limped behind the rest, the fourth gen MCV experiencing every material difficulty imaginable, its battle damage being marginally above the line of needing to be scuttled. With the Ka gone, the typrawa relied on its sister ship, the Suhu Ola, to be the defense kingpin of the group, but if the enemy had another volley like that in them, Tandokavy doubted they could stand up to it. Because of this, the Kandrovy made the decision to burn to one of the outer planets, seeker shelter with its massive body in the way of its enemy’s sensors and directed energy weapons. As soon as the Soniya was clear, Tandokavy would withdraw– there was nothing else to do with what he was given.

---

A couple seconds of delay was all it took for the Elysian Fleet to be notified - by that time, the station was long gone. Reduced to mere dust and ashes, the atoms flying off into space.

One day. Maneuvers in space took ages - weapons, even more so. One day to reposition - one day of constant work, of constant tension. Such was the life of a spacer. Ogley silently sipped on his coffee as the rumbling of thrusters filled his ears, the ships shooting forward at significant speeds - constant burns had that effect, after all.

The bridge was sparse. 3 hours to combat - that’s what the computer said, a short time in space combat. He silently laughs to himself as he realizes that the damned recruiter lied to him! Noticeable bags are visible under his eyes as he brings himself to another day of combat operations - the bland yet terrifying monotones of space combat.

His eyes jerk towards his computer as a notification plays across his headset. A familiar centaur pops up as he realizes what had happened.

4 ships, ever angular, pop out of portals. Radiators unfold as the realization plays across his face, Ogley finally releasing a breath of relief.

Salvation.

Tharsa had arrived.

[Elysian Treaty Organization]

PRELUDE
CHAPTER 5 | ARC 1

As the drums start to beat...

System Alken, ETS Hermes

"One ooh- one, we got a message from the Leonidas Task Force."

The man's brow furrowed as he read the FTL flash - transmitted through buoy after buoy, causality bent and crying as he read it. There was a hour of delay total - they didn't know the outcome yet, but they would know soon. Until then, the Hermes and the rest of the diplomatic group would lazily orbit the planets, letting the diplomats do their work. He was Captain Smith - a truly average captain, so much so that some members of command called him "Captain Lampshade." He had no distinguishable features whatsoever - sure, he had graduated from the naval academy and might have been contacted by ENI, but who knew?

"Contact, three lightminutes out... and it's gone."

"Jesus, the hell is that?" Someone muttered, as a massive mace appeared on sensors. It was speeding past at relativistic speeds - the frigate sprinted to life as it tried to maintain pace, to no avail.

It was no match against the thousand-gee accelerations of the probe.

---

Alken

Negotiations were a game - a game of chess, of cards, of every single strategy game imaginable. Diplomat Jones came from a prestigious family - yes, with a diplomatic tradition that stretched back to the Alfordshirians of old, yes, but even then - diplomacy was unpredictable. Add in light-delay, couriers and the hundreds of other things that continually affected spaceborne communication, and you had a fun, fun, recipe for disaster. Then, add the element of human irrationality, then you had even more chaos.

More, more and more. It never ended - especially when, starting off, the eggheads over at Elysia decided to attempt to apply Mahanian naval theory to space, and it created a verifable headache for the poor diplomats on the frontlines.

The diplomat adjusted his suit as the eight-man round table bickered and talked, talking about a million different things at once - "No, we do not deem these terms to be acceptable", a Alekn... Alkenese, representative said, only to elicit more sighs from the Elysians, as the heat was cranked up, seemingly in a attempt to disorient them - oh, add on the g-adjustments, and how torturous acclimatizing to 3Gees felt. He could barely understand the clicks and clacks the cuttlefish used - only due to a superintelligent AI could they understand each other - "SERIOUSLY!?!" a Elysian diplomat yelled at a walking cuttlefish, losing his mind under the gees, all the stress, everything on their minds - as Aidan quietly muttered "Oh Jesus", the diplomat burst into a long, long, rant.

"Okay, let's see here... we promise to defend you for a eternity, you give us basing rights, we give you trade - this, is the best we give you, and you have the utter gall, the utter gall, to not accept?!"

The diplomat sighed as he mentally facepalmed.

This was all going to hell, and they didn't even know what they were here for.

Why were they doing this?