Beyond Alpha Centauri :::

[Sprayber]

[Outside the Firaxis System

Kessel stood on the ramp of the small scout hip as it slowly opened to reveal the large hanger bay of the Command Carrier. He had expected to be standing on Firaxis by now but events had conspired to deny him of that for the time being. The taskforce had gathered just outside Firaxian Space so that Kessel could utilize the Command Carrier to asses the recent turn of events. The first person Kessel sighted was Admiral Koto, who even when dressed in his simple uniform stood out among other officers. Koto saluted and handed a data pad as Kessel walked down the ramp.

“Colonel Kessel, welcome aboard the Pentagon. We have received communications from Central Command and Fleet Carib along the Hive March. Here is a brief report as to the situation. Major Lera at Central Command has forwarded a message of state and it awaits your attention.”

Kessel briefly scans the report and motions towards the door.

“Very well, prepare the taskforce for redeployment. Leave a small detachment here and proceed to the Cadre’s system”

Koto looked at Kessel with a measured glance.

‘We are to enter the Cadre system, Colonel?”

“Affirmative admiral. Your taskforce will enter the Cadre system per the request of the Cadre government.”

Koto and Kessel entered a lift at the end of a short hall. Koto pushed the button for the command deck.

“What will be our objective while we are there sir, if I may ask.”

With a small smile Kessel looked at the aging admiral.

“Well if these reports are true, you will be preparing for war admiral. Along with nearly everyone else in the Human Sphere.”

The lift stopped abruptly and the two officers walked out into the command center of the ship. Kessel spotted the small office where the comm systems were operated from and turned back to Admiral Koto.

“Have General Thomas and General Green report here in twenty minutes. I want the Marine groups under their command to be primed when they get to the Cadre system. It looks like Marine Group Saxon and Goth will be adding another campaign ribbon to their collection”

Koto acknowledge the command and Kessel turned to walk to the comm center. Koto turned and went to summon the two marine generals. As he walked over to his aides he felt something that had been absent for a long time. Finally there might be war with the Hive. Finally after all the years of waiting, his ships would be able to perform the task that they were built for. A smile appeared on the old admirals face at that thought. He had missed the Terran war but that was ok because everyone knew that the only war worth fighting was the war against the Hive.


To : General Menelaus, Laekdaemon Cadre
From: Marcus Kessel, Colonel of the Militia

As I speak a Spartan Naval Taskforce is being readied for departure for your system. Along with the taskforce, two Marine Groups will be deployed in the system. That taskforce will take up position throughout your system to locate and destroy any outside faction seeking to supply arms or assistance to the rebels on your planet. Sparta will keep its word.




TO: President Kirsty Adams of the Free Drone Republic
From: Colonel Marcus Kessel

President Adams, as you may or may not know there has been trouble in the independent system of Laekdaemon. As it stands now, there are reasons to believe that the Hive has interfered in the affairs that do not concern them. If this is true then it will be for the last time. The Hive has been a cancer on humanity ever since the early days of Chiron. If it is found that they are behind this trouble then it will become the mission of the Spartan Federation to eradicate the Hive from the Human Sphere. I ask that your forces remain vigilant for possible Hive offensives along the frontier or for possible Bree incursions. I am still of the opinion that the Hive has aided and abided the Bree in the past and that it is possible that a joint attack could be made. Either way, if the Hive is responsible then their remaining time as a power are numbered.

On a different matter. Within Spartan territory, a possible alien structure has been found. I am aware of recent attempts by your scientist to solve the riddle of a possibly similar structure within the Drone Republic. I would discuss this further but I am simply pressed for time. There are certain complications that are associated with our alien structure that the Spartan government would rather keep under control. If your scientist are interested I could arrange for their travel to the location.

Respectively Marcus Kessel. Colonel Of The Militia.

[History Guy]

Guthrie’s Rock, Exploration Day Four

“These trees here must be, oh, I’d say nearly seven-hundred years old, perhaps they popped up as long ago as the year 2000 AD. Very old plants. The diameter is, as you can see, incredibly wide, and we haven’t yet had time to measure it. The roots, though, must be huge, like the ice below the surface on an iceberg. They must branch out and run down through the soil deep into the earth, stretching out hundreds of yards away. Indeed, some of these trees might even be conjoined by their roots…” The Xenobiologist, Farrel, spoke, pointing to one huge, ancient looking tree. The tree was so high up into the dark of the canopy that it was impossible to see where the top of the plant was at all, it was so hidden from view. Whatever the height and width, the thing was huge.

Captain Guthrie wasn’t quite paying attention to what the scientist had to say. He was busy speaking, as it was, to Officer Weiss. “Anything from home? Is there any news from home, that is?”

“Well, Captain, the Spartan delegation, Kessel included, have just now arrived on Firaxis. The CEO’s party is scheduled to arrive within the hour. Tomorrow is when everything begins, if you will. Not much from Cyrus itself, though. A bad weather pattern is moving across the whole of the capital district there, unfortunately, really upsetting transmissions for now. Oh, and your wife also sent a message, it wasn’t much, she just wanted to know how you were, etc. She sent some holos of your son back,” responded Weiss, softly. She wasn’t quite up to hiking through this thick, steamy jungle herself. She’d stayed back in temporary command of the ship. She had contacted the Captain via watchvid to speak with him, and deliver messages.

“He’s a great kid, Raymond. He’s growing up so quickly these days, I wish I were there more often. He looks like Laura. And now he’s learning to talk, you know. He’s smarter than I was. Probably smarter than I am now, come to think of it. He didn’t try to talk until he could speak whole sentences, there was no ‘Ga-ga’ from Raymond. He came out and started saying things that were perfectly understandable. Funny that.”

“My nephew was the same way. Look, you’d better get back to your expedition before McColloch gets stuck in a tree, or something to that effect!”

“Quite right. Thanks.” The vision of the Officer faded away, replaced by the digital watch face once again. “My word,” said the Captain, “those are beautiful falls over there. They remind me of Blackwater back home.” Where he stood, the Captain could see the river that flowed through the heart of the jungle. Hidden in the darkness of the forest, the huge waterfall that towered over the river was nearly invisible, though the sound of the pouring water was very audible. Of course, the whole jungle seemed to have a peculiar noise in it’s own. It was a blending of the water crashing against the rocks, the air moving through the canopies, the birds flying overhead, the native animals squawking and etc. The air was good here too. There wasn’t even any need to wear a protective suit. The place was perfect for colonization, it seemed. A temperate breathable atmosphere, many natural resources…it was just as if it was made to become home to exiled humans such as were found in the Morganites.

“Yes, sir, let’s go down towards there. It’d be a marker for where in heaven’s name we are in this God-forsaken jungle. Our initial probes didn’t record those falls, but I suppose they were too damned deep into the forest to be seen by the bloody robot. Stupid things, robots. They never do what they are intended to do…always talks a man,” said McColloch, who started out loud and clear and fell into mumbling.

“McColloch,” said the Xenobiologist quietly, “Shut up.”

The first man to reach the waterfall was the quickly moving Captain. It was a good thing, he thought, that he’d kept in shape, otherwise he’d have been waddling through the plants and sliding in the mud (generally having a downright miserable time) like everyone else. Up close, the falls were positively breathtaking. Gallons upon gallons of water seem to pour over the edge of the rocks every second, slamming with an audible crash into the water and the rocks below. This was an on-going occurrence, every second for as long as these falls had been here, he realized, they’d never stopped.

The Captain moved on forward, towards the cliffs themselves that overlooked the falls. He stood there for several minutes as everyone did their bests to catch up, and thought to himself have beautiful the whole damn thing was. Yes, he thought, this will have to be the place to colonize. There should be no other. How could there be? As he thought this, he heard a low growl in the distance, and then he heard the low noises of large feet moving away into the distance, from the other side of the great, fast-moving river.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Morganite Patrolship Daisy, Pollux System

Suddenly, the hatch popped open, and the invaders charged in. They quickly jumped against the wall opposite, away from the long walkway, and readied their large, deadly looking rifles. They were, the most of them anyway, clothed in a thin battle-armor, perhaps primitive plasma steel. Despite the apparent haste in clothing, these men appeared to be ready for anything. 2nd Lieutenant H.O. Marschall slowly made his way to the walkway, and made his way down it, keeping in the shadows against the wall. He knew that in these smaller vessels, the command-bridge wasn’t far at all from the docking hatch, which he’d just come through. It was, after all, a patrolship, and nearly identical to the one that he himself served as second-in-command of.

After making it as far to the middle of the walkway, he motioned his hand slightly in the direction of the now open hatch-door. In a stealthy, yet noiseless fashion, half a dozen of his men, all armed and armored as he was, trudged down the way and towards him, taking their places in the shadows beside him.

“First thing to note,” whispered Marschall, “the walkway lights are out, for whatever reason. The regulations tell us never to put them out while the ship is on active duty, as this one is now. This is for safety reasons mainly, but also so that invaders can be quickly identified. It is a stupid thing to have them off, indeed. Come on.”

Marschall then quickly ran up, throwing himself noiselessly against the wall opposite the bridge door. With this done, he motioned to his comrades to quickly come and join him. “Now,” he whispered, “You see the heat sensors? They are off, as are the probe records on the wall. Now, I’m going to shoot the mechanism lock-in, I’m afraid. The doors are locked from the inside, which means one of two things…One: that the intruders or the original officers have sealed themselves up in here…or…” Marschall quickly blew a huge hole in the door locking mechanism. The door slid open sluggishly, the smell of burned plastic was becoming very noticable.

Marschall hopped into the bridge, “So, it was Two: an algorithm locked the doors after the ship had been abandoned. There’s no one here.” The rest of Marschall’s team snuck in, and saw everything around them. The bridge looked like any other Morganite patrolship bridge. The room was circular; the far end revealing the expanse of space beyond, and in this case, Pollux E, appearing as a huge red dot on a black background. There was no damage to the thing, nor were their any traces of life. Everything was sterile, everything was dead. But it was dead metal…not dead men.

“This place,” said one of the team, a woman, “reeks of Pirates.”

“Damn it, Tanya, let’s hope that’s all it is. If it’s anything else, there will be hell to pay. Hell, there will be hell to pay even if it is Pirates. A whole crew of slightly under two dozen Morganite policemen are abducted on the beat, and perhaps even killed, and the patrolship itself is left to float around in space. There were no sightings of any ships, but you know how advanced these cloaking devices get these days.”

“Well, let’s hope it’s not the Terrans, otherwise, that conference ain’t never going to end, and neither is this war. Those Earthers sure know how to screw things up, don’t they?”

“They do that. All right. I’m calling the captain.”

Marschall turned on his watchvid, and set the frequency to the patrolship. “Captain?…Sir, we are on the patrolship Daisy…The place is abandoned…The only signs of struggle are that the lights, the heat sensors, and the vids are out in the walkway…Totally empty…OK…Waiting for you, sir…”

Marschall turned off the watchvid. “Great. Just what I needed to start the day.”
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++

[Mr. President]

Parliament House, Orchard Valley, Firaxis Prime
Two weeks before Marcus Kessel’s arrival at the World of Trees

The heart of the most robust democracy in the Borderlands.

The birthplace of Green Capitalism.

The building where Commissioner Lal had called Firaxis "the last honest broker".

But to locals, it was the Parliament House, first erected during the colonial period more than four hundred years ago. Whenever the door opened, passers-by could almost smell the history. Here was the site of the Great Debates on free trade. Here the treaty had been signed that amalgamated the former United Nations, Spartan, and Pacific Space Agency colonies and gave birth to the State of Firaxis. Here the stalwart Prime Minister Collins delivered his famous address that, according to reputable sociologists, gave his people a last gasp of emotional strength to withstand the Bree onslaught. Though now it was served by magstrips rather than dirt roads, it would always be the place most associated with Firaxian nationhood.

The debate was vigorous, as always. Labour frontbenchers had followed through on their threat to challenge Michael Hsiang’s agreement to host a peace conference between Morgania and Terra. Over more than an hour, their best speakers hammered every imaginable argument against the talks. We are a neutral state and have no interest in their wars, some said. The influx of foreign media and hangers-on will upset our Green Capitalist equilibrium, others exhorted. But they saved the heavy artillery for last. Labour’s leader, the even-voiced, grey-haired Natalie James, had placed her hands on the security requests placed by the delegations.

“Colonel Kessel will arrive with seven of his dread Warlock vessels?” she asked. “Admiral Kerensky is bringing four Terran battlecruisers? Does CEO Morgan always travel in the midst of a thousand marines? If the name of the conference is peace, my fellow Firaxians, why have the delegates come surrounded by weapons of war?”

It was a low blow, and a tough one to recover from. But Hsiang had to try. Straightening his tie, he made his way to the podium as the Leader of the Opposition returned to her seat.

“My fellow Firaxians,” Hsiang began, “I fear that the Opposition has been misleading you.” He gestured at the Labour Party’s section of the house. “Though they seem to have their hearts in the right place when it comes to protecting Firaxis, their priorities are wrong on this issue. The Leader of the Opposition would have you believe that the delegates come to prosecute further their war, or even to attack the World of Trees. This is, frankly, laughable. When leaders as prominent as CEO Morgan travel abroad, they must be prepared for any contingency. There are people in this galaxy who are actively hostile to him, and wish nothing more than to see him dead and the Orion Arm in chaos. It is in the interests of all nations to prevent terrorism. We should be welcoming his guards, not flinching from them!”

Many Pacific Party MPs applauded. As the Speaker of the House rapped his gavel on the desk and called for order, Hsiang continued, “This war has consumed billions of dollars, billions of energy credits in property damaged. Thousands of lives have been lost. If it is not stopped now, the galaxy will be ruined and the Opposition’s isolationism will have been for naught.”

Long the debate continued, while the trees swayed in the wind and the orange sun smiled on Firaxis.

The Hall of Mirrors, Orchard Valley, Firaxis Prime
One and a half weeks before Marcus Kessel’s arrival at the World of Trees

“Higher . . . lift the left side a little bit . . . my left, sorry, that’s your right . . . perfect!”

The director of hospitality stood in the midst of a storm. Around her ears dozens of workers were buzzing, polishing the famous mirrors and dragging furniture into place. The banner she had been adjusting now proclaimed in ten-inch letters, “Welcome to the World of Trees!” The setting could make or break the conference. The Hall of Mirrors was the conference room. Huge, bright, and spacious, it provided for easy reading of notes and the examination of fellow attendants’ faces. The ceiling was even painted a color thought to promote brain activity. Occupants who gazed into the infinite reflections of the mirror panels, though, risked becoming hypnotized.

An intercom beeped. Sidestepping a glass refreshment table, the director opened the link. She barely heard the Prime Minister’s voice on the other end. “How’s it coming down there?”

“Not bad,” she shouted above the noise. “It’s starting to take shape. I just hope you can bring the food in on time!”

Hsiang’s tinny laugh came through the intercom. “Don’t worry, everything’s on schedule. Do we have enough balloons?”

“I have five hundred here and five hundred coming in at three.”

“Perfect! I’ll come down later and take a look.”

The director laughed. “Watch your step, it’s a madhouse down here.” She looked around and laughed as an assistant with ten chairs balanced on his arms edged through the door. “And if you could bring down a couple of chairs, that would be a great help.”

Matheson Special Forces Base, outside Pine Gap, Firaxis Prime
One week before Marcus Kessel’s arrival at the World of Trees

Few people were aware that the Firaxian military enforced a no-fly zone in the air and space above a twenty-square-kilometer area south of Pine Gap. Almost no-one knew of the Matheson Base. It was the most secret installation in the Firaxian defense establishment, where the paramilitary police units that fought terrorism, organized crime, and poaching were trained, the intelligence service’s above-top-secret “shadow men” practiced the arts of infiltration and sabotage, and the Air Force flew experimental combat aircraft. And it was the home of the Crimson Sunrise.

Formed during the Bree War to fight the alien menace, the special forces regiment made its name during the piracy crisis of the South Seas by attacking several heavily defended strongholds, liquidating twelve pirate leaders in under a month. Now they were practicing for a different type of warfare. On one corner of the base a model town had been built to resemble the type of streets, alleys, and buildings of a typical Firaxian city. Crimson Sunrise soldiers alternately charged and slinked through the streets as live ammunition exploded around them.

The Joint Chiefs of Staff observed the troops’ progress courtesy of twenty cameras situated at crucial points which broadcasted to a panel just outside the training area. All the military commanders had agreed that the training was prudent. Some, though, disagreed on how likely it was to be needed.

“If anything goes wrong,” Admiral Haslam had said, “our streets are going to be a war zone. Not that I don’t have confidence in our boys, but it’s not the most common scenario these days.”

“Why should anything go wrong?” General Ameti retorted. “We’re hosting a peace conference, for Pete’s sake!”

“A peace conference that will be attended by an army of Spartan soldiers, a thousand Morgan marines, and a Terran squadron larger than the entire Barnard fleet,” the typically soft-spoken Interstellar Admiral McAllister replied.

Now the Joint Chiefs were focused on a monitor showing a close-up of Crimson Sunrise troops storming a house. Two slithered up to take positions on either side of the door. Two more hurried to the ground-floor windows and tossed concussion grenades inside. The image shook as they went off. Kicking the door down, the soldiers hurried inside, firing in all directions. From receiving fire to shattering the door, the entire scene took less than a minute.

“I think we’ll be just fine,” Admiral Haslam said.

O'Reilly International Spaceport, Firaxis Prime
Three hours before Marcus Kessel's arrival at the World of Trees

Contrary to popular opinion, some politicians did drink soda. The Prime Minister did, mostly when he was nervous. He was drinking some now.

"Any word from the Spartan delegation?" he asked.

"They'll reach the system perimeter in three hours, Mr. Prime Minister," the station master said. "We've got a bit of a wait yet."

Someone in the Firaxian delegation suggested that they move to the observation lounge. "It's near the gate so we shouldn't have any trouble getting back."

Hsiang tossed his empty drink can in the wastebasket and sat next to his deputy in front of a large glass window. Outside a ship was moving into atmospheric flight, grav boosters glowing ferociously. "Is it right to be nervous?"

The Prime Minister turned, surprised. "Even though we're the government?" his deputy continued. "I mean, if we don't have full confidence in ourselves, how can we expect the public to have confidence in us?"

Hsiang cut him off. "Matias," he said, "I'm so scared I could vomit."

That got a laugh out of Matias, and also anyone else in earshot. "Just," he continued, "think about something else. Think about last night's soccer game, or the last movie you saw, or what color shoes your wife was wearing this morning."

"Will that help?"

Hsiang smiled, and pushed the images of burning ships and ruined cities from his mind. "It couldn't hurt."

[GeneralTacticus]

A few moments later Lichtenstein received the signal that all preparations were complete, and smiled. The estimated travel time by air from here to Dienkes base was around three hours - three hours, and then the traitor Lysander and his cohorts would pay dearly...

* * *

Airborne, 10 kilmoetres from Dienkes Base

Lichtenstein was watching the strategic map and the position of his force on it like a hawk as they neared their target. So far they had encountered very little resistance, apart from a couple of rebel jets which were shot down without difficulty. Now, however, would be the most dangerous time for the strike force: Once they had landed, they could fight to defend themselves, but up here, they would have to rely solely on the air force and their transport choppers to protect them. He just hoped Lysander hadn't brought in enough air power to threaten them. He read the letters flashing just above the icon representing his strike force for the nth time:
ETA: 5 minutes
4:59
4:58

"Colonel?" a crisp voice distracted him.

"What is it?" he asked, turning around. The speaker was Major Fabius, Cadre Chief of Air Transport.

"Colonel, I need not inform you that the transport choppers you are using here are my responsibility. As such, anything that will place them in unnecessary danger must be cleared with me first."

Lichtenstein felt anger rising in him. Fabius, despite his military rank, was a beaurocrat, nothing more than a glorified pen-pusher. He was here because, as he said, these craft were his responsibility, but he knew what the man's definition of 'unnecessary danger' was likely to be.

"Very well, Major," he growled, "now what is the problem?"

"Colonel, the landing site you have chosen is uncomfortably close to enemy positions and places these transports in full view of rebel heavy weapons positions. I must therefore demand that you change your plans so that we will land at a safe distance."

"Major, with all due respect, you have absolutely no idea what you are talking about. This landing ground is perfect - our troops will be unloading even before the ships stop moving, and the amount of firepower they lay down will be so thick the rebels won't even be able to see through it, much less shoot back. By the time they realize what's hit them, their forward positions will be be already overrun."

Fabius' face hardened. "I don't give a **** about your plans for the attack. What I'm worried about are my transports. You are placing them directly in the firing line, and it will be my responsibility if-"

Lichtenstein cut him off.

"Guards." He spat, his single word dripping with menace.

"Wha-" Fabius began, as two armoured and masked Cadre troops stepped up beside him. Lichtenstein ignored him and continued.

"Place this man under arrest for gross negligence, dereliction of duty and supsicion of treason. I have no more time for this."

Fabius' protests went unheard as the two soldiers grabbed hold of him, one placing his hands around his neck while the other placed restraints around him before they carried him off to the secure compartments behind the control room.

* * *

A few minutes later, the Cadre transports swept down over the cleared ground in front of Dienkes base and swung to a stop, their doors hissing open and Cadre assault troops pouring out. There was a very one-way exchange of fire as the poorly manned rebel defenses were reduced to vapour by Chaos and Impact rifles backed up with Needlejet mounted Fusion Lasers. The way into the base itself was open and there was nothing to stop the Cadre troops from swarming in to exact revenge for Lysander's act of treachery. This they did.

* * *

Lichtenstein watched all this from the control room aboard his chopper. He smiled as he saw how easily the first rebel line had fallen, and hoped that the rest would be as swift. 'We might even end this war before it really begins.' he mused, not really believing it. He turned to the communication console and sent a brief message to Laekdaemon Central.

TO: General Menelaus
FROM: Colonel Lichtenstein.

The attack on Dienkes Base has begun and the initial resistance has been brushed aside. I will report to you when we have acheived success. By the way, I have had Major Fabius arrested for attempting to interfere in the conduct of this operation. I believe that he is either a rebel spy or an exceedingly stupid bearucrat.

*END MESSAGE*

* * *

Menelaus was sitting in his private office when he received Lichtenstein's message. He relaxed slightly as he read it and reviewed the attatched camera records from the control room, detailing the Colonel's altercation with Fabius and the success of the intial assault. He Sat in though for a moment, then hit a few keys and accessed the current camera feeds from Lichtenstein's chopper. All indications were that the assault was still going even better than planned. Menelaus just hoped Lysander hadn't got a hidden ace up his sleeve. If he didn't, his rebellion wouldn't have even lasted 24 hours.

Menelaus then opened up another window on his computer screen and began typing out a message.

Encrypted Diplomatic Transmission

TO: Marcus Kessel, Colonel of the Militia

FROM: General Menelaus, LAekdaemon Cadre

Colonel Kessel, I thank you and the entire Spartan Federation for your promise of assistance. We will need it if Lysander calls in any major Hive assistance. In any case, I am pleased to inform you that we have been able to launch a counter offensive against Lysander's HQ at Dienkes Base. Initial resistance has been crushed and our troops are making steady progress. We expect to have eliminated Lysander and most of his Hive troops shortly.

*END TRANSMISSION*

[Silence]

Super-Dreadnought Mighty Fortress

The Heavenly Host had came a long way since the days of the first laser equipped men and women on Chiron. For many of the men and women in the room, this was the first time they been on such a monster of a star-ship. It was the largest mobile Believer construct ever built, armed with a blistering array of the latest fusion lasers and plasma missiles. It could bring a devastating amount of firepower on a target in a very short amount of time.
It was perfect for the new operation that the seventh. tenth, and eleventh fleets would be running.

“Marshall on deck!” yelled the NCO guard standing by the door of which Marshal Dexter Matthews came striding in. He was wearing the full dress uniform of the office and all of his medals which glittered in the light. Those officers that had been sitting rocketed up into an correct postion.

“At ease everyone” Dexter said, he looked at the room, it was a long narrow room with several floating holo-plots that displayed various figures, pictures, maps, and stars. There was many of the senior officers of the two fleets in the room. It occurred to Dexter that if one of them had been a HOG agent, he or she could of done incredible damage to the war effort by homicide bomb themselves and take out an large portion of the brass for the
Host.

Dexter realized they were all looking at him to begin, he walked up to the podium at the head of the table and hit the button to begin the presentation for Operation Hammer. As he loaded the program into the computer system, low power AI’s where now tracking his
speech and would change the background on the massive flat screens monitor that made up the wall behind the podium according. It was one of the new AI systems bought from Morgan.

“You know why we are here ladies and gentlemen, and so do the HOG’s. At the battle of LV 120, one of our hunks got a good hit in a engine room of an enemy command ship and screwed up their power systems. The missile radiation killed off most of the crew before they could data dump their computer cores. So know we have the location of the HOG base.”

With that said the AI tracking the speech turned on the flat screens and it showed a dark and forbidding planet, with a large amount of lights scattered across it. It was a rouge planet, and it was only a day away from New Israel, 2 days away from New Eden and less then 8 hours away from LV 120. In short a perfect place for a raiding force to call home.

“Since we found this base, which we discovered that the rebels call Godwinson’s Hope, we have launch several fly overs with quick spy drones. This is the footage from the one that we last sent in.”

The screen shifted and it showed several dozen spy drones moving at high speeds orbiting the planet, and trying to evade a massive wall of fire that kept on targeting them. With in 30 seconds most of the drones had died, and the others were all damaged when they went back into FTL and towards their masters.

“Intelligence from that foray and the others that we have sent suggests an incredible amount of defenses. The weapons platforms that we seen is simply amazing. We suspect that with this amount of their energy put into defenses and the size of the fleets they keep on fielding against us, that they have no civilian economy to worry about. We also suspect that they had some help with building the defenses. If we decided to attack that planet
with conventional tactics, we were looking at 80 percent losses.”

The AI switched the screen in showing various projected attacks and the aftermath of such an attempt. The faces of the officers where grim, they had known getting into the military would be dangerous thing, especially with the apparently never-ending war with the HOG’s, but 80% was higher then what they had ever been dealt with before.

“So therefor, I have decided not to go with a conventional route of attack. Computer bring up plans to everybody’s desk for Operation Hammer” Dexter said, the lights in the
room turned up a bit to allow the members to read the operations plan and while several of the officers had heard bits of pieces of the proposed final battle, they where surprised when they saw what the Marshal had decided.

:After waiting a couple of minutes, Dexter got up to the podium again and said, “Any questions?”

Admiral Joyce Harper got up and said, “Sir we really can build such a thing?”

“Yes the size of the FTL drives will be costly, but we have 4 of them ready to go by next week, only thing we have to is to equip them to asteroids large enough in the New Israel system.”

“But isn’t this against the rules of combat?” Harper asked.

“The Hammer of God is an unofficial organization, that commits terrorist acts, there is no civilian damage to what we are going to be doing. In the HOG organization there are no such things as civilians.”

“But we will be killing women and children that don’t have any thing to do with the fighting.”

“They are enemy combatants. The matter is out of your hands anyway, the order comes from the Speaker himself.” Dexter said coldy glaring at the admiral.

“I know sir, but it just seems to me slamming that planet with asteroids is a really cheap way of winning a war.” Harper said and sat down. Dexter shrugged and gave a calm reply, “Better a cheap win, then a costly lost.”

[Mr. President]

1195 Ring Road, Silverbird Park, Merak

“This wind farm,” said Lady Deirdre Skye, “will enhance the power capacity of Silverbird Park by more than seventy percent. It’s a step long overdue for the capital of our nation and its fastest growing city.”

Accepting a large pair of scissors from an aide, Deirdre cut the ribbon strung across the complex’s gate. The implement was incredibly blunt, more for show than for anything else, and it took several tries before the red band fluttered to the ground. A small audience applauded. Beyond the fence windmills were already rotating slowly.

As usual, Deirdre’s entourage was flocked by reporters, their chattering questions drifting into her ears. “Lady, what is the state of . . .” “What is your opinion on . . .”

“Please, stand aside,” said a public relations officer. “The press conference was before the ceremony, people. Thank you.”

Lady Deirdre was about to leave, when the sun reflected brightly off something amid the throng of reporters. She turned and looked at it. Attached to a lapel pin was, surprisingly, a Cult of Planet insignia. Deirdre held up her hand to bring her people to a stop.

“You there,” she called, motioning for the pin’s owner to come forward. It was a young woman from the local television station. Thinking she had been chosen for an interview opportunity, the reporter began to say something, but Deirdre cut her off.

“Where did you get that pin?”

The reporter was more surprised than anything else. “This, Lady? It’s just a family heirloom. Why -”

The pin was crafted painstakingly from Chiron’s gold and planetpearl, with a charm in the secret language of the Cultist priestly caste written on the long stem. “You’re a Cultist?”

“My ancestors were, Lady.” The reporter looked around nervously; other people were staring at them.

Deirdre looked away distantly for a moment. “Thank you,” she said at last, and walked back to her waiting transport.

* * *

It was almost too long ago to remember.

Planet was plagued by warfare on its surface and in the space above. Driven on by these threats and the memory of Earth’s fall, the rival colonies were scattering into space, most never to return.

When the Cult of Planet, with its financial sector devastated by mismanagement and corruption and reeling from a series of crushing military defeats to the Free Drone Republic, had appealed to Deirdre’s government for a confederation agreement, she had been concerned. The biotechnology-based Gaian economy was rich, but she felt it would be burdened by the poverty-stricken Cultist cities. But the Senate forced her hand, and soon enough Cha Dawn became an employee of the Gaian Confederation, governing just over half its territories in Deirdre’s name.

Things became worse. In Project Firebrand, the Drones found a way to devastate the planet without ever setting foot on it; the United Nations was multiplying its collection of planet busters daily. Deirdre’s most secret and urgent initiative was code-named Determined Path, and it almost broke the bank to acquire Morganic transport spaceships under the table. And the long – and controversial – hunt for a new world began.

In a bunker beneath Gaia’s Landing, Cha Dawn’s eyes flashed in the stale and penetrating light.

“I have devoted my entire life to this world,” he said. “You cannot ask me to leave now.”

“We will live to fight another day.” Deirdre’s tone was almost imploring.

Quivering with frustration, Dawn retorted, “You are the leader and if you order me to go I will. But my heart – and Planet’s heart – are telling me to stay and fight to the end to save this world. If we leave now it will be destroyed.”

“If we stay it may be destroyed anyway.”

“If we leave there will be no government to protest the destruction of Planet’s ecosystems, to argue her case at the Council, to shed blood in her defense.”

Many of her aides had been disgusted at the way Dawn’s words invariably led back to fighting, but Deirdre knew that he had always done things that way. He saw the world in simple terms, all problems as simple problems with simple solutions.

She gave her citizens the choice whether or not to walk the Determined Path. Many refused, but in the end eighty percent of Gaians and a little under one out of every three of Dawn’s followers had followed her to the stars. The Prophet himself had remained behind, and the last she ever saw of him was his face on the orbit-to-shore commlink, wishing her Planet’s blessings for the long journey.

In time, the Cult of Planet became little more than a name in the history books and an insignia on family heirlooms. The anticipated apocalypse never came, and Planet fell under the sole sovereignty of the United Nations, the Cult passing out of sight. How could an entire nation disappear? At Deirdre’s left hand was a printed history of the Anasazi, the American Indians who were there one day and not there the next. But they had been felled by disruption to the food supply; it seemed unlikely that Dawn and his followers had likewise succumbed.

Activating her message bank, Deirdre hit the Compose button.

“Commissioner,” she began, “I trust this day finds you in good health. I remain Lady Deirdre Skye, of the Star Children of Gaia. Some questions have come up, which I hope you may be able to answer . . .”

[Mr. President]

Aboard the frigate DRS Levar
The buffer zone, near the Hive region

In the deep space several dozen light-years from Avalon, communications had a lag of several minutes. The matter was further complicated by the fact that military transmissions used enormous bandwidth, as clarity of picture and sound was considered important. It was still impressive to hear from the head of military intelligence, even if his face flickered and jumped and Captain Irwin had to stare at him blankly while his words travelled to Vega.

“Make no mistake, this is a risky mission,” Nazarbayev was saying. “The Senate is saying history is accelerating. They’re a bunch of pompous half-wits, but they have a point. Something is brewing, and we’re sure Emperor Yang is involved.”

“Acknowledged, sir,” Irwin replied. “The probe rafts will be deployed within the hour, and we’ll have data within two.”

After more minutes of lag, Nazarbayev smiled. “Good job, Captain,” he said. “And good luck to you! Nazarbayev out.”

Irwin left his office and headed for the bridge. In almost a thousand years of history, only a handful had spied on the Hive and lived to tell about it. Nonetheless, he felt exhilirated, as he and his crew were in the thick of the action, the middle of the chessboard. All the intrigue and the machination, the development of pieces, as it were, was coming to a head. The middle game was upon them.

Entering the lift to the bridge, Irwin scanned his identity card and waited, hand folded behind his back. He remembered his days at the Interstellar Naval Academy, when the legendary Foreman Domai himself had given a guest lecture for the basic economics class. He had spoken of the need for military officers to understand political and social trends. Then someone asked a difficult question: Who was Domai’s most difficult adversary during his days in command?

It had taken the former leader of the Drones only a few moments to reply. “Sheng-Ji Yang,” he said at last. “He was the only leader I could never reach with my words. Things that made other diplomats break down in tears rolled off his back.” The Foreman’s Australian drawl lowered. “You can’t let your guard down for a second.”

Irwin marched purposefully onto the bridge. “Report,” he ordered.

The first officer answered, “Sir, there are no ships within scanner range. ETA to the drop point is thirty-three minutes.”

“Go to yellow alert,” the captain said. Taking the command position, he said, “Proceed with caution.”

The rest of the way was spent in silence on the bridge. Irwin looked around at the faces of his young crew, somewhere between excitement and fear. Truth be told, he saw much to fear. They were dangerously close to Hiverian space, almost close enough to look Emperor Yang in the eye, and uncomfortably far from backup. What they needed was reassurance from their captain.

A minute or so from the drop point, Irwin activated the announcement system. “Attention crew,” he said. “We are approaching our mission even as I speak. Stay alert; we’ll need it in this part of space. Just remember – we’re doing this for our country. Think of your families, and be brave.” He paused for a moment. “And know that I am very proud to be your captain.”

“We are at the drop point, sir,” helm reported.

“All stop,” Irwin said. Speaking into the intercom, he asked, “Rafts, how are you down there?”

The voice of an intelligence officer travelled up to him. “All ready, Captain Irwin.”

“Release the probe rafts. Ten-second countdown.”

Ten seconds later the rafts moved slowly out into space. Propelled by minature Kalciate-powered graviton boosters, they were each large enough to hold two people, and were crammed with long-range sensors and listening devices.

Typing some commands into his computer, the captain brought up a schematic diagram of the rafts’ position and that of his own ship. “Sensors show no ships within range, Captain.”

“Excellent. How are you doing, rafts?”

“Just fine, captain. Activating sensors now,” the intelligence officer’s voice came through.

“We are receiving data from the rafts’ sensors, Captain,” the science officer said. “Transferring now.”

A new window appeared on Irwin’s monitor, and those of the other bridge crew. By painstaking increments of a quarter of a light-year, a map of the corner of Hive space near them began to appear. Already several large stars were marked.

“Orders, Captain?” inquired the first officer.

“Now,” said Irwin, “we wait.”

[Kassiopeia]

Kerensky groaned in the darkness.

The marines (at least that's what he thought they had been) that had whisked him in had given him quite a battering - his lower lip was bleeding somewhat, he was certain that he had lost a tooth or two, and his limbs vailed in agony, probably covered in nasty bruises.

But he's mind was crystal clear. He had perfect recollection of what had happened - the deceit of his First Officer, the battle, the malfunction in the weapons systems, the boarding vessels detaching themselves to the flagship's sides, the shattering of the hull's integrity, the fierce combat inside the corridors and hallways, the blinding pain that had rendered him unconscious.

He shifted his hands and noticed that they were uncuffed. It hurt like hell, but he turned over from his somewhat awkward position on the floor and laid down on his back, staring at the blackness above him. There was a ceiling up there, somewhere, he decided, for the air was still and a bit damp.

A ring of light, out of nowhere, appeared, illuminating his injured yet somehow graceful form. He lifted his arm to cover his eyes from the sudden brightness and let out a subtle moan.

"Ugh."

Feeling a drop of adrenaline entering his veins, he added, with a flat, somehow threatening tone: "If you intend to intimidate me with your theatrical tricks, you've got the wrong man."

He heard a chuckle from somewhere around him. The quiet mirth echoed in the walls of the room and returned him for a few times. He winced.

A short whirr accompanied a new lightspot - this one a good ten metres away from him. Kerensky turned his eyes - one of them surrounded in a violet ring - and, though he felt very startled, a voice in the back of his head told him: "I knew it."

"Wakazashi", Kerensky groaned. "I should've known. Only your grunts are that rude towards guests."

Wakazashi grimaced and replied: "They were insurgents - your former men, Admiral."

Kerensky quavered slightly. "My men? Betrayed me?" He asked in his mind. So far he had only thought that his First Officer and maybe some other high ranking power-greedy people had been a part of the conspiracy.

"Oh, don't worry", Wakazashi said coldly, correctly guessing the Admiral's train of thought. "Not all of your men decided to switch sides, oh no. The Coalition Marines had quite a workload to take care of all those silly men and women in arms, woving loyalty to their fallen figurehead."

"Bastard", Kerensky muttered.

"True, yes", Wakazashi agreed and smiled faintly. "But - is that the best you can do?" he added. After a moment's silence, the Supreme Commander shrugged and took out the patch covering his left eye. The implant had not yet settled in perfectly, and around the exposed white was a pulsating mass of flesh and stitches.

"Well", Kerensky said at the sight, "I thought it never would be possible, but indeed, you're even less human then the last time we met."

"I guess the Terran Naval School doesn't cover ad hominems in it's training", Wakazashi murmured. "Oh well. I'm running out of time - there's a revolution, no, that's not the right word - a shift in power to take care of out there." He put his hand in under his arm and from the holster within, produced a nine millimetre pistol, and aimed.

Kerensky lifted an eyebrow. "Never thought you'd have a thing for antique weapons too."

"I always find them more reliable, myself."

"Agreed", Kerensky complied before realizing the complete absurdity of the dialogue. Then he said: "You are going to shoot an unarmed, injured man, lying the ground, just like that?"

Wakazashi lowered the gun, gazed at Kerensky as if pondering something, then trained the barrel at him again and said: "Yes."

[Lonestar]

"The President is dead, long live the President. " Raphael Meneses murmered into his drink as he watched the news. He was sitting in a restruant favored by various North American Lawmakers right across the street from the sprawling capitol building.

Meneses chuckled. He was part of the "Old 100" (actually, 108), the last remaining original colonists of the Endeavor. Because of his special skills, he had been called up every now and again by the Lord Protector for duty. He could never say no, though he didn't know why.

Didn't manner. Lots of things had changed on Earth in the many hundreds of years since he left. But the North Americans had still retained a slight paranoia over being ruled by anyone besides a North American. The news of the alliance with the GHE was slowly leaking out, and as expected, there was great indignation amongst some that Earth would even be dealing with a Barbarian like Chan. The rest chalked it up to realpolitik.

Well, these miserable little Terrens were about to get a big fat reminder that Earth was no more secure than Beta Hydri, or Morgan Intersteller.

Meneses stood up, thanked the waitress(they used live ones here) and walked out. It had been fairly easy constructing a weapon that would resemble the GHE's ordanence, especially after CEO Morgan was kind enoguh to send archival information to the Lord Protector. Meneses fought the urge to look at his watch. Any second now.....

There was a roaring explosion that ripped through the Historic city. Turning and making a great show off panicking, he stared at the fireball that had engulfed the building. Meneses turned and ran (like most on the street), before reaching the spaceport. There a waiting freighter took him to the Protectorate Starship Agrippa, which remained parked between the Earth and Martian Orbit. Once on board, he smiled.

As usual, he timed everything to the exact moment, right down to how long it would take the Earth Coalition to shutdown the New Orleans-Mobile Spaceport.

Hopefully, it would give the EC pause before the furthered relations with the GHE.

[Mr. President]

Temple Project Information Processing Center, Caledon, Vega Prime

Derek Sorensen was flicking through archives on the Berrik research in the far-off University Commonwealth when the call came. It turned out researchers there had encountered some similar phenomena to those he was studying: inexplicable energy signatures, unidentifiable materials and construction techniques, and alien symbology. That did not prove a connection, only that the galaxy was still full of mysteries, which still came as a surprise to some. So engrossed was Sorensen that he did not even notice the commlink’s insistent beeping for a few moments.

He pressed the answer button and heard Gary’s voice coming through. “Derek, are you there?”

“Yes Gary,” he replied. “What is it?”

“We’ve done it.”

Sorensen blinked. “You did it? You mean . . . the starmap?”

“Come down here, you’ll want to see this.”

He hurried out of his office and down the stairs. In a large room on the ground floor Gary and his team of Thinkers had been working for almost three weeks to uncover the secret of the Temple’s starmap. Sorensen had been around Thinkers his entire life, as there were many millions in the Drone Republic and other places he had travelled to, but he had never seen one working at maximum capacity until the map project. Gary and the others had sat around a large table, food and drink at arm’s length, eyes darting forward and back, fingers sporadically flexing, sometimes making hand movements as if tracing lines of text or shapes. The real world and the virtual world met and blended in the head of the cyborg.

Gary waved to Derek as he came through the door. “Over here!” the Thinker exclaimed. “You wouldn’t believe what’s been going on in here.”

Sorensen raised his eyebrows. Another Thinker, a petite red-haired woman, took up the account. “We were having no joy matching the views and magnitudes,” she said. “Until we realized that we were using a modern map of the Galaxy. The Temple was dormant for a very long time, and the stars have changed since then.”

“So we had to estimate the Temple’s age,” said Gary, “We gave the solar emission graph we downloaded the other time to the Faculty of Astronomy at the University. Based on the strength of the lines that it would have been taken about three million years ago. That’s based on the way stars change over time, and the types of chemicals in them are different as they expend more of their ‘fuel’.

“So,” he continued, “I loaded up Starry Night and rewound the galactic map three million years. After that it was simple. It turns out the reference system is nearer to us than we expected.”

“Nearer?” Sorensen raised his eyebrows.

Gary led him to the far wall, where several computers and display boards had been set up amid a tangle of wires. He typed some rapid commands into one of the systems and a large starmap appeared. “This is what the galaxy looked like three million years ago from the home system. Now I’ll show you what it looks like now.” The stars shifted and changed rapidly. “Do you recognize this constellation here?” Gary said, pointing at a hexagonal arrangement of stars.

“It looks like the Wheel,” Sorensen said. “When I went to the Physics Symposium in Spira, someone showed it to me after the opening dinner so I’d know how to find Vega. Which means . . .”

Gary nodded. “Whoever made this map used Spira as their starting point.”

Sorensen’s head was spinning. “Berrik . . .” he whispered.

[Frankychan]

Drone Mound
Private Dining Chamber

The holo-image of Emperor Yang stood before the assembled group with a broad smile on his face. The University delegates remained in stunned silence, except for the head delegate, Robert Adams. Adams stared directly at the Emperor.

Nodding in satisfaction, Adams began the negotiations.

"Your Excellency, I am honored by your prescence. I thought that the University Commonwealth would not get a chance to begin our talks for alliance."

Yang nodded and circled the table. From somewhere off the holo-field, a chair slid into projection and Sheng-ji sat down, directly in front of Robert Adams.

"Delegate Adams, I am aware of your concerns. Therefore I will make this short.

I am willing to open my border's to the University. I have a few planets that are capable of hosting your embassies. I also have created preliminary plans for trade between our two empires."

The University members all nodded in agreement, smiling at one another. Adams remained motionless.

First you give...

Yang continued, "In return, I would like to establish my own embassies in University-controlled space. That, and maybe obtaining some aspects of the famed University technology that dominated the field of science on Chiron."

...then, you take

Adams smiled in consent. Sheng-ji waited for a few moments to let what he proposed sink in...then brought up his primary concern.

"Lastly, representatives of the University, I have a proposal. I would very much like to meet Academician Randius Zakharov personally. If you would give him this persoanl invitation, I would be most grateful."

One of the Hive security guards along the walls stepped forward to approach Adams. In the guards hand was a datapad. Adams took it and examined it critically.

The edges were carved with two dragons clawing along the sides, almost intertwined with one another. One dragon was white and black, the other blue and black...the colors of the Hive.

"That is to be given to Randius himself. No one else should access it."

The holo of Emperor Yang grinned.

"Ok then,"he began, "let's celebrate the beginnings of a bold new alliance between the University Commonwealth and the Hive Empire......A toast!"

Yang reached off the holo-field and brought back a glass. The assembled men present summarily lifted their own.

"To new found friends and......."Yang suddenly broke off.

The University delegate Robert Adams noticed that the Emperor seemed to stare off into the distance, as if his attention was suddenly directed elsewhere.

Sheng-ji snapped back to attention and concluded his toast.

"You will excuse me, important matters have just come to my attention. Governor Kabu, plase finish our toast for our guests." Yang's image abruptly flickered off.

The governor, almost forgotten, flashed a smile and hoisted his glass.

"To our newly established alliance. May the universe itself tremble before our collective might."

* * *
Encrypted Message
To: Academician Randius Zakharov
From: Emperor Sheng-ji Yang

I must be brief. I have given your delegates on planet Drone Mound a datapad. The contents will be revealed once you personally open it. To open it, you will need this code:

Wang-Di-Alpha-7-X-2

Consider the contents a gift.
* * *

[Frankychan]

Hive Prime

Emperor Yang placed his glass he was holding back on the table he stood next to. Facing him was a messenger who remained bowing before his Emperor.

"Get up." Yang snarled. The messenger immediately stood at attention.

"What is it? This had better be important."

The messenger swallowed, "Your Excellency, I bear news from our ambassador within the Sol System as well as news from other regions of space."

Emperor Yang turned around and began walking toward a wall display. "Continue".

"Ambassador Sillk reports that there has been a coup on Earth. It appears that the Earth Coalition has broken from the Terran Alliance. There have been several assassinations in the upper levels of the government."

"Good. Continue." Sheng-ji smled.

"Secondly, our Morganite contact whom we received the Morganite military intelligence on Samnos and Naxos has been located."

An eyebrow raised, "I had forgotten about that. Where is the contact?"

"Your Excellency, he was apparently picked up in the Sol System, en route to Earth. He was travelling, " The aide stopped to look at a data display "with what appears to be two to three passengers. The names of these individuals have been recorded as a 'Greg' and a 'Filkins'."

"Excellent. Where do we have him going?"

"Great Collective, your Majesty."

"Anything else?" Yang exhuded satisfaction with his agents.

The messenger winced while he finished his report.

"It seems that there is an escalation in the Cadre System. We have reports that Drone as well as Spartan military vessel's are being sent there to stop Major Lysander's coup. Additionally, there has been an increase in Drone activity near the edge of our borders. They seem to be gathering intelligence on us."

Kessel and Adams have both upped the ante it seems....no matter, Yang thought.

"Our fleet sent to the Cadre system won't be a problem. They aren't distinguishable as being of Hive origin so they wont' be a problem. They should arrive in a couple of days anyway...Hopefully our ships will arrive before the Spartan or Drone do and crush Lysnader's opponents." Sheng-ji crinkled his chin.

"As for the Drone Probe ships, send a couple of our patrol ships out there and stop them. Theyare authorized to use excessive force if need be. Dismissed."

The messenger turned to exit and headed toward the door.

Things are getting very interesting indeed. Kessel and Adams. Randius and I. Where will the Terrans side?

[GeneralTacticus]

Lieutenant Zimmer winced as another brief burst of rebel gunfire whistled past the pile of rubble he was hiding behind, rubble that had once been the wall of the base Governor’s small private garden. It was a charred ruin now, heavy weapons fire having scoured it for the past thirty minutes or more. He stuck his head up briefly and sprayed the smoke-filled garden with a burst of his own, before dropping back down. He heard the end of a choking gasp, and then silence.

Cautiously, Zimmer and the trooper lying next to him stuck their heads up. There was no firing; as the heat of the explosions faded, their infrared scanners recorded nothing. This small section of the base was now secure.

Around him the other members of his unit were standing up, cautiously looking around before moving slowly toward the other side of the garden, fingers tightly gripping their weapons. There was a brief scare as one the troopers snapped his weapon around and let off a burst into the darkness, but there was nothing there but crumbling rubble.

As they continued to move across what had once been green and pleasant, one of the few luxuries afforded to anyone within the Cadre, their collective nerves wound more tightly than a spring, Zimmer was suddenly struck by the senselessness of it all. Here they were, fighting over the charred ruins of a garden, a damn garden for crying out loud, against enemies that had until today been their own people, and for what reason? Because one junior officer couldn’t let go of the past. He shook his head. There was no time for philosophy here.

Moments later the Cadre soldiers stepped out into a hallway that led directly to the former Governor’s main office. There was no doubt that it was now Lysander’s headquarters; all of the command & control communications to the base defence forces originated here, and it fit with what was known of Lysander. It was his nature to want to rule from his enemy’s own palace.

There was no resistance as they walked swiftly down the corridor. There were a number of tears in the walls and several bodies lay near one, virtually shredded by shrapnel. There was nothing else to suggest that this passage had been the object of violence; there were no bullet holes, no spent shell casings or power packs. And there was no way to distinguish visually whether the dead had been loyalists or rebels.

When they actually reached the office they found, it unsurprisingly, empty. They had expected Lysander to run before they got there, and he hadn’t disappointed them. Well, at least they had now captured the main command centre for the local rebels. Zimmer sent a report by commlink to Colonel Lichtenstein that this area was now secure, then plugged a small module into the office computer systems. The programs within it would break the security codes on the systems and transmit whatever information they could recover to Laekdaemon Central. It wouldn’t be that hard; they already knew all the master codes in any case. Having secured this objective, they left two troopers behind to guard it and prepared to move on to the next target: Dienkes Base Aerospace Complex.

As the troops moved on, there was an urgency about them that hadn’t been there before. They knew that the complex was completely useless with loyalist interceptors combing the skies, yet they still felt a deep apprehension that quickened their steps and made them clench their fingers around their weapons. They would soon find that fear to have been justified.

* * *

The journey to the Aerospace Complex would have been only a few minutes in length, the original base planners having placed all of the critical structures as close together as possible, but loyalist bombs had blocked on of the corridors, delaying the troops by a precious few minutes. Upon such whims of chance rest the fate of leaders and worlds. Zimmer’s squad burst through the doors leading our onto the main runways just in time to see a single transport plane escorted by a swarm of interceptors lift off into the sky, their engines screaming defiance at their pursuers.

Zimmer wanted to scream with rage as he realized that the chance to end this war here and now was gone forever, but he couldn’t allow himself to do that. In the same instant he saw a pair of loyalist interceptors sweep in and let fly with a volley of missiles, but in vain. One of the rebel escorts turn, running directly into the path of the missiles and sacrificing itself for its charge. Instants later, both of the loyalists were blasted out of the sky by the return volley.

As Lysander’s transport plane and its fighter escorts vanished swiftly into the distance, Lieutenant Leos Zimmer had only one though on his mind.

'I will destroy you, Lysander, if it’s the last thing I do.'

[Lonestar]

Beta Hydri 3

There was a crack in the darkness, then the shadows receded fully. Dr. Matthew Bucher, a man older than most Biblical figures strode into the huge room. He turned on a lamp he was carrying.

"Let there be light," he murmered.

The room was now completely lit, and Bucher looked around. Huge statues of Egyptian Gods were abound. Egyltian Hieroglyphs completely covered the walls. After 600 years of trying to break into this Temple, he now knew it was worth it.

A voice shouted down from behind the door he'd finally opened.

"Professor Bucher, do you see anything?"

"Oh yes....wonderful things!"
---------------


The Palace, Nuevo San Antonio.

Lord Protector Ian looked up from the flimsy and gave the yound grad student an odd look.

"You want to run me by that again, Mister...."

"O'Neill, M'lord." The Twentysomething college student stood stiffly, clearly terrified at speaking to one of the most powerful Humans in the Galaxy. He swallowed and spoke.

"As you know, M'Lord, there is and old...Temple of some sort in the Black Sand Mountains here on beta Hydri 4. Far in the North...it consists of Stones arranged not unlike that of Stonehenge on Earth and a large Ring-shape portal in the center."

"The Stargate." Ian clarified.

"Yes M'Lord. There is also a advance computer there....that we've never been able to use. It's a coordinate locator. We never had the coordinates for other planets in this language. Now we do."

Ian stared at the young person.

"You sure, Mr. O'Neill? Is Dr. Bucher sure?"

"Yes Sir."

"Could these...Bulkmatter transmitters be on other planets in the Local area?"

"Yes...In fact, Professor Bucher believes that at least one is located in UCS space."

"Damnit!" Ian stood and walked toward the window. "Thank you O'Neill, that is all."

Ian waited until the Young Grad student walked out before turning to Dr. Pym.

"Well?"

"If there is a Stargate within Zahkarov's territory, then he most certainly has a knowledge of what it does, if not actually knowing how it works. We should beef up security around the Stargate here on BH4."

Ian nodded, and without a word one of his Gaurdsmen moved to make the appropriate call.

Pym spoke quietly.

"Have we recovered our expidition that the UCS captured yet?"

"No. Baron Fel assures me that he will soon, though."

"If the UCS gets their hands on Hferhin technology, they won't be our only problem."

A Nod. "I've already informed the Dosi Ambassador. A Dosi Starcrusier is on it's way."

[Sprayber]

The trip through the Firaxis System had been uneventful for Kessel and the rest of the crew of the small scout ship. The Nor battle cruiser and three corvettes had remained outside the system so that Kessel could complete the journey in the unimposing scout. Advisors urged Kessel to use the occasion to demonstrate the might of Sparta but Kessel knew that such a show would not impress anyone and would most likely only leave a bad impression in the mind of the independent systems. The wise knew the might of the Spartan Federation and those that did not would soon find out the hard way. Besides all available fleets were being sent to the Cadre system in preparation for what all thought was the beginning of a new larger war. If things went well the next few days the current war would be wrapped up. If things didn’t go well then Kessel had prepared his generals to proceed with the prosecution of the war with a new sense of brutality. A minor annoyance had quickly become a serious liability and Kessel was no longer in the mood for half measures.

Thoughts of the coming carnage floated through Kessel’s mind as the small scout with fighter escort passed the Firaxian inner ring of system defense. Kessel noted to himself that the Firaxian defense screen was impressive for a small government. As the ship passed the last point, Kessel triggered his MMI to file the details in the appropriate memory file. He knew of course that none of the information would be particularly important but further analysis might prove inspiring at the Defense Review coming up in the next few months. He returned his attention to the now approaching view of the Firaxis. It was truly a stunning sight as the ship lined up for the final approach. The Firaxian space fighters slowed as the final clearances were obtained for the Spartan Scout. Kessel glanced up at the ships internal time that displayed the local Firaxian time. If nothing happened, the ship would land exactly when it was scheduled too. As the ship received the final clearances to proceed the ships commander gave the command to enter the Firaxian atmosphere. A few minutes later the ship had entered the atmosphere and was being escorted towards the landing site. Kessel gazed out of one of the ship’s windows at the terrain below. As the ship passed over the thick forests below Kessel thought to himself that the name world of trees was an apt description. A few more seconds of study was broken by the ship’s commanders announcement that landing was imminent. Kessel glanced at the ship’s clock and noticed that they were right on time.

Kessel made his way to the cargo hold where the exit ramp was located. His security detail consisting of three large Marine guards wearing their green duty uniforms formed up behind him. Kessel’s aide fell in on Kessel’s right with her light brown duty uniform. Kessel had chosen his regular duty uniform similar to the one his aide, Captain Carver, was wearing. To the casual observer, Kessel may not have stood out like other leaders would. He dressed in the simple uniform of Central Command. The only adornments worn on the uniform were the Spartan Combat Patch above his name badge, the unit patch of Central Command on his right shoulder, and rank on both of his collars. Both he and his aide wore no hat with their uniforms. The three Marine guards wore the green and black garrison cap common for duty officers. Each had a sidearm secured in their holster along with a short baton secured to their utility belt. Since a contingent of security was already present at the space port, Kessel was not overly concerned about security. He knew the officers from the Spartan Embassy that were assigned to the detail so he felt all things were in hand. The Marine Guard would be adequate for this occasion, otherwise the crowd would have been treated to the infamous Spartan Guard. But Kessel thought it unnecessary to parade around with a large force for protection, at least not yet.

As Kessel stepped clear of the ramp he triggered his MMI and it began transferring information about the Firaxians there to meet him. For the next few days the Prime Minister of this small but strategic world would walk with some of the giants of the human sphere. Kessel did not envy the man’s task at all. Even though an agreement would most likely be reached, it was not sure if it would stand for more than a year ore even a month. As the Prime Minister walked up to extend his hand Kessel thought that Prime Minister Hsiang may be the only trustworthy person at the entire conference. And if he knew it or not, Hsiang may have more to loose then anyone here because if a wider war erupted. Firaxis and other independent systems would most probably be swallowed up by carnage. Kessel switched off the MMI as he clasped the out stretched hand of the Prime Minister.
The Days activities had been executed as planned down to the minute. Kessel had made a small speech at the request of the Prime Minister. It had been short and to the point as is usual for the Colonel. After the speech Kessel departed the space port on a transport provided by the Firaxan military. It took only ten minutes for the transport to reach the Spartan Embassy located near the west of the capital. There inside the large compound Kessel begin to sift through encrypted messages that awaited his attention. As he read the latest reports on the apparent coup on Earth, Kessel merely shook his head. Although Kessel had secretly wanted some kind of EC disturbance to the rising importance of the Terran Alliance this was not exactly what he had in mind. Kessel, like most Spartan leaders, was a conservative at heart when it came to political change. He knew all too well what followed when those such as the new leaders on Earth took power. In order to deflect attention from themselves they would have to embark on foreign adventures. In the back of Kessel’s mind he couldn’t help but think that all of this trouble with the conference might be a waste of time. Kessel keyed a message for Central Command to refine the plans for an invasion of Terran space. Sparta would not be caught off guard. Not with something as important as this.

As he finished the message he leaned back in his chair and allowed himself to relax. As he did, he began to feel a presence in his mind. It was so subtle at first that he could have passed it off as possible feedback from his MMI but experience told him better. He took the presence and studied it from a distance and a smile crossed his face. “She is getting better” he said aloud to himself as he got up to go to the door. He pushed the button to open the door and there she stood eyes closed as if asleep. She slowly opened her eyes as the realization came to her that Kessel was staring into her face. A look of disappointment appeared on her face. Kessel was the first to break the silence.

“Your getting better Major Ferris. Your presence in my mind was barely detectable. If you hadn’t tried to probe too deeply, I may not have noticed you this time.”

The disappointment on the Major’s face disappeared and was replaced by small but discernable smile. The sight was always slightly unsettling to Kessel. To see such a gentle smile on the face that bore such a strong resemblance to Santiago had always seemed not right to him. Kessel quickly buried the thought deep in his mind as he had so often around Major Ferris. Kessel was aware that she knew of her true origins and that she must keep them secret even from her sister. But Ferris did not know all and for know that is how it must remain. Kessel motioned for Ferris to sit down in front his desk and she obeyed without a word.

“The reason I have called you away from your duty elsewhere Major is because I require your talents here with me at the conference.”

Ferris looked at the Colonel with a passive expression. “How shall I be of service sir?”

“You will be a member of my staff at the conference. Now, we know that most of the governments have some sort of psi program and we know that talents have been used in the past when heads of state were present. You will act as my screen if necessary and you will also conduct passive probes into the minds of the other delegates. Nothing intrusive as if extracting information, but just enough to let me know if they are negotiating in good faith.”

Ferris straightened up in her chair. “Shall I probe CEO Morgan or any of the Morganite diplomats?”

Kessel hesitated for a second and walked over to his chair and sat down. “Morgan may have a talent of some kind there with him as well. For now the only thing about Morgan you should do is to determine if a talent has accompanied him. If not, then perhaps I may require the same of him. But you must be warned that Morgan is a shrewd man. He may have the same amount of awareness of mind probes as I do. So for now all I want you to do is to determine if there anymore talents in the room and to provide me with an impression of where the Terran diplomats are coming from.”

Major Ferris nodded in acknowledgment to the instructions laid out by Kessel. She seemed to hesitate with a question.

“You seem to have a question Major. Speak freely.”

Urged on Ferris gathered her thoughts. “You mention that Morgan may be as prepared as you Colonel. I still find it difficult to understand how a person such as yourself with no psi talent can sense even subtle probes by myself and other talents.”

Kessel leaned forward in his chair and put his arms in front of him. “Back on Chiron the fungus dominates the landscape. It was a necessity that those of us who fought the many battles there, also learn to deal with the ever constant presence of the fungus. Many times we would be in the middle of a battle and out of no where one would be assaulted by the nearby fungus fields. In many cases the very battle we fought would cause the fungus to spread at incredible rates. It was always there in the back of your mind. You have only seen specimens of fungus separated from the fields. Their power is merely a fraction of what you experience next to a field extending hundreds of kilometers or worse yet, a fungal tower.”

Ferris’s eyes stared intently at the Colonel as he spoke. She unconsciously leaned forward as if he were merely whispering.

“I remember once when we lured a Hive patrol into the fungus. The horror that we experienced as they savagely killed each other is beyond description. Two of my men killed themselves because they could not stand the images. From then on our psi training was pushed more vigorously by those in command. I spent a very long time in the field. After awhile you either develop a way to block it out and control it or you are driven insane. The current psi training a Spartan soldier receives pales in comparison to what we got by simply being there next to the fungus. “ Kessel hesitated for a second. “When things return to relatively normal, you too will go to Chiron and see what I mean. Until then, you will simply have to be aware that some people have learned to defend their minds even though they may not be able to project as you do. Never forget that for those of us that have lived long lives, defending your mind is just as important as defending our physical bodies. Do not succumb to the arrogance that many of the talents both in Sparta and abroad have fallen into. Now get some rest. Tomorrow will be a long day for everyone and I need your mind sharp and alert.

Major Ferris stood up and nodded to Kessel before she turned and walked out the door. As the door closed behind her, Kessel felt her presence brush up against his mind yet again. He knew she was merely preparing for tomorrow. For her mission to succeed, she would have to have some access to his mind. After a long absence for him she was reestablishing links to make communication easier. Kessel sat back down in is chair. Tomorrow would be exhausting he knew. He triggered his MMI to power down so he could get some rest and thought back to a time when things were more simple. He turned around to look out the window in his office. It was still daylight out and he could see the distant mountains. What a beautiful planet this was, almost as much as Sparta Prime. It would be a shame if Firaxis were caught up between the major powers, a shame indeed.

[GeneralTacticus]

Colonel Trevor Shaixu was still standing in his quarters going over what information he had about the situation on Laekdaemon when there was a chime at the door.

“Enter.” He said without moving. The door hissed open and an orderly stepped in.

“Sir, we are about to enter the Laekdaemon system.” He announced.

“Thank you. Dismissed.”

Shaixu turned and followed the orderly out the door to the bridge, as the People’s Endeavour and the rest of the Hive fleet shut off their FTL drives and the Laekdaemon system came into view. The planet that was their destination was the fourth out from the young, bright star in the centre of the system; the inner three were far too inhospitable for any human inhabitation as yet.

“Open me a communication channel to Major Lysander.” Shaixu ordered. The bridge communications officer complied and Shaixu sent his brief message.

“Major Lysander, this is Clan Leader Maibok, reinforcing you as per your request. We will expect payment at the termination of our contract.”

“Now what?” asked the ship’s captain.

“We head on for our destination, and we wait for an acknowledgement.”

The captain nodded, and went back to his station. Shaixu turned and headed back for his quarters. It would be hours before anything happened.

As he did so, the computers finished their calculations of the optimum path and the disguised Hive fleet angled into a path that would carry them to Laekdaemon with a minimum of effort. They would arrive in orbit over Laekdaemon in approximately five hours.

[Cybergod]

Titan Royal Briefing Room

"So Minister Petrov, your political analysis of the situation is that our sovereignity will be under threat?" Maria asked her Minister of Foreign Affairs. She was in no mood for chit-chat - the EC's desires to unify Sol under one banner have made her think of the plans she and only the most trusted of her subordinates knew about. She would have to inform Nicholas soon.

"Yes our Queen. I do not need to remind you that we have only relativelly recently obtained independence. However, many heads on Earth are raging and have sour feelings. Especially after the political incidents, I can see that we need to seek different strategies," and the man leaned back. He made a notion which would have seemed inappropriate at another time - he raised his right eyebrow, gesturing to Maria that he was considering "the plan" aswell. Doctor Tanaka, who was sitting at the wooden table with the two of them, nervously tapped his fingers. The room consisted of four white walls, a navy carpet and some wooden furniture around the central table. Royal emblems decorated the walls. In the few moments of silence that followed, the hum of the ventilation system would be barely heard. Maria started with a sigh:

"I suppose that this room is secure enoug to discuss Algorithm B," she paused, "Doctor Tanaka, have you recently updated the list of future colonists?"

"Of course our Queen. But they are from our territories only. I suppose we could benefit more, and get a bigger gene pool, if our list of colonists included people all over Sol..."

"And this would increase out initial population and econo-industrial capacity," interupted Petrov, confirming the rule that every minister should regulary excercise realpolitik. "I suppose that we could increase our colonisation capacity and include..." he was interupted by a blinking red light of a tiny box which was situated near Maria's right hand. With a motion of her hand, the room fell silent and she spoke.

"Yes Mister Popullos, please enter," and after exactly three seconds, a seemingly wooden door pulled itself in and Nicholas entered the room. His face wasn't nearly as gloomy as that of everyone else, perhaps because of joys of parenthood.

"I salute you our Queen," he bowed his head slightly.

"Please take a seat here Mister Popullos," she pointed to one of the empty chairs. "So, how is little Constantin?" she said as he sat, forcing the gloomy expression off her face.

"He's a very healthy child and we are having no problems whatsoever," he responded. "Now, as I entered and saw from the gloomy covers on your faces, we are not here to discuss the niceties of life, are we?"

"Well put," Tanaka muttered under his voice.

"Let me be frank Mister Popullos, this is the situation," she took a deep breath, "Our sovereignity is threatened. The Earth Coalition is bent to push Sol under its thumb, and we are the prime target. After the uproars on Earth, we are no longer sure of our stable existence. Fortunatelly, myself and other heads of department - such as Mister Petrov and Doctor Tanaka here, have predicted this among other outcomes and have long since drawn up the so called 'plan' or 'Algorithm B'. We have selected most of the able, intelligent, skilled, stable - emotionally and physically, and genetically diverse individuals within our territory. The total number stands near half a billion so of course we won't be able to transfer all at once." Nicholas looked at her with a puzzled expression on his face.

"How should I put this... Remember those long range scans we took - and probed - of sector UT-193?" Maria asked him.

"Yes, they were reasonably close to University territory. As far as I know, our relatios with them have been unofficial and good-natured."

"That's right. There is a little known star system within the scanned area which is suitable for large-scale human colonisation. Thee are rumours going round the high diplomatic circles, which our infiltrators penetrated, that the system contains, erm, extra-terrestrial ruins, which are turning out not to be uncommon in that sector of space. But, that asside, another planet is perfect for the transfer."

"What exactly are you suggesting our Queen?!"

"I am telling you that in a close future we will be establishing a new nation there. A nation free of old Earther prejudices and dogmas. A nation whose influence, once its strenght is established, shall reach deep in the lives of all humanity throughout the galaxy. A place where freedom, justice and prosperity reign supreme and where everyone, be they Homo Sapiens, Scions and even artificial intelligences can live alongside in peace. That is our plan Nicholas Popullos, and I thrust the rule of that new nation in your able hands."

"Excuse me... our Queen?" he stuttered nervously.

"Who do you think will take care of the billions here? I am a symbol of war and battle in many heads. - I cannot lead a new nation and shape a philosophy of peace and democracy. Also, these people need someone to take care of them and fight alongside them until the last drop of resistance. our calculations indicate that the Saturnian Kingdom should persist here on the Saturnian territories until we are either crushed by the Earth Coalition or corruption grows to a critical level for anarchy to step in and then to be closelly followed by neo-despotism. I am sure you have heard about the latest media crazes among the high officials..." she rolled her eyes.

"So when does this... this 'plan' commence?"

"Steps have begun to be undertaken. We have sent two special envoys. One to the University Commonwealth of States, who appear willing to help in our troubles, and another to the infamous Dark Planet."

"Scion technologies would greatly benefit us, both in construction of colony ships and future developments," Tanaka stepped in. "Our advances in the Advanced Energies field have been significant, ever since our tech-trade with Morgan Interstellar. We can exchange our knowledge and try to bargain for bio-metal technology," his eyes lit up at the last couple of words. It seemed like his research teams haven't been successful in that field, and his hunger for knowledge made his pupils dilate.

"Fellow Belters, Venusians, Martians, rebel Earthers and Jovians would be eager to join us at a later date," Mister Petrov added. "As our colonies develop, we will fret the tales of a great new pillar of democracy, and the free world shall turn to us as an ally against oppressive tyranical powers, of the likes of our benevolent Earth Coalition and the 'Greater' Hive Empire."

"But for now we must keep the plan within close sircles. Nicholas, do not tell a soul until we are ready," Maria raised her eyebrow, "that is, until we can pull off the plan with minimal interference."

"Yes out Queen," Nicholas said in acceptance. For the rest of the day, he daydreamed about some Bible stories he was told as a child. Those about Moses and the Exodus. It would make a brilliant political speech.

***

Proximity of the Dark Planet

"Captain, we are here," the young astrogator cried exitedly.

"Very well Miss Vossilli. Comm-crew, stand by to transmit!"

Diplomatic Envoy Tyana Fletcher shifted uneasily in a chair beside the captain. After the comm-crew gave their aproval of transmittion, she opened her mouth to speak:

"Captain, why are you so sure that we will get a reply?"

"We have a common enemy that threatens our existences. I believe our interests will coincide."

"And what if they don't?"

"Then this was one big waste of fuel..." he mumbled under his breath.

[Silence]

Godwinson’s Hope
Super-Dreadnought Mighty Fortress

The flagship shuddered as it took another hit from an missile launched by the survivors of a Hammer of God destroyer squadron that had tried to bust open the defenses to allow the remainder of the HOG’s battleline
to exploit. Marshal Dexter S tasted blood in his mouth
has bit his tongue from the unexpected movement. He and the rest of his command staff was on the flag bridge in the middle of the Super-Dreadnought. There with the most advance command and control systems that the Conclave could come up with he was running this battle. Glancing at the plot that showed how many of his ships were still in existence he concluded that so far that the Conclave for once was winning without to much difficulty.

The Hammer forces had formed a wall of ships relative to where the Conclave fleet had come out of and thus was fighting a battle where both sides were just staying near their respective fleets and not getting closer to each other, except for probing attacks and suicide runs by the HOGS.

“Marshal, Commodore Wesley is announcing that the Purifier will be coming out of FTL in 15 minutes.” said the signal officer from behind him. Dexter looked at the plot and thought, Yes everything is going to plan, with us suckering the HOG fleet into facing us, the Purifier will be able to slam into the planet without any problems from their fleet . Right as he thought that, a large barrage of weapons from the planets surfaced went off and 30 seconds later a battleship and its cruiser escort was skewered by the large burst of energy. The Marshal at first tried to see how effective long range missiles strikes would be against those battries that had more range then what the Intelligence at thought possible, but the amount of closer range and point defense weapons near those guns had proved to be ineffective.

“Marshall the HOG fleet has moved towards the planet. Dear lord, ships are launching from the planet, they appear to be transports!”

Dexter swore, the Conclave fleet had enough firepower
to go in and destroy those transports before they powered up their FTL drive and got out the system, but that firepower would be greatly reduce after the operation due to the fact that they would be fighting not only the HOG fleet but the HOG ground defenses as well.

“Send in the 7th fleet” Dexter said quietly, hopping for the best.

Destroyer Blasé Pascal
The small warship fired its foreword fusion lasers at the transport that was trying to slide past it. Below the two ships was the remnants of the HOG fleet, and the 7th fleet dukeing it out in close range combat, while the HOG planet proceeded to blast apart a Conclave ship every 2 minutes. It was wild to say the least. The transport that had been hit by the destroyer collapsed on itself before blowing in an eye tearing explosions on the screens
(that had been program not to allow the brightness to get that bright).

“Skipper, we got an wounded Piggy carrier trying to limp out of the battle. A fighter/bomber squadron is asking for help in taking it down.” said Joan de Macizes who was doubling as both the XO and the communications officer since a freak shot from a HOG fighter had punctured the hull and killed the former coms officer while he was doing
DC work in the communications systems in the aft of the destroyer.

“Roger, helm do we have a clear shot?” Commander Robert Kustowa asked, helm looked at his plot and said, “Yea we can do it,”

“Set course then.” after giving the order, he looked at
the holo-plot that was displaying the battle and saw a flash of white light and then the Asteroid Purifier, with it
a phalanx of the Home Fleet ships guarding it as it came tumbling out of FTL and right on a path to the planet. Right away the HOG ships turned and rushed towards
the oncoming bringer of death, but it was an effort in
vain for the large rock was moving to fast for an intercept to take it out before it could hit the planet. And the defenses on that side while firing and blowing large chunks out of the surface that was facing the HOG guns, they didn’t have enough time or firepower to stop it from hitting the planet.

The death of the rouge planet was a horrible thing to watch to the officers of the Conclave Host, but the Hammer of God had finally been taking out of action. With the realization that they no longer had any people left to protect and fight for, with the death of the planet and all of the civilian and military transports. The Hammer of God fleet turned and charged into the 7th fleet who was moving to meet up with the rest of the Conclave forces. The 7th and the ships from the rest of the Conclave naval forces in the region managed to entrap the Hammer of God ships who where in a frenzy and destroyed them.
However in response the 7th had taken 70% casualties, with most of the surviving ships mission killed. The war had been ended but at a dire cost.

New Israel
Island of Samson
Speaker’s Palace

Brother Keenes smiled as he read the report that his good friend had sent him again for what had to been the millionth time. The long war with the dark side of the Believers soul had finally been one with a purification of a sorts. He laughed and his eyes blazed as he took it as a sign of God that the Conclave had passed its long test and was now ready to spread the Good Word to the rest of the galaxy, or perhaps be purified along with the
Hammer of God. He started to laugh as he understood all the meanings that had confused him for the past year now.

City of Mosses
Northern Province
New Israel
Office of Ben Halsy

Ben looked at out his windows with hands behind his back, the current celebration in the streets had been going on for a day now and it didn’t look like it was going to be stopping anytime soon. Though Ben was personally worried what the other leaders of the civilized universe was going to say when they read that Conclave forces destroyed all life on a planet with a bloody asteroid.

“Do you know what this means tomorrow when Brother Keenes gets up to Conclave and speaks? I will have to support him and agree that his policies were a success. Instead of the flukes that they are.” Halsy said, turning and facing his political allies (more really thralls to Ben’s Opposition party which now had an offical name, the Wise Party as opposed to Keenes’s Faithful party).

“Well, we could say you were sick and not feeling well and gave it to one of your deputy whips?” said the fat one of the men. Ben frowned and thought about while he had managed to get his party more seats in the Conclave the last two victories (the first one the eve before the elections had caused Keenes’s party to remain in control.)

“No that would look like I was crying over sour grapes, which I won’t do. However it appears that I will be forced to do the dirty deed. I will have my PR manager get a memo out to the various media outlets and get them spinning on this, perhaps we could make it appear that the Brother is going to me instead of vice-versa.”

They just both stared at him with a blank expression on their face, Ben face tightened and said, “Get out of here, go enjoy the victory celebration, because mark my words Keenes has to much involved in a military actives as the center of our government actions to allow for peace to continue for much longer.”

[Kassiopeia]

The world had started, slowly but surely, to stead itself around him. The edges and details were still a bit blurry, his brain was a heap of recycled biomass at best, but out of the chaos rose one, simple, single clear thought.

He extrapolated on this thought and started to regain control over his limbs. His memory remained as an entangled fuss, but the emptied bottle of pain killers next to him hinted that he was indeed lying on the floor, recovering from... something. He faintly recalled waking up with a nearly similar pain before. He had tried to fix it with the aforementioned drugs, but apparently to no effect - the agony had just been replaced.

"Dehydration", a thunderously loud noise echoed in the cramped room. He lifted his hands to cover his ears and tried to shake his head, only to found out that it hurt even more.

"I can't believe this."

"Please", came a quiet moan, "don't be so loud..."

"Oh pull yourself together. You already had one hangover yesterday. Are you going to succumb to this overt punishment? Whatever it was you threw down your gullet that night, it sure wasn't the same poison I had. I always thought I was the one with lower tolerance. Never have I heard of a double hangover, for Pete's sake. Here, have some good old water."

Greg allowed his left eye to open just a bit, but saw nothing.

"I shut the blinds. Wouldn't want to pile up your aching any more. Be strong, open your eyes."

Greg obeyed meekly and lashed open his eyelids. The room was indeed dark, except for a dim light shining from the neighbouring room, and a few beams escaping some gaps in the shutters.

"Aye, waking up is right now the best course of action. I've got some news for you. There's been lots going out outside while you were busy suffering a delirium tremens."

Greg just harumphed, downed another glass of water and pulled the sheets over himself. "What exactly?"

"Well, first, there was this news that the Sun was about to explode."

"I'm listening to you, no need for that crap."

"I'm not testing the length of your attention span. For some hours, I was already thinking of hauling our cumulative asses to evacuate."

"Good god", Greg managed to say.

"Oh, but that's not all of it, not by a mile. You see, the government instated emergency controls to the Supreme Commander, Wakazashi. And since President Tremaine hadn't been replaced yet -"

"Tremaine? Replaced? Why?"

"Christ, Gregory! Tremaine is dead. His transplane went down to the English canal ages ago."

"I'm not sure if I'd remember my wife's name", Greg said, as the immediate past in terms of interplanetary politics started to unravel to him. "My wife. She'll be so pissed. My father -"

"Scratch your father for now. No offence intended to the old man, of course. My point is, the Terran Alliance doesn't exist any longer. Nobody knows where Kerensky is. The Terran Council has been effectively disbanded. Coalition ships are moving in on Alliance member states, declaring a system wide martial law. A big mess. "

"Not as big as my brain are right now", Greg opined. "What about sun exploding then?"

"Probably just a spoof to get things going. Now Wakazashi and Drecaille pretty much control everything in Sol... It gets more interesting. The Alliance was, or well, is, attending peace negotiations with the Morganites. They don't probably know yet. When they do, and the Chironians find out... well, there's an anachronism I know. 'Crap will hit the fan'."

[Kassiopeia]

"Bugger you, you're behaving like my nephew when he got a new hologame for a birthday present. The only way we could get him out was with a sledgehammer and a chisel, and a healthy dose of the aforementioned directed at his player system."

"I don't want to get out. Just leave me be."

"Your headache can best be cured by a healthy dose of fresh air." Filkins new that on Mars the wording was a bit off but he ignored it.

Greg couldn't help but to mutter a few objections, but it was too late.

"You know, you really don't deserve this. But I have to look after you, otherwise you would kill yourself with a mattress or something. And I hate that sort of things."

Greg dismissed asking how on earth even he would manage to take his own life with a mattress, and let Filkins drag him to the elevator.

"Where'd we get this room anyhow?"

"I haven't the foggiest, actually", Filkins said and suddenly noticed that the building was... quiet. He hadn't even checked what city on Mars they were in since he had to attend to Greg, you know, to watch after the mattress and all. The windows didn't offer a view since exactly next to it was another wall - only a glimpse of sunlight through some gaps managed to crawl their way to the room.

The landed on the - empty - bottom floor.

"Looks like we're inside a dome", Filkins observed, looking at the doorway which had no airlock or a suit locker beside. The street, through the windows, seemed empty.

"Hm. Could be this place was evacuated because of the nova warning and they'ven't returned yet", Filkins pondered out loud. Greg just wheezed of the stress of having to walk such a long distance while under such agony.

Then Filkins noticed a piece of paper on the floor. It had been ripped from a newspaper, it seemed - even several hundreds of years of electronical communication hadn't been able to replace the comfort of having breakfast with the morning paper - and was indeed the first page. Filkins released Greg, who quietly slumped down on the dusty floor, and grabbed the piece.

December 9th, 2586, the dating read.

[Kassiopeia]

Suddenly Filkins got a feeling.

The distinct feeling that you are inside a bad scifi story written by an equally bad writer, and that the strange turn of events that has just been thrown at you is just something the author thought would be a nifty plot twist.

Shrugging off the thought quickly before contemplating it any futher - and therefore risking his mental health which was already in shambles -, he rubbed his eyes and stared at the piece of plastic paper again. The numbers 09-12-2586 remained.

"More then one hundred and ten years ago", he muttered.

"I'll be damned", exclaimed Greg from the comfort of the floor, finally a surface he felt he could not fall from. "There's a blue-haired girl without clothes standing outside", he remarked, looking through the plexiglass twin door.

Filkins furrowed his brow. The drugs weren't supposed to be hallucinatory - then again, they themselves weren't supposed to be in some strange time capsule of a building. He stepped to Greg and turned to follow his gaze, and, much to his surprise, found himself staring at a blue-haired girl without clothes, standing outside.

She was a bizarre sight. Her crimson eyes betrayed no emotion, and if her chest - which clearly was that of a teenager - hadn't moved in a steady rhythm back and forth, Filkins would've thought she was a statue or dead. She had no hair on her body, except the somewhat unkempt short blue hair.
Now, Greg and Filkins are products of the 27th century, and an enlightened society. Nudity is something rather natural and normal, not a freak occurrence or something that should be overly covered or be embarrassed of. Clothes were not considered as means to cover something shameful, they were more considered a statement from the wearer, if not worn for a purely practical purpose, like warding off low temperatures. Most people wore them because their parent had.
But regardless, Filkins was rather dumbfound of the sight, but not much more then if he had seen the girl in clothing.

"I wonder if she's cold", Greg said, apparently a bit unaware of the entire implication of the situation, or alternatively fully aware of it but not touched by it.

Filkins grabbed the sheet Greg had wrapped around himself when leaving the apartment and headed towards the door. As he stepped through them, the girl shifted herself only slightly so that she could look at Filkins. She didn't let out a single sound, only kept staring at him, a hint of curiousness in her eyes.

"Hello there", Filkins said. She estimated that the girl was maybe 13, maybe 16 years old. Only God knew surely in this day of genetic engineering, he reminded himself, taking some careful steps to get closer.

"Hello", the girl replied almost automatically, as if programmed to do so, her mouth moving only as much as necessary, rest of her remaining stationary.

"Mmm." What do you say to a teenaged girl you've just met who is standing stark naked in the middle of an apparently deserted Martian city, Filkins thought.

Noting his bewilderment, the girl said: "Is there a problem?"

"Well... why are you here? Why are you naked?"

The girl lowered her gaze to the ground, not in shame, but in deep thought. A moment passed, until she raised her head again and said: "I do not know."

"Are you cold?"

She pondered again. "I believe my body temperature is a few degrees below recommended standards, yes."

Filkins approached her and carefully wrapped the blanket around her, looking at her form as stealthily as possible. Her skin was pale, almost white, and because of that from a distance it had been impossible to pick out the bandages covering her hips, right arm and left leg.

Calmly, without hesitation, he lead the girl inside.

"What is your name?" Filkins casually asked.

"I am called Rei Ayanami", she replied instinctively.

At least she's not completely clueless, Filkins thought as they stepped through the pair of doors. But her choice of wording bothered him. "My body temperature is below recommended standards". "I am called".

[History Guy]

Private Magtube Shuttle VIP-114, en route to the City of Firaxis, Firaxis Prime

CEO Nwabudike Morgan was always abnormally good at crossword puzzles, especially crossword puzzles with references to himself or his company, as one with full mental faculties might expect. He always thought it was due to the fact that he was quite the tactician, especially in the markets, but in war, or in crosswords as well. Actually, it was probably due to his fondness for words of every sort. As a young man, he’d made a point of reading an English dictionary, from A to Z (it’s not something which he’d suggest anyone do, however), and memorizing as many of the words as he thought humanly possible. And as well as being quite the tactician, he was reckoned to be quite the elephant. His memory was anything but short.

“My God,” said Morgan, in a slightly exasperated voice, to Imran Siddiqui, who was sitting on a nearby chair, looking over the conference proceedings, his bearded chin buried in his palm, “there are, in this little Firaxian crossword, seven references to myself or my company, and two to our latest annexations in Capella. I say, the crosswords in this sector of the universe must be exceedingly dull for all faction leaders, so much so that there is really little point in doing them. How Firaxis became the conference center for all of these fellows is beyond my limited thought range. One begins to wonder whether Henry Tremaine, so terribly depressed over the lack of a decent crossword, simply blew himself to pieces, without even giving these Earthers half the chance to do the job for them…”

“I must confess that there are many deep mysteries in life, CEO, and you have struck upon one, there,” responded the always-quiet Siddiqui, who was contemplating the conference sheets (and stuffing some roasted poultry into his mouth with his little silver fork). With that, he said nothing, and continued to wear out his ancient eyes on these sheets.

“Yes, I suppose so. Still, the tedium of waiting for these shuttles to get a move on is rather laborious upon my mental faculties, I must admit, causing me to seek solace in lambasting these bloody awfully crosswords…alack!” said Morgan, in his deep voice. Behind him, the doors to the compartment slid open, revealing a loudly dressed Foreign Minister. Cornelius Walker was decked out in a red suit that looked a bit ridiculous on the fellow, but he was never known for good taste. One good thing in his favor, however, was firmly clenched between his teeth, and it took the form of a large, black cigar. A blood cloud hung around the minister’s head, producing a smell that attracted any self-respecting multi-trillionaire (or, in Morgan’s case, google-naire). “Salve, Cornelius, how goes it!” cried Morgan.

“Nwabudike, before you burst out in insane paroxysms of laughter, know that wearing this suit today was not my own decision…and please, do not ask…” began Walker.

“Yes, alright, I hear you,” responded Morgan with a deep chuckle, turning Walker’s pink cheeks to a definite shade of red. “So, then, what’s the news? I’ve learnt nothing from these Firaxian newspapers other than that the crossword definitely wasn’t written with me in mind, and that I might just be arriving at the capital today, after all!”

“Well, we’ve received an update on this Daisy business. It’s a small event, surely, but a very strange one. The preliminary reports, posted last night, tell us that the ship had been abandoned, but escape pods had not been activated, that there is no sign of struggle, but an algorithm had sealed the bridge off, and that this bug was from an outside source, yet no other presence had been recorded nearby, leaving us to suspect that it could be pirates, possibly Novans, seeking some sort of vendetta against us…”

“They would be suspect, of course, after their treacherous acts where the Terran invasion was concerned. We’ll soon have the settlement, however, and that shall be behind us, though I trust we shall fare the better for it.”

“Oh, yes, of course, before I forget…the papers you requested, Nwabudike.” From his coat, Walker revealed a small, brown folder, in which were placed two or three small sheets of paper.

“Ah, yes, thank you, Walker. Here, then, is the gambit. The Terrans would be quite surprised to see these, of course. It’ll work in our favor. We’ll see their imperialist bombast vanish in a rather short time, and we’ll see that they have, as suspected, had their mouth in motion, brain not in gear…”

“What do you think will happen because of it, CEO?” asked Siddiqui, looking up from his papers.

“Nothing of real importance to us, unless we’d like to sneak in and take back the Corporate Sector... It’ll mean simply the collapse of the Terran Alliance.” Suddenly, the shuttle gave a little jolt, and Morgan hurriedly sat down, for fear of falling and bashing his skull in. “Ah, so now we move, eh? Finally. The prospects of getting a move on are…”

CEO Morgan arrived at the conference center shortly thereafter, at which time everyone was bored out of their wits, and Morgan had worn himself out by moving his jaws in an endless rhythmic motion.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

[Mr. President]

On board starship Omega Glory, near the Sparta-Drone Republic border

Officially, the Omega Glory was not even there. Officially, Captain Itamar did not exist, and was certainly not on the payroll of the Free Drone military. Officially, there was not a flurry of twilight missions desperately tracking Novan brigands across half the galaxy and a massive purge of people responsible for the shocking lapse in trade route security of three months ago.

Unofficially, of course, the situation was different.

The lighting was poor and erratic, but Itamar was used to it. Over the last twenty years, the Omega Glory had become his home. Born in the failed Westwood settlement on Ophelia, acidic soil and rising seas had brought his family to the bright lights of Avalon almost before he could walk. Filthy inner-city streets were his classroom, the brass knuckles his teacher. At age nine he lost his father to the punishment sphere. At age twelve he was stealing cars. At age sixteen he was in a maximum-security prison, and at age nineteen he was piloting a fighter for sectoral pirates.

That was not enough for Itamar. He won the Omega Glory in a knife fight and used it to transport illegal drugs through the Borderlands, thereby lining his pockets with the coin of the realm. When the Drone Republic began cracking down on Nautilus-affiliated groups, Itamar followed the money. He managed an ironic smile at the thought that the man most responsible for putting drugs on the streets was now defending the values of the Free Drone Republic.

Itamar nodded to his guards as they saluted his entry to the brig. He acknowledged the supervisor. "Collins," he said. "Where is the prisoner?"

"This way, sir." Collins led the captain to a room with a clear plex window. Inside a large tattooed man was strapped to a chair. On a ship that did not officially exist, the military's clients could safely engage in practices that were anathema to the Free Drone constitution. The unfortunate Nautilus within had been caught when Itamar's crew raided an asteroidal outpost along the Thermopylae trade route. He had admitted immediately to hijacking the Argonaut. Itamar's men had been working him over for the last four days.

"This man," said Collins, "is Devin Lamarche, and he was the XO on one of the ships that the Spartans killed three months ago. He told us that most of the droids went with Nova to Earth. He also had this with him." And he handed Itamar a nanodisk.

"What is it?"

"It's part of the Novan ship registry, Captain. It contains data on forty of their vessels, including commanding officers and, in some cases, assignments. There are some references to heists that have gone down, and a couple to some that haven't happened yet."

Itamar nodded, an idea beginning to tick over in his mind. "Naval Intelligence is going to love this," he ruminated. "Tell you what. Let's hold this for a few more days, until I can find out how much Nova's enemies will give us for this." Why follow the flag, Itamar always said, it doesn't carry cash. "Until then, see what else you can find out from mister Lamarche."

He did not need to glance at Collins' neuronic whip as he left the brig. Itamar's second-in-command was a capable, if somewhat sadistic, officer. Thankfully, a pirate who hunted pirates was worth a mountain of Ophelian diamonds to an army that would decimate its own ranks for a minute of stability. And the blood of many who could have replaced him covered Itamar's hands.

[Sprayber]

The day had been uneventful so far for Colonel Kessel. It would be another two days until the conference would begin with the last of the participants arriving. Up until now Kessel had been busy reading intelligence reports that his aide had brought to him. Reports on everything from the situation on Epona to what was going on in the Terran System. The deepening situation in the Cadre system still weighed on Kessel’s mind. There wouldn’t be much more information until the Spartan Taskforce entered the system and took charge. Until then Kessel would just have to wait.

Early in the morning, Kessel’s aide had passed on a request from a Firaxian media company for an interview before the conference. At first Kessel was going to brush it off, but upon a little reflection decided to grant the interview. Kessel had dealt with foreign media before and wasn’t too concerned about the upcoming sit down. It may even prove insightful as to the mind of the Firaxian population as to how well Sparta was thought of. This Kessel thought, was worth possible annoyance a reporter may bring.

Kessel sat at his desk reading the report prepared on Ahia Oto of the Pacific News Network. As he read the contents of the report, Kessel was reassured the reporter had no apparent bias either for or against Sparta. From her appearance Oto must have been descended from Earth’s old Polynesian Islanders. Kessel was familiar with the culture from books but very few had made it into the Spartan ranks. As he sat and read up on her background he received a message from the front desk announcing her arrival. Oto walked in escorted by Kessel’s aide. Kessel dismissed her and sat down at his desk.

[Oto] “I guess the first question Colonel would be what do you think of our planet? This is your first visit to Firaxis isn’t it Colonel.”

[Kessel] “Yes it is Miss Oto. I was fortunate to get a tour of the planet by air on my way to our embassy. I now understand why your people call it the Planet of Trees. The view from the air is most impressive. On Sparta Prime we have similar old growth forests but nowhere near as expansive as here on Firaxis. I can understand why your people are so concerned about preserving the forests here”

[Oto] “What about the recent events involving the Spartan Embassy Colonel? Has this affected the image of Firaxis in the Spartan Federation?”

[Kessel] “Not in the least. Sparta understand that your government is working to discover the identities of those responsible. And if your government wishes, Sparta is here to offer assistance in those investigations but I suspect it would be better for Firixan authorities to conduct any investigation”

[Oto] “So there is no chance that Sparta will not take action against any group?”

[Kessel] “We are confident of the Firaxian response, so no response is necessary.”

[Oto] “Moving on to more inter-system issues, the representatives of different governments are here but the notable absence of the Greater Hive Empire has lead many people to believe that Sparta and her allies are perhaps sending a signal that the GHE is not welcome in the Human Sphere. What would be your response to that assertion?”

[Kessel] “I would tell them that they are right. Yang and his followers are not apart of the human sphere any longer. The Hive stopped being human centuries ago. As long as they stay in their own territory I don’t care what they do, but once they set foot in the affairs of Sparta and her allies they will run directly into our path.”

[Oto] “So their involvement in the recent war has already set them into a collision course with Sparta and her allies?”

[Kessel] “I will just say that their involvement has been noted and an appropriate response has been determined. There must be consequences for aggression and the Hive will soon learn.”

[Oto] “That would mean going to war with a human power twice in the same year Colonel.”

[Kessel] “Sparta does not consider the Hive as a human power. They have been influenced by alien forces far too much to be treated as human. They lost their humanity ages ago. What you in Firaxis and many other governments fail to realize is that we know the Hive far better than you. To you, they are a long lost legend only recently come to light. We in Sparta are far too familiar with the Hive to go on some promise of good behavior. More importantly, I know Yang.”

[Oto] “This sounds personal to both Sparta and you Colonel. Is this the case?”

Kessel smiles and thinks for a moment while looking at Oto.

[Kessel] “I suppose it is. You see miss Oto, I don’t care what people do in Sol or Firaxis or Concordia. I do care what is happening in the Hive however. I care because I know how Yang operates and I have seen his handiwork first hand. We in Sparta do not want war, but if it takes war to remove the blight that the Hive represents, then that is what we shall endure. We stood against the Bree for years and the Hive will present no greater of a challenge”

[Oto] “I see that there is a resolve in Sparta but how about your allies Colonel? Will the Drones and Morgan Interstellar feel the same way about the Hive especially after a costly war with Sol?”

[Kessel] “The Morganite and Drone governments both know the costs of appeasing Yang. If need be Sparta will fight alone, but I believe our allies will be there. The Drones stood with us during the long years of the Bree wars and Morgan helped as well.”

[Oto] “What would the consequences be for the independent worlds in a war with the Hive Colonel?”

[Kessel] “The Hive already sends it’s agents to many worlds in order to find some weakness in their society. They will exploit every flaw they can in order to manipulate other worlds into doing what they want. You can expect the Hive to try everything it can to convince people that they mean no harm when in fact they seek domination of your world. If propaganda does not work, you can then expect violence against key elements of your society. The Hive knows that where they send their space forces, Sparta will crush them so they will work under the surface. Just remember that as long as you keep your government and people under the spotlight then the Hive agents will be scurry away to the darkness much like the Terran cockroach does when confronted by light. On a side note, I believe Firaxis would be especially susceptible to Hive attention given its special location and function for the Human Sphere.”

[Oto] “What would be Sparta’s response to Hive aggression towards Firaxis?”

[Kessel] “It is well known the guarantees Sparta has placed on Firxian Independence. Any attacker against Firaxis will very soon face the combined power of the Spartan military. We in Sparta view the independence of Firaxis as essential to the current order. Anyone that threatens that order will be dealt with extreme prejudice.”

[Oto] “There is a mystique about the Spartan military that most of the people of the Human Sphere share. Here on Firaxis, people are split on wither Sparta should be considered a friend or a potential threat. Most knowledgeable citizens acknowledge Sparta’s role in taking the brunt of the Bree attacks, but some feel that perhaps you go too far in your quest to defend against both alien and human threats. How would you respond to that sir?”

[Kessel] “You must understand that the Bree war is probably the defining event in Spartan history. Entire divisions died defending Spartan worlds. Many of those soldier died on planets that you have never heard of and most will never know. The Bree war forced us into the preemptive mindset that up till then we never would have adopted. We learned who our allies were during those times and we learned which or our allies we could trust the most with our lives and our technology. The Bree war marked the first time that we even considered transferring technology to another power, but we would not ignore the fact that the Drones were dying along side Spartan soldiers. In some cases protecting Spartan civilians. That does not mean that we agree one hundred percent of the time. Our government structures are not alike at all but to us that does not matter. What matters is that we are in this struggle together. When I see foreign reporters and civilians talk about their famous Bree encounters I cannot help but remember the nearly seventy years of constant fighting with the Bree. It is Sparta and the Free Drone Republic that stood between humanity and the Bree for all these years. I ask that leaders of the other human powers remember one thing when they deal with Sparta and the Drones. Most of our Marine Legions, Army Groups, and Naval Taskforces are made up of men and women that were there when the Bree swept in from their outposts on the fringe. They fought against the alien legions and fought them to a standstill while mostly being out numbered and less tech. They were there on the numerous asteroids and dead planets that none of you will ever be able to remember. All that translates to one thing for myself and the Drone leaders. We will not allow that to happen again. We will not be caught off guard. And if a human power is seen to be cooperating with the Bree or Progenitors, we will not allow that civilization continue in its present form. It doesn’t matter if people like Sparta or not, but you will respect our sacrifice and our commitment to never being on the receiving end of an invasion either by aliens or human powers. All must know, that when you get fight the Spartan Federation, it is a fight that we intend to finish in the most extreme way possible as to make sure it never happens again. There is so much talk about the Spartan Terran war. There was no Spartan Terran war. The Terrans have yet to feel what a war really means with Sparta. And up until now the Hive has been playing around. I am here to tell you that playtime is over.

The interview went on for another thirty minutes. Kessel ended the interview by inviting Oto to Sparta to see what the life of a Spartan entails. After a few minutes of talking, Oto left the Spartan Embassy with a lot of footage to prepare for the evening news vids. Kessel returned to his office in the embassy to catch up on the events of the last few days. So much was still going on in all corners of the human sphere.

[Sprayber]

Just outside the 8th planet of the Cadre System a small ship came to a relative stop and opened up it’s cargo bay doors. From the top of the vessel a cylinder 3 meters long deployed itself until it was twenty meters from the Spartan vessel. A minute passed by and the bolts holding the metal casing together all blew at the same time. As the metal shell casings drifted away the Nav buoy inside began to power up. Twenty seconds later the buoy began transmitting information of the system that it occupied. Thirty minutes after the buoy became operational, distant objects began to appear in the surrounding space. The small scout remained stationary as all around it ships of the Spartan Federation Taskforce B filled the surrounding space. Soon the Spartan Taskforce formed up in a defensive formation and set course for the inner Cadre System.

Admiral Koto sat in the central chair on the bridge of the Spartan Command Carrier Kremlin. The ship was not Sparta’s largest vessel by any means. While the other governments put their commanders in their largest vessel, the Spartans chose to build the Command Carriers for speed and communication abilities not for size. The fighter carriers directly to the rear of the Command Carriers were the behemoths of the fleet not the Command Carriers. As Koto sat in his command chair, he activated his MMI to receive the information coming from the central computer directly to his brain. Inside Koto’s eye an image of the system appeared noting the unknown contacts that now orbited the Cadre home world. As the fleet moved closer, more information poured into the Admiral mind. Behind him Major Weston monitored the feed into the Admiral’s MMI to ensure no problems came up. His command staff all switched on their MMIs to join in on the tactical display that up until now only the Admiral saw. All over the fleet Captains and first officers were activating their own MMIs, soon the entire fleet was linked to each other as the Taskforce moved closer to the Cadre planet.

As the fleet moved towards the planet more information was pouring into the central computer. The forward ships began transmitting the first images of the opposing fleet. As the Koto received the images he began to realize that a straight forward mission was becoming more complicated. He turned to the operation officer that manned the main systems board.

“Commander, report on the opposing fleet.”

“Sir. opposing fleet consists of seven capital ships and twelve supporting vessels. They are differing designs ranging from old PK armed transports to old Terran designs. Six vessels are known pirate types.”

Koto turned to his staff members who were busy analyzing incoming data. With just a hint of skepticism the admiral spoke to his staff.

“This is too easy.” Koto switched his MMI to transmit. “Fleet Captain Keller, take your detachment and take up a position beyond the far side of the planet. Keep an eye out for any other ships in the system. Find the small Cadre fleet and report its location. Inform them of our arrival and our intentions of taking the opposing fleet.”

Aboard the Kendra class battle cruiser, Fleet Captain Keller acknowledge his orders and informed his detachment of their mission. Soon twenty vessels broke out of the main formation and proceeded to their assigned location. The main formation continued on its way to the Cadre planet. Koto looked at the view screen as the imagine of the opposing fleet began to grow bigger. “Commander, open audio comm.”

The Spartan commander obeyed and switched communications on so that Koto could address the opposing fleet.

“Unknown feet. You are in violation of Laekdaemon territorial space. As allies of the Laekdaemon Cadre we are here to enforce their rights. You will stand down your ships and prepare to be boarded by Spartan Marines. There will be no terms, but complete surrender.”

Koto was waiting for a response when the operations officer broke the silence. “Sir, troop transports are exiting some of the ships and we have fighters being launched. Appears to be Pirate raider fighters. J class.”

Koto spun around in his chair as his MMI switched to transmit. “Admiral Hox, deploy your hammerheads to intercept and destroy enemy fighters. Deploy breaching pods to follow in behind the cruisers. I want Spartan Marines on one of those ships.” Koto turned to glance at the opposing fleet once again. “Attack wings Alpha and Beta, deploy in attack formations. Disable those ships that you can. We need vessels to be boarded.”

The operations officer once again interrupted Koto’s study of the enemy fleet. “Sir we have an incoming message from the enemy fleet. Text only. Never take us alive but we will take some of you with us. End of message sir.”

Koto returned his gaze to the fleet of various ships as they began to scatter. Some of the ships were making a run for the oncoming Spartan attack ships and some were heading away from the planet. Koto sent a message for a third Spartan Attack Wing to engage the fleeing ships.

The main Spartan formation had stopped several thousand kilometers from the scene of the action while the three attack wings sped off in their assigned directions. The hammerhead fighters met up with the enemy fighters ahead of the oncoming Warlocks and Gladiators. As the fighter battle proceeded the Warlocks and Gladiators moved past the melee on their intercept course with the oncoming enemy warships. The enemy warships opened fire way beyond their effective range with no damage whatsoever to the Spartan Battleships. Once the Warlocks and Gladiators got within firing range they let loose with a devastating barrage of fire on the lead vessel and it was torn apart in a matter of seconds. The remaining vessels broke their formation and started to scatter. The Attack vessels were assigned targets by their commander and began to attack them eagerly.

The third group of Spartan vessels were taking longer to get to the fleeing ships. When they finally got into range of the group they, like their counterparts, targeted the lead vessel and began to fire. The ship held out for a few seconds but soon it’s bulkheads buckled and the ship exploded. The remaining vessels did not scatter like the other group of enemy ships however. They instead locked on to the lead Spartan Warlock and began their own barrage. The armed transports in the center of the formation changed course while the warships switched fire against the oncoming Spartan ships. If the ships had been more modern then perhaps they may have succeeded in taking out two or three Spartan ships, but eventually all the tactics in the world could not overcome the simple fact that the Spartan ships were more powerful and faster. Soon the enemy warships were nothing more than a cloud of vapor and the Spartan ships had moved on to the transports. The four transports were about to be overtaken by the pursuing Spartan Attack ships when one by one they exploded in a brilliant display of light. The lead Warlock received significant damage as it plowed through the remains of two of the transports. As the battle wound down, it was forced to limp back to the main formation under half power with an escort by its sister ships.
The other Spartan Attack wing had been more successful in it’s attempts in disabling instead of destroying. As the resistance ended, two enemy vessels lay dead in space waiting to be boarded.

On the far side of the system the detached fleet had made contact with the Cadre ships and had advised them of the situation. The Cadre fleet was now en route to talk with Admiral Koto in person. The Cadre commander had insisted on a personal meeting. As the detached Spartan vessels under Fleet Captain Keller maintained their position the operations officer noticed a small spatial distortion for a fraction of a second. She reported the distortion to Fleet Captain Keller who logged it but thought no more about it.

Back on board the Spartan Command Carrier, Admiral Koto turned in his chair to face General Zim of the Marine Group that was attached to the taskforce.

“General. Take your marines and secure the Cadre moon. After your sweep of the surface we will position the bulk of the fleet in orbit around the moon until we ascertain the situation on the surface of the Cadre planet. You should prepare your troops for possible ground action in the event we are ordered there by Central Command or the Cadre ask for further assistance. What ever the outcome, we have orders to send up a limited blockade of the system and await more orders. As soon as we hear from Central Command, you will be informed.”

The general nodded assent and went off to arrange the details of the sweep of the moon’s surface. Koto turned to the operation officer.

“Any words on the prisoners that were taken during the boarding operations”

“The prisoners that were taken appear to be mercenaries Sir. So far they have only reveled who they are and that they are not privy to who has hired them. Interrogation is continuing.”

Koto nodded and looked at the view of the Cadre planet on the view screen. Debris could still be seen as one of the damaged enemy vessels was being towed to position away from the fleet. The over all battle had only taken a brief thirty minutes, but Koto did not feel good about the outcome. To himself, Koto wondered who those people had been and why one group had appeared to be very disciplined soldiers while the second group made it appear as if they were incompetent armatures. These questions weighed on his mind as his operations officer broke his thoughts for the hundred time today.

“Sir, energy levels have moved to critical levels on the damaged enemy ship” But before Koto or anyone could order the towing vessel to disengage the view screen was filled with a brilliant light. The screen dimmed to compensate for the increased light as Koto watched as pieces of the ships were propelled in all directions. Under his breath Koto cursed in Spartan Standard as rescue ships hurried to the scene.

[Frankychan]

Hive Patrol Task Force: Alpha 1
Assigned ships: Darkdance, Immolator, Blacklight

On the bridge of patrolship: Darkdance

The Hive patrolships sped toward their destination.....the captain of the Darkdance couldn't belive the recent turn of events for her ship and crew. After finding debris of a Hive cargo vessel, she sped off toward the nearest Hive outpost, only to find out her ship was reassigned for interception duty. Unable to report her find, the cargo ship debris and the supposed Spartan cause were left on the wayside to be forgotten.

Flicking off her frustration on reassignement, the captain directed her attention toward the navigator.

"How long until we get there?" The Xiero captain questioned.

The navigator didn't turn around. "10 standard minutes, Captain."

Good news. Her Taskforce would get there ahead of the estimated time. Hive command would be pleased.
--------------------

"Captain, we are almost at the designated target."

Nodding, the Xiero began issuing orders...

"Go to red alert. I want our rail guns ready to fire as soon as we reach our target destination. Have the Blacklight engage its cloaking device...they'll be our surprise if the enemy decides to engage with the Emperor's ships."

A chorus of acknowledgements greeted her ears as the bridge bustled with activity. Orders were sent through various comm-channels and techs moved from station to station.

The navigator's voice suddenly rose above the noise, "Captain, we are approaching target."

The three Hive patrol ships broke into real space, surrounded by stars. The Blacklight shimmered and immediately disappeared from view.

The three Hive patrolships cruised along the Hive border, skirting along the edge next to Drone space....right next to a sparcely inhabited Hive system.

"The captain of the Blacklight reports his vessel has engaged cloak. Both the Blacklight and Immolator are awaiting orders, Captain."

The Xiero leaned forward to observe the viewscreen. Far off in the distance, a ship waited.

"Magnify and enhance."

The viewscreen zoomed in on the ship and a few gasps of surprise echoed on the bridge.

"That is our target. Intercept course, tell other ships to do the same."

The three patrol craft sped off toward the unknown vessel, engines blazing. As the distance between the taskforce and the unknown ship closed, the image clarified.

"Drones! Send message to Hive command. Drones have violated sovereign Hive space. Repeat: The Free Drone Republic has violated Imperial Hive space."

The comm-officer acknowledged as the captain gazed at the Drone ship and the distant smaller Drone surveillance pods....

"Open comm to Drone vessel."

"Channel open, captain."

Drone vessel. You are in violation of Imperial Hive space. Cease all activity. Repeat: Cease all activity and surrender your vessel or you will be destroyed.

The captain montioned to cease the transmission. When it was cut, she began her final orders.

"Loop message and continue to broadcast. Have weapons ready to fire." The captain spoke under her breath...

"Lets see how well-trained these 'Free Drones' really are."

[History Guy]

U.N. Commissioner’s Gardens, Commissioner’s Villa, U.N. Headquarters

Two men trod together, side by side, along the narrow pathway that cut through the serenity of the Commissioner’s Gardens Japanese Garden section. Along the pathway, the tiny stones that surrounded had been heavily raked, forming patterns that resembled ripples in the ocean. The late Commissioner Parfat had never been one for these gardens; he was always the man of action. It would never occur to him to tramp his way idly over the pathway, past the rock waves, over the bridge, and onto the island beyond, to sit under the shade of the large weeping cherry tree that stood in the center. It was too calm for him, too peaceful. He might have, after all, somehow found himself enjoying it a bit too much, and Parfat was never a man who could sit back and enjoy much of anything. He was, in a way, the ultimate man of his breed, the ultimate Peacekeeper. He could not understand that there were things to be enjoyed. He knew that he had to strive to achieve goals, but he’d become, like so many other ultra-Peacekeepers, a pedant with some very imposing tools. He’d never been much liked, but all the same, it was a tragedy when he was shot.

The two men who stood together talking over the future of the United Nations did enjoy their time, however. Frederick Keer, the late Commissioner’s Chief Advisor, felt a certain kinship to anyone who could have produced such a garden. He was the son of a Japanese mother, after all, and he had a degree in Chinese history and philosophy, and so those two cultures had always weighed heavily on his mind. He’d always wished in a way that he could believe in something like religion (something which most Peacekeepers shunned, or if not, accepted each religion as equal, though with some disdain), especially that of Taoism. It just seemed perfectly splendid to him. Parfat had always disliked that about Keer. It was one of his few “bad” qualities. He wasn’t wholly Peacekeeper, then.

The man whom Keer walked with, however, was much more of a Peacekeeping mindset, though he too enjoyed the gardens. Liang Chu Sung, the Secretary of the United Nations Council, second only to the Council Leader in that area, was always the perfect pupil for a Peacekeeper teacher. He believed all of it very deeply. All men are equal, though certain men are better equipped to lead them, for not all men have the ability or the competence as a leader. All religions should be recognized, but looked down upon. Everything should be correct politically, though all should be allowed to voice their opinion, on most matters at any rate. He had memorized all of these principals, like all other young administrators, by rote.

“The fact is,” Keer was saying to Liang, “the new Commissioner has not fully recovered from his malady.” The advisor spoke of Pei-Lin, Parfat’s Vice-Commissioner, and the new Commissioner. Parfat had, in his last months, regarded Pei-Lin as something of an embarrassment. The man had just come over a very serious brain disease, one which had, so it seemed, caused a slight chemical imbalance. It could be rectified, but the trouble was, it had only gotten worse. The public did not know this, but Pei-Lin was slowly going insane, so much so that the General-in-Chief of Peacekeeping Operators, Othneil Simpson, the Vice-Commissioner, was forced to make the most important decisions for the mentally unstable Commissioner.

“In the last weeks of treatment, things have only gotten worse, the imbalance has increased, not decreased. Though he will be cured eventually, the process could take months, or years. Whatever happens, we have Simpson making our decisions until he’s back in his right mind, and frankly, I do not trust the man. Only the smallest of investigations has been made into the late Commissioner’s assassination, and frankly, I’m distressed. The reason I mention this is because, this morning, a letter was placed on my desk informing me that all five men who found and recovered the body of the assassin died today in the small car crash while in barracks. They rode straight into the perimeter defense, and were in effect fried. It just doesn’t seem natural at all.”

“This is all too worrisome,” replied Liang. “All of the cards of power have been, in effect, placed squarely into the General’s hands. He is now the ruler of the U.N., he has all the powers of the Commissioner, and he is using them to do nothing other than to increase military strength in disputed territories. It is troublesome. I cannot be blamed for saying that an observer, if he was not in a position of power in these territories, might think of this administration as corrupt, and might come under the impression that General Simpson is an assassin and a usurper. I know that this is not the case, but it might seem so to uneducated persons observing these events from afar.”

“Of course, Liang. I know this. Simpson is a bit too powerful, I think, and his hands are too wide reaching. He has plenty of power, yet no official investigation commissioned by Pei-Lin has done much work at all into solving the riddle of the late Commissioner’s murder. This bothers me, as well it might. It could possibly be the single most damaging factor to our reputation in the eyes of foreign powers.”

The most troubling aspect of these events was the build-up of the Peacekeeping military by Simpson, something which he, as both General-in-Chief and Vice-Commissioner had virtually total control over. As of late, larger contingents of troops had been built up in the city itself, around the U.N. Headquarters complex and other important spots. However, there was also now a huge contingent of troops in the vicinity of the Spartan borders. It was quite bothersome. A small accident on these borders could produce a terrible international incident. This incident, if severe enough, could provoke, unfortunately, a war, or as Parfat would have put it, a “Peacekeeping operation”. This war could be potentially worse than the Spartan War that had revolved around Coventry. In fact, there would be little doubt that it would be. Nothing would compare with it.

“The matter is clear. Pei-Lin should be declared too ill for his duties, and a replacement must be found, but somehow we must be sure that it is not General Othneil Simpson. He is too dangerous, and far too aggressive for his own good. The man simply doesn’t live up to the standards of a Peacekeeper. Were it not for his hatred of that whole race, I would imagine him better suited to be a Spartan,” commented Keer. Simpson did hate the Spartans. It was in a skirmish with Sparta near Coventry that his father and uncle had been killed as a result of a Spartan boarding party. The bodies had all been burned, a testament, he thought, to Spartan chivalry. The fact that rebellious Pirate mercenaries committed the act mattered not. Sparta was to blame for this. In revenge, he’d gone into battle at the head of a brigade, scoring one of the few major Peacekeeper land victories of the war, despite a severe wound in the head that had left him in a coma for months, and had taken away the use of his left eye’s cornea, which was reconstructed by Peacekeeper medics years later, until it was practically better than his original. All this had strengthened his resolve for revenge, though he tried to keep his feelings buried, like most Peacekeepers of the higher echelons of power.

“Ribannah King is not suited to power, however,” said Liang, “and I am out of the question. You, even, would be a poor choice, I think, despite your obvious talents.”

Keer responded with a smile, “I’m not sure if that was a compliment or an insult.”

Liang did not respond to this. “I can only make suggestions based on the United Nation’s past. I see few who are capable of this task, and I do not see how in heaven’s name we could remove Simpson from office without some conflict, either. We must tread carefully, Mr. Keer.”

“Agreed,” he responded.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Executive Villa, the Moon ‘Belisaurus’

The man relaxed in his red, silk bathrobe, and sat back in his large, oaken chair, reading a small volume on something or other that had been sent to him by someone or other. It wasn’t very good at all, indeed, it was tremendously boring, and so the man finally put the thing down for good, and grabbed something off his large shelf marked Religion/Philosophy. It was on a character from the country where he’d been raised. He read on about how the monk Bodhidharma had, according to tradition, removed his eyelids, turning them into the first tealeaves. All very interesting.

The man was old, and wearied. He had a small, white beard, with only a few strands of gray left, although the beard had once been flowing with nothing but ebony black strands. As he read, he played with some of his strands with his long, bony fingers. His hands were old and cracked. Indeed, they were ancient. He was an ancient man. He had a face that inspired a certain calm, though. His face was very kind, but, like his hands, old, cracked, and lined. His eyes were large and brown, and his forehead was lined with deep wrinkles. His hair, which, like his beard, had once been black and flowing, was now sparse, and stubbly. He was indeed an ancient man. He was a man who had seen too much, and had lived far too long.

In some ways, the man wished that he would die. He had lived longer than he’d ever wanted to live, and he’d lost nearly everyone who had meant anything to him. His wife, of course, had died long ago. He had watched, many times over, as his best friends died around him, but he just kept on living, and he had to. It was not that he had no choice in the matter. Whenever he wished, he could inform his servants to cut off the supply of longevity vaccines that came in sufficient quantity ever two years. Perhaps there could have been a time when he could have cut them off for good, and ended everything then. Perhaps he could have done this during the Spartan War, when the icy space around Coventry became a graveyard for thousands of Peacekeeper and Spartan ships. Then, perhaps, he could have done it. To do this now, however, would be disastrous for the people’s morale, especially now after the murder of Parfat.

“Sir,” spoke one of the servants, entering with a knock, “a post from Mr. Keer, of the U.N. Council.”

“Yes, thank you,” replied the man, reclining in his chair, reaching out to grab the sheets of paper the servant held in his paws.

The man read quickly over the message. In short, Keer requested that he come down to U.N. Headquarters for a discussion of the current affairs, and a proposal for his reinstitution into government affairs. The reader was slightly disappointed by this. Once again, he was needed. It was as if these people were children, once he’d left them to themselves, they crawled back to him, begging him to return and held them out of a bad spot. It was what got him mixed up in the Spartan War. He hated to do it again, but he knew it was his duty.

Putting down the message, Pravin Lal sighed.

[Mr. President]

Aboard the frigate DRS Levar
Too close to the Hive region

Blip. Blip. Blip. Scree. Blip. Blip.

“Captain!”

Irwin’s head snapped upright, as he cursed himself for nodding off. Bridge sounds had become like a lullaby to him over his years of command, and he felt something was missing when he was on a civilian cruiser at home in Altair. But a lapse of concentration in a designated combat zone, even a “cold” one, shoehorned him into a tango with disaster.

“You can’t let your guard down for a second.” The words from Foreman Domai’s lecture drifted back into Irwin’s mind. He swore again and acknowledged the communications officer.

“I have two ships, unknown configuration, closing fast,” the young woman blurted out. “Intercept bearing, sir. They came from within the Hive zone.”

“Can you play back the sensor readings?” Irwin asked. The officer did so. The captain watched the scan of the Hive border on his monitor. Nothing . . . nothing . . . nothing . . . there. Two dots, black for enemy, appeared almost dead on the nominal border of Hive space. He had seen enough.

“Good Lord,” he muttered, “they were in our blind spot.” He snatched at the intercom connection to the probe rafts. “Rafts,” Irwin shouted, “Mission aborted. Repeat, mission aborted.” He pressed the general intercom. “All hands to battle stations. Enemy vessels within sensor range. Repeat, battle stations. Enemy vessels within sensor range.” At his gesture, the helmsman activated the Red Alert siren. Shrill and piercing, it whipped the crew into to their combat positions.

Irwin performed some mental gymnastics. Hive ships resisted scanning. At this range, there was no way to tell what was coming at him. Two Hive Battleships would vaporize the lightly armed frigate before its weapons were online. He might be able to make a fight against any pair of ships smaller than a destroyer, but doubted the Levar would avoid fatal damage in such a combat.

“How fast are they going?” he asked.

“Astrometry suggests top speed of four stellar travel units, sir.”

The captain cursed again. The Levar could do three in a pinch, if it was running directly to a base where the engines could be deactivated and flooded with coolants. “Set a course,” he said, “for MI-120. Communications, send a distress message to the base and tell them we need help in this direction, fast.” The Aquilonia and Emerita carrier groups were based at the desolate Fringe system to guard against Bree assaults, and the destroyers Windgrace and Gerrard, the pinnacle of the Viking-class design, were refuelling there before continuing their respective patrol routes.

But MI-120 was forty light-years away, and the Hive patrol ships were entering Irwin’s close combat zone . . .

The Hiverian transmission cut through the bridge activity. "Drone vessel. You are in violation of Imperial Hive space. Cease all activity. Repeat: Cease all activity and surrender your vessel or you will be destroyed."

Irwin stared grimly at his monitor. Finally he spoke, in a voice of steel. "Arm," he said, "all weapons and prepare for battle."

He looked at the Hive ships as they waited, hanging just in sight like shadows of despair. Bring it on, Emperor Yang, he said to himself, the faintest hint of a smile appearing on his lips.

[Sprayber]

System SD-133 (Spartan-Drone Border)

Admiral Hollis stood on the bridge of the Kendra Class Battleship while he surveyed the final plans of the operation. His command would enter the system straight up the middle as close to the asteroid field as possible. With the element of surprise, he hoped to destroy most of the Pirate vessels while they were docked to their orbital stations. For those that would inevitably escape, the Drone Fleet entering from the far side of the system would intercept and destroy. The plan had been unfolding for months. Small pieces of intelligence slowly came together to give a picture of where some of the Pirate bases were. Some had argued that the plan should be put on hold until more information and more bases could be located. But the realization that eliminating the Pirates altogether was probably impossible with the current level of resources being funneled into the problem. There were just too many other areas that the Spartan Military had to patrol and that the Pirate problem would have to be dealt with one at instance at a time until larger issues were resolved. That meant that the strongholds that were known would be hit and hit hard. It was hoped that this would be enough to break the Pirates for a time. A similar stronghold was being bit by another Spartan-Drone taskforce inside Drone territory. In that operation the Spartan fleet preformed in the supporting role since it was in Drone territory. Hollis looked at the display of the system on his tactical monitor. This area of space was notorious for dangerous spatial anomalies that often pulled vessels out of their paths into what scientist called dark space. Hollis thought that the name dark space was silly since all space was dark. But since the scientist knew virtually nothing of the phenomenon , dark space had seemed the most accurate description available. This particular system contained a large rocky debris field that covered large areas of the inner system. Speculation was that some kind of catastrophe of monumental proportions had destroyed at least two of the inner planets. Today however, that was of no concern to the soldiers in the taskforce. They are about to do a fair about of destroying in a few moments.

Hollis looked at the clock, and spoke over his MMI link to the other commanders. It was time to move. Hollis wanted to just jump in and start blasting, but knew better than to jump into a system such as this without having some kind of current intel of the area. So the first ships to enter the system were the ever present Spartan scout ships. As the ships jumped into the system they performed a quick scan of the system and issued the all clear for the fleet. In what was at first an empty star field, soon became filled with Spartan attack ships. The Admiral watched the view screen fill up with the view of the asteroid field and issued a reminder to his commanders.

“Remember commanders, don’t let your ships be drawn off of the main fleet. Only pursuits by two. And remember also, if at all possible we want intelligence, so the central facility is to be boarded my marines.

Hollis shifted frequencies and send a message to the Drone Admiral to get ready for action. The first group of Pirate ships were obliterated while still docked on the docking rings that were positioned above the main bases. The concentrated fire of three Warlocks sent another docking ring crashing into the surface of a nearby asteroid. There were four asteroid basses that had been identified. Each base consisted of a docking ring for ships high above the surface. Hollis was impressed at the level of organization that the Pirates must posses to maintain a complicated network that was necessary in a base such as this. He knew from personal experience of the defensive stations located in the Spartan Home System, that bases in an asteroid field required constant attention to avoid disaster. Hollis look at the nearest base and noticed an old corvette style cruiser escape the docking ring and head out with two Spartan corvettes in pursuit. Hollis watched in amazement as the Pirate ship dived near the surface of a large asteroid. The Spartan corvettes however refused to take the bait and the pirate ship was forced into a maneuver that the ship was not designed for. The ship broke a part as it passed too close to the zone where the gravity fields of the asteroids came into close proximity. It had gambled that the Spartans would pursue at any costs and lost. Over his MMI, Hollis was informed that that marine assault ships had been launched. Soon the marines would be entering the base, in an attempt to take prisoners. If successful, more intelligence would be gained into the Pirate organization.

Two hours later the final report came through Hollis’ MMI. The assault had been somewhat successful. Some prisoners had been taken but from first glance they appeared to be low level crewman and a few base crew. They would be taken to a Drone Military station for further interrogation and perhaps something useful would be gained. The most important report for Hollis filtered in through is MMI. The causality report was light but Hollis winced at some of the details. Thirty of his Marines had been killed due to traps set by the Pirates. He had lost two of his ships due to them getting too close to asteroids. Thankfully none of his line ships and been damaged. All in all they had just pulled off an extremely difficult assault in the middle of an asteroid field with minimal loss. Not a bad day at all. Hollis sat back in his chair and looked at the ruined base of the Pirate bases. Soon after they had been thoroughly searched, the bases would be nuked and the asteroids destroyed to prevent them from being used again. Hundreds of years of work had would be reduced to debris. This would no doubt bring some protest by the Pirate faction still on Chiron and maybe even the Pks would take exception but they were of no concern to Hollis. That would be for Colonel Kessel and the Drone President to worry about. His only task now was to take care of his wounded and turn over intel. As Hollis thought about the destruction, the Drone Admiral messaged that they had incurred no casualties and had been able to board and capture hundreds of Pirates. Hollis smiled at this. Perhaps some High Ranking Pirates were in custody.

[Mr. President]

Temple Project Information Processing Center
Caledon, Vega Prime

Derek Sorensen, his assistant Gary, and Young Derek of the computer section had almost reached the bottom of the third pile of printouts when the call came. With a mental gesture, Gary activated his MMI’s phone function.

In the network component of the Thinker’s brain, a woman’s face appeared. “Hello,” she said. Not all operators were actually women, but a recent survey by the videophone company had found that female avatars elicited the best reactions (particularly in the group of customers who were male and between the ages of eighteen and forty). “I have a call from the University Commonwealth consulate for Professor Sorensen.”

“Just a minute,” Gary sent back. Looking up, he said, “Derek, it’s for you. It’s from the consulate.”

“Oh, the consulate,” Sorensen muttered as he hurried to the communications screen. With a couple of commands, Gary transferred the call through the office computer he was currently interfacing with, through the modem, and into the communications terminal.

“Derek Sorensen here.”

“What did they do before they had Thinkers?” asked Young Derek.

“I hear they did everything by hand,” said Gary. “The operator would have pushed a bunch of buttons and connected wires to send the call here. Not the job for me. Even with MMI it’s no treat. Can you imagine the stress levels you’d get from being logged on to StellarNet for six consecutive hours?”

“Hmm. Hey, what did he just say?”

Gary strained to hear. “I don’t know.”

Sorensen hung up and came bounding back to the desk. Had there not been a field of office furniture, wires, and papers in his way, he would have turned a cartwheel. “Yes, yes, yes! Score!” he shouted, pumping his arms in the air.

“What is it?”

The professor clapped his hands together. “That was the consulate. Our visas have been approved. We’re going to Berrik.”

Young Derek stood up slowly. Gary simply stared, ignoring the error message that appeared on the office computer. “You must be joking,” the Thinker said.

“I gotta go pack!” Young Derek raced out of the room.

The other two laughed. “The visas expire in three months. We really do have to start packing,” Sorensen said.

“I’ll file the paperwork,” offered Gary. “I’m already logged on.”

“No problem,” said Sorensen. “I’ll go talk to Marion.” And he left.

Gary accessed MailForm and sent the news on to all the Temple Project’s offices, and a request for transport bookings to the travel office. He could scarcely believe it. A chance to see the Berrik complex, and work with the greatest explorers and researchers in the Orion Arm. The government could not now think of shutting the project down. Gary felt that the best part was yet to come.