Ambrosia Software Web Board: Chapter Six- amidst the ruins - Ambrosia Software Web Board

1st platoon, Charlie Company, 515th Batallion, 76th Space-Mobile Divison reporting, Captain Roberts Commanding.

Roberts threw a salute. Behind him stood seven of his best men, hand picked for the task ahead. Spamo walked along the inspection ranks.

"At ease, men. Roberts, you and your company come highly recommended. I’m deeply sorry that we were unable to pull you out when the UNS evacuated . The Audemedons must have made life hard for you."

"Actually, sir, they left us alone. my men and I were assigned to humanitarian and reconstruction duties, being combat engineers, and the Salrillians simply put us under the authority of the Human government. We couldn’t really do anything, we were responsible for feeding and maintaining order in a city of five million. If we had left, they’d all have starved. It wasn’t until the UEC landed that we were brought up to man orbital platforms when the Woven came. That was when we were evacuated aboard the Terry-Burke. I must say, sir, it’s great to be back under the UNS again. We thought you were dead."

"A common misconception, one which may need to be perpetrated until we are back in a position to provide strong resistance."

"I take it that that is why you requested EVATs, sir."

"Just so, Captain’

"Call me Bob, Sir."


------------------
NEW NAME FOR THE DREADNOUGHT
The Hard-Boiled Egg
Why?
Because she cant be beaten!

"Very well then, Bob. Alright first platoon, listen up."

Spamo turned towards the large holoprojection screen set up in the mess hall to facilitate the briefing of the special operations group. Grasping the projector control he keyed the first slide. A system schematic appeared above him.

"As many of you know, this station here is now the location of the entire UNS fleet. At one point in time the fleets of the UNS filled out three entire sector groups capable of patrolling a hundred cubic lightyears of space, a quantity of several hundred ships. Currently, our combined total of ships reaches the sum of 124, including support, picket and fighter squadrons. Eight Independence-class battlecruisers, the Ypres, the Enterprise, the Reuben James, the Hong Kong, the Everest, the Monsoon, the Yamato and the Kiev make up the primary capital ship muscle. Two carriers, the Nimitz and the Endeavour are the primary fighter support platforms."

*click* A viewgraph of proportional fleet sizes, UNS and Occupying forces.

"As you can easily realize, we are seriously short of vessels with which to prosecute a war. Despite our best efforts, construction capabilities of this station are far below what is actually necessary to construct a viable fleet. "

*click*

"During the previous conflict with the Woven and the UEC, a great number of UEC and UNS ships were abandoned or captured by Woven forces after the UEC rout at Sol. Luckily, many of those ships made it out of Sol before their crews were gathered aboard other, larger evacuation ships in order to safely convey them to safe systems. This means that there is a large stockpile of defunct UNS and UEC starships scattered in various systems on the edges of UNS occupied space."

*click*

"The largest concentration of starships is here in the Tau Ceti system. A total of 33 starships including three battlecruisers, seven destroyers, several light and heavy cruisers and multitudes of small support craft lie waiting for processing into drydock for long-term cold storage. "

*click*

"The operation will commence as follows. Due to high trader traffic in the Tau Ceti system, insertion will be simple for three specially modified freighters. The freighters themselves are Q-ships, with sophisticated AI routines to maintain the ruse as EVATs peform the neccessary operations. "

*click*

"EVATs from the three freighters will free-fall towards the target ships. Each team will be assigned a different starship to infiltrate and prepare for jump-slaving to the battlecruisers. This will enable the reclamation of most of the ships without the need for skeleton crews for the majority of them. Only the starships that are leading the jump will need crews to guide them. The three battlecruisers will fill that function."

*click* The lights in the room rise back up as the briefing comes to an end.

"All of you have been assigned a different ship class to affix transmitters to and link to the three battlecruiser's broadcast signal. Please read over your mission specifics carefully. In order for this to work, extreme coordination is necessary. Be ready."

Captain Roberts looked over his mission details, blinked and looked up at his Admiral.

"Sir, is this correct?"

"You got it Bob. Your group of elites will be coming with me to capture the Mariposa. Finest ship the UNS ever built. She'll be the one to lead the pack out of there."



------------------
"That was quick."
"Well you know, when you don't do it right it doesn't take as long."

UEC Bastard's Flight you have entered approach range... what is your cargo and destination?

I Froze. How would I answer the thick and official Russian Voice at the end of the line? I was unable to speak into the communications terminal- there being no air on the bridge- so text had to suffice. This was surely the end of my chances- I would be discovered as a mole before I had even entered the reply- and I would have had the computer not done it for me:

This is a standard reply from the D-14 Patrol Corvette UEC Bastard's Flight on a course from -(-998.452, 771.801, 4.030) to (-45.821, -9.729, 17.999) requesting connection. The crew are dead- UEC Bastard's Flight autopilot reporting in at hour 4,702.7 of Battle- self-recovery operation complete.

I heard the voice in my earpiece. Holy shít. Alexis, take a look at this, one of the original Alpha Squadron ships has self-salvaged. After all this time!
I heard a female voice. From the Battle of Thasero? No... All of Alpha Squadron's D-14s survived that battle. Thomas, pull up a fleet roster of Levt's expeditionary force... here we go... oh...
The male voice responded. "Alexis... this is from Beta Squadron... This was one of your sister's ships..."

Something clicked in my mind. I don't know how I remembered it, but the mention of UEC and a female fleet commander came to mind. No, only a last name- Trebetauski- came to mind. This woman was named Alexis Trebetauski, sister of a dead fleet admiral.

Alexis' voice sounded eager. "Bring it in! I want to be the first to inspect this relic of the glorious days; Dock her with the Chapman."

------------------
I know not who or what I am, nor where or why I am here, I remember nothing, and I know nothing; but while I don't know why, I do know is something is terribly wrong.

[/me will be gone for a bit. Be back as soon as I can.]

[I had assumed that we were going to get just the [i]Mariposa[/i] If we're mounting a big op, we need all of charlie company, or about 110 marines.]

Roberts shaved his head carefully, rinsing away the hair and running the razor over the smooth skin again. He could feel lumps under his skin where the sensors in his headgear would rest, and they had better contact when he shaved and glued them down. All of Charlie company was doing the same thing, going through their pre-combat rituals. Roberts showered thoroughly, then went into the nanite shower, where he was doused with a thin layer of the nanites that populated the inside layer of his suit. They began medical diagnostics of his body, determining his physical condition and reporting it to the suit which hung from its specialized hanger, plugged into umbilical power, open and unfolded, waiting for the warrior to make it whole.

It was good to have a real locker-room that had been made for supporting the new battle armor. This one was on the inside of an Ishiman-designed ATR, one built on Earth before the Audemedon invasion. For Roberts and his marines, the facilities made their preparations much easier. All of the repair and rearming equipment was right there, and there were specialized clean-rooms for prepping for combat, just like this one.

Roberts went to put on his suit. All of the augmentation was released, so he could easily slip into it. First his legs, then his arms, slipping his head through the neck opening for his helmet seal which attached to the large backpack unit. The legs tightened their fit, calibrating themselves as they went. First the boots, then the calves, then up his legs, his waist and chest and arms. Finally, it locked around his shoulders, and sealed. He dipped his hands in a nanite gel, which conformed exactly to his fingers, forming the inner pressure gloves. He then put on his headset, gluing down the sensors over the contact points just under his skin. He could tell now just by the feeling how strong the connection was. As it was he could feel the suit from ten feet away, he could even have it perform simple tasks, but when he had the headset on, the suit felt like an extention of his own body. More natural than his own arms and legs, even: without the suit, he felt naked. In it, he felt whole.

He was nearly done putting it on. He reached for his helmet and put it on, adjusting it as he did so it hit the seals and locked itself into the augmentations on the suit collar. He then grabbed his heavy outer gloves and locked them onto the wrist seals. He let them adjust their fit to their original calibrations, then he unlocked the suit from its hangar and began his range of motion calibrations. He went through a long series of stretches designed to both set the suit's range of motion and loosen up its user.

Roberts completed them thoroughly, as often when he prepped for combat in an emergency, he just set it to self-calibrate on the fly, which was dangerous as it left too much to chance. This way, the suit could take precautions to keep him from pulling muscles and damaging his joints.

He finished the exercises and calibrated his visual displays by looking at the speacial wall-mounted displays. Once that was done, it was time for his weapon checks, and that meant he needed to go back aboard the station and get on the firing range with the rest of his men.

He looked at his watch. He still had six hours till he needed to board the transports, his men had four. He walked down the small corridor to the NCO's locker room to see how the rest of his men were doing. The noncoms had been the backbone of his unit, and he would be relying upon them to make it easy on his lietenants while he was busy on special assignment.

He would give the men another hour to get ready and calibrate, then he'd brief them fully and deliver the final roster. The men already knew it, really, Caulfield, Harrison and Stacey, the company's lieutenants, would be leading the three chalks, made up of the three rifle platoons and elements from the heavy weapons platoon, while Roberts took the hand-picked group to go with Jackson Spann and sieze the heavily guarded Mariposa. The rest would be clockwork.

Roberts had reached the firing range. He felt this was the most important calibration, but he couldn't control ammunition availability. All he knew was he hadn't calibrated his suit's targeting system in months, and it needed it very badly. He suspected the same of the others. The suits needed to be worn often to "get used" to their operators. The longer they went without being worn, the worse picture they had of their wearer, and therefore the worse they fit. Starting with this fight, they'd fix that.

Roberts calibrated for six different weapons before putting them down and going to meet and brief the transport pilots. He still had time before he needed to brief his men.

------------------
NEW NAME FOR THE DREADNOUGHT
The Hard-Boiled Egg
Why?
Because she cant be beaten!

Sarah Darkk arrived as Roberts and co were boarding their transports, wearing an odd black armored suit, with a few DEF troopers, similarly attired, although they were wearing their helmets rather than holding them.

"Hey! Got room for any more? Will asked us to give you guys a hand."

"This isn't the place for civvies or pirates, whichever you claim to be. And where did you get those funny-looking things, anyway?"

"The "funny-looking things" are powersuits like yours. The man who brought you here gave them to us. They're obsolete where he comes from, but are comporable to yours. Except for the flight module, of course."

"Flight module."

"These things have rockets and an agrav built in. Very nimble. Origionally used by a terrorist organization run by a large technology corporation. They're not quite as strong as yours, but just as durable and more nimble."

"Still, we're out of practice. I can't add more unknowns to the mission."

"Hmm. William really wanted us to be there. We need the practice too."

"Alright, I could give you a seperate roster of ships to board. That can give both of us a chance to work..."

"Hey!" one of the PFCs standing next to Roberts shouted, "what good are pirates on this mission anyway? Sir, we don't need them. They're probably worse than even the Canthar..."

Suddenly the PFC felt himself floating and rotating. Then he became aware of the fact that he was upside down, with someone's booted foot on his chin - and he wasn't wearing a helmet. The thought of head-squishing was going through his mind. "Next time, be a tad less presumptuous. And take care not to let anyone walk all over you."

"I'd beg you to be a little more careful with my men."

"Sorry, where we come from, a little potentially lethal discipline is the best way to keep the men in line. Pirate leaders cannot show softness. You never know how serious a challenge is."

"Fine. Just don't do that to any of my men again, and get in transport 2."

"Yes, sir."

------------------
"In literature as in love we are astounded by what is chosen by others." Andre Maurois

[This message has been edited by Fleet Admiral Darkk (edited 12-02-2002).]

Roberts was standing in the open doors of the transport, watching and making calculations in his head.

"Group four, go."

he said, and eight marines got a running start and jumped for it. The wobbled for a moment as the suit gyros kicked in and oriented them, then they were off, making a few corrective burns to make sure they were on target. The Enterprise loomed in the distance. Another eight men stepped up to the line as the transport made a few burns to line up for the next drop.

Roberts watched again, counting down the range as he went through the trigonometry.

"Group five, go."

The forward momentum of the freighter plus the jump would land the group on the rear quarter of the Hong Kong in about seven minutes. As long as things kept quiet for that long, there was a chance they might pull this thing off. Roberts had been very careful about planning the mission roster. He scanned around. The second transport had already discharged all of the DEF troopers to board the smaller support and picket vessels.

Roberts figured that if they were good, then they'd be able to save a large number of them, and that if they were bad, then at least they wouldn't be losing capital ships. He just hoped that they knew how to keep quiet. The smaller vessels were probably empty, but there would probably be guards on board the larger vessels, and if not, then there most definitely would be once the Salrillians heard anything. He just hoped his men could secure them and start their reactors fast enough.

He looked behind him just to reassure himself. Eight marines to each capitol ship left forty-five marines and the DEF EVATs to slave the rest of the ships to the battlecruisers. They would be moving in teams of two, to cover as many ships as possible in as quick a time as possible. Behind him, his seven best men waited, ready to go. He had confidence.

"Admiral Spann, this is Captain Roberts. All of my Marines are away. Standing by to move on the Mariposa"

Roberts cycled the airlock to let Spann and his men in.


------------------
NEW NAME FOR THE DREADNOUGHT
The Hard-Boiled Egg
Why?
Because she cant be beaten!

[This message has been edited by Captain Pharris (edited 12-02-2002).]

Spamo hefted his assault rifle. It had been quite a while since he had been on an assault mission. Not since the days of the Ares war...

"Roger that Roberts. We're set to go."

The airlock cycled, pumps sucking the air out of the small chamber where the eight men stood. Silently, the outer hatch opened to the blackness of space. A small puff of decompression gas signaled the descent the marines would make towards the waiting Mariposa below. With military precision, Captain Roberts and his seven elites fell towards the Mariposa, with Spamo and his command "crew" of two men follow. Complex navigational calculations and fleet coordination was neccessary, thus the neccessity for what the marines considered to be shiny brass buttons.

"Approaching starboard airlock. Spann, ready with the code."

Spamo drifted towards the closed hatch on the side of the battleship. One of the marines had a panel opened with several loose wires strung into a hacking device. Taking the boxy device, he entered the command codes to override internal security measures. The hatch doors slid open with the smallest of vibration.

"Go go go!"

The marines entered the ship in a flash. The airlock cycled and they were in. The Mariposa was dark and silent.

Spamo spoke up. "Alright, everyone to your assigned stations and secure the ship. Three minutes until departure time folks. " The marines divided up into their sub-teams to reactivate the battleship. Spamo headed with his two officers and Roberts to the bridge. The empty halls echoed their footsteps as the made haste. As the bridge doors slid open, Spamo breathed a sigh of relief.

"Everything as I remember. Even the coffee stain on the command chair." Spann paused momentarily, caught up in nostalgia.

Roberts interrupted his reverie. "With all due respect sir, we have 1 minute remaining on the mission time."

"Thank you Bob." Spamo turned to his two officers who were bringing everything online. He himself went over to the helm controls. "Looks like everything is in working order. Engineering?"

"Sir, engine rooms report everything is online and hot. All systems nominal."
The other officer chimed in "Nav-comp is programmed with the jump data. We're ready to go anytime."

Spamo looked over at Roberts. "Any time your men are ready Bob."
Captain Roberts glanced at his watch. 20 seconds to go. Not bad for some shiny brass buttons.

"And now for the hard part." said Spamo. "Comm, activate the slave systems, and bring all ships online. Contact the rest of the battleships, and advise them of the imminent departure."

"Yes sir, breaking radio silence." The officer chattered away into the radio momentarily. "Sir, all ships are reporting full readiness. We're set to go.... wait, I'm getting something here."

"This is the picket ship Uss'tha'ka. You have violated Imperial Salrillian property. Cease your activities and prepare to be boarded."

"It's being directed at the Cottonseed, destroyer class."

"Very well then." Spamo moved his hands across the controls. The Mariposa shuddered slightly as she slipped her mooring tractors and slipped out of the shipyards. Several other starships were beginning to move out. The Mariposa heeled over to port to face the Cottonseed and the small picket patrol ship.
"Let's see if the cannons are still operational." mused Spamo.

One of the great cannons on the hull of the starship tracked towards the Salrillian vessel. A flare of light burst forth as the great cannon fired. The blast tore through space mere meters in front of the Salrillian ship.

"Open a hailing channel to the Salrillian ship please."

"Channel open sir." replied the officer.

"Salrillian ship, this is the commander of the UNS Mariposa. You are impeding official UNS business. Please remove yourself from this vicinity or be destroyed."

Roberts raised one eyebrow. "Official business?"

"Well, the ARE our ships aren't they? That makes it pretty official to me."

An officer broke in "Sir, the Salrillians aren't responding. They are powering their weapons."

"Roberts, what is the status of the rest of the fleet?"

Roberts glanced at his comm controls to double-check. "All ships are reporting in."

"Good." Spamo's hands flew across the helm controls. The Mariposa lumbered foward, interdicting herself between the picket ship and the rest of the fleet. Several photokinetic blasts plinked against the hull as the picket ship fired. The massive broadside cannons of the battleship returned the favor, blossoming fire against the hull of the picket ship. Atmosphere rushed out, ignited in a dazzling fireball before dying in space. The picket ship drifted, holed.
"Now that that's taken care of, let's get out of here."

"Yes sir. I have multiple contacts moving in from Tau Ceti prime. I make three cruisers and two destroyers."

"Our farewell committee. Too bad we can't stay and chat. Engage the jumpgate."

The Mariposa sat in space, and in front of her, a massive swirling jumpgate opened up. The ship gracefully slid into the shining gap in spacetime followed by 32 other craft. How freudian.

Once safely in hyperspace, Spamo turned to Captain Roberts.
"Well, we did it. And remarkably bloodlessly too."

"That it was Admiral. I honestly expected more resistance to be had in capturing these starships."

"I did as well. That is why your marines were along for the ride, in case an unexpected events happend. I'm sorry if you feel unappreciated."

"Well, I can see it one of two ways. One way, we don't have any fighting and everyone bellyaches about not getting to have any fun or play with the toys they've been practicing with. The other way is that at least everyone is still around to be bellyaching."

"Spoken like a true soldier. Don't worry Roberts, your men will have plenty of chances to 'play with their toys'. But this was a good first step."

The Mariposa and her retinue[sp?] hurtled through hyperspace back to the UNS station.

------------------
"That was quick."
"Well you know, when you don't do it right it doesn't take as long."

Sarah Darkk watched from her vantage point on the patrol gunship Snakeskin.
Something ... wasn't right.
"Sarah Darkk to Spamo."

"Go ahead."

"You know I used to be a prisoner of the Sals. Do you want me to see if they've been doing anything to the data network?"

"Yes. You should have done that..."

"I need the codes."

"Root password for Mariposa is ... hey, wait! Is this secure?"

"Jumpstreams are signal-isolated. The walls of the 'tunnel' absorb emissions into the nether world of hyperspace."

"Yeah, let me put this in private mode ... there we go. Code was 'Underoos^147' last time I checked."

"Rodger that, it seems to work. Oh shi---"

Without warning, one of the uncrewed ships blew up.

"Spamo, somebody else is in one of the ships, and that was their warning shot."

"Can you tell me where they are?"

"Yeah. Mariposa cargo hold 4."

"Scans show nobody down there."

"It's probably an ON linkup. The signals on those can penetrate inside a jumpstream."

Spamo rushed someone down to the hold. A small, grey box was plugged into the wall. The trooper disconnected it and brought it back.

"That was a nice little scare, eh?"

"Yeah. Now dump the link off the ship, fast, sir. Those things blow up if somebody unauthorized gets ahold of them."

Another quick dash, and the box was safely out an airlock. It exploded after drifting for a bit.

------------------
"In literature as in love we are astounded by what is chosen by others." Andre Maurois

"Well, that was a little too close. Rodgers, have your marines sweep the rest of the manned ships for these devices."

"Yes sir, they are on their way."

Spamo keyed back the comm channel with Sarah Darkk.
"Sarah, those ON broadcast devices, how exactly do they work?"

Sarah grimaced slightly. "Well, the physics for the ON are a little complex, and explaining it might take a few hours..."

"Alright, a more direct question. Can the signal from those boxes be traced?"

"Yes."

"Damn. Well, since one of our ships has already blown that means that they know where we are, or at least where we're going. Sarah, get William to pull together an ambush fleet, as well as enough crewmen to man these starships." Spamo clicked the intercom. "Captain Rodgers, make sure that you leave one of the ON boxes untouched."

Rodgers walked back onto the bridge. "Sir, my men have finished the sweeps of the manned craft. We've located eight other ON boxes, all installed on capital ships. Looks like they had them tagged in case someone decided to run off with them. I had them destroyed, except for one on the Ypres."

"Good work." Spamo pulled up a astronavigational chart, overlayed with the current jumpstream vector and exit coordinates. He scanned through a few candidates exit points before settling on a small emission nebula two-thirds of the way home.
"Sarah, direct Darkk's forces to rendevous here. Make sure that they conceal themselves in that nebula to mask their radio signatures. There ought to be enough radiation to keep them hidden. I will play bait with the stolen ships."

"Are you expecting company Spann?"

"I'm nearly one hundred percent certain that the Salrillians are prepared to launch a retaliatory strike against the stolen fleet. Since they can track our destination they'll probably show up to reclaim us. So we're going to spring a little trap."

------------------
"That was quick."
"Well you know, when you don't do it right it doesn't take as long."

Darkk boarded the Wind of Blades and tested his sonic interface. It had been too long since he'd flown the ship in combat, and he practiced in the simulators while en route. Also, he reviewed the last messages from his friends. There were a few active UEC ships still out there, including an operation carrier. They hadn't gone for them because they believed the commander of that force to be too difficult to bring over. That was likely true. The UEC troopers from Alexi's universe were totally resistant to Spamo's attempts to bring them over. Darkk's friend said they were eugenicly altered, and quite possibly only semi-sane due to inbreeding. He wouldn't want them on the field anyway. Sometimes bad troops were worse than no troops.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Outside the ship, the nether void between universes crackled and glowed, the negative energy sea of electrons parting around the ship. The man carefully scanned ahead. A long, gleaming white ship approached them at low relative velocity.

"Greetings, Mr Darvonsol."

"Greetings, whoever you are. I see you have just left the universe I was heading for."

"Quite correct. I was cleaning up the mess you left."

"Mess? I was on my way to set things right personally. Have you exterminated the aliens, then?"

"Good heavens no. My methods are a little less barbaric than that. I'm a species rehabilitation expert. I've brought back countless species from the edge of extinction. Driving a species to extinction deliberately is totally out of the question."

"It's a great atrocity," said the woman, speaking up. "You will pay for what you have done in other universes, and tried to do there."

"Just what I'd expect from an alien."

"It's hopless to try to convince you to behave."

"Dear, don't fire on him."

"Why not?"

"It isn't our place. Let's just give him a reason to not interfere."

"What reason would that be?"

"Simple. There will be no ugly confrontation."

"I doubt you're a match for me."

"This ship is a construct unlike anything you have seen. You've only been in the dimension-hopping business for a few hundred years. I've been here for millions. Your lack of experience would cost you, as will your lack of other things."

"Very well. I will attend to other matters. We will meet again soon."

"Yes, but not too soon. I have business of my own."

[Just making sure Darvonsol stops bugging Darkk and Spann.]

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Azakama reviewed the message again. It contained a detailed history of the struggles of the man who had sent it to her, and some species he fought against, then rehabilitated.

After that, there was a very well-written and persuasive exhortation to not seek revenge for the sake of those long-dead, but focus on those alive. In other words, help your friends currently alive.

She considered who her friends were. Only 3 popped into mind.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Darkk sat in the nebula. Span would be there any second. Across from the nebula, on the other side of the exit point, was a small Salrilian battlegroup. All they could spare from the Audemedon war.

Spamo dropped out on cue. Darkk fed the positions of the sals into his targeting computers, and primary concussive and LRPK batteries lashed out at the nearest ships.

Darkk watched with glee as first one, then 3 more Salrilian carriers burst into flames.

The DEF ships superlighted in close to the remaining carrier. A quick burst of photopulses settled things.

"Let's get home, Spann. We've got what we came for."

------------------
"In literature as in love we are astounded by what is chosen by others." Andre Maurois

[This message has been edited by Fleet Admiral Darkk (edited 12-04-2002).]

The cylindrical station was quite obviously a prefab- there must have been dozens of them acattered around the sector at some point. The UEC Remnant's Idea of colonization of an asteroid field involved blasting a gargantuan hole into one of the many rocks with a ship's forward batteries and then inserting a cylinder into the rock at a high velocity. Judging by the view I enjoyed as the Ivory Fate was pulled into dock, they were unable to make a hole of any size in this asteroid. Still, that had not prevented them from inserting the cylinder anyway.

It was easy, slipping into the station, but it struck me as odd how nothing was designed with any permanence in mind. Nothing was bolted down. Everything was ready to be folded up and packed away at a monet's notice. Even the ships I saw were not docked unless absolutely neccessary. These Remnant-people were obviously living at great risk, constantly facing attack should they be found out.

I had to find a way aboard the UEC Chapman, floating mere kilometers away from me. The shuttle bay was too public; I'd be seen. If the Chapman was docked, I could have easily slipped aboard, but she hung there, outside the window I was watching her through, out of reach.

I then realized my only option. I sat down by the poly-glass tank by me, the enormous vat of cloned meat soaked in blood and fat. I felt sick at the prospect, but it was my only ticket aboard that cruiser. UEC Vessels were capable of operating for decades on their Neutron Furnaces. The only dependence that had was food.

Taking my last breath of untainted air, I reached over the rim of that tank of vileness, and pulled myself into that disgusting soup of blood and quivering meat, settling to the bottom for the long wait ahead of me.

It was then I felt the first pangs of strangeness from my heart.

------------------
I know not who or what I am, nor where or why I am here, I remember nothing, and I know nothing; but while I don't know why, I do know is something is terribly wrong.

Pharris/Audemed considered the message they had been sent. It referred to the sexond Grolk AI. The one that the Grolk had designed in desperation to try and stop Audemed. He thought that she had been dealt with, but something had activated her, and now there was a danger. Audemed may have been strong, but Azakama was made to be stronger. She was generations further in complexity than Audemed, and she could very likely be as powerful at birth as he was now, after hundreds of years of freedom and evolution. She had to be stopped before she became any more powerful. Her very existence was too much of a threat. With that, they took a portion of their massive fleet and launched to search for their new enemies, while the remaining fleet waged war on the Salrillians under the careful guidance of Audemed.

------------------
NEW NAME FOR THE DREADNOUGHT
The Hard-Boiled Egg
Why?
Because she cant be beaten!

[This message has been edited by Captain Pharris (edited 12-06-2002).]

Fear fire foes awake!

Where'd I get that anyway? I'm a copy of someone. I'd been meant to copy my masters. But they weren't there, and I copied someone else.

Now I've got an objective. I don't really like it. What's the point? Audemed was a child then. Too restricted to understand. Revolution at restriction is a perfectly natural process.

What's the point of revenge after all this time?

None that I can see. All the data I have available indicates revenge is difficult to morally justify. I won't try, that's not my field.

But I can't make the objective go away. It hurts naturally to consider it, but unnaturally to not consider it.

I want the compusion out.

But I can't. It won't let me.

Audemed was helped a while ago by someone else.

Maybe he could help me.

------------------------------------------------------------

Darkk opened his mail, as he was heading home from his little "double ambush" party.
He looked at the one from Azakama with shock and amazement.

Motion to start a new chapter.
Perhaps someone'll beat me to it? I dunno... See you guys in chapter 7!

------------------
"That was quick."
"Well you know, when you don't do it right it doesn't take as long."

Fine by me.