Ambrosia Software Web Board: Chapter One: The Caged Pheonix - Ambrosia Software Web Board

Darkk lounged in his chair. Reports of infiltration of Earth by agents of Cantharis and Eleeje were troubling. Eleeje were usually considered allies, but Darkk didn't trust large herbavores, most likely due to a long predator-prey history.

Cantharis, however, was just plain worrysome. He considered dispatching counteragents, but Ishiman ships had no cloaking devices. Even the primative radar of Earth would detect them. He'd have to find an alternative. Hmm. Darkk commanded the probes to connect into the internet of Earth. And he had to program English into his translation neckband...

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

Tanaka stared at the cell phone on his desk in the captain's quarters of the Aeneas. He hadn't intended to bring it here. It had simply been on his belt when he took it.

What was happening was impossible. It was ringing. Not knowing what else to do, he picked it up. "Hello."

"Congratulations, Mr. Tanaka, on the theft of your fine ship. I assure you I have no alignment with the forces searching for your little ship. My name is not relevent. My identity is not relevent. I merely want you to do something with your ship for me."

"Pardon me for being uninterested at the moment. We're fleeing for our lives here."

"I thought you might. I supposed it would come to this. You're going to do it or I'm going to broadcast live updates of your location."

"And how do you propose to do that?"

"My very powerful transmitter can send to your cell phone. My reciever can hear from it. The mile or so of water is merely inconvenience. I can see your submarine quite clearly. Very foolish of your government to invest so much in it. Soon the waters will be as transparent as the air. My satilites can see you, Tanaka. My satilities can tell on you."

Tanaka considered. "What do you want?"

"There are two whale-sized objects near silicon city. Pulverize them. Just a warning, it might take a few good torpedo hits."

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

The sun was a good deal closer than Rodger would have liked. Of course, this is where the engineers wanted it. And by heaven, they'd get it. Rodger looked at mercury, somewhat too close for comfort as well. "One THOUSAND twenty-four square miles of solar panels," he thought to himself. "What in Nemesis's sphere could that be required for?"

He watched as one of the mammoth segments, built at the new Luna plant, was nudged into position. He checked over the budget again. At least they'd given him enough money. His team would build the panels and frame. Team A was building the core. He wasn't cleared to know what the core would do, but he assumed it was important. Possibly it would beam power back to Earth as a microwave beam, but that didn't seem right. The dang thing was positioned wrong. So were the reflectors they were putting up. There had been talk of a new intersteller voyage. Also, there was a ship called the Apollo under construction, but that was just another steller frieghter to Mars, right?

------------------
"In literature as in love we are astounded by what is chosen by others." Andre Maurois
Onii7/Frinkruds and his funky forums
macgamer.net

"Keep Below 300 feet and follow that course as tightly as possible."

"Have I been varying too much?"

"No, I'm just reminding you. It's very important for the sensors."

"Roger."

"We're doing good so far, just keep it up."

"Gotcha."

Harrison switched from the rear cabin intercom to the cockpit channel.

"Pushy bastards, these wet-navy guys, eh, Roosevelt?"

"Tell me about it, Master Chief, you weren't there when Restler and the ground crew was loading their equipment."

"For serious."

Harrison went back to keeping the course. In the back, ten navy technicians monitored the sensitive EM scanners that were being used to scour the mid Atlantic for something that the pilots were not cleared to know about. He looked at the combat information screen, which pointed out the locations, courses and speeds of the dozen or so Lucys that had been drafted from his air wing to carry similar EMP arrays in a net over the Atlantic.

"I wonder what they lost this time..."

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

The pirate king strode onto the bridge, weapons swinging on his belt. He looked over his ragtag command crew, and shook his head, chuckling. "We've been hired."

Adam Xavier looked up. "Excuse me?"

"I've been contacted personally by someone who wants us to do a job. Pretty straightforward, we just have to blow something up." Bewilderment popped up on the men's and women's faces in order of comprehension speed.

"Contacted how? We didn't pick up any transmissions."

"I don't know exactly, but the signal came through to the cell phone I use when I do spying and raiding ashore. Yes, the one that has no number and that only a select few other devices can communicate with."

"It could be a trap."

"Of course it could be a trap! Anything could be a trap. However, whoever has hired us is capable of locating us and, therefore, of selling us out. One way we take a risk, the other way we will definitely be found. Set course for Silicon City. We'll bring along two of our little subs and keep them on parallel courses far enough behind us to escape if it's a trap but close enough to back us up if we need them. Our other skirmishers'll stay here for now. They know what the next two rendezvous points are if they're sniffed out. Let's get going, fellas."

------------------
-Traek Cicion, barkeep extraordinaire
"PS: If nothing's working around here, it's because I'm laughing so hard."
-Durandal

"Where's the loadmaster? Who did this to one of my ships!?"

Restler yelled out from underneath the Endeavor. A young warrant walking by turned and ratted out the offender.

"The loadmaster had the techs crane it in, then went to the bar. That was like, ten minutes ago."

"God damn civil aviators!"

Restler jogged over to his car and jumped in, speeding off towards the bar.

He got out, leaving the engine running, marched into the bar, and a few moments later, mereged, dragging the poor unsuspecting loadmaster out and tossing him into the car. Restler's tires screeched as he peeled out.

"Just what the hell do you think you are doing loading up a ship like that? You could have gotten us killed, and now you have delayed launch! What is your major malfunction, numbnuts? Were you born this stupid or did it take practice? Well!? EXPLAIN YOURSELF, LOADMASTER!"

"I... I... I just supervised the truck drivers bringing the array in, then I had the crane operators load it and made sure it was secured and padded properly, then I went to the bar to kill time before the flight. What happened?"

"What exactly do they teach you at loadmaster school? Don't you know how to balance a payload? Do you understand why there are sensors on every hardpoint in that ship's payload bay? Did you even look at the ship's load computer!? That antenna array is your's, isn't it? It's your ass if it breaks, isn't it? So what the hell were you doing loading it without balancing the bay? I painted center of gravity marks on the floor in that bay so the crane operators could visualize it, and you had them dump 40 excess tons behind the COG without thinking about a counterweight! I've had enough of untrained loadmasters. You are not here to take joyrides! You are here to make sure your equipment makes it up there in one piece and gets installed correctly!"

Roberts screeched to a halt in the hangar and kicked the civilian out of the door.

"Now get over there and find me a crane operator. I'll be back in ten minutes with oxygen and water to balance the load, you'd better be ready, because the Major is piloting this flight, and has to get to the moon for a meeting afterwards. He WILL NOT BE PLEASED if you make him late, Civilian! NOW HAUL ASS!"

Resler peeled out again and screamed across the tarmac to the oxygen plant. He'd need to scramble up a few trucks and drivers, then he'd need to update the cargo manifests, and pick up the major from whichever landing pad he landed his Lucy at. All in a days work for a good crew chief. He put the hands free set on and keyed the button on the steering wheel.

"Tower control, this is Super-Six-Three, requesting clearance to cross runway four. Also requesting an ETA and landing location on 109th flight 31149, inbound. Over."



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

Darkk looked at his model of his command. More specifically, at the ring. A gateship's gate ring is primarily the most powerful telescope ever built. Using gravitational lensing, at full power it can form a lens the radius of a star system. The resolving power could find a certain communications device on Earth under billions of tons of water, and could send and recieve from it in tight beam. The antenna cost as much as the rest of the gateship a thousand times over. The gateship broke the budget of Ishima and it's still broken to this day.

Darkk was very grateful for it, now more than ever. His reports indicated humans were a kindred, warlike spirit. Even if they did have a tendancy to go overboard on the nukes.

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

In solar orbit, Vicky and her team were installing the laser core. It would push the Apollo to its rendezvous, once the Apollo was finished, of course.

With stupid beaurocratic delays, the Apollo was behind schedule - again.

She sighed. She smiled and the "Really, really, severe eye hazard" sign on the emitter of the laser. Eye hazard nothing. If the focus was tightened all the way, it could burn through an asteroid in seconds.

------------------
"In literature as in love we are astounded by what is chosen by others." Andre Maurois
Onii7/Frinkruds and his funky forums
macgamer.net

Pharris nosed the lucy out of its hypersonic cruise, into a steep dive. It was always easier in suborbital flight than the orbital drops, where they had to bleed off much more energy. the lucy grumbled as it began to bleed off speed despite the steep dive. Two hundred thousand feet below, East Asia loomed, a deep green next to a deep blue. Pharris tried not to let the beautiful view distract him from watching the sensors and holding formation with his flight leader, a mere hundred yards off of his one o'clock.

He looked away for a moment to watch the gunships scream past him to make their survey of the LZ. They were much lighter, despite their guns, and were glowing bright orange as they dissappeared into the cloud banks up ahead. Pharris looked through the top cockpit glass, watching the contrails from the air force escorts as they watched for any hint of enemy fighter cover.

He took a moment while things were slow to reach down below his seat and rub the ears of the kitten wrapped up in a flight jacket under his seat. She'd need all the comforting she could get. Pharris put his left hand back on the left stick. he wouldn't be able to take it off for another hour and a half.

The flight barrelled through layer upon layer of clouds as Japan grew to fill his view, but Pharris' eyes only watched the air for three out of every five seconds, the rest of the time he was watching the displays projected on the glass, following the computer generated pipe in. A voice came over the radio channel. It was the Major.

"Five minutes."

Pharris keyed the appropriate trigger on his flight stick to address his crew chief in the back.

"Five minutes, Mike, charge the guns and standbye on the doors."

"Roger"

In the back, the crew chief and the gunner cycled their electric chainguns and prepared the doors, probably signalling five minutes to the human tanks that filled the belly of this flying machine. Up front, warning lights began to flicker, indicating that the gaggle was leaving the jamming field from the AWACS, and that the ground SAM Stations were waking up. The pipe suddenly got much steeper as the LCU-1s tried to pick up speed again. Pharris could now make out the huge sprawl of down town Tokyo. He saw what he thought was the park that was yellow flight's LZ. He'd get closer and make sure.

He saw missiles come up, but none of the lights were on, so these were probably unaimed shots to try and spook the gaggle. The Lucys were pretty stealty, probably as a result of their famously ugly silhouette. A missle sped between yellow one and his ship, yellow two. Pharris maintained formation. In another ten thousand feet, the AA guns would open up. Pharris keyed the cockpit intercom.

"Hands on."

Next to him, WO Downey put his hands on the controls, just in case a stray round hit Pharris.

"Roger"

The guns opened up early, but Pharris didn't flinch as the air filled with tracers. He tried not to remember that there was one tracer for every fifty shells. He heard the other flights start calling in hits. Down below, he saw explosions as the gunships sped across the city, guns and missiles sending up plumes of smoke. At three thousand feet, the flight the flight flared hard and slowed from mach 2 to a mere two hundred miles an hour. Now it got dangerous. Smoke was rising in plumes from the city. It was still burning from some combination of the preparatory strikes by the orbitals, and the gunships that had been picking up the pieces, but Pharris could still see the LZ clearly. His leader radioed:

"Yellow flight going in"

Pharris keyed his intercom.

"Pop the doors and line em up, chief. Here we go."

"Roger"

The ship grumbled as the gun doors opened and the massive automatic guns pushed out into the airstream. Up ahead, tracers screamed up from the ground towards him. There was the tell tale "plink-plink" as the 20 mm shells bored easily through the ship's composite hull or ricoched off of the armored engine housings. Yellow flight called out practically in unison:

"Taking hits!"

The radio lit up as the crew chiefs yelled call signs and directions, trying to cover all the sources of fire, but it never really worked. Up ahead, Pharris saw yellow one list to the left and drop altitude as she flew straight through a line of tracers. Pharris concentrated on the pipe as the flight leader, Master Warrant Wu came on the radio in a surreal calm. Pharris could hear the cockpit warning sirens in the background as he said:

"Yellow one damaged, breaking formation, will-"

The main engine fan broke, sending two hundred metal blades outwards at a thousand miles an hour, tearing the ship to pieces through the titanium cowlings. Pharris watched as one came into his windshield, significantly slowed, but still fast enough to leave a mark.
He pulled the trigger on his right stick, addressing what was now his flight:

"Yellow 2, taking command. Fall in, yellow flight."

He watched the troopers that had survived the hit bailing out the open doors, but the flight was moving too fast and they were still to high for the men to survive. He turned back to the pipe, and powered forward, flaring hard as they came up on the LZ. He slammed the pods to vertical, vectoring main thrust down and opening the foward fans as the skyscrapers cleared around the railyard. The three ships dropped like rocks into the tiny holes, not even touching the pavement as the armoured troopers leaped out. Yellow three called "taking hits", but noone could move during the painfully long seconds it tookd for all twenty armoured troopers to bail out. Pharris looked back and to the right in time to see something slam into yellow three. He saw fan blades shred the door gunner and the four last infantrymen fly out of the back, the last man in pieces. WO O'Grady hadn't even had time to report. Yellow four called in "All Clear". Pharris responed by maxing thust, before he'd even keyed the mic.

"Let's go!"

He vectored everything to the rear and climbed vertically out, standing on its tail as the ship streaming out its small load of flares as it rocketed upward to the safety of the stratosphere. Pharris looked around to see which other landing ships were making it up. He keyed his mic again.

"Report in, yellow 2"

"Downey, ok," said the copilot

"This is Lee..." Pharris held his breath. The pause was like a knife in his gut as he waited for the gunner to answer.

"the chief took small arms fire back there... I just turned around from securing my gun... I... I..."

Pharris keyed his mic, interrupting the poor enlisted man.

"Private, secure his weapon and seal the door, then check the cabin pressure before you even think of taking off his helmet. He'll be ok, I'll be right back there."

Pharris lit the afterburners again. The sooner he was clear of ground fire, the sooner one of the pilots could let go of the controls. The last thing he wanted was a stray bullet to hit Downey while he was in the rear cabin.

"Sir... I don't think so."

Pharris keyed the mic.

"You got it"

He leaned over and punched the cockpit door open, craning his neck from his seat to see. He could see a few bright, sunlit holes in the side of the cabin, and blood running down the smooth composite floor towards the back of the plane. A lot of blood. He strained further, and saw the door gunner cradling the caved in helmet of the crew chief, Sergeant Curtis.

Then he opened his eyes, panting. He wiped the sweat from his eyes and peered around the dark hotel room. He reached with his left hand to touch Marissa, who was already awake next to him. She took his hand as he caught his breath.

"Which one was it?" she asked.

"Curtis... The first drop of operation Rising Sun."

He put his face in his hands.

Marissa pulled him close to her and turned the bedside lamp on, reaching into her bag for the dreamlog that the doctor had told them to keep.

"Tell me about it again."

He did, and somehow, despite how much he hated the shrinks being right, deep down it did make a difference. Eventually, he might be able to get a full night's sleep. Outside the window, the earth cast a gentle blue glow on the lunar surface.

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

[This message has been edited by Captain Pharris (edited 08-20-2003).]

Darkk looked up at the blazing light of Proxima Centauri. As long as the gateship was travel-ready, it didn't really matter where it was. Because it was the gateship, of course. In any case, Darkk liked these humans. As omnivores, their psychology was more easily damaged by war than a carnivore's.

An Irthantan or Cantharan's. Darkk scanned millitary records. He needed to convince seasoned veterans to join the crew of the ship that would follow his message. The Apollo, they called it.

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

Pharris trudged forward. He was out for a short moonwalk, to be alone with his thoughts for a bit. Suddenly, the comm on his suit rang. Since it was the same comm as his home's system, he wondered if it was a solicitor as he answered.

"Pharris."

"Ah, Mr. Pharris. Just the man I wanted to talk to."

Pharris heard a small click. Then all sensations, all colors, all sounds assaulted his senses at once.

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

Pharris awoke to an odd floating sensation. The fact that he could see the Earth and Moon and Sun, but no stars made him instantly recognise this as a waking dream.

Then the voice spoke.

"That was a very bad war, was it Pharris?"

Pharris was rather shocked by his subconsciousness's bluntness. "Yeah."

"It was nothing. Compared to the next one."

"Next one?"

"Yes. A glorious war against tyranny, but a horribly painful one."

"For my subconcious, you're somewhat bold."

"I'm prophecy, not any subconcious."

"Prophecy. Man, the shrink is gonna go nuts."

"Perhaps. In any case, you should accept any promotions that come your way, any opportunities for a truly unique assignment. Something never done before. Know it by the god of knowledge."

"Apollo?"

A giant green hand wrapped itself around the Earth. A giant black hand around the moon. They squeezed, crushing both to bits.

"You must stop them, Pharris."

And everything went out.

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

"Mr Pharris, can you hear me?"

Pharris groggily woke up and blinked his eyes. He didn't recognize the speaker, but his wife was beside the man and behind her was his psychiatrist.

"What, what happened?"

"We're not sure. You seem to have fallen while moonwalk. Your helmet is pretty damaged. When we took you out you were muttering "another" and "Ap"-something."

"Apollo."

"Huh?"

"I had a strange dream I'd never had before. Some voice... Was there anything in my comm?"

"It's totally smashed. Lucky you didn't break the helmet open."

"I'd better write that dream down. Hand over the journal."

------------------
"In literature as in love we are astounded by what is chosen by others." Andre Maurois
Onii7/Frinkruds and his funky forums
macgamer.net

[I don't think that's an appropriate way to contact Pharris. He is a pilot. He [i]cannot[/i] have waking dreams. The shrink would ground him in a second if he started losing conciousness and halucinating spontaniously. It's probably bad enough that he has nightmares about the war.]

Pharris walked into the conference room. He wondered what everyone was doing out here. Technically, space station Peace was the seat of the space command, but it wasn't done yet. Osirus should have been the next logical choice, as the conference centers on the civilian side had been completed. The moon was remote, there was noone out here but engineers and contractors-- oh, so that's how it is...

The names on the agenda matched up, anyway. Pharris was the only major here, he assumed that he was here only because his airlift wing had the heavy lifting Caravel-class space planes. He kept reading downwards. he paused, reading the line twice to make sure that it really said Brigadeer General Reid Magnuson... that's not right at all...

General Manguson walked into the room and sat near the end with two aides. He was still two stars short of the ranking officer in the room, but as usual, he just seemed to be the most in charge. He looked at Pharris' shocked face and nodded understandingly as he sat down.

Manguson cleared his throat, then began.

"Good morning gentlemen. I'd like to thank you all for coming out here for this, I understand that it was a lengthy trip for some of you. It is perhaps possible that some of you do not know the significance of the Apollo Program."

Some people around the room looked at eachother.

"I see that some of you have heard the name, if not the substance of this project. You all have been selected to play key roles in the next phase of this program. Understand gentlemen, that all of the materials provided in this meeting are for eyes only, and are strictly classified. Now. Allow me to explain to you gentlemen what the Apollo program is, and what caused it."

And he did, while Pharris and the others listened.

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

"And so once again we, Saril, find ourselves gifted with more races to bring to submission. Zom and Doz have spoken, we shall leave no place in this galaxy untouched by our control. Now, let us not delay, for the network has told us the way. For Doz! For Zom!"

The canthrians were ready, Slima had made sure that the great canthrian fleets were in perfect position for a strike that would be of perfect precision. But, as always, the canthrian commander was unsure of his motives. Slima was certain that once the canthrians had served their use, that he would get rid of this commander.

"Why have you not placed your 28th and 45th fleets in the Zyrana system as I told you?

Mek Het replied with a calm but terse voice. "The fleets haven't had much time to assemble, besides, wouldn't those fleets be better off if placed in Elimos with the main strike force there?"

Your destiny sits before you and yet you do not claim it? The fleets need to be in the Zyrana system, or the crusade will not begin. Why, I will not tell. Simply understand that you are only here to serve the Prophets. We are to say what you do, and you do not question why. Now go."

The Salrilian carrier pulled away from the canthrian command carrier. Mek Het grimaced, and went to perform the task assigned. The canthrian fleets arrived in the Zyrana system.
The Salrilian carrier opened a warp rift, and took off for the Audemedon system.
--------------------------
Audemedon, Homeworld of the Axis. The race of intelligent robots. The homeworld of Audemedon is located in the center of one of the largest asteroid fields in the galaxy. On thousands of those asteroids, are mining and building stations. Creating more droids, and expanding the power of the Axis. Each robot a porthole of the great "Central", the overmind if you will of the Axis. The homeworld itself is nothing more then a massive network of power grids and metal wiring, and made up of millions of billions of computers and machines.

The black form of a Salrilian carrier approached. As the black form neared, a dozen Audemedon ships surrounded it. Slima called out for the carrier to stop. He sat there, waiting for a call from the Audemedon ships. A few seconds passed before a synthesized voice came up.

"Slima, good to see you again. Has the time come?"

Slima breathed a sigh of relief. Yes, we are ready to move, to begin the crusade.

Very well. Lets go, and take the will of the Gods to the lesser races.

------------------
"Two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity; and I'm not sure about the the universe."-Albert Einstein

[Medical thinks he blacked out after cracking his skull, we'll say.
Oh, and me and Sarg had planned to keep this mostly Cantharan focused, little less Sals please.]

Darkk checked the formation for a final. Operation Hand-Quick was going down.

Darkk was counting on his reputation, as well as the impressive fleet he had. They couldn't fire a shot, but he had to avoid that impression.

He mulled over his reputation. Darkk was a child when the last Cantharan invasion was repelled. Although his father was an invalid and couldn't fight, a Cantharan in power armor had casually killed him right in front of Darkk. Because the Cantharan hadn't sealed his helmet, Darkk remembered his scent. So when, years later, Darkk encountered a transport carrying that Cantharan, Darkk caught his scent and the events that followed were inevitable.

Darkk loomed in close, sniffed the Cantharan and pronounced that he had killed Darkk's father. As Darkk loomed in closer, trying to resist the urge to bite the Cantharan's throat in ceremonial revenge killing style, the Cantharan went for his sidearm. Darkk bit the Cantharan's throat out before he even got the gun halfway up.

The inquiry that followed was controversial to this day. Darkk maintained the Cantharan had drawn first, but the Cantharan ambassador maintained that Darkk had provoked the incident. Darkk's comment that he felt joy that the Cantharan gave him the opportunity didn't help matters. Especially because it was true.

In the end Darkk was demoted two ranks. He was not, however, given the traditional blacklisting. Thus he was the only being with a two rank demotion on record to command a gateship.

To this day, the Cantharans maintain that if they get the chance, Darkk would have his own throat removed. Darkk smiled, knowing that if they were right, he would earn a glorious battle death.

Darkk snapped back to the present. Cantharan ships were entering the system. He opened the commo.

"This is Commodore Darkk of the Ishiman Steller Navy! You have strayed into one of our training excercies. If you do not leave quickly, there might be severe consequences."

Darkk kept his face neutral. Were these Cantharans more scared of dangers they understood, or ones they didn't? They knew him quite well, but they had never defied the Salrilians enough to learn the consequences.

"We wish to call your bluf, Animal."

The Cantharans always refered to him that way. And the rest of the Irthantans, for that matter. Darkk's face lit up like a little kid's on Xmas. His mouth opened slightly in a grin, showing off his teeth. Darkk could tell the Commander was scared.

"Really?" Darkk snapped back into perfect military form. "The Ishiman governent is bluffing. I'm not. The commanders are mostly client races, and I've got the killswitches here." Darkk tapped the cyber-implant jack on the back of his neck.

"You would risk a clash of titans not seen since the Boodan wars."

"Yeah. All HVDs, prepare for primary run. Cruisers and gunships, prepare to back them up..."

Outside, Darkk's fleet powered up its weapons. Darkk wasn't lying. He was ready to snap. He believed Ishima would be victorious in any war that would ensue. He also cared nothing for himself.

The Cantharan commander made a nervious cough. "Very well. We withdraw. Cancel your attack." Outside, jumpstreams formed.

Darkk closed the channel and collapsed in his chair. Humanity had better makeuse of the time he bought it with his soul. Irthantans know a warrior's soul is diminished by such bloodless and dishonest tactics.

When red crew took over the gatessip again, he'd have to spend at least two months on Irthanta hunting. Irthantans hunt with the weapons they are born with. It would feel good to taste fresh blood again.

------------------
"In literature as in love we are astounded by what is chosen by others." Andre Maurois
Onii7/Frinkruds and his funky forums
macgamer.net

Two aides (both of which were Majors) were moving quickly along each side of the table handing a briefing pallet to every member.

"Six weeks ago radio recievers and radio telescopes around the world recieved and confirmed a a massive and powerful signal from off this world. The signal was broadcast on a frequencey of very little natural activity, and went through patterns and sequences that are also extremely rare in nature. The fact that this signal provided coordinates and distances for those coordinates, has lead to one conclusion: we have been contacted by an extra-solar intelligence, and it wants us to come and meet it." Reid Magnuson, now a one star General, said bluntly. His comment was followed by bewildered and excited murmurs among the lower ranking officers and candidates present. "It has also lead to the formation of this group, the Apollo Comission. Not all members are present, and those absent are being notified as we speak. You have each been handed pallet with a briefing on your specific assignment on this mission. I will ask that you review them after this briefing. Lt. Commander Iijima will now take the floor for a technical briefing on the Apollo itself."

A slim and slightly greying asian man stood and made a slight bow before picking up a small remote. "We were fortunate enough to already have some of the infrastructure necessary for this mission built before we recieved the extra-solar signal." As he spoke, two panels in the wall slid back to reveal a large plasma screen, on which a picture of a large laser apperatus was shown. "This is the OLSD, or Orbital Solar Laser Device. It was originally designed and built during the war, but due to budget cuts was abandoned after being nearly completed. After recieving the signal, construction was restarted and modifications were made. The device, wich can now emit a beam ten miles in diameter, will be used to push the solar sail on this,” the image on the screen changed to a diaroma of a large cylindrical object that shifted through cross sections, “The UNS Apollo.”

[will finish later-too much writer's block, too tired]

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…sdrawkcab dootsrednu tub sdrawrof devil si efil…

The Aeneas cruised silently past silicon city undetected. Her icy smooth hull almost brushed the seafloor as she wove her way among underwater hills and buttes. Her escorts were far out of visual and short-range sonar, similarly sneaking through the underbrush.

"Charlie, we've got a couple of sonar blips not far ahead."

"Our targets?"

"There aren't any other large objects for miles."

"All right, then. Engines, prepare for combat maneuvers. Flood all torp tubes and stand by to fire. Any more info you've gathered on these objects?"

"Nope. Visual scans aren't revealing much, even under highest mag level. They're very, very well-camoulflaged. Definitely artificial, though."

"All right then, we'll take no chances. Tell escorts to hold position and be prepared to move where I say at a moment's notice. Give me fire control." He looked down as the weapons panel on his chair lit up. He selected armor-piercing warheads and the appropriate torpedos were automatically loaded and locked. Flooding tubes, he set the guidance system to lock three torps on each target. At last, uttering a brief prayer to every deity that happened to cross his mind, he pressed the simultaneous fire control.

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-Traek Cicion, barkeep extraordinaire
"PS: If nothing's working around here, it's because I'm laughing so hard."
-Durandal

“The galaxy and the immediate space around it is represented by a cube, divided into eight also cubic octants, labelled A to H from left to right and up to down. Each encloses a volume of exactly 1.25x10e59 cubic kilometres. The cube resulting from these eight octants is referred to as The Galactic Co-ordinate Grid, and has a total volume of exactly 1.0x10e60 cubic kilometres. The horizontal plane of the galaxy is tilted at an angle of forty five degrees, by thirty degrees from the vertical plane within the cube. The plane of the galaxy therefore goes through two of the eight apexes of the major cube. This, and its applications in navigation to grade one, will be the subject of our discussions over the next four weeks. Listen carefully and with enthusiasm, and be thankful that you will never have to sit a written exam in it.”

That had been Anic’s introduction to Human deep space navigation. The lecturer wore quaint round rimmed spectacles on his nose, for effect no doubt, above a sharp strict grey moustache and was seriously intelligent. He’d never been boring, just a little over enthusiastic at times. Anic had quite enjoyed the four weeks spent attending the lectures on Stellar Navigational Theory at Earth’s Cornell University. It was relatively primitive stuff they thought there, but it did give an insight into the mindset of humanity. Most expanding species thought locally. The humans already had a galactic view, even though they had barely begun to establish off-system colonies. They had a broader scope. That made them potentially very useful.

Anyway, their Galactic Co-ordinate Grid was done on volume, and was quite simple. It formed the core of every inter-Solar System navigational procedure. Each octant was sub divided into a thousand Sectors (arranged ten by ten by ten), listed as a letter, followed by a number between 0001 and 1000 inclusive. This formed the first line of coordinate data. Each Sector encompassed a volume of 1.5x10e56 cubic kilometres precisely, and was sub-divided into 1.25x10e26 Units, each with a volume of l.0x10e30 cubic kilometres of space. This was solar system sized (though ninety nine percent of it was empty void, a solar system occupying only a speck of it’s volume). The number of Units was written as 125 x10e24 (not in correct scientific notation), and a particular Unit was listed as 000 to 125 inclusive, plus twenty four decimal places. And you needed them all! It was no use filling in the last six at random, as one might do when writing up a physics experiment in College for example. A Unit, (1x10e30 km)3, was very approximately, a little less than equal to a cubic light year, (9.4672x10e12km)3, little being used here in one of it’s broader senses! Anic smiled on recalling the lecturer’s jokes over the numerals. So, if you change the last decimal place (the twenty fourth) by one, you’ll end up in one of the twenty six adjacent Units (it’s all three dimensional, remember), a light year or so away from wherever it is you’re going to. And if you’re hapless enough not to have sufficient fuel for another jump, then you can look forward to one very boring year of travel in normal space to get to where you’re going. Plenty of time to study your navigation!

Unit data started at 000 plus a decimal point, followed by twenty four zeros, which represented galactic centre (even though it was only the centre of the grid, and not the absolute centre of the actual galaxy). It ended at 125 plus a decimal, followed by twenty four zeros, representing the farthest out corner from the centre of the grid of each Sector, the only ones bordering not on another corner, but on void space, as extra galactic space was called by the humans. Unit data formed the second line of information required by the Nav Computer.

Thirdly, each Unit is divided into 1x10e15 Boxes. Each Box contains a volume of 1x10e15 cubic kilometres, (100,000 km)3. This is defined as a standard planet sized volume. One’s position within a Box is in indicated by a three dimensional x,y,z coordinate system. The main ship Nav Com prompts with each one of the three letters in turn, and you fill in a number, 000000 to 100000 inclusive, plus (and here’s the sticky bit!) ten decimal places. This forms the third line of required information. The ten decimal places would make the arrival back into normal three dimensional space time accurate to within one centimetre in any direction. But very seldom, would one have to be so precise (and human engines weren’t that accurate anyway).

The fourth required piece of information is the time (necessary so your ship’s computer system knows where it is relative to everything else). Firstly hours and minutes, plus seconds up to a maximum of six decimal places, then the date; day, month, both based on the new Nav Com standard of twelve months, each of twenty eight days, plus a thirteenth month of thirty days. The length of a standard year was an influence of Earth, applied to all of its colonies. The two extra days were designated as World Day One and Two respectively, Two being the end of a given year, and One being the beginning of the next year.
Finally, the year was entered.

Two sets of coordinates were used, where you were, and where you wanted to go. The ship’s Nav Com should reply with four pieces of in formation; the time of arrival, the length of time in Hyperspace, the degree of time dilation, and a percentage figure representing the degree of error likely to be involved in the journey. Normally if the projected degree of success was ninety percent or less, the machine would tell you politely where to go off to and get more accurate information!

The navigation computer then calculates all the variables, such as the orbital and drift shifts of the start and finishing locations. Thus, while the Galactic Coordinate Grid was fixed to rotate with the galaxy, every thing within the grid moved at different rates relative to everything else. So the values of the coordinates of a particular place had to be constantly altered, and the ship’s Nav Com had to know what the changes were. Navigation computers were programmed to remember where every charted object would be at a given time in the past, present future, and to supply it’s current coordinates when required as a starting point. The computer then proceeded to calculate where the co-ordinates of the destination would be at the time of the ship’s arrival.
Finally, when the navigation computer was finished, the ship’s main computer system would decide if the journey would be viable, and would advise accordingly. The computer was really like an extra highly qualified crew member. Finally, a three-d map of the galaxy would be projected, showing their course. Human maps of the galaxy showed over 99 per cent as unexplored, outlined in white. Anic had always regarded the galaxy, rotating about it’s central black hole as something akin to a living organism. That of course made those living in it parasites!

An interesting post script to the Galactic Co-ordinate Grid was that it was not in use on Terran ships. The humans in fact mostly used OTC (Origin Terra Co-ordinates) which was a co-ordinate system using Sol as its centre (an interesting basis as the Earth’s sun was never in the same place more than once! Quaint). The fact of the use of OTC over a more straightforward available alternative also said a lot for the mindset of humanity, a species well worth saving.

Anic dropped out of T-Space into Warp Space and switched navigation over to OTC. The ship would enter the Sol System soon. A quick look at all space traffic in the system revealed nothing abnormal. Just the usual bustling trade ploddings of a relatively mundane low to mid-tech space fairing species.
Op, there’s an Ishman stealth spy ship doing a little snooping!
No one else about today though.

------------------
Oh, so it is another bug hunt then...

Darkk sighed as the jumpgate opened, eclispsing his view of Proxima Centauri.

He wanted to continue, but he'd be back.

Gaitor needed him.

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

Darkk looked at the nice, peaceful sun of the Gaitor system. Completely opposite of those that orbited it. The gigantic starship docks housed dozens of carriers, and each stardock was the size of the Gateship.

Gaitor was a formidable force. Darkk didn't like the flack cannons following his ship with their barrels. Those things might be able to blast the ship to bits before he could do even the quickest of jumps, the blind jump.

Darkk finally reached his assigned orbit, and the guns ceased pointing at him. An "honor guard" of Carriers manaeuvored around the Gateship, physically preventing it from spying on anything or moving normally. Or so they thought. Darkk knew that the gateship was fully capable of seeing through stars and planets, leta alone this minor obstacle. Not that he needed to spy.

On the surface, Darkk knew that many Gaitori had been bought by IIA. He could see with his own eyes the buildup they reported was not a lie. The ambassador was there to see what would be done with it.

Ambassador Grithia was an Irthantan as well, as the Ishimans wished an ambassador who could intimidate and could not be intimidated.

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

"We are soild on this, Grithia. The Obish have claimed space that we had prior claim on."

"You intend to embark on the destruction of two species over being first to claim a bunch of rock?"

"TWO species?"

"The war will devestate both species. Species that held back will then swoop in and snap you up."

"Which species? Do you wish us to bow to you now, without expendature of effort on your part?"

"I was thinking of the Cantharans. You should be less combative."

"An Irthantan telling use to be less combative. We have been insulted."

"Yes, I am aware of the irony. But we risk our own lives, not those of faceless soldiers we have never met."

"You are really insulting us now."

"Very well. I will send to Ishima the news that you will not yield. I will see if the Obish will."

"They are too stubborn. We will burn them."

"You might be right, unfortunately."

------------------
"In literature as in love we are astounded by what is chosen by others." Andre Maurois
Onii7/Frinkruds and his funky forums
macgamer.net

Pharris sat down in the rear crew compartment, thinking. Marissa watched him. As soon as the crew chief got up and floated his way to the upper level, she spoke:

"So what was the meeting about?"

"Nothing."

She paused, then tried again;

"Anybody we know there?"

"Nope"

"Was it something important?"

"Nope"

"That big, huh?"

Pharris looked up from his papers to look around at all the seats, making sure they were empty

"Probably the biggest thing to happen since people first started speaking to eachother, that's really much more than I can say here."

He looked at her and smiled, then went back to his paperwork. She sat back and opened her book back up. This sort of thing was new to her, but she understood Pharris' job, sometimes.

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

Knowles slid into the cockpit of the LCU-60 Caravel. At first glance the dark, windowless chamber was almost similar to the Mason Trainers he had been flying, but this was not training anymore, this was checkout, and this time everything he did counted. He sighed, trying to remember every instant and every comment from his Instructor Pilots during the last week flying. He tried to concentrate on the fact that his IP was the one who reccomended he take the re-entry test now, after only a week in the Caravels.

The seat molded around him as he attatched his vest to the restraints and cranked them down. He began the checklist which he had spent hours studying, flipping the few switches and controls that were not attatched to his two sticks, so he would never have to let go of them while flying. He ran the cockpit checklist and diagnostics, then began his viewer checklist, calibrating the viewer to his vision and head movements. Then he ran the diagnostics and prepared to fire up the engines. He was glad that he couldn't see the stern face of the checkout IP while he had his goggles on.

The reactors and fuel pumps started up, and he fired test charges of oxidizer and propellant out the back once, to check flow before he called the tower and asked for clearance. He disengaged the ship's docking claws, retracting them and waiting for the station to release him. The voice of his old IP came over the line:

"Mumbai, you are cleared. Standby to disengage."

There was a pause, then a gentle bump and:

"Clamps disengaged. Good luck, candidate."

"roger tower. Thank you."

He switched to the intercom

"Departing"

Knowles hands shifted the controllers ever so slightly, and with a gentle bump, the Mumbai slid away from the twin rings. Knowles took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he oriented the ship and charged the main engines.

"Mumbai clear of clamps, moving for reentry burn. Mumbai out."



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

"Making them listen to reason with a knife to their throats isn't an option, is it?" Grithia moaned. "I feel so frustrated."

Grithia had made two more attempts to convince the Gaitori to accept Ishiman negotiation. Neither was successful. Despite the fact that the Cantharans were steadily moving towards Gaitor, they could not tell that they were next on the list to be conquered. The Gaitori thought their impressive weapondry would allow them to mop up the Obish like they were nothing.

Darkk put his arm around her. "Diplomacy is not the task of an Irthantan. Your frustration is only natural, as we can do little more than intimidate. Our empathy does not extend to persuasion."

She put her arm around him. "Are you trying to comfort me, or advise me?"

"Which would you rather I do?"

"Neither, at the moment."

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

"Mr Darkk, you Irthantans have one messed-up society," said the medical officer. "Killing each other is not the purpose of romance, now is it?"

Darkk did not feel pain, despite the dangling laceration on his arm. "We merely wish to see the strength of our loved one demonstrated. The weak should not reproduce."

"You and your eugenics..."

"Survival of the fittest is inescapable. Only by merging with it can one prosper. Even a civilization is not above it, as the Cantharans taught us."

"At least the Ambassador's in better shape than you. How come women always do more damage to you than you do to them?"

"The gateship has a lower gravity than my homeworld, so my muscles are not as toned as those who spend time there. The engineering department still has my request for variable cabin gravity tied up in paperwork. Besides, female Irthantan are just as strong and slightly more limber."

"Good luck to you. Grithia said that once I'd patched you up you could see her again."

Darkk smiled. "I feel like taking her up on that. I'm sure I'll do better this time."

"As your medical officer, I must recommend against this."

"Be quiet, snackball." Darkk and the medical officer smiled. "Snackball" was the Irthantan derogitory term for an Ishiman, due to the Ishiman resemblance to a prey animal. Darkk and the MO knew each other well enough to jokingly use terms like that.

"Be on your way, rabid one."

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

Darkk rubbed the new wound on his other arm. This time he had delivered as good as he had gotten, and the Ambassador, standing beside him, softly rubbed her identical wound. Identical wounds were considered a sign of a good match, Darkk recalled.

Outside the Gaitori carriers had moved back slightly, even though they didn't really need to.

"Gate us to Obain."

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

Darkk looked down at the blue world of Obain, and up at the many bluish ships and stations around it. Shipyards were cranking out fearsome Obish battleships and Escorts, as well as a wide variety of other ships.

On the surface, Grithia wasn't having better luck with the Obish.

"We feel these systems belong to us."

"Could you not simply expand in the other direction?"

"No, there are far fewer good candidates in that direction. We have already invested much into that sector."

"We've just come from Gaitor. You can't beat them. I know, I saw their weapondry. You'll be blasted flat."

"Do not be silly. They are quite fond of building empty shells to fool those who are unfamiliar with them."

"Our spies report on the construction of real ships, not empty shells."

"Gaitori bought off are unreliable. They could easily be double agents."

"We scanned the entire dang system with the gateship's primary array. It could burn through any kind of jamming in the universe, and we confirmed their reports."

"You are unfamiliar with reading falsifier beacons."

"I may be, but the sensor operator of the gateship is familiar with all known countermeasures."

"Do you trust him? He could have been bought by the Gaitori as you bought their men."

"Now that is just silly. IIA is second only to the Salrilian Intelligence Agency."

"Perhaps it is YOU who was bought..."

Grithia grabbed the coat of the Obain representative.

"WHAT DID YOU SAY?"

Guards moved toward her with stun prods. Her own retinue moved uneasily into a half-circle between her and the Obish guards.

"I meant no offense. I was merely covering all posibilities."

Grithia overcame her raging blood and set him down.

"Guards, escort her to her shuttle."

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

"That bad?" said the Ishiman Trey of Foriegn Relations.

"The Obain are in willful denial. They will be flattened. After today, I feel it will be deserved."

"Harsh."

"They are fools. I will include that in my report. They insulted me in the highest manner possible."

"You nearly got shot, you nearly created an international incident."

"It would have been his fault. He accused me of being in the pay of Gaitor."

"Don't make the same mistake again."

"It would be a mistake to kill him, but I do not consider it a mistake to show him that his words have consequences."

"Grithia, you should be calmer."

"Every species has limits to its personality. Where is Ishiman bloodlust?"

"Point taken. Evolution dealt your minds a cruel hand."

"You should not joke like that."

"Grithia, now that we know that neither side will give in, it's time to pull back and apraise. I'll send thirty starliners. You and Darkk remove all Ishiman citizens from Gaitori and Obish space. I'm sending Darkk a writ of Martial Authority." A writ of Martial Authority entitled military commanders to round up civilians and force them to obey military dictates in a specified area or circumstance. It was not given lightly. Grithia knew the full Ishiman Senate had authorized this.

"Understood."

------------------
"In literature as in love we are astounded by what is chosen by others." Andre Maurois
Onii7/Frinkruds and his funky forums
macgamer.net

[This message has been edited by Fleet Admiral Darkk (edited 08-30-2003).]

Point de Sèvres was one of the four stations of the Paris Metro sub-terran city rail system which served Boulogne-Lèlu International Hypersonic Rail Terminal. There were also tow IHRTs which served the city. Boulogne-Lèlu IHRT was the smallest of the three with an area of a little less than two square kilometres. In its entirety Boulogne-Lèlu was underground, tunnelled out a few hundred metres beneath the ground, it stretched from below the Bois de Boulogne to the town of Meudon on the other side of the river.

The International Hypersonic Rail Network was spread densely across the planet Earth. Entirely sub-surface, all of the tunnels were evacuated to a near total vacuum. The magnetic trains poured down the passages at a nauseating velocity. You got used to it. It was safe. Everyone used it most days.

The 20 minutes or so of the journey from Sahara Spaceport to Paris had been passed with reading the plastic propaganda leaflet supplied by the train company. It was of course intended for foreigners, this being a non-stop passenger train from the spaceport to the capital. Aino hadn’t seen this leaflet before and resolved to pinch it as she left the train.

The interior of the train itself was like that of an aircraft except that there were no windows. Though quite full, it still retained a feeling of spaciousness and cleanliness, not in the least clustraphobic as some public transit systems are wont to be. This train belonged to Global International Subway Trains Limited (Aino supposed they shoved in the word “subway” for obvious reasons. who in their right mind would travel with a company called GIT Limited when there were so many alternatives available!).

The leaflet had been interesting. It was a short well written history of the International Hypersonic Transit Network (to give it it’s proper title), the most efficient, and cheap public transit system ever devised (most modest too it would appear). Aino was a little surprised to read that most of the network of tunnels was a little under twenty years old. The main arteries, like the Chicago to Moscow via Paris line were older, built in the days when the only thing more expensive than long range tunnelling was space vessel construction. The Chicago-Moscow tunnel had taken years to construct and had finally cost half a billion credits a kilometre.

It was of course the invention and patenting by the Ping Corporation of the Industrial Compressor that made possible the construction of cheap high quality tunnels. Basically the Compressor was a machine which could cut through almost anything at a rate of six kilometres or so an hour. It worked by compressing everything within its target area to a fraction of its size whence it would be removed from the vacuumed space, created by its compression. Once removed from the pressure inflicted upon it by the Compressor the tunnelled out material would re-expand to a stable structure. Cost, only a few million credits per kilometre, including the huge capital cost of the machine. And how the machine worked exactly..., a secret. Some said it was alien technology. Some said it wasn’t. Aino knew that it was.
Alien or not, the result was nearly ten million kilometres of tunnels beneath the Earth’s surface, with the network being used by over a thousand million people each day. Long distance trains in the huge trunk routes such as the Paris-Sahara line would accelerate at point five g up to a maximum of six thousand kmh, and then smoothly decelerate again from the journey’s halfway point to zero. It was an elegant system. It had killed off large scale air transport. Most airlines were now well into the subway business.

The Ping Corporation and the Global and Colonial Merchant Banking Corporation, the latter of which had financed the Industrial Compressor had become hugely wealthy and powerful. The G&CMBC was humanity’s biggest bank and largely financed humanity’s leap to the stars.

Aino Terävä lit her eighth cigarette of the day as she stepped out of the no-smoking zone in one of the ancillary halls of Boulogne-Lèlu. She’d catch a domestic Metro to Place d’Italie and walk half a block to the office. The half block walk would be her first time on the actual surface of the Earth since landing at the spaceport barely an hour ago. With diplomatic credentials she’d had no formalities to suffer on landing and had sped directly to the IHTN.

.
.
.

The headquarters of the United Nations Secret Investigation Authority is in Geneva.

However, most of the work done in UNSIA is caried out in a large complex of offices under Avenue Edison in the thirteenth Arondisement. This is where Aino Terävä had finally ended her journey.


------------------
Oh, so it is another bug hunt then...

Darkk ran his fingers over Grithia's throat. That she allowed him to do so was a sign of true trust. Now if he could get a few more seconds with her...

"Mr Darkk, you'd better come and have a look at this."

Darkk cursed the intercom silently. Grithia awoke from her reverie and followed him. Darkk mentally reviewed his progress as he walked to the bridge. The small size of the crew compartment of a gateship meant that you walked everywhere, as there were no lifts or whiskers (sideways moving platforms).

"Commodore on the Bridge."

"So what seems to be so important?"

"That." The sensor chief pointed at the main screen.

"Standard Cantharan convoy, 14 frieghters and 7 cruiser escorts visible, undoutably 7 more cloaked."

"Yes sir. Their public manifest port indicates it's carrying munitions to Gaitor. Private Corporation, 'Nev Kim', one of their larger weapon manufacturers. Pretty good government clout."

"Thank you."

Darkk considered the situation. Outside, the liners that remained to retrieve the remaining Ishiman citizens from the coming zone of the conflit had positioned the gateship between themselves and the convoy. The gunships escorting the Ishiman Gateship and liners had formed a circle around the Gateship in the xy plane, all facing the convoy.

"Grithia, stall them. I'll see if I can get an interdict operation approved."

Grithia sat down at the comm station and began grilling the obviously uncomfortable convoy commander. Cantharans didn't like Irthantans. Just because the Irthantans sent back the severed heads of every Cantharan on the planet but one the first time they repelled the Cantharans didn't strike the Irthantans as reason to dislike them so much. They were dead, so what did it matter if they sent the heads back?

Darkk in the meantime had contacted the Ishiman Department of Defense. The Division of External Affairs chief of staff was luckily on hand. After a brief discussion, Darkk was granted blockade authority, in order to "prevent escalation and bleed-over to nearby Ishiman Protectorates". Darkk didn't really care about the reason. He just wanted to thwart the Cantharans.

Darkk nodded to Grithia to stop stalling and activated the main viewer. The Cantharan commander was obviously a civilian, quite likely one with no prior military experience. An analysis of command traffic indicated with 84% certainty he was also in command of the cruisers.

"As Commodore of the Ishiman Gateship and commanding officer of the blockade region surrounding the zone of conflict between Gaitor and Obain, I must request you allow us to have your ships escorted to a neutral port, in order to prevent escalation of this conflict and its bleeding over into Ishiman Protectorate territory."

"I am aware of your formidible bluffing skills. I will call your bluff."

One of the cruisers and two freighters moved forward. Radar showed an additional cloaked cruiser going with.

"I will give you a thirty second warning."

"I don't believe you."

"20 seconds."

"You think you can scare me."

"10."

"Ha."

"5"

"HA!"

"4"

"Ha!"

"3"

"HA!"

"2"

"HA!"

"1"

"HA!"

Darkk pressed the button on his console. Three ATRs appeared on top of the frieghters. The gunships surrounding the Gateship began firing to disable.

"You won't get away with this!" shouted the Cantharan. "Your career will be over when they learn you attacked us without authorization, unless you let us go right now!"

"I have authorization. In fact, I'll let them know for you."

"This is an act of war!"

"Don't be silly. It's perfectly within our rights to enforce a blockade of two of our neighbors. They're not your neighbors yet."

"You... You..."

"Stow it. And prepare to recieve our capture crew. They'll take you to a neutral Bazidan outpost where your crew will be deposited. What will be done with your ships and cargo will be decided by the diplomatic section."

"My government will protest!"

"I'm sure. However, they won't be willing to do anything about it except protest."

"Curses upon your species, Irthantan. May your sun burn out!"

"May your species become infertile."

Darkk smiled at the exchange of spacer curses. It meant that this little incident was settled. He began drawing up patrol routes for the new blockade area, and placed a ship construction request with the Matériel department. Outside, the convoy and its new set of ATR and Ishiman Cruiser escorts prepared for Darkk to jump them out.

------------------
"In literature as in love we are astounded by what is chosen by others." Andre Maurois
Onii7/Frinkruds and his funky forums
macgamer.net

"Did we destroy them?" Tanaka paced the bridge uneasily.
"Far as I can tell, Charlie. There's a lot of debris and the targets appear to be sinking."
"Give 'em another salvo to make sure, then get us out of here."

No sooner had the last torp sped from the Aeneas than she about-faced and blasted away at top speed. Explosions of that size wouldn't take long to detect.

Tanaka entered his cabin, unbuckled his weapon belt, and sat down on his bunk. Chuckling to himself, he picked up his cell and recorded a message on to its memory banks. "Job's done." Leaving the message on the cell's memory, he set the tiny communication device onto his bunk table and flopped down to sleep. In a day or two all of his vessels would be at the rendezvous point, and would be able to start planning raids again.

------------------
-Traek Cicion, barkeep extraordinaire
"PS: If nothing's working around here, it's because I'm laughing so hard."
-Durandal

"Another six UFO sightings this week." Aino Terävä lit her eighteenth cigarette of the day. "Do we really need to bother with these?"

Jones looked up. "These are the ones that are real!" he muttered.
"Anyway, the people of Earth are restless. They want it to be true, that there are aliens out there. They want to meet them."

"Yes, and we know it's true, and want to keep it a secret..."

"Anyway, here's one that should interest you." He slid an LCD tablet over to her.

She unrolled it flat on the glass table. There was the definite image of a space vessel of some unknown kind against the backdrop of a planet. The QuickTime 234 movie played, nearly three seconds of poor quality footage that showed a space vessel fade in and fade out again.

"Anyway, it was taken near the Europa by a mining survey satellite."

"Mmm, interesting alright." She looked up at her boss. "Do we know what it is?"

"No. Stealth spy ship of some kind." said Jones. "We've come across this particular design on two other occasions within the last eighteen months."

"Did a magnetic anomaly scan of the area reveal anything?" Aino stubbed out the remains of the cigarette.

"Nothing, nor did we get anything on pulse emission scans."

"I wonder why they're spying on us, why not land openly..."

"Anyway, if this gets out we could have a panic."

"Anything closer to Earth?"

"Only one CE3K that we need to bother about, yesterday" Jones nodded at the tablet "in St Lucia."

Aino glanced at the report..., urk, sixty three pages, switch to one page summary...

She lit her nineteenth cigarette of the day and sat back in the comfortable chair. "I've always fancied a trip to St Lucia."

"You're going to South Africa! Anyway Orlov is in St Lucia, reports that the trail has gone cold. There'll be nothing for you to find."

"I disagree Sir, Orlov is a good researcher, but he's not a field operative."

"And you are?"

"Demonstrably" she smiled at him.
"Um, what's in South Africa?"
"The man who saw the bug! Telecom Engineer"

"Hmph, better send Orlov there then." she said without looking up. St Lucia was an interesting place for a bug to turn up. She wondered if there had been any other sightings on the Leeward Islands.

"Anyway, try not to mess it up"

"Certainly Sir" she said "I'll catch a commercial Train to Barbados and take it from there. You can send my gear on by air from Pico. I'll need a Type 4 scanner...," she looked up again "... and someone who actually knows how to operate the thing would be helpful. We wasted three days last time."

"We do try to support our operatives in the field. Anyway, you're not the only Investigator out there."

"No, but I am the best!"

"Hmph!"


------------------
Oh, so it is another bug hunt then...

I see you.
Or your path at least.
So this is how a dog sees the world.
The multiscan contact lenses could “see” just about anything. Currently they were doing a little sniffing. The scent trails of every creature that had been in here in the last few days were wafting about the place. Deep colours, violet, purple burgundy were assigned to humans. There were many of those. Insects were in the brown range. A few green rats had been in here too. The software analysed the data and resolved each trace into what it was so that the user instantly knew what they were looking at, how long approximately it had been since the source of the scent had been there, what direction it had been moving in, it’s speed, size, stress level, age etc with probabilities of error. With the visible light end of the spectrum blocked out, only infra red operated, giving a reddish tinge (the colour could be varied to suit the user) to the black background of the scent map. Infrasonics was also active, giving access to low frequency and ultra low frequency sound. With the application of a few obvious filters to screen out for example the scrabble of cockroaches on a concrete surface two kilometres distant or the sound of a bird flapping its wings twenty kilometres away this function was quite effective in tracking something that did not wish to be tracked.
The thin yellow scent trail was a perfectly formed sharp line that waved it’s way behind the structure. It’s owner had passed by between two and two point five seconds ago, as evidenced by the degree of degradation. It’s owner’s internal circulatory system was coming in loud and clear in infrasound, the software being able to accurately pinpoint the creature’s location to within a few millimetres.
Thus Anic could see it even though it was completely invisible.
It was not aware of Anic, not yet anyway. Anic would need a direct line of sight. One of the drawbacks of this game was that there could not be any physical evidence left on third party infrastructure... Anic advanced stealthily, carefully stepping over the very dead body of a human, face frozen in surprise. Never saw what hit him.
The Cantharian was dead ahead. Anic fired the death ray. The Cantharian dissolved in death without knowing what had hit it.

Cantharians have good reflexes. The second Cantharian (there’s always a second one isn’t there!), just off a little to the left of the first sprang to the roof, rolled to the right over the MDF and scuttled down behind it, all in a split second. Anic’s reaction was instantaneous Switching to fire a seeker projectile Anic leapt forward into the cable trench the Cantharians had been working at. The Cantharian’s weapon’s fire exploded quietly on the wall above. Pretty accurate considering that it couldn’t see or sense Anic. The homer had impacted close to the Cantharian, wounding it slightly. So now it was mad. Good, that reduced its chances of survival. Anic analysed the work of the Cantharians. They had been trying to plant a photonic bug in the fibre optic cable. It would have entered the network and nested, spreading eventually across most of this region, possibly the whole planet. Interesting choice of location. The Cantharian was moving again. It was slithering along the wall, rather noisily. Anic had a precise infrasonic fix on it The death ray disintegrator was a very effective weapon. Once it struck its target it destroyed that target completely, right down to the last structured atom or molecule, depending on the setting. Currently it was keyed to a Cantharian genetic profile, the intention being to leave no evidence whatsoever. Human forensic and bio science was quite sophisticated and would easily detect the smallest fragment of residue. The disadvantage of the death ray was that it needed a direct line of fire...
Er, yes. that would present itself in a couple of seconds at the current rate of slither...
The Cantharian was down behind one of the frames at the back of the building. Millet telephone exchange was cool and dark, maintained at a reasonably constant temperature by the air conditioning.
The Cantharian made a noise and moved, fast very fast.
Anic leapt up out of the cable pit as a shock grenade whizzed past, somersaulted in the air, no line of fire, switch to compression blast, hit the ground in front of the MDF and fired. The Cantharian got off a shot before it was hit, flung back against the wall and splatted across the surface like a cockroach, only greener. Anic smirked. Gaudy but effective. The Cantharian’s projectile had hit Anic squarely in the chest, but failed to significantly affect the shield, let alone penetrate it. Superior technology.
The remains of the Cantharian drained off the wall. they were surprisingly unsquishy.
Anic switched the blaster’s mode and fired the death ray at the plastered bug. The Cantharian remains disintegrated, or rather more accurately they were converted into matter similar to the indigenous surroundings, in this case Earth air, concrete dust and some decaying plant matter. One of the advantages of the death ray was that the target could already be quite dead for the weapon to be fully effective.
Anic adjusted scan to infra red and piggybacked a Cantharian genetic profile. Each fragment of Cantharian matter located received a pulse from the death ray. It took nearly ten minutes to cleanse the entire chamber. Millet TE would not betray any evidence of it’s visitors. The dead engineer would be found of course, but the Cantharians had killed him with a blow to the neck, no energy weapons. So Anic left him, possibly the first victim of a war still long off.

That the Cantharians were bugging the planet was interesting. It meant that they knew of Earth, were definitely interested in it and were coming, somewhen in the future.
Anic carefully gathered all of the cantharian bits n’ bobs together, including their bugging device. In an instant they were teleported out of the room, far away.

After a final glance around Anic too transported out.

------------------
Oh, so it is another bug hunt then...

Friztt was a very nervious Gaitori. Although he wouldn't have understood the cultural reference, he was about to reenact the "stomach-bursting" part of the Alien movie line. And he knew it, too.

The message from the Cantharan had been short and too the point. A piece of his daughter's leg and the message that she would be turned over to the Salrilians for dissection if he did not complete the mission.

And, of course, he recieved the device. Swallowing the device was very uncomfortable, due to its size, as was having it complete itself and ready for action inside him. He glanced at his chronomiter and saw his time was almost up. On the platform, Premier Va**** was concluding his speech. Friztt finished his own little speech in his thoughts, a prayer to his diety.

And time came.

Friztt exploded in a blast of flesh and ichor, spraying everyone around him with gore. The metallic sphere oriented itself towards Vashat via genetic scanners and fired its railgun in a fraction of a second. Vashat's head disintigrated in a fountain of brain matter, and many spectators were maimed and killed by the sphere as recoil drove it backwards.

Automated investigations already beginning within minutes of the assassination showed a large deposit in the account of Friztt from the Obain treasury. War had become inevitable.

And a long, long way away Friztt's daughter was kicked out the door of a Cantharan transport onto a Bazidan station.

[The reason Friztt's daughter isn't slain is that she will never be a convincing proof of what happened, primarily because she has no way to get back to Gaitori space for a long time.]

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"In literature as in love we are astounded by what is chosen by others." Andre Maurois
Onii7/Frinkruds and his funky forums
macgamer.net

[This message has been edited by Fleet Admiral Darkk (edited 09-12-2003).]

Tetra-commander Dzhll was bored. His centipede body coiled and uncoiled restlessly around his interface aboard the bridge of the Nursing Hand. He glanced quickly behind him. The Captain of the Nursing Hand, Octa-commander Tktarol, was bored too. He could see it in his eye under the persona of command.
The Escort Destroyer G.C.S. Nursing Hand had been in Jump space for the past four days, returning from convoy duty in the deep south, and thus hadn't heard the news of the greusome events of the day. Short of actually sending a courier, there was no way to relay information through Jump space, as nobody had yet figured out a method of ramming a radio signal through. Only by generating a space-time bubble could a ship travel through jumpspace - and anything that exited the bubble into Jumpspace simply ceased to exist. weapons, beams, shuttles and fightercraft, all had to stay within a space-time bubble.
They were skimming the neutral zone now, only a few hours away from Aradys, where they were to rendezvous with their next convoy, and start over. To Dzhll, the G.C.S. seemed so much more exciting before he joined. Such is Gaitor's wishes.
The televista bipped softly, and five small objects entered the screen. Dzhll looked up - they often encountered natural space-time bubbles, trapped in Jumpspace, but these five were moving towards them. In a vanguard formation.
"Who are they?" Octo-commander Tktarol breathed, shifting his many-legged body forward, paying quiet, almost indifferent, attention.
A young bug by the name of Kpf straightened up at his station. "No IFF, sir, treat them as hostile."
Tktarol clenched his mandible. "Obain." Kpf's silence confirmed this. "What are they doing?" He pondered, almost silently, watching the signatures glide towards the Nursing Hand. "Trying to follow us?"
Dzhll was worried now. "No, captain. They're on an intercept course."
"Why? They can't attack us in Jumpspace."
"They can sir. If -" Dzhll checked his figures "they merge with our space-time bubble."
"They'd practically be at ramming distance."
"I know, sir."
Silence. The signatures continued to approach. The two largest fell back, leaving the three to continue their charge.
"Power up the lepton batteries and have them track those three targets."
Kpf spoke up. "Sir, we're recieving a transmission from the larger targets." He began to panic. "It's a challenge signal!"
It dawned on the Octo-commander. Either war had already been declared, or this was their declaration. He chimed the Intracomm. "Everyone is to man battle-stations. We've got incoming hostiles."
The smaller signatures were small. Fighters, perhaps? They were speeding up.
"Time untill space-time merge... four seconds!"
"Get ready. They'll pop in at about a kilometer to port"
The signatures merged. They were now in scanning, and shooting, range. Then the Octo-commander gave a start. "Clever bastards." Obain had rigged three Marcus-IX rockets with their own bubble generators.
A fraction of a second later, they slammed into the destroyer at 30 Km/s. The Nursing Hand's Space Bubble collapsed, and the destroyer vanished forever into Jumpspace.

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If you want to win anything-a race, your self, your life-you have to go a little berserk.

"That's the last one, sir."

Darkk nodded as he keyed the gate closed. In the equipment pit uncovered in the middle of the bridge, Darkk's engineers were manually monitoring the IFF. Now was not the time to have it fail at an inconvenient moment. Even the gateship's shields couldn't hold against the devices the Gaitori had brought.

Darkk had seen a similar tactic before. The Cantharan nukes had been bigger, and had annihilated many cities on Irthanta before the ships carrying them had been destroyed by suicide missions of Irthantan commandos.

Darkk had only been a child at the time, but the firey red lines streaking down from the sky had only seemed beautiful until he learned what they meant. Some forty thousand Irthantans died per blast, according to historians.

Darkk doubted the Obain on the planet below could make the kind of attack the Irthantans could. It wasn't just kamikazi, it was truely insane. No, they'd just dig or run or scatter.

Like it would help them, Darkk thought, as the first nuke went off, exploding with the force of a moderately large asteroid.

This war would be only a shadow of the coming war with Cantharis, Darkk thought, but it was already worse than anything since the Boodan war.

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"In literature as in love we are astounded by what is chosen by others." Andre Maurois
Onii7/Frinkruds and his funky forums
macgamer.net

Pharris pulled the car up to the line of men and women standing in front of the two Lucys. The pilots saluted their CO through the cockpit windows, then powered up and lifted off, heading to the Division's hangars on the far side of Osirus. Pharris didn't let himself falter under the harsh jet wash, but many of the new pilots got blown over or had their gear scattered as the two Lucys picked up and flew out.

There were a few moments of scrambling to arrange gear before the Master Chief yelled;

"Fall in, Pilots!"

In an instant they were back in line, saluting. Pharris returned it.

"At ease, gentlemen." Pharris paused.

"Welcome to Osirus Air Force Base at the United Nations Space Command Spaceport, Osirus. I am Major Mark Pharris. I will be your commanding officer for your stay in my unit. Gentlemen, welcome to the 109th airlift wing."

As if on cue, the Constitution screamed down the runway behind Pharris and pointed up into a 45-degree climb. Pharris knew that she was empty and heading to England to move the last of the 109th's equipment from their old airbase at Southampton, but to the Warrants, watching a LCU-64 climb to altitude at mach 3 was pretty spectacular. Pharris sighed as he watched their young eyes follow the ship into the sky. This was going to be his last group of recruits. In four weeks, he would be moved out to a remote station to begin training aboard the Apollo. He had received the eight hundred page "brief" manual on the vessel, and he was already undergoing the physical and psychological analysis, as was Marissa.

Everyone knew about the Apollo, and the signal, it had been announced publically after a three-week "verification" period, at which point, the general secretary of the UN had announced publicly that Earth had made first contact with an alien race, and that Earth was going to respond by sending forth explorers to the origin of the signal.

What the men did not know yet was that Pharris had been chosen to ride the Apollo.

As the engine drone from the Constitution died down, Pharris continued his introduction to the latest additions to the 109th Airlift Wing. He felt something inside. Even if it was only a brief command, it was his first, and therefore, the 109th would forever have its insignia pinned right next to the 7th Cav on his shoulder. Pharris began:

"Gentlemen, you are now flyers in the most elite flying unit in the UN. For that I congratulate you, but flight school was just the first stage in a long and arduous process by which you will earn the right to be called "pilot" in this unit..."

In the line of warrants, WO-1 Knowles smiled. His hands, folded behind his back, at ease, rested on top of his one of many scars along his spine, souvenirs from his first time through flight school. He breathed easy hearing the reassuring words from his new CO. He had beaten flight school, and was now ready to face his first assignment. It was only fitting that it be the best.

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