Ambrosia Software Web Board: Ares Chronicles: Spectre of the Order - 1:1 - Ambrosia Software Web Board

The Cantharis carrier Eye of Doz slid silently through the inky deepness of space, it's location undisclosed to even the command ship's captain. Stealthily it streaked amongst the stars, unseen by the watching eyes of the Order, unknown to by even the Prophets. It was here the rendezvous was to chance. Quite unsuspicious as being quite out of the way of sneaky eyes, and had the prying probes of the enemy detected, they would have found it quite odd, nay unbelieveable, for the Eye of Doz to be in the position it was in. Carriers of the Order Fleet were often combat-solely in terms of meaning, their presence in battle meaning little more than a mobile heavy support vessel.

Command Carriers, however, were a different kind of animal entirely. Their rare appearance would always signal the admiral's personal involvement in the campaigns they were mounted on. They were difficult to distinguish from the standard-class OHS Mark-1 Vessels (of which the Order was so fond of deploying during the Ares War) in the midst of the heat of battle, yet the Cantharans always had their subtle ways of letting their opponents knowing exactly where they stood on the plane of battle. Enhanced with heavier shielding and communications equipment, they still remained as vulnerable as the standard models, but because of their imperative role as the Admiral's command ship, it was insured they were never alone. Each one of the three Cantharans chosen by the counsel to become the successive Commanders of their fleets was given one to do as seen fit, to ride the three proud and legendary fleets of Cantharis unto victory. The three now, were the none. Mek Het, Tay Roy, and Chi Sok; once the three most powerfull men in the galaxy, casualties of fate; each had been slowly hunted down and cut from existance. The three command ships of the Cantharan fleets had each suffered evisceration during the devastating and short Ares War, their fleets broken up and scattered accross the remnants of the now-failing Cantharan Order.

Thus it would have been quite odd for one to have observed a Command-class Carrier, much more surprising to observe one completely unescorted and vulnerable, yet still staffed by a sane crew.

* * * * *

Captain Yeo Hop stared at the data displays with much trouble upon his face as the readings spat out onto the screen. It was not a problem that was troubling him, nor even the data displayed by the mindless terminal as it shot miscalaneous information towards him. He wasn't even paying attention. He was impatiently mentally wrapped up in the affairs of Cantharis when one of the officers from communications in a light grey uniform sidled up to him, holding the battlegroup's current status scrawled into a padd now firmly clasped in his claw. He cleared his gills to obtain the full attention of the Captain, bracing for the inevitable annoyed glance from him for pulling him from his daydreams. Hop turned and regarded the man with mild irritation. Communications Officer Zen, technician second class; it was easy to tell rank from the darkness of one's uniform. They exchanged salutes briefly before the report was delivered.
"Captain." He straightened his neck in military order.
"At ease."
"Yes sir. Battlegroup Seven was successfull. Here is their report." He quickly hummed as he offered the padd to the Captain much in the same way one would to a god.
"Excellent. That is all." Hop did his best to simply get the pesky officer out of his face, making no attempt at hiding it. He could see him slump slightly in disappointment as he turned away. Poor techician, so eager to please and then verbally spat on by his mentor. But digressions in thought aside, Hop had more important matters to attend to.

The Admiral had ordered lightning strikes unto the hapless human outposts along the border of the cease-fire zone. The UNS had most likely been quite unprepared for such action on behalf of the Cantharans. That was not their style. Nor were the generals of the Order too particularily pleased at this method. They claimed there was no honor, no glory or valor involved in the light yet effective tactics the admiral had implemented. He had, however, made sure that every last one of them was silenced, often the messy way. Battlegroup Seven was one of the eight flights of ships distributed along the border, always on incessant red alert; ready for anything and prepared to match the UNS for every move they had made: ship-for-ship, raid-for-raid.

The recent battle at Alpha Centauri had executed perfectly to the Admiral's plans. Four major human military and industrial complexes had been bombed into annihilation, the Cantharans sustaining no losses whatsoever while the Humans had lost eight picket ships and a cruiser. Heavy damage had been dealt to the habitat station in orbit around the second planet, crippling the human procuction and coordination ability in the entire system.
"Excellent..." The captain repeated to himself assuredly. He set off to the Admiral's quarters to deliver the most excellent news.

* * * * *

Indeed, it had been devastating news to the Cantharan Order to learn that the three had been destroyed in the subsequent wars against the UNS. The humans had proven to be surprisingly clever, contrary to their beliefs and their unwise overconfidence was what had led them to their downfall. With none of the three left, and no candidates left to replace them (nay; had there been, Cantharis would have no fleet to give them, much less a means of mobility or independance following the destruction of the gateship at the battle of Sol). Military-wise, the Cantharan Order had been in chaos. What remnants of their great fleet had split up under the commands of Cantharan Warlords.

However, in contrary of the scattering and drifting apart anticipated by the Oracular Network of Salril, something was happening. A month ago, a man had stepped from the darkness, claiming to be the fourth of the three, and the Warlords followed obediantly after his demonstrations of tactical genius in the raclamation of Cantharan space from the overly zealous UNS. Now each side held the other back along a heavily fortified frontier in an uneasy stalemate.

A stalemate the Admiral was steadying to break...

* * * * *

There he sat, his polished claws folded and his hooked legs tucked under him in a perfect Cantharan meditational trance. From his broadside a purely black uniform stretched, a shade exclusive to the three. Here was a self-proclaimed Admiral of the Cantharan fleet. The rogue Warlords were uniting under him as perfectly predicted. Deep in a thought trance he was when the darkened metal room resounded with a loud beep. Someone outside clearly desired access to the Admiral's quarters.

Undoubtedly that petulant Captain Hop with news of the raid. "Come in." a loud earthy voice echoed, the silent room seeming to shake under it's authority.

The heavy blast doors gave a loud hiss and slowly drew open, allowing the hot flurried air of the bridge to spill in and filling the room with light. A figure entered and the doors slowly drew closed again.