Beyond Alpha Centauri :::

[Kassiopeia]

Revelations

When Greg regained consciousness, he was being dragged between two brawny guards in a corridor.

Oh, it was a corridor Greg would always remember.

First of all, it was so hopelessly grim. If the corridor had been an event, it would of been a funeral. Definitely. Despair and darkness nearly oozed from the steely black walls. The only source of light was a dim lamp somewhere high above, casting just the needed amount of illumination to prevent people from running on to each other in the corridor.

Not to mention it was narrow. And the air, oh, Greg had never been to a small space in a starship where the air conditioning is weak. Well, now he had, and you could almost take a piece of the 'air' and make little toy animals of it.

Greg slowly opened his eyes as his feet were screeching on the floor. He was bare-footed, and the surface was cold. He shifted his eyes from the ceiling and caught a glimpse of his comrade being transported with the same manner. Greg was about to say something, but then he saw the looks on the faces of the guards and decided silence was a better option.

After a moment or so, Greg was whisked to what seemed to be a prison cell. The door was slammed shut behind him, and he was left alone in the room. He heard a similar 'bang' from the opposite side of the corridor, and rushed to the small gap in the door to see as the guards locked the doors from a panel on the door and walked quietly away.

"Filkins, you there?" Greg whispered. His voice started to echo in the corridor and turned in to a bleak humm.

"Oh, my head", Greg heard from the other side. Apparently they had been drugged before taken on board the Coalition starship.

"Filkins?" Greg asked again.

"Uhhh, is it you Greg? Or am I hallucinating? All those colours... ahhh..." A small thump, as Filkins decided to make friends with the floor.

"Cripes", Greg muttered and turned around to take a closer look at his cell. It was quite ascetic, the furniture consisted of a white-sheeted 'bed', i.e. a long table covered with thin linen, a toilet seat and a small lockbox.

The lockbox surprised him somewhat. Behind the bars, in a locked cell, stored inside a starship, a lockbox.

Greg bent over to inspect it. The box was not locked. He flipped the lid open and found... a shredder pistol.

"What the hell is this?" Greg thought in astonishment and took a hold of the weapon. It was somewhat similar to the one he had been fooling around with on Dark Side of the Moon. And moreover, the gun was armed, loaded and utterly ready to send some poor soul's to Kingdom Come. Greg had a distinct feeling that the soul was meant to be his own. He stared at the barrel, grinned and placed the gun back to the box.

He set himself lying on the bed and suddenly fell asleep. It had been a long day...

***

Greg snapped up from the bed. He was not sure how long he had been sleeping, but what had alarmed him from his slumber was... a shot from a gun.

Greg looked at the open lockbox with the unused shredder pistol inside, looked at the gap on his cell door, and suddenly realised what had happened.

"Filkins!" he cried out loud and ran up to the door, pounding it with all his strength.

He heard a quiet moan and a voice: "I'm fine."

"Filkins, God damnit, that'll be the last time you scare me off like that or I'll kill you off with my own bare hands." He kicked the door in frustration. "If possible, that is", he added.

"Gwah", Filkins replied. "Damn thing, well at least it got you waked up."

"You knew I was here?" Greg asked.

"Oh please, the snorring could of been heard all the way to Pluto", Filkins chuckled.

Greg sighed.

"Everything OK?" Filkins asked.

Now it was Greg's turn to chuckle. "OK? OK? Excuse me, but we are stuck in two prison cells, inside a Coalition patrol ship, being taken to a Tribunal so that we can be accused of treason and espionage for another faction. If all goes haywire, we might end up getting executed, for crying out loud."

"Fine, fine", Filkins calmed him down, "let me rephrase my question - considering the circumstances, is everything OK?"

"Uhm, I guess so", Greg muttered back.

Suddenly their chat came to an end as they heard distant steps inside the hallway.

"Oh blast it, I wonder what happens now", Greg said.

"Maybe they'll come to take us to the Captain, for an apology and a transport back to Earth", Filkins speculated.

His hopes were quickly vanguished as the men opened the doors and violently drugged them to a state of unconsciousness.

***

Another place, another awakening.

"From now on, that tall one needs a larger dose."

"Roger, sir."

"He keeps waking up before Shorty."

"His name is -"

"Humbert Adalbertus Filkins, I know, Mister Dalmant."

Greg stammered for a moment and then asked: "And who might you be, then?"

The tall figure, dressed in a strict dark blue uniform Greg had never seen before, replied: "I am the Operational Director of the Department of Counter-Espionage, Earth Naval Intelligence."

"Long name you've got there", Greg murmured. He thought to himself: "What the heck am I doing? Going punchlines at the guy who'll probably decide my fate? Am I nuts? I'm not some action hero, or an actor, I am Gregory Dalmant and I want to get home to my wife as soon as possible!"

"Just call me Garland", the man replied.

"What is a big head of the Intelligence department doing in this neck of the woods?" Greg wondered. In his mind, of course. "I'm not going ballistics, at least not yet", he assured himself.

"Okay, Mister Garland... I demand an attourney."

"The following will not be an official interrogation. All I want to know is, what do you know of Mister Sym?"

"Mister Sym?"

"Or Myssym, or Kain. Please, the 'I'm an idiot' - line won't work here. What do you know?"

"Not much", Greg responded. He looked around. He was sitting in a rather comfortable chair, with his feet and hands free. "He piloted that prisoner transport to our ship", he began.

[GeneralTacticus]

Laekdaemon

Major Lysander smiled as he reviewed the reports coming in from across the planet. Menelaus' troops had been disrupted by Lysander's speech, while his own men had been waiting for that signal. Already, New Antium had fallen, with Remember Thermopylae and Athena Nova heavily contested and the battles swinging towards his side. There had been no word from the other bases yet, though.

"Major Lysander!" one of the communications officers near him yelled, "we have a report from Laekdaemon Central!"

"What is it?"

"Our forces have been beaten back, sir. It appears that the rest of the people didn't care to join up, and the security forces were more than a match for us."

Lysander cursed. Laekdaemon Central was both the symbolic and administrative heart of the Cadre. Whoever held that base, ruled Laekdaemon. At that moment another report came through.

"Sir! We've just been told that we captured the northern factory complexes, including most of the Trojan-class armour suits, but we've been defeated at the southern ones. Apparently we've also taken Northern Outpost without much resistance."

Trajan-class armour suits... Lysander thought, an evil gri spreading across his face. Those are the pride and joy of the Cadre military, and they should tip the balance my way quite heavily.

"Sir." Commander Felchek's voice came from behind as he entered the command room.

"Yes, Commander?"

"Sir, it would seem that the uprising amongst the fleet was an abject failure. Very few of the crews joined in, and they were quickly defeated by the loyalists."

Lysander slammed his fist down on the table. "Damn them! We need the fleet to be able to survive. Unless we can somehow destroy it, they will just blockade and bombard us all into oblivion. Commander, do you have any suggestions as to what we can do about this?"

Felchek sat and thought for a moment before answering. "Sir, I would suggest that we contact Emperor Yang. He will no doubt want to know what is going on here, and how much progress we have made, and if he deems it necessary he will send further assistance."

"Good idea."

Encrypted Diplomatic Transmission

TO: Emperor Yang of the Greater Hive Empire

FROM: Major Lysander of the Laekdaemon Cadre

Greetings, Emperor Yang. This is Major Lysander. You will be pleased to know that our revolution has begun, and so far has been remarkably succesful. We have defeated loyalist forces in many areas, and in others the battle seems to be turning our way.

However, there is one serious problem with the current situation. The uprising aboard the Cadre fleet was crushed easily, giving the loyalists total orbital control and the ability to attack us from space. This also precludes us from attempting to land on or leave the planet. Therefore, I must humbly ask that you send assistance to us in this matter.

Regards, Lysander.

[Lonestar]

Nuevo San Antonio

"This is such a lovely town you have here Lord Protector McDiarmid." Mrs. Head, leader of the Morgan Trade Delegation purred.

Ian smiled. "Please, call me Ian. And I can hear the word "quaint" on the tip of your tongue. For various reasons, I've opt to keep the Government section of the city much the same way it was since intial colonization."

"Call me Andrea. And this really is a charming town."

Ian smiled. "Thank you very much. I'm sure it isn't as cosmpolitan as the capital of Morgan Intersteller...."


Off in the distance Kolasklar shook his head. Damn, the Old Bastard was really putting on the charm. He turned and jumped. He hadn't heard Dr. Pym walk up next to him. Pym smiled.

"She is a Perfect, I'm sure of it. Or, as the Chironians call them, Talents. Undoubtably her attractiveness was part of the intent of the Trade Delegation."

"Wheels withing wheels, eh?"

"Absolutely Minister. You must remember, for most of the Protectorate's hostory we've remained relatively unknown, taking part in almost no diplomacy. The Chironians are experts at it. We are not, except with the Dosi, which is rather like shooting fish in a barrel."

Kolasklar chuckled as they walked over to get some more punch. "Where's Sarah this evening?"

"Oh, She's visiting the Grandchildren up at San Marcos. She doesn't care much for these formals anyway." Pym's eyes shifted to right behind Kolasklar. Kolasklar turned, thinking, I'm getting too old. Standing there was a young member of the Morgan Delegation. One of the Eco-Sociologists, if the Intel briefing was correct.

Smiling, Kolasklar shifted into diplomatic mode. "Good evening Dr. Hauer. How are you enjoying your stay here thus far? Have yopu been taken on the Grand tour yet?"

"It's a ....erm..nice town you have here Minister."

"Well, it is not our largest by a long shot. That honor goes to Arlington, which is 200 km east of here. We prefer to keep everything government orientated here, outside the athletic teams, of course."

"Oh? You have competetitive sports?"

Pym nearly choked on his punch trying to not laugh. After taking a few deep breaths, he spoke. "Almost every colonist on the Endeavor came from North America, and over 90% came from the state of Texas. We eat, drink, and breathe competitive sports. Lacrosse, American-rules Football, Soccer, and Baseball are the largest and most popular."

"Baseball? I played that in college. Might have made it to the bigleagues if I had practiced more."

Pym waggled a finger at Kolasklar. "There, see Nishant? They play Baseball, and you said they were barbarians."

Kolasklars mouth dropped, and Pym chuckled, turning back to the young Morganite. "Forgive an Old fool for having some fun. Are there any questions you may have to ask? Someone with your profession must have a thousand."


Dr. Hauer seemed taken aback, clearly, he had not expected it to be so easy. "Why certainly Dr. Pym...I think most matters of questions I have pertain to your economic system..."

"We're very much a free-market society, I assure you. Beyond limitations on who we may trade with, and I suspect MI has similar rules, we're a capitalist economy. I suspect, with CHOAM reports now flowing freely to your CEO, you know more about our economic workings than we do yours. If I may ask, what is your opinion of the current conflict with the TA and the GHE?"

Hauer seemed surpirsed, and felt as if he'd been roped into a trap. "The feeling of the buissnessmen and women of Moragn Intersteller is that the conflict should end. We're...remarkably pleased one of the first things you did was offer to mediate, although I'm given to understand there are talks going on on the world of Firaxis."

Pym nodded gravely. "Thank you, Doctor. Your turn."

"How powerful are these....lizards?"

"Dosi."

"Thank you, how powerful are the Dosi?"

"Very. Perhaps more so than many Human factions put togather. They, like us, are isolated by virute of bein gathered along the talk of the Galactic disc. In addition, they really prefer unreasonably warm planets, so they are not seen much."

Hauer look out the window at the light snow that was falling in the city. Then he looked up around the ballroom, which was not particularly big or oppulant by MI standards. Pym noticed this, and spoke.

"The Palace was built over 700 years ago, hence the decididly colonial feel. It use to be the Presidents Palace before the Senate appoint Ian Lord Protector."

Hauer gave a small smile. "If I may ask, most of the itnerary seems to be consisting of the Senior negotiators on both sides. I don't suppose I could figure out a way to explore the rest of the planet while I'm here?"

Pyms alarm bells rang in his head. spook "Certainly Dr. Hauer. If you so desire, I can get someone from my Academic office to lead you around Arlington..."

"Yes, " hauer said, "That would be great"

[Silence]

LV 120
The battle was one the longest in history of the war. It had started 2 weeks ago and it was still going on strong. Ships were no longer fighting fleet to fleet combat, but more of ship to ship and squadron level. It was a mess for the commanders on both sides. The 5 battleships that were by the mining station were however new the fight, they were the advance formation of the 11th fleet. Right now on the long range sensors a major battle
was taking place between a Hammer of God dreadnought and a Conclave battleship who had a cruiser supporting it. Every once and a while the battle would just sort of pick back up and then very quickly icons representing ships would start to fade off the screens. The battle for LV 120 had quickly turned from a smashing success by the Hammer of God into a meat-grinder.

Victory at Lab 3
Joyce Harper felt like how she looked, she had been only getting 3 hours of sleep everyday since the battle had started, the doctors were giving her stimulates to keep her going, but
after the battle was over, she promised herself she was going to take a nice long vacation on the beach of New Eden and sleep nonstop for several hours.

“Admiral, Prescott on the horn, he says that the 11th Fleet is coming out of FTL as we speak. He wants to know what we can relay him to them,” the communication tech said.

The flagship had taken a major brunt of the fighting, and before being force to withdrawalto the outer limits of the system to make repairs, had personally taken out 5 enemy capital warships, including 2 dreadnoughts. However the fight had left the super-dreadnought very damaged, and such they were just acting as piece of debris on the outer parts of the system and just commanded the battle. Harper gave Prescott tactical control of the situation while she was on the outer part of the system since they were far away that the time-lag would be slightly inconvenient.

“Tell him, to deploy the 11th as planed and inform the rest of the fleet, we will act as the center of the formation and have the 11th sweep around picking off the enemy ships....”

Silent Sword
While Harper was working on a major strategy to win the battle, Commander Jerome Blake of the Silent Sword watch with pleasure as the 2 missiles from his ship hit the unsuspecting carrier, and cause it go up in large explosion. The hunter-seeker, was behind enemy lines playing havoc with their rear guard formations. The hunter-seeker class ship moved steadily away from the burning hulk, while the 3 destroyers guarding the now dead carrier searched for who did that damage.

“Skipper we got pinged!” yelled the sensors officer, meaning that the active sensors finally defeated the stealth material that was the hull.

“Raise shields, helm take us a FTL course 3, ETJ?”

“4 minutes sir” said the helm officer, who was doing evasive maneuvers to keep the shots from hitting ship.

“Weapons open aft missile bay, fire at well” Blake ordered, he figured he should just expend the missiles now, while he could, rather then run the risk of them going off if one of these destroyers hits the ship. Even with the destroyers being able to see them, the material still had enough power in them, to stop them from having active target lock on the hunter-seeker. 3 missile fired in the first salvo, all at the same lead destroyer, which changed course and try to present a low hull profile to the 3 missiles, 2 of them missed, and the point defense systems on the destroyer didn’t engage early enough and it took a hit right on the lower-aft part of the ship, hitting the power generator, causing the ship to lose power and spin and drift out of control. However the other 2 destroyers get their revenge in, as 3 Fusion lasers drilled into the sensors and communication blister on the ship.

The entire ship shook as the hits went through it, as soon as the shots enter, Blake was barraged with damage reports and causality listings. He filed them away and saw that they
reached the estimated time to jump and said, “Helm engage FTL drive”

“Aye sir”

Within a moment, the FTL drive kicked in and took the wounded hunter-seeker out of the battle and towards a small depot built by Hunter-Seeker Command, for a repair and refurbishment.

[Mr. President]

“Get your feet off the couch,” Sam said. “That’s better.” The Autobarn commercial on the TV had been shown so many times its song had lost all meaning. So Sam was walking towards the door. It was a good time to check the mail.

“Where are you going?” The guest and long-time soccer companion was almost a year older than his host, and an order of magnitude messier. Sam had noticed that Brian had forgotten his belt for the second week running. When asked about missing items of clothing or car keys, Brian’s defense was usually, “It’s not like the Prime Minister’s coming over.” But then the Razorwings had just crushed Stella Australis, confirming their status as champions of Firaxis. Sam’s friend was only older, not wiser, and so had been drinking and jumping on cars. Whether he had left his belt with some exotic dancer or lost it while being hammered by water cannons would probably never be known for sure.

“I’m getting the mail,” he shouted. Inside the apartment he could hear the response. It was almost like “What mail?” but too muffled to be certain. Sam walked back into the living room, examining the envelopes.

“Let’s see . . . bank statement . . . cable bill . . . telecom statement . . .” He tore open the latter one, and read down the list quickly. “What the . . .” Glaring at Brian, he waved the piece of paper and said accusingly, “You wouldn’t know anything about a twenty-minute audio message to Concordia, would you?”

“Why do you automatically assume it was me?”

“Was it you?”

Brian held up his hands defensively. “I was calling that girl we met way back during pre-season.”

Sam’s eyebrows shot up immediately. “The so-called model, straight from the party at CEO Morgan’s house?”

Brian pursed his lips. “She described his wallpaper, Sam. What more do you need?”

“Brian, I could describe his wallpaper,” Sam half-shouted. “He was on Movers and Shakers last year.”

Pause for a moment. “From now on, you don’t touch my phone,” Sam continued.

“Now wait a minute here,” Brian protested. “You -”

Sam wasn’t listening. He looked at the next letter, and stopped short. “New Seattle Razorwings Public Relations Department?” he wondered, cutting off his friend in mid-protest. “What the heck is this?”

That had got Brian’s attention. “What is it?” he asked, hopping up from the couch and craning his neck to catch a glimpse of the document.

Sam read, “Dear Mr. Mendes, Thanks for entering our contest. I am delighted to inform you that you have won a travel package for two to follow the Razorwings on their Orion Club Challenge tour of Sparta and the Morgan Corporate Sector . . .”

There was more but he didn’t read it, as he was so busy jumping up and down and trying not to be poleaxed by Brian’s flailing arms. “Oh my God, I won, I won!”

“Won what?”

“Does it matter?”

Brian stopped dancing for a minute. “Seriously, when did they have this contest?”

Sam also paused. “I don’t know,” he said carefully. “Oh, wait. You know how they send you those forms at the beginning of the season where they confirm your assigned seat and you can change your contact details? I checked the box that said ‘Sign Me Up For Free Offers And Lucky Draws.’ ”

His friend snorted. “Lucky draw? Understatement of the millennium,” he said. Eyeing the letter, he extended a hand towards Sam. “Have I told you lately that I love you?”

Sam stepped back, brow furrowing. For a moment they stood there, somewhere between silliness and freeloadery. Then the unwitting contestant said, “Of course you can come.” They laughed, shook hands, and clapped each other on the shoulder several times. Then Sam spoke again. “There’s only one thing I ask.”

“What’s that, buddy?”

Brian smiled as Sam modified a long-running in-joke about their past football-related insanities. “When we’re staying in those plush Morganic hotels and bringing our own unique brand of fun to the Corporate Sector . . .

“Don’t touch the damn phone!”

[Lonestar]

Nuevo San Antonio

"This had better be good, Onate." Ian scowled as he fiddled with his collar. His State Uniform was a simple dark grey, with a handful of ribbons he had earned back when he served as leader of the Hydrin Republic's armed forces. The collar was still constrictive.

Director Oscar Onate, head of Intelligence and "Special Services" made a quick bow. Forgive me sir, I though you should be the first to know...our expedition to the Wu235 has been attacked. A rescue buoy indicates that it was a University strike force. Before the buoy was destroyed, it had detected a landing near the crash site. It would seem, sir, that a disaster is in the Making."

Ian gritted his teeth, thought, I don't need this, not now. "Is Baron Fel on his to relieve the forces?"

"Yes sir."

"Fine. Keep me updated. The Morgan Trade Mission will be arriving in a few hours."

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

Wu235

The Battle Group dropped into real space. Admiral Soontir Fel read the intial readout from the HOLMES-4 supercomputer. About a hundred Star Marine transponders were detected in a few of the University warships. Also, the UCS force was bigger than the Michael's buoy indicated. That was fine. With 10 Battleships, 4 light cursiers, one Acclamator-assualt ship, and the massive 4 km long fleet carrier Kearsage there were somewhat armed themselves.

Baron Fel made a gesture to the communications officer. With a whirl and a click, the transmitter was activated.

"University vessels, you have attacked Protectorate Service Men and Women, and you are in the process of absconding with Protectorate property. Power down your weapons, close your gun ports, and prepare to be boarded."

With another gesture, he indicated that the fleet's "supression lights", red-blue flashes as old as law enforcement existed, should be turned on. Off to the side of the viewscreen, he noticed the Imperator (the A-class assualt ship) was manuevering to prepare to board the lead ship. The UCS ship backed off. With some surprise, he noticed both were triangle shaped ships and bore a passing resemblance to each other.

"Admiral, the UCS command ship is hailing us".

Baron Fel nodded.

"Let's see what they have to say."

[Kassiopeia]

Friends

Cockpit of Dark Side of the Moon

Filkins looked as Myssym mesmerisingly tapped his fingers on the wall.

"Well?" Sym cried out. "Any ideas?"

Blank looks at his general direction.

Sym, with white knuckles, a red face and heavy breathing, stormed out of the cockpit, almost throwing Filkins on the floor while at it.

"Is this that serious?" Greg murmured and glared at Pete.

"Apparently so. I mean, I am taking contraband to another planet and all, but I've gotten caught before. Usually the Captain satisfies for a little 'enticement' from the cargo load. This guy, this Myssym, he's got more at stake then what he would allow us to know."

"He commandeered a Prisoner Transport", Filkins reminded them. "That means he's a rather big player, or assisted by some big players."

"Very big players indeed", Pete thought to himself and allowed himself a brief, wry smile. He looked at Greg, then at Filkins, and said: "Whatever is going to happen in the next thirty minutes or so, stay put and with me."

Puzzled of this strange wording, the duo looked at each other. Then they looked at Pete, who leaned over to the microphone.

"The Brightness of Day can be as deceiving as the Darkness of Night", he said and paused, allowing himself another smile. It all well could of been a simple numeric code, but Pete always strived for something more melodramatic.

"Understood", echoed from the speakers. The line was disconnected, and the Coalition ship started to approach Pete's ship.

"What the heck is going on?" Filkins asked in dazzlement. "The Coalition ship is approaching!"

"I know, all according to plan." He chuckled and turned around in his seat.

"I haven't been captured or sanctioned for my little shipping here for, what, seven years. Filky, that surely makes you wonder, how? Because I'm a skilled smuggler? Hell no!"

"What you're trying to say is...?"

"Every now and then, someone, a big player or, as you put it, someone assisted by big players, shows up and wants a covert ride. This man here, his real name is Sym. Darn rocket scientist... that 'Myssym' crap nearly cracked me up."

"What sort is he then? A criminal?"

"Not exactly. Merely a man who does not know where his allegiances are. At least that's what I was told... we expected him to hitch a ride on my ship sooner or later. I departed with you two after it was heard that he had escaped on other means. By pure coincidence, I managed to bump on to him. But I don't know too much of him. I don't think the officer debriefing me did, either. This fellow is hot, hotter then anyone I have ever seen before. Interplanetary affairs, I was told, were involved. All over to the highest level."

Greg, who so far had only managed to sit on the floor and listen in dazzlement, exclaimed: "So what will happen next?"

"The Coalitioners board my ship, grab Sym, take care of the prisoners and their transport, and let's me continue my business unscathed. Simple", Pete replied.

"Something does not add up here", Filkins muttered after taking another deep look at Pete. "Your impression... I've known you far too long to accept any rubbish from you. What's really going on?"

"I implore you, dear friend - "

"There you go again", Filkins sighed. "Your ears flop like those of an elephant, Pete. You wouldn't fool a blind eagle locked up in an aluminum cylinder and who was forced to listen to heavy metal music all the time."

Although this wasn't one of Filky's more witty remarks, Greg felt slightly insulted as he, for one, hadn't seen through Pete's apparent lies.

Their chat was interrupted as the ship once again shuddered all the way through it's wall structure. Greg, who hadn't quite developed a taste for traveling in ships with weak and nearly non-existent inertial dampers, quickly scurried off to find a toilet, despite Pete's attempts to stop him.

"Oh dear", Pete said and shook his head.

"Come on, you can tell me", Filkins started as Greg had disappeared into the corridor.

The ship's lights suddenly died, again.

"I hope he doesn't smash his head in the bulkhead", Filkins thought to himself, and then turned a suspicious look at Pete, who looked... sad. Filkins was shocked to realise that he was truly wearing an impression of sadness; one that Filkins had not seen on Pete's face for several years.

"Filkins, I want you to know that I truly hold you as my good friend, but... a man's allegiances can not follow the lines of friendship."

"What on Earth are you talking about?" Filkins snapped, queasy of the whole situation.

"You are wanted by the Coalition as well, Filky. They are certain that you are spies, as well as this Mister Sym. Expect, that Sym is a so-called friendly spy, but you are considered to be foreign agents."

"What?" Filkins shouted. "Me and Greg, spies? Why? How?"

"They are convinced that you are indeed Morganites. They know you are aboard, because..." Pete swallowed. "I turned you in."

"Pete, but, we aren't spies, there is nothing to turn us in for..."

"I am glad you can see it that way, Filky. You see, I know that, I knew it all the way long. If I helped you to flee the Coalition, I would be in trouble, and moreover, they would get confirmation of their suspicions. But now, you get the chance to prove your innocence to a Coalition tribunal. I was guaranteed that you would receive a fair trial. I am sorry, but I am convinced that this your best shot at getting off this nonsense scott free."

Pete sighed...

The two men fell silent... only sounds in the ship being a sudden sharp cry of pain produced by Greg hitting his head at a bulkhead, and the voice of Sym, resisting arrest at all his might...

And then three men from the Coalition boarding team arrived, grabbed Filkins, and carried him alongside Sym and Greg away...

[Mr. President]

Whose Life Is It Anyway?

Capital Building, Avalon, Vega Prime

The window already was open. But Kristy Adams walked over and opened it wider. Still finding it too warm, she removed her jacket. "Now, what did you want to see me about?"

The Secretary of Transportation wrapped his arms tightly around his torso. Only then did Adams realize it was beginning to snow outside, and that the Secretary did not find it as hot as she did. God, I'll kill myself if I catch something now. The thought was so nonsensical she almost laughed, but remembered the man about to speak.

"Well, Madam President, I'll get right to it," he said. He began shivering, and Adams got up and closed the window as he continued, "The residents of Blackrock Spire have been asking for a road connection to Ithaca."

"Road connection?" Adams replied quizzically. She tried to recall the map of Ophelia, but succeeded only in remembering what color her car was. "Don't they have an airport?"

"Ithaca doesn't yet, Madam President," the Secretary replied. "We estimate it would take less than a year to complete. Currently everything travels between the two by sea. But the natives have been stepping up their naval raids. We've lost three merchantmen this year already."

Ah, the natives. Adams had tried to raise the question in Congress, but events abroad had forced other issues onto the agenda. "Can't we do anything about that? Your ships have escorts now, do they not?"

He sensed the President's mild annoyance and stirred uneasily. Adams continued, "Do we need more troops?"

"I couldn't answer that, Madam President," the Secretary replied. "But the road will be an important step towards the full development of Ophelia."

"Let's look at the map," she said. Swivelling her chair towards the computer, Adams realized she had no idea where on her desktop the map of Ophelia was. The "Search" function quickly brought it up. Cartographer 2.0 loaded less quickly. She tended to blame it on network load. Whoever had the bright idea to run the civilian government and military nets off the same server needs to be shot.

Then she had another, strange thought. Why am I thinking about guns so much lately?

Is it because Ethan Maxwell is surrounding himself with armed followers?

Is it because the Hive is out there, Lord only knows where?

Is it because Congress won't let me order Pirate hunts?

I need a break.

Adams stared blankly at the map. Finally she said, "Do you know what these black dots mean?"

"Yes, Madam President -"

"They represent known major native settlements," she stormed, interrupting the Secretary's attempt at response. "Your road goes right through the middle."

"Well -"

"You're asking for trouble, building a road there. I know, they should have found a better place for Ithaca, but putting a road there is going to mean putting an army there."

"I -"

"We'll talk about it again tomorrow. Good night." And she walked out the door, leaving the Secretary in her office, staring at the wall and wondering what just happened.

All the way home Adams brooded. Why was she like this? Did she fear war with the Terrans? No; Albert Franco had deployed their five best destroyers to the edge of the Spartan Corporate Sector, and promised her the spacemen would be home for Christmas.

She knew what it was. This day thirty years ago had been the happiest of her life, when a long-haired, excited young woman had walked arm-in-arm down a church aisle with the sweetest man in the world. Anniversaries brought memories. Memories brought pain.

To the Orion Arm, Kristy was the Iron Lady, the embodiment of New Republic Doctrine. No-one ever saw her in her other guise, saw her uncertainties, her frailties, her little peculiarities. Even the leaders who knew her best, Marcus Kessel and Nwabudike Morgan, were never around when the wall came down.

Galactic crises or no, she was taking a vacation. Adams smiled as she thought of a Rigellian forest where the wind whistled in the pines and young couples walked without a care in the world. Where an older couple would be walking without a care in the world in two weeks.

[History Guy]

Trash Wars!

Calgacus Military Space Dock 989, Border Ops Center

“They’re coming. This is wonderful, heck, look at those wonderful formations, the ‘X’ formation, taking the form of an x on it’s side, just whipping across the sky there. A really classic example, I must say, of a classical Pirate military formation. Two centrally overlapping lines of ships coming on forward, when one line is taken out it, it is immediately replaced. It’s their way of getting things done in the fastest way possible,” said Mike, the resident freak on Pirate military history. When he wasn’t wargaming or filling his face with a cheap sweet (and spilling the crumbs all along down his rather dirty little red beard), Mike was researching Pirate battle tactics. This was, of course, the first time he’d been there to watch them first-hand. He was quite excited.

Commander Garrard had called him down just for the advice on what these blasted Pirates were actually going to do. Garrard didn’t know a bloody thing about these guys. Up until the last half-hour ago, they’d been their mercenaries, for heaven’s sake. Now, of course, these morons had hauled off and set themselves upon the Morganites, and the old CEO was furious. Joe Nova was going to pay dearly for this one, the old bugger.

“That’s…great, Mike,” said the Commander, “but how do we break this up?”

“Well…that’s not so tough. Lamprey did it in the first Pirate Wars fairly easily at the fight at Hedge Sky Base, overlapped the whole Pirate fleet, destroying the flagship. A lot of Pirate Clan leaders went down in that fight…”

“Yeah…what was Fleet Admiral Lamprey’s plan?”

“Oh, simply to surprise them by striking them head-on. They expected him to hold their ground against him, but instead, he flew right at them, peppering them with everything he had. Ruined them. They’d have been wrecked had it not been for the guy that we’re facing now, Joe Nova. He became powerful after that fight, despite the loss. I don’t think he’ll fall for the same trick twice.”

“Maybe he will, but maybe he won’t. We have advantages the guys at the other station didn’t have a few minutes ago. Namely, we have a good security system. That algorithm of theirs isn’t going to take us down. Secondly, we actually have good troops. A whole hoard of fighters, two destroyers, three cruisers, one frigate... I think we can whip them. Or at least we can keep them back long enough…right, Mike?”

“Uh, well it’s been done before. Pirates aren’t really too hard to beat in battle…you just have to know where they are, and make sure you don’t send them any transmissions…” Mike rubbed something onto his uniform. In the darkness of the station Headquarters Bridge, the Commander couldn’t quite make out what it was. What a slob.

“Miss Oglander, what do you think?” the Commander looked at his lieutenant commander. She was one of the few officers at the station who wasn’t a brazen coward.

“It sounds workable to me,” she responded.

“Uh,” began Mike, “shouldn’t it be decidedly democratically?”

The Commander looked at him in the dimness of the room, smiled, and said, “No. We’d never get anywhere that way.”
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

“Ah, Meroz,” spake “Captain” Milo Clancy of the Spitfire, while engulfing some rather cheap ale, “there she is. The Military Station Calgacus, 989, and what a beauty she is. She’s been there for as long as there’s been a Corporate Sector, me flukehead, built on the site of a Plasma Age Spartan Outpost. When this part of the galaxy was ceded to old Morgan, Calgacus went up as one of the Sector’s nine military stations…ah, Morganite heritage…really gets ya there…” continued Clancy, smacking at his chest.

“Yeah, yeah, all very neat, we’ll have to get a souvenir at the gift shop…” responded the Cepheleen unenthusiastically, running a scaly hand through his long black mane, “Where’s the bloody toll-port? That’s the thing. I hate toll-ports…especially crummy Morganite toll-ports…” The Military Station was in full view, appearing almost egg-like, like a giant Humpty-Dumpty floating about in space. Meroz the Bounty Hunter was never much of a fan of Morganite history. Morganites had ruined his planet and trampled down his people, what was to like in their checkered past?

“Meroz, I sometimes doubt your enthusiasm in Morgan Interstellar…Hey! Where’s the bleeding toll-port?”

“That, Milo, is what I just asked you…” Meroz responded rather irritably.

“Doesn’t it just figure? Doesn’t it? The one time I really need to get into this bloody place and find the bloody toll-port and the damned thing is nowhere in sight? I mean, what do they pay these people for? They are probably too busy checking out old biddies in transit shuttles to bother with our own armed vessel. The whole Hiverian fleet could come in here, and that toll-port wouldn’t care…I mean, what’s it there for? It’s there to collect money…and to make sure no undesirables come in!” Meroz tactfully ignored Clancy’s rants.

Suddenly, something shot out of the sky, moving at a tremendous rate of speed, shooting along with a fiery tail trailing out along behind it. It looked like a shooting star. It was headed right for Clancy, it seemed. As it came closer, the stunned Captain could make out that it was smaller than his own small vessel, yet at the pace it was moving at it would definitely be a nasty thing to bump into. Meroz managed to identify it. “Bleeding heck!” he cried, “that’s the toll-port!”

Clancy managed to emit, “Whaaa?” The toll-port, burning rapidly, scraped past the small “garbage war-ship”, still travelling at that tremendous speed, and slammed right into a ship that pulled up alongside Clancy’s. The ship had been struck right in the gun-ports. It was definitely a Pirate ship.

“That,” said Meroz, pausing for effect, “is not a good sign. I guess some Pirates shot that toll-port into, if you forgive the figure of speech, ‘warp-speed’.”

“Damnatio flukehead! The Pirates are attacking! Those damn double-crossing…” Another Pirate ship pulled up alongside Clancy, and the small ship shot ahead. “Send out a message to the Station…we aren’t Pirates…but damn it, the guys behind us are!”

Meroz turned his head back and saw the Pirate fleet forming behind him. Hundreds of ships, small and large, fighters alongside destroyers, cruisers alongside escorts, every single ship looked fearsome. Before Clancy and Meroz sat a huge Morganite ship, almost as large as the station itself…it was a fighter transport. These babies could carry up to two hundred and fifty fighters…maybe even two hundred and eighty at maximum capacity. They were big as the devil and mean as hell. Before the Cepheleen’s very eyes the mouth of the transport dropped open and from it hundreds of small fighter ships were vomited forth. This wasn’t the best spot for the garbage ship to be in. “Hey, Milo, let’s get out of here…”

As the small ship shot forward, trying to get to the protection of the military station, a small Pirate vessel made straight for them as the Morganites and the Pirates engaged. Meroz looked back once again and saw, to his horror, the Pirate fighter on their tail, superimposed, it seemed, in front of a large Pirate frigate around which dozens of Morganite ships swarmed like angry hornets. “We’re being followed…”

“Don’t I know it, Meroz, old boy…” A chunk of Morganite fighter suddenly glided by. Had Milo not been chased, he’d probably have gone back for it. Alongside the warship came the real Morganite beauties, one frigate, two destroyers, three cruisers, and all headed right for the attackers. They’d break them up, no doubt. “I think we’re in the clear, old boy…” Milo’s optimism promptly vanished as the fast Pirate fighter swung round in front of Milo’s ship, and turned it’s guns directly at him. Milo immediately wheeled round, shards bouncing off the hull.

“We’re sitting ducks! Let’s use the damned guns!” Meroz pointed to the gun controls.

“I would use them if I didn’t have these chaps on my tail…” The fighter was, it seemed pursuing him. Digging their way right to the very rear of the Pirate battleline, Milo suddenly glanced a dark shape hanging in the sky, making no movements whatsoever. “It’s the Probe Ship!” Of course, every Pirate squadron had one. Milo could imagine the Data Angels scurrying around inside, collecting data, trying to send their virus into the Morganite ships. They were small vessels, armed lightly, but more dangerous than the little fighter on Milo’s tail. “Alright, then, we’ll give these Data Angels a scare!” called the pilot, to no one in particular. Milo took his ship right at the Probe Ship. He barely avoided a collision, when he suddenly swooped downward, underneath the Probe Ship, moving up behind it. The Probe Ship began firing wildly.

“What in heaven’s name are you doing?” cried Meroz. The words had barely trickled out of his large reptilian lips when a horrific flash half blinded the poor fellow. Looking back, he saw the Probe Ship fall to pieces, literally before his eyes. The fighter was gone. It was apparent what had happened. The fighter had slammed right into the Data Angels. As the Probe Ship vanished, wreckage, human and otherwise, began to float away from it. Meroz looked through a porthole as the corpse of a black-uniformed Data Angel floated past. “Ugly little bugger, isn’t he?”

Milo was smiling to himself, “Well, that’s my good deed for today. Let’s get back to the military station, now.” The garbage ship did just that, despite the following Pirate ships, which were immediately raked with Morganite fire. The battle was a fairly nasty one. No more nasty than Samnos or Naxos, of course, but nasty all the same. It was smaller than the previous space battles, of course. As the garbage ship made it out of harm’s way, the Pirate attack was slowly beginning to crumble. Shortly, the Pirates fell back to regroup. Despite minor losses, they might well win after all, right?
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Commissioner’s Offices, Orbiting the Planet Namibia, M1 System, Corporate Sector

Commissioner Hercules Lemesieur, the Commissioner of the entire Corporate Sector, was an old man, but he certainly wasn’t senile. He knew what to do in a case like this. Though half of the Corporate Sector was under Terran control and the rest was under Spartan control, he still acted like the Morganite he’d always been. Naxos had surrendered. They’d put up a good fight, but the forces had cut themselves to pieces. The Governor was injured, the Admiral was injured, and there was no real point in holding out any longer. The Commissioner had given his blessing on the surrender after the flagship had been boarded and captured (despite heavy losses to the Terran boarding party, nearly 80% were dead or wounded). Naxos could really not hold out longer either. The fall of Naxos had taken away the last force in the three Morganite systems that had been attacked…there was, of course, the military station Calgacus…but there were conflicting reports on that as well. The damned Pirate mercenaries had betrayed them, taking several stations. They’d launched some sort of attack on Calgacus, but had been rebuffed. Now the Terrans were settling down, calling a cease fire. Why didn’t they call off their Pirates?

As the Commissioner watched an asteroid fly past the many yellow rings of the gray planet Namibia, he decided that he might well send a message to the Terrans, asking them kindly to stop the Pirate attacks. He had sent out messages to all his men ordering them to cease fire unless attacked, he had expected the Terrans to do the same. Much to the Commissioner’s relief, the Terrans soon sent a reply. The Pirates were ordered to stop their attacks, but the Morganites were to be evicted from the Cycladic System. The Commissioner sent his message out to the Commander, a man named Garrard.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

From his seat in the small escort ship, Commander Garrard watched as his men slowly withdrew from their docks and battle positions, forming a convoy, moving slowly out of the system and to safety beyond Terran lines. They would, of course, be Spartan vessels and troops now. Only in name, of course, they were really Morganites. They’d be Morganites as soon as peace ‘broke out’. That, Garrard was sure, would be very soon indeed. There was nothing more for these Terrans to do. Any more ‘expansion’ and they’d be committing suicide. Morganite, Spartan, Drone, and Believer ships lay just over the new Terran border. Peace was next on the agenda for everybody. Garrard looked down at the lonely station, watching yet another explosion tear through its foundations. Standard operating procedure: one must always blow up what might come in use to the enemy when it must be abandoned.

From his MorganCDPlayer, the Morganite National Anthem boomed across the escort ship. As a converted garbage ship flew by Garrard’s porthole, the line in the Anthem was: “And liberty for all, forever…” Then the singer went onto the lines about Morganite heroism, Morganite honesty, Morganite chivalry, etc. Nice tune, lousy lyrics. At least the Morganite Battle Anthem was coming up next. Now that was real music...
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

[Mr. President]

It's Not Just A Game

Dryad Grove, Magnigoth Pass, the World of Trees

Sam did not think “Dryads” was an appropriate nickname for a sports team. The term implied fragile creatures ill-suited to the rigors of the soccer field. But of course, he was wearing a shirt with a purple pterodactyl printed on the front. Given that their legs were, on average, a quarter the size of their arms, how could they play at all?

Frail as their team’s name was, the Magnigoth Pass stadium was unwelcoming to outside sports enthusiasts. Dryad Grove was incongruously nicknamed “Hell” by the press for its intimidating atmosphere. After showing his ticket at the gate, Sam had tried to navigate through enormous crowds, most of them in the bright green that marked them as home fans. A young woman had come up on his blind side, and he bumped into her as he turned. Sam had smiled. After all, she was cute, and he was single. And soccer games were supposed to be social occasions. What response had he gotten?

She looked him up and down and said, “You’re a long way from home, Razorwing boy.” And she had flashed him a smile like a wolf licking its lips.

Sam didn’t think that meant she liked him, especially considering she was now seated five rows in front of him, waving fists in the direction of the field and screaming far too many words of the “eviscerate” genus for his comfort. New Seattle’s captain Idan Berkovic curled the ball towards the far post, and the home fans’ noise dropped off as the shot lanced past their goalie. There was a loud sound of leather meeting wood. Then they started shouting again. Sam saw the woman’s lips form the words “Where’s the defence?”

Halftime. Large numbers of the fans rose, making their way to the restrooms and/or the refreshment stand. Some believed that to get up before a game was finished was not the behavior of a true fan. Sam was not one of those, however. It was just a game. The greatest game in the world, but no more.

But then, Sam did prefer watching soccer to watching the breaking galactic news. He only sang the national anthem before matches. There was even a time when his ex-girlfriend had wanted to fool around, and he had literally brushed her off when he remembered that the New Seattle Razorwings were playing the semi-final second leg in Morgan Aerodynamics on channel 17.

Sam returned to his seat just in time to see New Seattle kicking off for the second half. With only the team’s fourth kick, Idan Berkovic found an elegant pass to Morganic striker Yoshi Takahara. The latter pushed the ball between the Dryad defender’s legs and prodded it goalwards. Expecting a high shot, the Magnigoth Pass goalkeeper barely saved with his feet, and the ball skidded to Sam’s left. The defenders closed fast. Fortunately, Firaxian international Valentin Khatskevich was faster. A one-legged man could have put away the chance, and the winger had two strong, clearly visible feet.

Hell froze, but Sam leaped to his feet and cheered until his throat hurt. He rarely talked on Sundays, after spending much of every Saturday screaming his lungs out trying to be heard over 50,000 voices. As he sat back down again, simultaneously drained and exhilirated, he could feel the frustration of home supporters in rows behind him, their glares tunneling into the back of his neck. Sam didn’t care. After all, it was just a game.

[Sprayber]

To: Admiral Kerensky
From: Colonel Kessel

Then we are agreed. I suggest negotiations be held in a neutral system. Concordia or Firaxis are acceptable to Sparta. I believe that the Morganites would prefer neutral ground as well. What is the opinion of the Terran Alliance?

CC. CEO Morgan


*******Encrypted Message******
To: CEO Morgan
From: Colonel Kessel

CEO, I have secured a temporary cease fire. It may take hours to filter down to the engaged fleets but by the end of the day hostilities should be ended at least for the time being. Sparta will be maintain it’s fleet in the Cooperate Sector until things have stabilized. The reinforcing fleets on their way from Spartan territory will continue but will not enter the Cooperate Sector at this time. I have suggested that negotiations be held in a neutral system. Either Concordia or Firasxis.

Col. M. Kessel COTM

[Mellian]

3 hours before Kessel's reply to Kerensky...

Novan Argonaut Cruiser Silverstar, Whatever System

Captain Warden just received orders from Joe Nova concerning the new plans, and smiled. This will be fun he thinks to himself. He informs the rest of his force in the system that they are going to dump the Morganites and get out of the system, quietly at first and then as quickly as possible when they start to realize. All the Novan ships across the system start to converge at a random rendezvous point, using the excuse that they have detected something and they are going in to find out what it is. Of course, the local Morganite Commander wasn't to please, seeing that there was nothing there, so starts ordering the Novans back, but they don't. Was quiet for a bit until some Morganite ships started going after them, mainly some frigates and destroyers. with a single cruiser. When the Morganite Commander demanded what the Novans are doing, Warden ordered to have the Virus activated and then replied to the Morganite. "Oh we decided to go check out that beautiful Gas Giant at the edge of the system, want to come a long?" That sure puzzled the Commander, and then quickly ordered to target weapons at the Novans, demanding them to stop. Again, they don't and continue on their way The Morganite apparently didn't know what to do until his ships started to malfunction. He ordered to fire at the Novans, but only a frigate and a destroyer was able to fire, which miss the Novans who didn't return fire. Instead, they simply jump into FTL and left.


2 hours before Kessel's reply to Kerensky...

Novan Nautilus Destroyer Rebel With A Cause, defending Station Theo not to far from Naxos

Commander Curtis Johnson, nicknamed Cujo, was watching the heavy fighting around Naxos. It was pretty obvious that the Terrans were winning, despite taking quite some losses. They are flooding the orbit in mass numbers, forcing the Morganites to fight in close ranges and in some cases, to break up. The remaining Orbital Defences were having trouble as well, as they risk having one of their Ship Busters or the extremely large Fusion Cannon to miss and hit the moon, or even hitting their own ships and fellow orbitals. It was quite a site. The Morganite Admiral as occasionally screaming at the Pirates to come in and help, yet Marcus Davion (the second-in-command of the Novan Clan) keeps replying that it is not part of their contract to get involved in Fleet Actions. The Novans are not cowards, just that there was zero chances of surviving in they get involved in that heavy fighting which they are not equipped. If they were the Kell Hounds or the Wolf Dragoons with some of their Heavy Cruisers, maybe, but the best the Novans as in the area is a hand full of Nautilus-class Destroyers and a single Atlas-class Escort Carrier.

Besides, Marcus ordered all of the Novan ships in the system to quietly get ready for the new mission, which involves backstabbing the Morganites by ceasing or simply disable the Stations, Space Docks and Mining Platforms they are currently defending for the Terrans. To bad, he really liked that bar on the Station. The Data Angel who is operating Science Ops as been busy to get the viruses ready for action...and they will be activated once he sends off one last message to the Station.... His Destroyer and the others who was defending the station started targetting weapons at it and activating Jammers when Comm-ed the Station "Station Theo, sorry to do this, but you are to stand down and to surrender to the Terran Alliance, else we would have to put you guys down." Several seconds later, the station started powering up weapons and launching its few fighters. Soon afterwards, the station started having powerful failures all over the station...but the fighters sure didn't have that problem.

There is total of six morganite fighters, and they already started focussing their firepower on the Born To Be Wild, causing the minor damages. The destroyers point defence systems started firing at them, quickly taking out two of their fighters. The remaining four started circling the Station, keeping it close and occasionally fired a missile or with their gauss cannons. Not only what they are doing is putting the station in danger and generally being stupid, it is making hard for the Novans to destroy them. They risking their lives on the Novans honorable reputation to avoid civilian losses. Well, if they are going to be foolish, then there is not much they could but fired at them and risk damaging the station. Before he gave the order to forget the station and just blast the those crazy fighters to smithereens, a Squadron of Novan Freedom fighters from the Davion's Escort Carrier, came in range and started going after the morganites. Those fighters had no chance against the Novans' Freedoms.

About 10 minutes later, the last remaining Morganite fighter got eliminated, splattering debris against the Rebel With A Cause's hull...has it was planning a Kamikaze. They turn their attention back to the station, who was still having some power problems. He tried comming them again, but there was no response at all. After a scan or two, they realize that their Comm systems is not working, so he ordered the Destroyers in his command to board the station and capture it. So about six Breach Pods were launched and breach the station's hull and started boarding. After some minor resistence from the barely adequate security and few marines, they Surrendered.

Now, they are to wait until the Terrans finish off the Morganites around Naxos. The rest of the Novans in the system didn't seem to have to much problem to pull off their stunts, but they reports started to come in from some of the Novan ships of Morganite troubles....

[Sovereign]

Planet "B", Wu235 system
UCSS Copernicus

The massive Relativity class battleship, the UCSS Copernicus slowly lumbered towards the wreckage of the Michael. Two UCS Strike Cruisers, the Titanium and the Uranium kept vigilant guard on either side of the Copernicus.

Prior to the attack, tactical sensors on the Copernicus identified the Michael as a Believer vessel, confirming earlier long range sensor scans of the sector that revealed Believer signatures. The computers analyzed the name Michael as an Biblical name, which further reinforces the confirmation of the vessel as a Believer vessel.

Little did the crew or the computers of the strike force realize that they destroyed a Protectorate vessel and Protectorate troops.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The bridge of the UCSS Copernicus

Sitting in the command chair of the Copernicus, Captain Jason Holland's gaunt face was visibly fuming.

He shouted, "What the hell happened? Why didn't the Tactical Tanks analyze that the Michael had super-cannons? The loss of the heavy cruiser UCSS Ionic wasn't part of the plan! The Believers do not have the technological know-how to construct such advanced weaponry as the UCS, or the Protectorate.”

Tactical Officer Kiran Ronso stood straight and began to counter the Captain in his baritone Ronso growls.

"We not know. How we know without Intel? We do not. The enemy ship destroyed in glorious battle. We victorious. If all four ships dead means we Lose. Believers dead and we live. This is Victory in Battle."

Sensor Officer Marlene spoke up after the Ronso's admonishment.

"We're detecting a thousand troops on the second planet of the system. All Human life signs."

Holland simply stated, "Yamato Cannon bombardment."

Marlene shook her head. Holland glared at Marlene, "You question my order?!"

It took all of Marlene’s inner strength to calmly inform Jason Holland, "I detect an alien vessel nearby to the thousand-troop garrison. It is definitely more advanced than what we have encountered. I'm detecting several technologies that are a century ahead of our current technology level. I’m detecting some Quantum technologies within that alien vessel. That may be very well be the source where the Believers are getting such technology to develop these super-cannons that destroyed the Ionic.

It is possible for an Enterprise class War Carrier to tow the vessel to UCS territory. Luckily the UCSS Solaris was dispatched to this area, along with several dozen accompanying warships to engage the Believer activity. If we summon the Solaris, it will be able to arrive with its task force within three hours."

Holland's mood began to change. "Inform the Solaris to prepare to tow the alien vessel. Also, request the Anti-Believer Task Force 'Crucifixion' to assist in securing this area. Deploy our Mechanoid Units to dispose of the Believers garrison around that alien vessel. Let‘s deprive the Believers of this alien ship and its ‘fountain‘ of technological wonders."

The bridge became a flurry of activity, with secure transmissions and preparations of the Mechanoid Units.

Several assault transports detached themselves from the Assault Transport Holding Bays on either side of the Relativity class battleship. The transports slowly made their way towards the now designated Planet ”B” with the goal of securing the area. Four hundred Mechanoid Units were preparing for combat.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------
One hour later
Surface of Planet “B”

The assault transports landed somewhere in the Southern Hemisphere of the Mars type world of Planet “B” after an uneventful planetary entry. The transports slowly opened their great cargo doors, and the four hundred Mechanoid Units steadily exited the transports. The Mechanoid Units filed up in several ranks, which revealed four distinct types of Mechanoid Units.

The Panther Walkers readied its Tachyon cannons, and engaged its tracking systems. They formed the front ranks, while the Jaguar Walkers took up artillery positions with their Heavy Tachyon cannons as well as miniature Xaos missiles. The Crater Hover-Tanks split up into groups of five, to supplement each other, and activated their sensors. The sensors fed information to the entire Mechanoid Army, of the supposed location of the alien ship and the garrison that defended it.

The last Mechanoid units to be disgorged from the assault transports made the loose rocks jump around and the area to rumble. Enormous fifteen meter Crusher Heavy-Tanks, triple the size of the Crater’s, descended from the ramps and took up cover positions next to the Jaguar artillery.

Several minutes later, after the formations were completed, the Mechanoid Army moved as one towards the alien ship and the garrison.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Hferin Vessel
Planet”B”
45 minutes later.

The fighting between the Protectorate Star Marines, mistaken for Believers by the UCS AI units, and the Mechanoid Units became fierce. The leading Panther Walkers got destroyed from the initial Plasma Shard Buckshot fire from the hastily fortified garrison.

Yet, more Panther’s walked over the smoking ruins of the front ranks, uncaring of their destroyed brothers. The Jaguars opened fire with Heavy Tachyon cannons, as well as anti-infantry modified Xaos Missiles, decimating the front-line Human ranks of the Star Marines.

This allowed an opening for the Panthers to surge through, eliminating several waves of Star Marines. The routed Star Marines retreated towards their three quarters complete encampment. The Craters and Crushers caught up with them, flanking them from the sides of the advancing Walkers. Several Walkers suddenly exploded from a hidden Protectorate minefield, and cheers could be heard from the Star Marines.

The Star Marines, buoyed by the destruction of 28 Walkers in the minefield, manned the heavy cannons at the encampment. They began to target the rapidly approaching Craters and Crushers. Several Craters made suicidal runs, destroying two manned Heavy Cannons, and then being destroyed in turn. The AI’s of the Crushers began to change its directives of a standard combat path of frontal line assault, to a one of long-range artillery.

The dual plated Crushers began to swivel their Quad-Xaos launchers around to target the remaining Heavy Cannons, rather than the Star Marines. Three Crushers got annilihated, while four got one side demolished or blown off and kept charging with their other half. The Crushers managed to blow through the Heavy Cannon lines of defenses. The Minefields were detected by the Craters that swerved in front of the Crushers as a newly formed vanguard. However, the Minefields were ineffective against the hovering Craters and Crushers, but the data was transferred to the remaining Walkers, to avoid the mined area between the smoking ruins of the Heavy Cannons.

The remaining four hundred Star Marines began pairing up in teams of five, to attempt to take down a single Walker or Hover-Tank at a time. This tactic proved ineffectual, since the Artillery fire from the Jaguars shattered the groups, forcing the Protectorate troops to split up to attack solo.

Then, three Panthers and one Crater suddenly blew up from heavy weapons fire. The Mechanoid AI’s sensed another foreign AI in the vicinity, and calculated that it was not located inside the alien vessel. The bloodied Star Marines cheered again, as the Minotaur and Hyperion Cyber’s worked together, laying down heavy weapons fire towards the inexorably advancing UCS wall of Mechanoids.

The Mechanoids analyzed this new threat, and decided collectively to eliminate it as quickly as possible. Several Tachyon pulses and two Xaos missiles were launched towards the valiant Hyperion, which resulted in the Hyperion losing one arm, and severe damage to both legs and its lower torso. It began to tip over, until it eventually crashed to the ground in front of the horrified Star Marines. The Minotaur went in a beserk mode, emptying its ammo on the UCS Mechanoids. Several additional Mechanoids fell, until another volley of Tachyon pulses and Xaos missiles struck the Minotaur. Almost instantly, it joined its comrade, the Hyperion, on the ground, smoking and extensively damaged.

The surviving Star Marines fought valiantly towards the end. However, a squad of Star Marines, commanded by Captain Alvarez, raised a white flag, which the leading Crater AI identified as ‘surrender’. The Crater then activated its loudspeakers.

“Surrender accepted, Believers. You shall become prisoners of the University Civilized States, and shall pay penance for the death of Academician Prokhor Zakharov.”

The remaining 75 Star Marines became beldiwered, and began to mutter amongst themselves, but was rudely interrupted by the UCS AI.

“Proceed to the assault transport to be transported to the Copernicus.”

Another Mechanoid AI sent a message to Captain Jason Holland, “Alien vessel secured. Hostiles eliminated, and a squad surrendered. Prepare to recieve them as prisoners.”

The squad of Star Marines were marched towards the assault transport. The transport lifted off, and arrived at the Copernicus two hours after the end of the pitched battle at the alien vessel. The Star Marines were then marched towards the Prisoner Brigs, and then scanned for any hidden tools or weaponary. Their armor were stripped, and each Marine was put in an Brig Cell. The Brigs were designed with perfectly smooth walls made out of pure Neutronium, as well as triple reunduant gridwork of Tachyon Lasers covering the “door” so no prisoner would be able to make any sort of miraclous escape.

Around the same time, the Anti-Believer Task Force arrived, with the UCSS Solaris in the lead.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The bridge of the UCSS Copernicus

Captain Jason Holland was quite pleased. The operation was a success, despite the loss of almost 100 Mechanoid units, a quarter of the battalion sent to the planet. He had prisoners of war, as well as the Solaris with the Anti-Believer Task Force following closely behind arriving. He motioned for a Comm Officer to send Academician Randius Zakharov an transcript, as well as sensory information on the battle and the important find of the alien vessel.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------
One hour later.

The Solaris approached Planet “B”, and began towing prodecures on the alien vessel. The alien vessel was gingerly lifted off the ground with dozens of structure-sensitive towing cables, since the Tractor Beams couldn’t get a lock on the alien vessel.

The alien vessel was halfway to the Solaris when the Protectorate reinforcements arrived.

The standoff began.

[Kassiopeia]

Dark Side of the Moon

After the space battle of Samnos

It was all over. At least from Supreme Commander Wakazashi's point of view.

Thirty minutes ago the surrendered Morganite ships had started drifting to the co-ordinates supplied by the Alliance Fleet Command. There, the Alliance Marines would board them and take control of the enemy fleet.

Drecaille sighed. There really was no point to this, was there? Sure, it was retribution for the debacle that took place on Capella. And for what they did on Callisto, of course. But Capella was a meager military installation. Callisto was full of InEn infrastructure, now destroyed. Besides, the InEn was now annexed to the Terran Alliance...

So, in a nutshell, the mighty Coalition Space Navy had thus far fought only for the Terran Alliance, for the Alliance's benefit and for no other cause. This was definitely having an impact on the High Admiralty, as well as other military officers. Drecaille could pick it up from their words, their behaviour, she had even discussed it briefly with Michael Wakazashi.

"The Coalition has enough military strength to bring the whole of Sol to it's knees", someone had aired in one of the more secret meetings. But they were not the words of someone craving for power; more like the words of a man of war who simply wants to fight for his people and his country, as ludicrous and crazy as it might sound.

The issue had been up numerous times, ever since the establishment of the Alliance. But now, Drecaille thought, the Coalition was not just a sprawling combine of the nations and people of Earth, barely on par with the Martians in military strength.

The Coalition was a Terran Alliance of it's own, come to think of it. Earth, the jewel in the crown of Sol, had 30 billion people living on it; and the colonies of the Coalition contained a billion or two of citizens. They could easily muster a couple of hundred millions of highly trained marines with state of the art weaponry, if they wanted to.

But they didn't. Drecaille had written a small essay on the matter when studying Interplanetary Relations in the university. Why? Trade wouldn't be a problem; there were many willing partners all over the local arm of the galaxy. Military might wasn't the dela; the Coalition could stand on it's own two feet on that field of things.

Drecaille herself had come to the conclusion that unity brought internal strength for the Coalition, and additionally, as it was a Parliamentary Democracy, such a drastic and radical action as leaving the Alliance would never be accepted in the parliament, nor by the people. The people loved the Alliance; Admiral Kerensky was a mysterious celebrity; Secretary General Stormhill a very charismatic person; and when it wasn't the powerful personas, it was the grand image a joint project of several worlds brought out.

The Alliance was the remedy for overpopulation, leading the colonization of distant worlds, and securing that all Solarians were equal regarding immigration. And, on the top of that, without the Alliance, the enigmatic Scions would remain silent in their homeworld... nobody on Earth wanted to fear them, and they had no reason to, thanks to the Alliance. Without TA, the Scions would be yet again portrayed as a danger, a threat, an erratic race that can at one time be a friend, and on the other your worst enemy. The technological secret of biometal just added to this feel of threat.

***

Somewhere in the void between Mars and Callisto

"We should fasten these belts quickly", Filkins said and started to do as told. "Pete will dock us in a couple of minutes, and it can be quite rough."

"I see", Greg said and buckled up. The pair sat on the comfortable flight chairs for a while.

"You an experienced space traveller? Aside the trips we've taken ship sighting, of course", Greg asked.

"Well, before we met, in College I think, I had a quite long journey. Me and the folks visited Chiron, you see."

"Chiron? How on earth! I thought getting there from Sol has been hell for the past century, or so, ever since the Declaration."

"And it still is, but you see, dad had one connection here, one there... and poof! There we were looking at a patch of this, what do you call it, the pink stuff that grows there. You know, the one with the worms and stuff like that."

"Xenofungus?" Greg suggested.

"That's it! It was fascinating. And the views, you should of seen it. Not from some holopics, the real thing."

Greg sighed. "I haven't travelled that much, well, like I said, ship sighting set aside -"

"Sorry for the interruption, but where *have* we visited?"

"Let's see. We met, when was it, thirteen years ago?"

"Spring of '88, methinks."

"Okay."

"I think we had the parliamentary elections then. You know, the ones where DUE prevailed."

"Yes, when Faloncé was president... back to the point. We met in the meeting of Ship Sighter of Earth. You had a rather respectable collection of the Model 2666 Battleships."

"And still do. Just the Variation 3D missing, the one with twelve torpedo launchers. The last one was pieced down three months ago, by the way."

"All right, all right."

"Wasn't that the first time you brought Mrs. Greg to an SSE meeting?"

"Yes. And the last one", Greg noted with a sly smile.

"I can still remember her running away, screaming after being told of the, what was it? Drive system aspects of a Triton fighter?"

"Or was it an Eifes-OT-DX ion reactor?"

"What's the difference", Filkins muttered, "either way, she sure didn't like it..."

"Just scared of all the jargon. But I still do keep my holo collection stashed away, and I'm very careful when discussing starship technology when in the house. All those throwable items makes it dangerous", Greg explained.

Docking complete, a soft computer voice exclaimed.

"That was smooth", Greg said in astonishment. "I didn't feel a thing -"

The entire ship shuddered in a sudden and violent manuevre.

***

(From the communications log of the corvette CNS Wendigo, patrolling inside Sol)

Open channel, this is patrol Theta Eight to Flight Monitoring Post.

This is Flight Monitoring Post. Patrol T8, state your business.

We have detected a possible prison transport ship entering docking connection with a civilian cargo hauler. Breach of code seven nine three. Requesting permission to investigate further.

*laughter*

Slow day at the flight level, huh?

Slow does not suffice. There's nothing but dust out here. I have spent the last three hours staring at a chair, and that was the climax of this mission.

*more laughter*

Go ahead, permission granted. Is that all?

That is all. T8 out.

***

"What was that?" Greg asked hurriedly, turning his head wildly around in the darkness. "I can't see a thing!" he added.

"Neither can I. The lights must of gone out", Filkins analyzed the situation.

"You sound rather calm", Greg said with suspicion in his voice.

"Did I ever mention that I have travelled with Pete on this ship before?"

Silence confirmed Filkins's doubt that he hadn't told Greg all the facts of Pete's ship. His attempt to tell of the nature of the ship and the tendency of this kind of mishaps, like electrical outages and the like, was abruptly interrupted as Pete's voice sounded from the intercom. Simultaniously, the lights returned, blinding the two for a short while, followed by a loud humming coming from the bowels of the vessel.

"Filky, grab a couple of sidearms and come to the docking floor."

"Right away", Filkins replied sharply and started to remove the safety straps.

"Sidearms", Greg repeated, he too releasing himself from the chair.

"Yes, sidearms", Filkins said and strolled down the corridor, the doors hissing and opening from his way as he made it to a smaller closet-like room.

"But", Greg said whilst following him, "I don't know how to use a gun."

"Neither do I", Filkins assured him and opened a panel inside the small room. A shelf protruded itself from the room's wall, brandishing four shredder pistols. One of them was looking brand new, with the other three worn out and clearly used. The sight of them made Greg rather nervous.

Filkins took two of the older ones and pushed the shelf back inside the gap in the wall. He looked at the pistols thoughtfully and then gave the other one to Greg.

"Are you serious? I'll kill myself, or even worse, you, if I start fooling around with one of these."

Filkins shrugged and suddenly pulled out his pistol, aiming it straight at Greg's forehead.

"What the -"

Filkins grinned and pulled the trigger.

The pistol made a quiet whirr, then a clicking sound before falling back to silence.

Greg opened his eyes and looked at the barrel of the pistol, still somewhat shocked.

"You think I'd take charged ones? Ha!" Filkins laughed. "You should of seen your impression; you were absolutely, positively terrified. Just why we will be carrying them; they look dangerous. I'ts all psychology, my friend."

"Gah", Greg blurted and looked at the gun Filkins had given to him. "Not loaded, huh?" he exclaimed and pointed the gun at a wall. He pulled the trigger - a familiar whirring followed by a loud blast as a part of the wall disintegrated to dust in a flash of light.

***

"Shows you to play around with lethal weapons", Pete smirked at the pair as they told of the incident that had lead to minor collateral damage in the room Pete called 'armoury'.

"Humph", Greg muttered.

"Anyways, Mister Myssym is on the other side. Shall we let him and his comrades in?"

"Ready when you are", Filkins said, holding the shredder pistol on his side. Greg simply nodded when Pete looked at him.

Pete walked to a panel at the side of the wall, besides a large circular pressure hatch. He punched in a series of commands. The door's pneumatic system started to hiss. The large circle emerged from the wall and rolled over to reveal a short room. In the room, stood a man. He looked very tired; his stance was slightly crooked as he stood before them.

"I come unarmed", Myssym immediately said, in a calm tone, as he spotted the brandished weapons.

"A life insurance, if you will", Pete replied, without a blink of an eye.

"Life insurances can be costly", Myssym noted and took a careful step towards the hatch.

"I won't take my chances", Pete replied and continued: "Let's cut the crap. You have something I want; your ship, or, parts of it. I have something you want, this ship, and a trip to Mars."

Myssym pondered for a while. Mars wasn't exactly the place he was headed for, but he was suddenly overtaken by a certain feeling of assuredness - Mars was a big planet, with lots of people around. One man can easily disappear within the mass, he thought to himself.

"Acceptable, most accetable", Myssym said. He looked at his back and then proceeded to directly face Pete.

"Listen, Mister..."

"Just call me Pete."

"Pete. Look, Pete, there are a dozen of prisoners on the ship. Dangerous prisoners, at that. If you will leave them here and take me, just me, to Mars."

"But I need compensation. Spare parts from that ship."

"I'm in a hurry, you see. How long would it take for you to take out those stabilizer-whatevers?"

"Ten hours, twelve max."

Myssym allowed some wrinkles on his forehead to appear. "I don't have ten hours. This corner of space will be literally swarming with patrols in a short while. We need to get the hell out of here, now."

"I still need compensation. My cargo will be late." Not that it mattered, Pete thought, the Martians were nearly ecstatic when bootleg materials were brought to them, at least some were.
They had no time to worry that the shipment was a rotation or two late.

"I can provide you with appropriate compensation once I'm on Mars -"

A klaxon started to howl.

"What's this?" Myssym asked, looking around.

"The ship's computer has encountered a problem", Pete said. He considered the situation for a split second and said: "Filky, Greg, take your guns away. Mister Myssym, follow me." Pete headed for the cockpit of the small cargo hauler, with Myssym on his trail.

As they reached the cockpit, the klaxon quieted down. Pete dashed at one of the consoles and opened the blast screen in front of the cockpit's main window. He projected a holographic view on it.

"A ship", Myssym said slowly.

"A Coalition patrol corvette", Pete confirmed from the computer. "They are attempting to contact us."

"What can we do?" Myssym asked.

"Well, if we don't respond in ten minutes, they'll board us. We don't want that to happen, do we?"

"Can't we flee? Fight it?"

"Excuse me?" Pete laughed. "We are directly docked with a ship twice this one's size. The connection would be torn away and hinder us. Besides, we can't outrun, or outgun, a corvette."

"Well, I guess we have no choice then to -"

"This is civilian cargo hauler Dark Side of the Moon, ID code as follows", Pete said to the communicator, before transmitting the code.

"Roger that. This is Coalition Navy Ship Wendigo, Lieutenant and Commanding Officer Procton speaking. Whilst we check that code, could you please send us your passenger and cargo manifest?"

"Of course", Pete replied and once again punched commands to the interface.

"All right. The ID code shows to be accurate. So does the cargo manifest, how are the plants doing?"

"Fine, as always", Pete said.

"There are only two problems. First off, we would like to now why a prisoner transport, which are always prohibited from docking when in transit, in any situation except emergencies, is linked up with your ship. Also, the prisoner ship is not responding to our hails, and it's ID code is still being searched in the database. Secondly, we would still like to take a closer look at your ship, since your model possibly can't accommodate a hydroponics containment unit for this kind of amounts of vegetation."

Pete muted the microphone. "Crap!" he yelped. The cover story had failed.

"Problem", Myssym, who had heard the conversation, retorted.

"Problem?" Greg, who had just now entered the room, asked in a state of confusion.

Myssym turned swiftly around and took a look at Greg.

"You look familiar, have we met?" Greg asked before Myssym could say a word.

"I don't think so." This sudden and unexpected question had his thoughts go awry and mixed up.

"No time for high school reunions here", Pete noted, "the Coalition ship is still out there."

And to remind of this fact, the speakers continued in the voice of Lieutenant Procton: "Hello? The connection is open. You aren't ignoring us are you?"

"Excuse me, sorry, there are some... problems with the fuel injection system. Stand by for a minute."

"But your scanner signature doesn't show any signs of a -"

"It's an internal problem. Gotta go, I'll be right back", Pete quickly said and shut the communicator down.

"Now what are we going to do?" asked Filkins, who had also entered the cockpit. Actually, it was getting rather crowded in there.

"We need to get something plausible for this fellow, and fast", Myssym snapped.

[Lonestar]

Protectorate Ship Michael
Planet "B", Wu235 system


The Michael orbited the nameless planet, that orbited the nameless Red Giant. Unlike most Protectorate ships with Nano-hulls, instead of being a sea-green it was a dark black, with the name Michael followed by a Coptic Cross on the vessel's hull.

The battleship had been dispatched to this faraway place, over 39 ly from Beta Hydri, when a Ranging ship discovered a downed Hferhin vessel on the surface of the desolate planet. After a series of strings were pulled (among them, the dispatchment of one "Hyperion" and one "Minotaur" Cyber prototype) a expedition was sent to the planet.

On the surface, over a thousand Star Marines had secured the crash site, and begun building an encampment not far away.

Then the intruders came.

4 large vessels...the Michael's HOLMES-4 AI immediatly identified them as UCS-affliated ships, entered real space. After a very brief scan, the vessels opened fired on the Michael without preamble. Knowing it was outmatched, the Michael charged it's forward batteries of Particle Cannons to max, and fired at the lead UCS vessel.

Each Goliath Battleship has a pair of forward particle cannons, rarely used to it's full strengh of 1 million tw. This time, the Particle cannons uunleashed all they had, draining power on several decks and burning out more than a few conduits. It wouldn't have mattered anyway. At a combined total of 2 million tw (enough to burn away the surface area of a planet the size of Great Britain) the UCS vessel wouldn't have a chance. It was destroyed, and the Michael was shortly thereafter.
-----------------

Captain Alveraz looked up into the Desert night, seeing the flashes in the sky.

"Hooollllleee sshhhhiiiieetteee. What's happening up there."

Standing next to him was a 30 ft tall "Minotaur" Cyber. It runed it's electronic eye upwards.

The Michael has engaged, and been defeated by, a group of starships. I calculate to 59% certainty that the vessels were of University design.

Alveraz was stunned. He had been more than a little nervous about bringing an AI into battle whit him, but with that one statement, Minotaur had proving it's(his?) worth.

"Jesus Mary and Joseph. I need to tell the Colonel. We may be getting company."