Beyond Alpha Centauri :::

[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]

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.

[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...

[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."

[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!”

[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.

[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"

[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.

[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.

[Mr. President]

Questions

The fast-moving and fast-thinking Firaxis government had their skates on. Earth Coalition and Morganic negotiators were due to arrive on the World of Trees in days. The Prime Minister was no less nervous than anyone else, though by necessity he concealed it. If all went well, he would be remembered as the man who stopped a galactic war. If all went poorly, they would put his picture next to Neville Chamberlain's under the dictionary entry for "incompetent".

"Book the Hall of Mirrors," said Michael Hsiang. The secretary nodded, scribbling furiously on a pad. "Oh, and contact General Reiziger and tell him to bring the Crimson Sunrise back." The General and his elite division were in the United Nations on a training exercise. Hsian needed every single man on standby.

"I'll start composing the security information," Hsiang said. He and the secretary hurried in different directions. Glancing at his watch, the Prime Minister broke into a jog. Nodding to the Minister for Infrastructure, he rounded a corner into his office.

Something unusual was happening. His deputy was leaning on the wall, staring into space. Hsiang glanced at him, then at the receptionist. "Any calls, Irit?" he asked.

"Seventeen new calls, sir," she began. "Shall I -"

"Send them to my phone, I'll look at them later," Hsiang said. "Thanks." He motioned to the leaning man. "Come in, Matias," he said.

"Thank you, sir." Matias Delgado had the slightly nasal accent characteristic of natives of the Almeyda Holding. Hsiang's sources told him the inflection was the descendant of South American Spanish pronunciations.

Delgado said, "I received this Priority One message, sir. You might find it of some interest."

The postmark showed it was from the Leader of the Opposition. Hsiang rolled his eyes. Unfolding the paper, he read:

"The Democratic Party strenuously protests the Prime Minister's decision to stage peace negotiations between the Terran Alliance and Morgan Interstellar.

"It is our belief that this is an offworld affair and that Firaxis must not involve itself.

"I intend to personally raise the issue in Parliament during our next Question Time."

Hsiang sighed and rubbed at his temples. "Thank you, Matias," he said, looking up. "I'll call you in a little while and we'll figure out what to do about this."

The Deputy Prime Minister nodded and left the office. Staring at his desk, Hsiang wondered what the opposition wanted. He knew that some of them were anti-Morgan, and some were anti-Terran, and some were pro-Morgan, and some were pro-Terran. But all of those existed in all the political parties. A former official of his own Pacific Party had once controversially suggested that Firaxis join the Terran Alliance. They had unearthed the records of his time on the front bench and gone over them very carefully after that.

Whatever it was, he would find out during Question Time. For now, he needed to send a message. The Prime Minister accessed the international communications line.

Video Message

Sender: Michael Hsiang, Prime Minister of the State of Firaxis

To: Colonel Marcus Kessel, Spartan Federation; CEO Nwabudike Morgan, Morgan Interstellar; Prime Minister Elise Drecaille, Earth Coalition; Admiral Kerensky, Terran Alliance

Greetings to you. I trust this day finds you in health. I remain, of course, Prime Minister Michael Hsiang of Firaxis.

[The Prime Minister's face is carefully expressionless.] Preparations for the summit are almost complete. I wish to remind you about the security arrangements that shall be in place.

Firaxian forces will be in charge of security. Delegations may bring security personnel, but such details are not to exceed the smallest designated ratio. All weapons must be registered with our Secret Service. Larger weapons than rifles must not be brought onto Firaxian soil.

Also, all previous regulations on spacecraft weapons will be enforced.

I must ask this as a matter of my own nation's security and sovereignty.

Hsiang out.

End Message

[History Guy]

M.S.E.S. Undaunted Courage, Unexplored Systems south of Castor

Three men stood in the darkness, a thick, strong, transparent material forming walls all around them. This, of course, was the officer’s promenade on the Undaunted Courage, and it served the men well. In this glassy walk these officers and crew members could literally stand in a protected area, and yet there would be no evidence of their presence aboard the ship were it not for the doors on either side of the long walk leading into the more secluded parts of the ship. The scenery revealed by the transparency was breath taking, even to people who, like these three men, had seen this sort of thing countless times before. The sights were astounding. Half a dozen planets, large and small, gas and rock, ringed and plain, were evident to the viewers, stretched out along in a huge circle around a single, small, bright, white star, which was still larger than any of the planets. Because of the beauties of the observation walk, one almost felt as if one was floating about in space, or that one could simply whip out one’s hand and grasp the stars. In short, it was marvelous.

The three men who stood, motionless, watching the small system below, wore gray cloth uniforms, as befitted a member of the exploration corps of the Morganite Space Navy. The familiar Morganite tri-cornered cap crowned their pates, which was their regulation headgear for this time of year, which was the end of spring. Soon, of course, summer would approach, and then they’d be wearing the old beret again. The tallest of the men was the officer in command of the vessel, Captain George Guthrie, M.S.N.F., a wise and experienced officer. Flanking him were his top officers, Wiglaf McColloch, and Ella Weiss, both clad in a similar outfit, but perhaps with not as much regalia.

“This larger planet, which we will, for the sake of argument, call MI1, is actually the largest planet in this whole system. As you can see though, it looks very unpleasant. Large, rocky, gray, in parts much like a desert, MI1 is covered with mercury pools, and is rather harsh, and would not be our first choice for colonization if the CEO allows the colonization of this new system. The second planet, closest to that, MI2, is actually closer to the star than MI1 would be, and so it’d just as well be used at best for a large conglomerate of solar panels, and the like. The one that is ripe for colonization, on the other hand, would be MI3, which is the second largest planet, and is the best placed. It’s not too hot or too cool, and would probably be quite pleasant,” spake Officer Weiss.

“Yes, so I understand, and yet, the most of it is rainforest, like the famous Monsoon Jungle of Chiron where the Drones, the Gaians, and the Cult struggle to survive so many years ago,” responded Officer McColloch, scratching what little of his hair emerged from under his cap.

The Captain, who must have been in his fifties, who was tall, broad-shouldered, long-nosed, and blue eyed responded next. “Of course living here would be a challenge, Officer, but where has man settled where there has been no challenge? Man shall learn to adapt. For all our decadent ways, we Morganites aren’t as lazy as our enemies and friends alike would have us think.”

Up until this very point, no man had explored this new system. Of course, the men of Morganland, namely the Castor area, had sent satellites and probes across the border to make charts, but it hadn’t been until now that the Colonial Department had allowed this squadron of smaller vessels to make a visit to the area, to go where literally no man had gone before. The star had been named Narcissus due to its white color, but none of the planets had been explored or named. The Colonial Department would take control of that, but these explorers would have to do the charting.

“Well, sir,” said Wiglaf McColloch, after answering a brief message from his watchvid, “our ship is now moving in towards MI3, code-named Guthrie’s Rock. We will be able to make landing in sixteen hours, once the order comes in from the Colonial Department.”

The Captain looked up from the scene of grandeur before him and smiled, chuckling slightly, “Guthrie’s Rock, eh? Sounds fine to me.”

“Guthrie’s Rock is thrice as large as Earth’s moon. This system seems to be filled with a bunch of midget planets. We’re not even sure if that thing that floats around it should be considered a moon, as it’s so small. It could very well be an asteroid stuck in the planet’s orbit,” said Weiss.

“It sounds like a nice spot for full-scale colonization then, if they can get rid of some of those trees.”

“That forest looks to be ancient, Captain. Almost as old as the moon of Pollux E is itself. In other words, some of those trees have been around since before man was building cities.”

“Could do wonders for the tourist trade, then. Come see the trees older than civilization, and buy yourself a suite at the Morgan Home Away From Home. Actually, most of the thick areas of the forest are on a huge plateau, so the reports from Benin’s Satellite say. It’d be ideal for the location of a city due to the altitude.”

“If the Colonial Department goes through with the landing, it’ll be the first spot to explore,” added McColloch.

Weiss was about to say something, but before she could, the Captain’s watchvid made rather loud noises. “OK, we got it, then,” announced Captain Guthrie, “the Colonial Department is giving us permission to commence operations, with the full support of Mrs. Obda, and the CEO himself, sending us this from his own private ship the Bearer of Man, which is now en route to Firaxis to end this damn war. When we arrived in orbit, we shall immediately proceed to land. The co-ordinates are just coming in…”

The capital ship of the squadron suddenly turned towards MI3, a.k.a. Guthrie’s Rock.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

MorganNetDaily.com
All the News a Morganite Needs
Sunday Edition- Pg. 1

CEO LEAVES FOR FIRAXIS: At 4:50 this morning, the CEO left Castor C’s Horax Station in his private ship, heading for Firaxis to speak with Terran heads of state in an attempt to bring an end to the current, bloody war which has ravaged Morgan and Terran space for half a year. After saying good-bye to crowds of well-wishers, the CEO pledged that when he returned, peace would come with him. We at MorganNetDaily.com wish him good luck, and we all hope that he will bring speedy end to the war. READ FULL STORY

COLONIAL DEPARTMENT REVISED: Following the retirement of Mr. Madison as head of Colonial Affairs last Thurday, Mrs. Naomi Obda has been Minister in his place. One of her first actions has been to authorize, with the CEO’s full support, exploration of the Narcissus System, and the possible go-ahead for colonization. Says Mr. Chamberlain of the Colonial Affairs Department, “If we do start the colonization of these planets, the 3rd planet, now code-named Guthrie’s Rock will be the one we go for…” READ FULL STORY

LANDINGS ON GUTHRIE’S ROCK SCHEDULED FOR TOMORROW MORNING: A large ship will land at 10 o’clock tomorrow morning on Guthrie’s Rock. Captain G.E. Guthrie will lead the expeditionary team of over three-hundred, which will trek spots on the newly-discovered planet. READ FULL STORY

ACTOR RICHIE GAMM INJURED: Richard Gamm, the popular star of the movie ‘Heart of Bronze’, and the miniseries ‘The Man Who Ruled For A Day’ on the Peacekeeper rebel Larry Kogg, has been injured in a serious rover accident outside Sky Towers. His fiancee was also slightly injured. Apparently, he was driving too fast on a dark road, and ran right into a crawler. READ FULL STORY

Page 2
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

[Frankychan]

Hive Prime
Troop Training Bay
Private Observation Lounge

Emperor Yang looked at the massed Hive troops training down below him. Hunderds of Hive troops engaged in rhythmic hand-to-hand combat motions. Organized in large block formations, Hive troops trained as far as Yang's eye could see.

Beautiful, simply beautiful. Order in its most impressive form.

A beep from the entrance door signaled that someone wanted to enter.

"Come." Sheng-ji turned away from the window to face the door.

The door slid open to reveal Warmaster Kang, Minister Zell holding a datapad, and a security officer.

Warmaster Kang spoke first.

"Your excellency, Admiral Bippol has reported in. He says that his fleet has finished their repairs and are headed toward system LP 658-2."

Sheng-ji smiled and turned around.

"Good," Yang began, "I have received transmission from Morgan, Ian, and Kessel. It appears we have created quite a stir in the universe..."

He paused as the four assembled men chuckled, then continued.

"...I will be sending messages to all of them. Minister Zell, I want our ambassador in the sol system to begin negotiations with the Terrans. I also want our ambassadorial team on planet Drone Mound to accelerate our treaty negotiations with the University delegates."

Minister Zell bowed and exited the room, leaving Kang, Sheng-ji and the security officer.

"Kang, Lysander has sent a message asking for more Hive help."

The Warmaster growled while Yang continued.

"I want you to assemble a strike force of Hive ships as well as ground support. This Cadre civil war is getting to be expensive...
It seems that the Spartans have gotten wind of our involvement with anti-Spartan elements within the Laekdaemon government.
I want you to send our long overdue message to the Believer government terminating our acquisition for their forces, our University allies seem to be more valuable."

Kang bowed as did the security officer.

"I want our invovlement with the Cadre to be quick and decisive, Kessel knows I am up to something and Hive society may be at stake."

Kang and the security turned to leave when the Emperor spoke up from behind them.

"No more mistakes like Samnos, Kang."

* * *
Encrypted Visual Message
To: CEO Nwabudike Morgan of Morgan Interstellar
From: Emperor Sheng-ji Yang of the Greater Hive Empire

*Yang's face wore a slight smirk*

Ah, CEO Morgan of the Morganites. I am indeed Emperor Sheng-ji Yang and I now lead the Greater Hive Empire. I see that you have survived the long millenia rather unchanged and I commend you on it.

*Yang's face suddenly darkened*

Our ships have engaged your forces at Samnos in retribution for atrocities commited by Morganite troops in former Terran holdings. Your Morganite aggression must be contained for the safety of Hive society. We have therefore aligned ourselves with the Terrans in the hopes of curbing yourself and Kessel's Spartan Federation.

I am aware of dealings you have had as of late with Protector Ian. You would be wise to know that Protectorate forces are considered enemies of the Hive Empire. I have tolerated your alliance with Sparta out of good faith, but Morganite negotiations with Lord Ian will greatly sour my personal opinion of you, Nwabudike.

But, as a gesture of good faith I will cease all Hive aggression toward Morganite holdings and will honor any stance the Terran governments take dealing with you and your men.

I do not want another "Chiron fiasco" CEO, the galaxy has seen enough bloodshed in such a short time. I would not wish to see more shed.

Emperor Yang out.
* * *
* * *
Encrypted Visual Message
To: Colonel Marcus Kessel, Spartan Federation
From: Emperor Sheng-ji Yang, Greater Hive Empire


Marcus Kessel, such words coming from the such a famous leader. I would think a hero of the FTL wars would conduct himself in a more....diplomatic manner.

You talk of "alien allies" and such but where is your proof? You have none or you and your alien allies would have done something a long time ago. All you have are assumptions but that's all.

As for Hive involvement in Terran-Morgan affairs, if you look at the data collected, you will see that the Morganites were the ones to begin this war. Morganites took territory after territory from the Terrans and when victory seems within sight for the earthers, you step in to help your ailing comrade. Do we intimidate you that much, Kessel? *Yang smiled*

I don't know where you heard that Hive forces were aiding Cadre factions and your data is totally inaccurate. Be careful in your accusations, Colonel, they may very well be the death of you.

Lastly, it goes without saying that ANY Spartan vessel entering Hive space will be destroyed. Any Spartan ships entering the neutral zone buffering our two territories will be approached and engaged.

Yang out.
* * *
* * *
Encrypted Visual Message
To: Lord Protector Ian, Protectorate of Man
From: Emperor Sheng-ji Yang, GHE

*An image of Yang's devilish smile appeared on screen, lasting for 5 minutes*

I know you're dealing with Morgan, Ian.

I will have my eye on you, dear Protector

[END TRANSMISSION]
* * *
* * *
Encrypted Message
To: Major Lysander, Laekdaemon Cadre
From: Warmaster Kang, Supreme Commander of Hive Military

Major Lysander, Emperor Yang is most displeased that you will be needing more Hive assistance. As you may know, the Spartan Federation has been keeping an eye on Cadre developments and Hive aid is seen as 'unwelcomed' by the Spartan's.

However, his imperial majesty understands your plight and has authorized the use of Hive ships to aid your revolution. Therefore, I am notifying you that Hive warships are on their way to your homeworld to assist your forces. Listed below is what will be arriving:

1 Battlecruiser
3 Corvettes
2 Frigates
1 Carrier
3 Troop ships (1500 soldiers)

The task force leader, Colonel Trevor Shaixu, has been given orders to follow your commands until notified by Hive command to return to Hive space. These ships will be modified so that they will not be identifiable as having a Hive origin. They will be disguised as pirates. When the fleet arrives in your system, you are to contact the flagship. Colonel Shaixu will identify himself as Clan Leader Maibok.

The Emperor hopes that this will be enough to help your forces succeed against those who would aid the Spartan menace.
* * *
* * *
Encrypted Message
To: Believer Government
From: Warmaster Kang, Greater Hive Empire

This message has been long overdue due to the fact that much thought was put into our reply.

The Hive will no longer need assistance from Believer forces. We have found a more lucrative source of men and military weapons.
Emperor Yang hopes that GHE and Believer forces will keep a neutral stance toward one another, seeing as how Believers were reported in aiding the Morganites.

The Hive does not wish to engage in hostilities with the Believer government and will remain out of your business so long as you remain out of GHE affairs.
* * *

[GeneralTacticus]

Laekdaemon

"Sir, His Majesty has answered our message."

Major Lysander looked up from his food when he heard Felcheck's voice. The Hive Commander was standing in the doorway to Lysander's quarters holding a a computer printout in his hand.

"All right, commander, let's see what he has decided."

Felchek walked over and handed the transcript to Lysander. He read it.

"Hmmm. It would seem that Emperor Yang is not very pleased with our request for assistance. Still, what he has sent has removed the only real obstacle to my removing Menelaus. The Cadre fleet is small, and the ships that are being sent will be more than sufficient to deal with them. Once we establish orbital control, our victory will be assured."

"Exactly how big is is the Cadre fleet anyway, sir?"

"It currently consists of 26 escorts of varying types. None of them would have even an outside chance against the fleet being sent in currently."

"I am glad of that, sir. Do you think there is any prospect that the loyalists will surrender?"

"None. They know we will kill anyone who collaborates with Spartans... and that means killing all of the loyalist leadership. Now, I must send a reply to Warmaster Kang."

Encrypted Diplomatic Transmission

TO: Warmaster Kang, Greater Hive Empire

FROM: Major Lysander, Laekdaemon Cadre.

Warmaster Kang, please convey my gratitude to His Majesty Emperor Yang. The forces you are sending will be more than sufficient to deal with the loyalist fleet, and once that is complete our victory is certain.

Regards, Lysander

End Transmission

[Sprayber]

Those That Came Before Us

Colonel Marcus Kessel stood at the podium overlooking the central plaza of Sparta Command. Down below one hundred thousand of Sparta’s elite gathered in ranks and files to listen to the annual speech for Remembrance Day. All across Sparta and anywhere Spartans were present they stopped their daily tasks and watched or listened by whatever means were available. In the Drone capital, Spartans gathered at the Spartan embassies’ massive courtyard in the middle of the night to see the Colonel speak. Light years away, those assigned to the Morganite home world gathered in a rented stadium on what was the Morganite weekend. Light years from there Marine grunts and navy crewman assemble together in ship holds in the various fleets dispersed throughout the human sphere. On Planet PX-3113 a Spartan fire base had assembled its troops in a make shift clearing to view the ceremony. They would soon go back to their positions on the planet that once witnessed the war between humanity and the Bree. But for now Drone soldiers patrolled the surface and the space above.

On the recently established Colony of Ironholm Colonel Santiago lead the people in the remembrance ceremonies. Her memories of the holiday stretched back in time to when the first remembrance day was held on Chiron. Having sent most of those being remembered to their deaths was weighing more and more on her mind these days. She no longer had the clarity of being in command to keep the doubts away. But today was not about her. Today was about the honored dead.

On the former Peacekeeper world of New Celadon, where Remembrance Day had meant protests and sometimes violence in the past, all was quite. Colonel Kessel had suggested that those Peacekeeper soldiers that had died in the defense of the planet be honored along with Spartan dead. Local civic leaders were allowed to display banners of the former PK military units stationed on New Celadon in the public square without the PK logo. A few of the actual PK defenders, long since released from detention, were even allowed to participate in the local ceremonies.

The citizens of Tyre were well known as being less militaristic then the average Spartan. The former independent world still clung onto old traditions but Remembrance Day was becoming more and more apart of the culture of Tyre these days. The people were joining the Spartan military more and more each year. Members of the newly created Tyre Legion formed up in the central plaza of the capital city Yarra to watch the speech by Colonel Kessel and to witness the swearing in of their new commander. The governor of Tyre watched from his platform on the far end of the plaza. For Governor Rains this, was a proud day. He had lobbied many years to Central Command to create the Tyre legion and finally they had achieved the sufficient numbers and training level to get that wish. Being the first native Tyre to serve as Governor only made it all the sweeter for him. For many on Tyre today, it was finally like they were truly Spartan.

In many cases Spartans could not find access to their fellow comrades to follow the ceremonies but all knew what day it was and acted in ways that were appropriate for the occasion. Not all Spartans would hear the speech in real time or even hear it that day. But they would feel the meaning because there wasn’t a Spartan alive that wasn’t touched by the purpose of the day. Everyone in Sparta new someone close that had died for the state. And every one looked to Colonel Kessel as the central representative of the state to acknowledge that. Kessel didn’t like speeches. He talked to people not at them. That was a most unusual quality in a Spartan leader of any level, but it endeared him to his soldiers and his people. And today, Kessel was preparing to talk to the entire Spartan Federation. As he cleared he throat to speak, memories of his own filled his mind. He prepared his words carefully and began to speak in the Spartan language that off worlders found so surprisingly smooth to the ear to come from a Spartan.

“My fellow citizens. I come to you on a solemn day for Sparta. A day that we set aside each year to remember those that gave their lives and honor so that Sparta should continue. The men and women of Sparta have fought for the past six hundred years to preserve and defend the Spartan state against those that do not understand our way and choose to live in conflict with us instead of in peace. They have stood guard against the alien threat shoulder to shoulder with our allies and died in places like PX-3113, Traitors Planet and many planets that bear no name. They defended Sparta without complaint and with the knowledge that most would never come back from their battles. They are the true elites of Sparta. They are the honored many that rest on hundreds of worlds never to see thier beloved Sparta again. That sacrifice enables us to be here today and I as the representative of the Spartan state, stand here before all of Sparta and humbly offer my gratitude and my respect. I honor those that have gone before us as they have forged the path that we must all eventually follow. May there always be a Spartan Federation, and may it always be where honorable soldiers dwell”

After the usual short speech by Colonel Kessel the traditional nineteen minutes of silence was observed throughout Sparta by all Spartans. The tribute was to the nineteen Spartans that died securing the Unity colony pod centuries ago. Like everything else in Sparta, nothing was forgotten. After the silence was completed the commanders once again took charge of their troops and started to file out of the central plaza. The rest of the day was spent according to the local custom but usually consisted of ceremonies honoring local soldiers. Each city and camp remembered in their own way and at their own pace, but all did it the Spartan way. There were large banquets and small gatherings, but whatever the setting there was always an empty chair at the head of the table. Each individual saw a different face when they looked at the chair. In Sparta, there was never a shortage of faces to be remembered.

[Sprayber]

Re: Those That Came Before Us

****Text Message****
From: Colonel Marcus Kessel
To: Emperor Yang

My warnings remain clear. Stay out of affairs that do not concern you Emperor. The problem between the Terran Alliance and Morgan Interstellar is none of your concern. And stay out of Cadre affairs for they do not concern you in the slightest either. Hive ships caught entering the Laekdaemon system will be treated as if they are entering a Spartan or allied system. That means immediate destruction. If you can possibly look past your own ego perhaps our two societies can coexist, but as long as you insist on butting in on affairs that do not concern you then Sparta will be there to put you back in your place. And emperor, Sparta has no need for alien allies because we are strong enough to stand on our own.

*****Video Message*****
To: Prime Minister Michael Hsiang
From: Colonel Marcus Kessel

The decision of Firaxis to host the negotiations has increased the chances of a successful outcome. Once again the importance of Firaxis is demonstrated to all those interested in a stable and secure system. As usual, Spartan officials will comply with Firaxian security protocols completely. My arrival at Firaxis may be delayed by a developing internal situation, but I hope that I may make it finally to the world of trees. Once again, your acceptance of this duty speaks highly of the character of Firaxis.