Beyond Alpha Centauri :::

[Mr. President]

Shadow Man

State of Firaxis
Civilian Records Archive

Name: Alan Davidson
Date of Birth: 7/4/2675
Immediate family: Father Michael, accountant, born 17/2/2652; Mother Marie, park ranger, born 25/6/2653; brother Simon, Air Force Sergeant, born 30/8/2673
Status: DECEASED 13/12/2699

Education: Graduated MidValley High School 2693
Graduated National University Magnigoth Pass October 2698, major in international relations

Criminal record: NONE.

Comments: Died December 2699 in car accident. No autopsy performed.

* * *

Maximum Security Prison, Blackburn, Vega Prime

“And how are you related to the prisoner?” the guard rumbled.

“I’m his lawyer,” the visitor said. He was very innocuous-looking: middle height and weight, his facial expression pleasant, his suit immaculately pressed. “He called me a couple of weeks ago and I just got in from Firaxis.”

The guard scanned the lawyer’s card. “Follow this man,” he said, gesturing at another guard. “Do not wander away.”

For the crime of entering the Drone Republic with the intent to commit sabotage, noted Firaxian socialist John Antoja had been sentenced to three years in a maximum-security prison. Wardens boasted of the most secure prison system since Chairman Yang's Gulag Sea seven hundred years ago. The very walls were stuffed with surveillance material that tracked the empathic sound of the inmates' thoughts, as well as more mundane heartbeats and breathing patterns.

As he walked down the hall, the lawyer glanced at the blank doors on either side. They all looked the same to him, but clearly his guard knew where he was going. “In here,” he said, unlocking one of a seemingly endless chain.

The portal clanged shut. John Antoja was seated in the corner of his cell, knees drawn up to his chest and head down. The activist looked already broken. The previous year’s U.N. Review of Freedom had criticized, of all things, the opaque cell doors in the Drone Republic’s prisons, claiming that they allowed prisoners to be subjected to humiliation and torture. Glancing at his watch, the visitor hoped the detail was accurate.

As he advanced, Antoja looked up. “Who are you?” he asked.

The lawyer acted quickly. He pressed a button in the side of his watch. Nothing appeared to happen, but the machine had released a short-range tachyon pulse that would temporarily neutralize any surveillance equipment in the room or the walls. It would seem as though they had blinked off for no apparent reason; within half an hour, normal function would be restored. But the guards had no doubt noticed the deactivation and would be on their way.

From a false compartment in the side of his briefcase, the man drew an air-blast syringe filled with clear liquid. Swiftly he clamped one hand over Antoja’s mouth and jabbed the other into the prisoner’s side. Injecting all the fluid, he held the inmate's head in place until his eyes glazed over. Stepping back, the man allowed Antoja to fall naturally to the floor. As he replaced the syringe in its hiding place, he shouted loudly for the guard.

The prison officer burst into the room to find the supposed lawyer casting frightened glances at the dead prisoner. “I was talking to him, and he just collapsed,” he said.

He stepped back, out of the cell, as three more guards hurried down the hall. Their consternation at the surveillance glitch was overriden as they saw the fallen prisoner. Moving to help the first guard, they ignored the assassin completely.

The prison doctors determined that Antoja had died of cardiac arrest. His visitor left the facility soon after and headed straight for the Blackburn MegaMall. Dropping the syringe into a wastebasket in a pre-determined corner of a department store, he hesitated for just a moment as he removed a bundle of business cards from his pocket. They had on them the name of Antoja’s real lawyer, who was probably at this hour being released from a county lock-up following the dropping of a traffic violation. The man tossed them into the garbage and walked away.

Sporting a red baseball merchandise shirt made of shiny material, the assassin boarded a late transport to Firaxis that night, using his second name of the day. In the cafetaria before takeoff, he struck up a conversation with a brown-haired woman with the same team’s shirt. “You like the Avalon Bears too?” he marvelled. “I can’t believe Garcia got himself thrown out of that last game!”

As the ship climbed back into the void, the shadow man melted back into the darkness from whence he came.

[History Guy]

Novan Vessel Black Eye, On the fringes of Theta Sector, Castor System

“They are coming.”

The rasping, grating voice broke through the eerie silence in the darkness of the ship’s battle stations. At least, all was silent from behind the makeshift barricades, the chairs, tables, and other pieces of furniture and useless equipment that hadn’t been fastened down by the builders when the ship had first been constructed at Haven Shipbuilding Docks six years earlier. Before the barricades, by the large, sealed automatic doors (all made of a thick synthmetal steel – barely worthy of the Novans, let alone the Drones), a grinding, slamming noise simply increased the deep sense of foreboding that controlled the atmosphere of the battle station.

Behind the door, these Novans knew, lay a battalion of finely organized police units, swat teams, all members of Morgan’s space interior police. These men were banging away at the doors for a reason. At the same time, they were cutting through the locks with their lasers, the Novans knew this, but the pounding was simply a method of instilling fear into the hearts of the Novans. It was working.

The Lieutenant whispered to the Master-At-Arms, so as his men would not hear him. “They’ll be cutting through the locks with their lances any moment now. Even these can’t stand up to those lances. They’ll be in here shortly.”

“Aye. We’ll start blasting away at them immediately, of course, sir. We’ll take those guys down. They want the ship intact, but if we destroy this bunch, they’ll have to blast us.”

“I doubt it, Master Thorne. These men are going to come in slowly, after tossing in a few of their defragmenters, and then they’ll be in here.”

The Lieutenant knew the routine. He’d studied this sort of thing since his last operation. It had been a clever one, yes. The Daisy had been a Morganite police ship, something like the one that was linked up with this ship now. The Novans were using one of their tactics that they knew would never win a war for them, but would weaken the enemy severely. After the virus instilled by the Angel’s Probe vessel crippled the enemy vessel, the Novans had been able to link up immediately. They quickly filled the bridge tube that connected the two ships with a paralyzing gas (temporary, of course), which immediately came into the Morganite vessel through the ducts. The gas almost immediately rendered the whole crew unconscious, and then the Novans came in. Collecting the comatose prisoners, they withdrew, left the police ship intact, removed the virus from the ship’s datalinks, and left it to drift, a very effective means of instilling fear in the enemy.

They’d done the same thing a week later with a similar police ship, and so they had about one hundred male and female prisoners to use as hostages in the future. Now, one week later, they’d tried the same trick once again. Unfortunately, they’d hit a ship that was prepared. The Probe ship had been knocked out first, blasted into infinity, and now the Morganites were closing in for the kill. The Captain knew that they’d never do the same to this Novan vessel, of course. They didn’t want to kill their own men aboard. It would be much better simply to storm it and rescue the prisoners. The Morganite government was silently going after the Novans in revenge for what had happened, and they were going to use every means necessary to do this. Already, the Novan ships that had defected had vanished mysteriously while en route back to Novan territory. Nothing had been made of it, of course. Morgan had arranged for that. Without the pay that they suddenly stopped receiving from Kerensky, the Novans had turned around, and except for a few vessels and the flagships, they were all destroyed, and everyone aboard was unaccounted for.

Now, the day of reckoning was coming for another group of Novans.

The Lieutenant readied his woefully out-of-date chaos rifle, and placed it in a commanding position over top part of the faux perimeter defense, and placed his finger on the trigger. Soon, he knew, they’d be in, and he’d probably be just another Novan lying upturned on the ground with his face shot in.

The thought didn’t particularly enthuse him.

The Master-At-Arms beside him clawed at his whiskers with his spindly digits, and then himself placed his rifle in a similar position, sighting it directly at the hatch, so that he might be the first to take down the enemy. He was not alone in his wish to do this, however. The room was filled with men, sitting in the darkness, kneeling down on one knee, and sighting their rifles for the coming combat.

As the Lieutenant was about to contact his Captain by watchvid, the lock cracked. The smell of burnt wires was clearly evident, and the doors parted with a grind and a snap, wires sticking wildly and uncontrollably out of the sides, melting all down the side of the hatch doors.

The doors parted only a little way, allowing small objects to be tossed into the room easily, and this was obviously what was to happen. Before it could, though, the Master-At-Arms shouted “Grenade!” Soon enough, he was proved to be correct, and he was shortly taking cover as a defrag grenade suddenly landed before the other end of the barricade, and exploded almost immediately, sending shards and body parts all over the room. There were sudden screams, which were just as suddenly cut off, and the thuds of bodies and weapons slamming coming into contact with the floor.

The next grenade became lodged in the barricades, falling through a crack between a chair and a table, and getting tangled into some loose circuits. The Master-At-Arms was right nearby, and immediately dove into the circuits to remove the grenade in hopes of returning it to the chap who’d misplaced it.

“Damn it, damn it,” repeated the Master, fumbling through the wires to get his paws on the object. “Got it!” he suddenly shouted, and pulled it up from where it was hidden, quickly reaching to throw the thing back at the doors. Unfortunately, before it left his hand, it detonated.

The bloody, charred, indescribably mangled corpse of Master-At-Arms David Bailey were catapulted backwards and slammed against the wall some yards behind the Lieutenant, who was doubling over in pain. A shard of the grenade was lodged deep into his stomach, and another in his side, and a third in his arm. Bailey’s blood was spattered all over his protective suit, and he struggled to keep a grip on his rifle. He tried to ignore the Sixth Officer, who had been beside the Master all along, and who’s brains were scattered all over the wall, and who’s body lay far too near to the Lieutenant’s boot for comfort.

The third grenade landed directly beside a unrecognizable ensign, and this man was quick about his job, immediately grabbing hold of the defrag grenade, and popping it through the crack in the doorway, flying back behind the barricade as shards and body parts slammed into the bulkhead. There came afterward a pause in any Morganite activity whatsoever. The Lieutenant almost tricked himself into believing that the enemy had all been so close together that they’d all been taken out by that one blast.

That thought quickly vanished as a grenade of more considerable size suddenly flew through the crack and landed beside the barricade, far enough from the Lieutenant, but close enough to enough of his boys to incite them to jump up and attempt to grab the thing. However, as one of the able bodied privates grabbed hold of the thing, a curious thing happened. Instead of an explosion, a strange noise came from the object, and immediately a dense cloud of acrid-smelling smoke issued from it. The man dropped the grenade in horror and fell back, reaching at his eyes, coughing and spluttering. One of the men near to the Lieutenant identified the stuff immediately.

“Tear gas.”

Instantly, the men began to panic, and covered their eyes in a vain hope to shield it. The men who had them ripped out their gas masks, while others simply clawed at their eyes in horror. When the second grenade landed near the first, the Lieutenant was thrown back in a heap when it issued itself dangerously near his part of the barricade. It was then that the Morganites forced open the hatch, and charged in.

They were splendidly arrayed. They wore silksteel armor, and carried before them silksteel shields, which were curiously light, though at the same time very effective. They were almost unnecessary, as the Novans were too busy trying to protect their eyes to fire off a shot. The Morganites, off course, were wearing large, black gas masks.

Immediately, the plasma shard rifles the Morganites carried issued fire, and men began to explode in flashes of white and scarlet, flying against the bulkhead in a horrific mess. Little resistance could be offered, other than from the men who wore gas masks. The Lieutenant himself could barely make out the forms of the attackers, and with his wounds, he was little use in battle. After hurling off one shot, he fell back with six shards in the chest and head. Within four minutes, all of the Novans in the battle station were dead. In twelve, all of the Novans aboard were dead, and the intruders recovered all their prisoners, save the four who could be shot by the Captain before the bridge fell to the flame guns.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

[Mr. President]

Heads Will Roll

Michael Hsiang wished he had brought his night-vision glasses. The military-grade pair stored in his desk pinched his temples, and he had sneaked out to the mall and purchased a commercial pair, “for night-time drivers and sportsmen”. Those ones had adjustable headstraps and nose guards, but lacked the sophisticated computerized add-ons found on the one from his emergency kit. In any case, they sat at this moment on his kitchen counter, and so the courtyard was all dark to him.

“We have a problem.”

The Prime Minister recognized the voice, but had no name or face to put to it. The Head of Shadow Operations worked for him, reported to him, and was paid large sums by him. Yet Hsiang did not know his name or even his face. A necessity, but disconcerting nonetheless.

“I hope we can get through this quickly. This conference is an absolute killer, and I have to get back at six in the morning,” the Prime Minister said.

“I’ll make it quick,” said the voice in the dark. “You remember that John Antoja was imprisoned in the Drone Republic last month. Well, last week their Department of Corrections informed my department that he was to be subjected to psychic probing.”

Hsiang’s wince was covered by the night. Psychic probing was a method of interrogation, originally developed by Believer empaths on Chiron, that involved bombarding a subject’s mind with psychic energy using a combination of mental and narcotic manipulation. At its most effective, it could pick individual thoughts out of a person’s head. A side effect was that many who were subjected to it went insane. The United Nations had banned it, and many people thought that no government still used it. Hsiang himself had believed this, and now he knew he was wrong.

“I see,” he replied.

“Shortly afterwards,” the voice continued, “we discovered evidence that implicated Antoja in the attempted bomb attack on the Spartan embassy. We also discovered the names of many other operatives and the identity of the ringleaders.”

A nearby streetlight illuminated a small area, into which a photograph was offered to Hsiang. He took it, straining to make out the details. Several figures posed in front of a brick wall decorated with a crude image of Marcus Kessel’s face on an octopus whose tentacles sprawled leisurely across the Milky Way, almost every radical slogan graffitied around it: “Pacifica Has Failed, Free Lakedaemon, Equal Use of Game.” On the far left, he recognized Antoja from some documents he had read in an intelligence briefing. But the central figure was someone whose name and face he knew intimately.

His name was Robert Lagaia, and he was the Minister of Transportation. Hsiang almost could not bring himself to believe that the amiable senator was a terrorist. He had been a member of the Pacific Party’s youth wing, and was once a liaison with the Spartan consulate in Kawaguchi Port. And now Hsiang was looking at a picture of him holding an impact rifle and calling for the destruction of Firaxis.

Then again, where could a terrorist find better cover than the Cabinet? Who was more beyond suspicion than the Prime Minister’s close political ally and personal friend?

“This is authentic?”

“I’m afraid so,” said the Head of Shadow Operations. “I’ve already begun the cleanup operation. Antoja has already been liquidated. My men are taking out fourteen more of their people tonight.” He paused, and Hsiang realized he was looking at his watch. “As a matter of fact, three of them just died in a car accident. But Lagaia is the problem. We looked at his office earlier today. There was no sign of him. His house is also empty. There’s nothing missing, and no sign of anyone leaving, but he’s not there.”

“Do you think he’s trying to leave the country?” the Prime Minister asked.

“Most likely,” the hidden man replied. “We’re watching all the spaceports, but since we hadn’t been monitoring him as a suspect previously, there was a large window – all of today and most of yesterday – to get out. We don’t have the budget of a Morgan Interstellar, though, and we might have too few sleepers overseas to track him down before this thing goes public.”

Hsiang nodded. “We have to find him. If he comes forward, it would be the biggest scandal ever.” He did not say it, but it would badly hurt Firaxis’ reputation, especially in the eyes of Sparta. At best, they would be dismayed at how easily the government had been infiltrated by a terrorist leader. At best.

“Tomorrow I’ll order him blacklisted,” the Prime Minister continued. “I’ll also put announcements on TV.”

“Right.” The spy paused. “We’ll get him, Michael.”

Hsiang nodded. He was not looking forward to the dawn.

[Lonestar]

"Interlude"








Alchemax Building, Nuevo San Antonio

"We got it."

Tyler Stone peered down at the jar of gray mush. It certainly didn't look impressive, but then, Nano-lath wasn't all that pretty.

"Hot Damn Garrison. You're worth something. You surprise me." Stone held the Jar up against the light. He was about to commit treason on a grand scale, the likes not seen since the New Europa Uprising.

"How much is Morgan Interstellar willing to pay for this?"

"1 Billion Solaris, plus several select technologies." Garrison whistled.

"Sir, we'll be rich!" Tyler Stone was more concerned about the promised Centaurian Tech. He was worth $79 Billion himself. Turning back to Garrision, Stone smiled.

"You came through for me Garrision, just when I thought I couldn't get a sample out of the Dosi Fab Plant up at Black Sands, you came through for me. Just one little thing though..."

Stone whipped out a PPG "Hold-out" and fired several times into Garrisions head. "You're too much of a chatterbox. If you knew what I was going to do with the Morgan tech...."

Stone sniffed the air. What the Hell was that?

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

Imperial Palace

The Rangers dragged Stone's body up in front of Lord Protector Ian McDiarmid. A medic ran over and revived him. After a small gesture, everyone left his office except for Dr. Pym. The two stood before Stone, who was gagging on the floor.

Very softly, Ian spoke. "Why did you still my Nano-lath Tyler?"

Stone looked up at Ian in horror. How was it possible it all came to this? After all his careful, careful planning! Quickly, Tyler regained his world famous Poker Face.

Ian gave a thin smile.

"Fine. We'll do it my way then."

Ian strode forward and grabbed Stone. Ian had the look of a man in his sixties, as far as Stone knew he'd looked like that since the end of the Spartan Uprising. Ian lifted him high in the air with one arm, and his pupils turned a dark red.

Tell me now.

Stone broke. He had been approached by a "Free Agent" that claimed he was from Morgan Interstellar. The agent wanted a sample of the Dosi Nano-lath the Protectorate used on it's newer vessels. In exchange, he would recieve a very powerful (and highly illegal) telepathic neuralizer. T-Neuralizers were very difficult to make, even the impressive resources of Alchemax couldn't do it.

"Why would you want that Stone?"

"Because..." Stone's eyes went to Hank Pym, who was standing back. "...I knew one of you was a Teep. I thought it was Pym. But...he isn't. And...you aren't either."

"Nope."

"You're something else."

"Yep."

"What?"

Ian sighed. "You kids these days, you don't know how easy you had it compared to the Original 15,000 settlers." Ian dropped him on the floor. Stone squawked.

"Take me for instance, I once had to have my appendix removed when I was a child."

Suddenly, a image flashed in Stone's brain. Men in odd, green clothing were standing over him. One of them lifted a sharp knife and began cutting...

Stone was writhing on the floor, screaming in agony. Several Rangers ran in.

"Take him to a cell. Give him the punishment of traitors."

The punishment of traitors was that he would be kept alive for as long as possible, all while having the most horrible images and sensations implanted into him by a Telepath.

It had been the fate of one Laurence Tarwater, who was still alive, having been brought back to the point of sanity and broken countless times over the years.

Pym turned to Ian.

"Well Ian, now what?"

Ian sighed. "Morgan's a industrialist, he really wanted that Nanolath, I guess."

"It's a pity we didn't stop it before the deal was made. The Dosi are going to be pissed."

Ian smiled. "Oh, don't worry about it. That Nanolath Morgan aquired? It's worthless. It's been programed to converte itshelf to vegemite after a few weeks, and the next MI Diplomatic ship doesn't leave for 11 days."

"So..."

"We have nothing to worry about. And the Morgan Embassy Chief of Station will be mightily embaressed. Man, I can't wait to share this joke with Morgan over a glass of Biltmore Wine!"

Pym shook his head as Ian walked back to his desk. He'd known Ian for Hundreds of years, and, as far as he could tell, this was the first time since 2130 he'd played a joke on someone.

Clearly, bringing the Protectorate in the greater galaxy was doing wonders for him.

[Lonestar]

"This Just in...."

The Palace, Nuevo San Antonio

"...so, Dr. Bucher and his team think the Stargate on Roving is our best chance for the program. The one here on BH4 is cracked and cannot safely maintain a wormhole."

Ian nodded and took a sip of his orange juice. It was 0730 local, and he was recieving his morning brief. The Director of Intelligence, Mr. Onate, spoke up.

"Uh, our scientists believe most of the nearby wormhole outlets lead rimward, although there are a few in the general direction of where we believe the UCS is located."

"Well, we can always send probes through first." Ian looked back at Dr. Pym. "No chance at duplicating the tech?"

"Nope. Far beyond even us. Hell, the Dosi say they have no idea behind the engineering principles. " Ian sighed and nodded. He must have asked the question a million times over the past few hundred years, and the answer was always the same.

Onate spoke again. "You'll be interested to know the United States had a Stargate in the early 21th century."

THAT got Ian's attention. "What?"

Onate continued."Yes sir. It was in one of the "safe" files in the Endeavor's computer system. We've only recently found it in the National Archives."

"Huh." Ian looked at Pym. "There an outlet on Earth?" Pym shrugged.

"Alright Gentlemen, that'll be that for this morning. Minister Kolasklar should be here shortly to brieg me on the Bree situation..."
--------------

Dallas, North American Directorate, Earth

Special agent Stone sat in the Bar drinking his beer. His operatives in the NA government had yielded immense information, but things had quieted down somewhat of late.

The Holonews anchor came up for the 6 o'clock news. "Tonight...on Fox Factor! The Mysterious Protectorate revealed! With a massive military, and connections with Unknown Alien races, can this nation truly be a friendly neighbor? An Inside look!" The screen showed the New Europa Yards, with dozens of Goliath battleships being built as the anchor spoke.

Stone look up. Oh, crap.
----------------

Nuevo San Antonio

Foreign Minister Grant burst into Ian's chambers, and grabbed the remote off his nightstand. Ian blinked his eyes and growled. "What the Hell...?"

"Shh. Sir." The viewscreen came to life, with an image of the Star Marine base on Roving. The angle indicated it came from orbit.

"--base near the GHE border. In the short few years since the Protectorate has made it's appearence known, it has acted with aggression, blithely crossing borders and punishing those who do the same. But this is not the limit of it's treachery."

Ian sat up straight. "What?"

"This is on the Earth holonet right now. Wait a moment."

"The Fox Factor has recieved information from a trusted source that the Protectorate has, over the course of a hundred years, captured several citizens from faactions affliated with the Spartans, Earth, the Bree, and, most recently, the Greater Hive Empire. These citizens are then put into camps where they are tested for the training.

"In the most recent case, the Protectorate actually crossed the GHE border, attacked a cargo ship, and left behind evidence implicating the Spartans. More after this, for Fair and Balenced News, the Fox Factor!"

Ian jumped up out of bed. "Call Ministers Onate, Kolasklar, Ved, and Dr. Pym here now."

[Frankychan]

Sleeping dragon stirs...

Hive Prime
Emperor's Private Viewing Room

The soft glow of the viewscreen cast an ominous shadow on Emperor Yang's face as he watched the interview of the Spartan leader Marcus Kessel on the Firaxian media. The Colonel seemed to talk forever about the glory of Sparta and their dedication to peace.

Nothing more than placating the masses

The room that Sheng-ji sat in was veiled in complete darkness except the light that came from the viewscreen. Scattered across the small room's walls were various memento's from Yang's past.

Emperor Yang's ancient face leaned forward and furrowed his brow in concentration as he continued to listen to the interview...

The Firaxian interviewer spoke...

"Moving on to more inter-system issues, the representatives of different governments are here but the notable absence of the Greater Hive Empire has lead many people to believe that Sparta and her allies are perhaps sending a signal that the GHE is not welcome in the Human Sphere. What would be your response to that assertion?"

Kessel's response infuriated Yang,

"I would tell them that they are right. Yang and his followers are not apart of the human sphere any longer. The Hive stopped being human centuries ago. As long as they stay in their own territory I don't care what they do, but once they set foot in the affairs of Sparta and her allies they will run directly into our path."

How dare you threaten me with that veiled threat, Kessel.

The Firaxian and Colonel Kessel exchanged more dialogue and Yang's ancient face leaned in closer and furrowed his brow in concentration. That last comment made by Marcus was interesting...

"Sparta does not consider the Hive as a human power. They have been influenced by alien forces far too much to be treated as human. They lost their humanity ages ago. What you in Firaxis and many other governments fail to realize is that we know the Hive far better than you. To you, they are a long lost legend only recently come to light. We in Sparta are far too familiar with the Hive to go on some promise of good behavior. More importantly, I know Yang."

Sheng-ji raised an eyebrow to that remark as he continued to listen.

The Firaxian commented, "This sounds personal to both Sparta and you Colonel. Is this the case?"

Kessel smiled for the camera, something that sickened Yang, and responded.

"I suppose it is. You see Miss Oto, I don?t care what people do in Sol or Firaxis or Concordia. I do care what is happening in the Hive however. I care because I know how Yang operates and I have seen his handiwork first hand. We in Sparta do not want war, but if it takes war to remove the blight that the Hive represents, then that is what we shall endure. We stood against the Bree for years and the Hive will present no greater of a challenge."

Yang considered the Colonel's statement. True, the Spartan's did indeed have experience in Hiverian affairs. The battle between the Bree and Spartan's was seen first hand by GHE ships. However, the Emperor doubted the Spartan Federation could withstand a campaign with the Bree and the Hive Empire.

The two continued with the interview commenting on Morganic and Drone involvement should a war between the GHE and Sparta break out. They covered the Hive's involvement with the "independent" worlds. Merely unenlightened individuals.

The interview winded down with comments about Firaxis and events there...things that didn't concern Yang. They both concluded the interview and the image shut off from the viewscreen, replaced with the traditional Hive seal.

Sheng-ji leaned back in his chair and sighed.

Kessel knows we're up to something. He can't prove it yet, but he knows that we're stirring up the waters.

He tapped the armrest with his pointer finger in thought as he considered his options.

War is looming across the galaxy, Yang concluded. Sooner or later the Spartan Federation and my empire with have to meet on the battlefield. The Drone's and Nwabudike will have to be neutralized or else the scales wouldl tip in Kessel's favor.

A soft beep indicated that he had an urgent message. Yang pressed his communicator and acknowledged.

"My lord, there is news coming from the border. Apparently there is a Drone vessel that has been identified in Hive space. Three Patrol vessel's have been dispatched to intercept."

Sheng-ji nodded. Time to set the gears in motion.

"I'll be in the command center shortly. Inform Warmaster Kang that he will meet me there."

"As you wish, your Excellency." The voice confirmed.

The Emperor stood and headed toward the door.

Yes, the gears will defintely start moving now...

[GeneralTacticus]

“Major Lysander, we are approaching the destination you specified.”

“Excellent, pilot. Notify the base command that I am approaching, and fly through the doors when they open.”

As his transport plane angled down towards the spot where the doors to an internal runway would soon be opening, Lysander strapped himself in and smiled for the first time in seven hours. He finally had something to be happy about; his trip through a turbulent atmosphere in this utilitarian, comfortless cargo plane was coming to an end at last.

Rebel Bunker Complex, Iron Mountains

Commander Leto, this is Major Lysander, coming in to land at your base. Please open the hangar doors so we can pass through.

Leto stared at the words on his computer screen for a second or so before hitting the ‘Execute’ key on his keyboard and activating the command sent with the message. The command whirred through the base network until it reached the control systems for the hangar doors, which swung silently inwards as Lysander’s transport and it’s escorts came through, shutting again behind them once they had landed.

* * *

Lysander stepped out of his transport and into Base 79 to be greeted by a regiment of rebel troops standing at attention. As he walked swiftly toward the hangar exit, the troops fell in around him, along with the remaining Hive troops as they filed out of the back of place. Once they had left the hangar, Lysander turned and looked questioningly at one of the officers.

“Lieutenant, where is base command centre?”

“This way, sir.”

A few minutes later, they arrived at the door to the command centre, where they found the local senior officers, including Commander Leto, there waiting for them. Lysander, Felcheck, and a few other Hive officers seated themselves, and Lysander nodded to Leto to give a status report.

“Well, sir, the situation for us seems to have gotten a lot worse than it was a day or so ago. As you know, the loyalists have retaken Dienkes Base, and they seem to have gained the upper hand in Athena Nova. The Spartan fleet has arrived in orbit and blasted the Hive one into oblivion, means that Menelaus has orbital superiority again, so things don’t look good for us. Looking on the bright side, we have the whole northern continent, including it’s mines, and we also have the Trajan-class armour suits, for what good they’ll do us.”

“Thank you, Commander. Do you have any suggestions as to what we can do? Anyone?”

The room was briefly silent before one of the Hive officers raised his hand.

“Lord Lysander, while we were at Dienkes Base, I had some contact with some of the other officers there, and they informed me that we had a mole in Menelaus’ personal security force. While we were en route here, I came up with several plans for using this mole, including one to assassinate Menelaus and potentially the rest of his council as well.”

An evil smile spread across Lysander’s face. “Excellent,” he said, “it was worth Yang sending you all just for this. Put the plan into action.”

The officer stood, bowed, and hurried from the room to carry out his orders.

Cadre Command Nexus, Laekdaemon Central

“Very well, officers,” Menelaus said, standing, “Let us begin. On the agenda for this meeting:

1) What to do about Lysander’s escape from Dienkes Base when we captured it.

2) Arrangements for securing Spartan aid in our war.

3) General military strategy against the rebels.

Warmaster Leinin, I believe you have some information to present?”

The Warmaster stood and began to speak. “Yes, General Menelaus, I do. Firstly, on the battle between Spartan and Hive ships in orbit. The Spartans were almost completely successful, the only serious hitch appearing to be that one of the ships they captured self-destructed -”

He was cut off at that moment by a thunderous explosion. Fire and smoke filled the room, and shards of glass and metal were everywhere. There were voices shouting in the background, but they were lost against the dying sound of the detonation. At last someone could be clearly heard.

“Where is General Menelaus?” It was one of the guards outside the room, who rushed in as soon as he heard the sound of blast. Menelaus, scarcely remembering who or where he was, managed to lift a hand and wave weakly from behind a mass of shattered metal. Barely conscious of what was going on around him, he didn’t hear the sound of gunfire, and hardly felt the shattering pain as plasma bolts sliced through the pile of wreckage around him. His last memory before slipping into darkness was of a distant cry of pain and of hands dragging him out of the molten ruins of the command centre.

[Sovereign]

Planet "B", Wu235 system
UCSS Copernicus

Captain Jason Holland muttered something under his breath.

"Great, just great."

He briskly turned towards Kiran Ronso as Holland straddled his chair. He stared at the tiger-like Ronso and drummed his fingers on the back of his command chair.

"Kiran, what is the analysis of the fleet arrayed out there? I want numbers on strength, probabilities of attack from their weapons systems, their deployments, everything!"

The Ronso began to growl-speak, but was interrupted by Communications Officer Marlene.

"The admiral on the UCSS Solaris desires to speak to you, Captain."

Turning again, Holland was starting to fume, as the holo-screen opened up to display the garguantan bridge of the Solaris. The view zoomed towards the Admiral standing in the center of the activity going on around the bridge. The admiral is an imposing figure, standing at two meters tall, with icy blue eyes and black cropped hair. His pure white uniform with gold collars and wristcuffs signified him as one of the UCS's twelve Grand Admirals.

Grand Admiral Devlin Yezprach made a simple statement.

"Catch you at a bad time, Captain?"

Captain Jason Holland tried to suppress his fuming, and was fortunately able to. Devlin Yezprach wasn't a person to look at the wrong way, much less anger. Rudeness was unthinkable in front of Yezprach. The word in the fleet corridors has had it that several people who were excessively rude or insulting towards Yezprach had mysterious "disappearances" the next day.

Jason Holland recovered, and cooly stated, "We were able to 'preserve' the prisoners from the planet's surface during the initial incursion by the Mechanoid Forces. The prisoners are being held within our brigs, awaiting interrogation."

"Good. Very good. Now, I am assuming command of the fleet. Transfer the data from the ground battle, as well as any data garnered from the destroyed 'Believer' ship to the Solaris."

Holland could only nod, as the holo-display collapsed into the ground. He returned to his fuming, dwelling on thoughts of utterly destroying the invaders with only his strike force and claiming glory for himself and his command, and not the calculating Yezprach.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
UCSS Solaris

"That went pretty well."

A Guado Empath with long and elongated fingers nodded at Grand Admiral Devlin Yezprach. Veins pulsated on the Guado's forehead as he scrunched his face as he made one final mind-probe.

"The usual desire for glory. He still has complete loyalty to the UCS Empire."

The Admiral curtly stated, "Very well."

"Sir, we're being hailed by the unknown fleet."

The hail could only be heard over audio.

"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."

As the demand ended, the hailing frequencies closed with an barely audible beep.

Yezprach arched an eyebrow.

"So, it is the Protectorate. This has just got tenfold more interesting."

Tactial Officer Diana spoke up, "Sir, if I remember correctly, the Magellan had an ecounter with these Protectorates a while back."

"Indeed. Please elaborate."

Diana acessed several holo-panels and downloaded several information quasi-packets. She scanned several panels of information and then looked up to the admiral.

"The Magellan managed to send a data hyperstream boosted by the UCSS Enterprise's powerful communication arrays before jumping in Quantspace towards an undisclosed location. Information sent includes details of the ecounter and a brief rundown of scanned information off the Protectorate battleship Cold Harbor.

From the information from the battle near Roving, their technology appears to be equal to ours. In addition, scans of the current Protectorate fleet out there with the strobing lights reinforces this possibility."

"Thank you, Diana. That will be all."

Yezprach stood up to his full height of two meters, and motioned for communication channels.

"Protectorate Vessel, this is Admiral Devlin Yezprach of the Solaris Battle Group. A small strike force entered this system, and a lone vessel attacked them without provacation. The strike force destroyed the attacker, and occupied the planet as well as liquidating the resistance, therefore, it falls under our sovereignty.

We claim salvage rights on the alien vessel and the wreckage below on the planet. However, we have several dozen prisoners of war. Perhaps they are your men?

I offer the following exchange. We return the prisoners of war to you, leave the system or turn ownership of the planet over to you, and we keep salvage rights on the alien vessel and relics.

I will expect a reply within the next Terran Standard Hour."

The Grand Admiral sat back in his command chair, awaiting the reply from the so-called Protectorate fleet leader or admiral.

Fifteen standard Terran minutes later, klaxons began blaring throughout the Solaris and the ships of the battle group. A peculiar distortion, not too dissimiliar to a raindrop hitting a puddle of water causing ripples, appeared several million kilometers away from the Protectorate and UCS fleets. A garguantan ship, almost as large as the 6 kilometer Solaris herself, emerged from the ripple distortion. It looked advanced with smooth edges, as if it was organic.

Yezprach smiled.

"Interesting."

[Lonestar]

Planet "B", Wu235 system



"......I will expect a reply within the next Terran Standard Hour."

Admiral Soontir Fel scratched his chin. His mind ran rapidly, dispite the lack of a man-machine interface. The University Admiral was returning the Lord Protector's men and equipment, but not the vessel. Smart. The UCS Man was betting that the Protectorate would stand up for it's people, and he was right. If he were so inclined, he could try to run with both the Protectorate's men AND the Hferhin vessel.

Fortunately, Fel had a ace up his sleave. Part of the Dosi-Protectorate Agreement of Forces Treaty stated that the Protectorate would inform the Dosi upon discovery of Hferhin vessls and wreckage. Most of the Hferhin wrecks the Protectorate found were already old and marked in Dosi networks. This one hadn't been, so the Dosi were sending the Dreadnaught Emperor Starha III to aid in the investigation.

The communications crewman, a 19 year old E-3 on her first deployment, looked up at the Admiral.

"Sir?"

"Wait a moment young lady."

Fel got up from his chair and began pacing around on the deck. He walked over to the plaque on the Allegiance's bridge and wiped some imaginary dust off. He checked his chronometer and sat down.

Ten Terren standard minutes passed. Captain Lagnon, the CO of the Allegiance, picked up the phone from the CIC. He nodded and said "Good."

He turned toward Admiral Fel.

"They're here sir."

The massive Emperor Starha III entered realspace and began moving towards the opposing Battlegroups. The UCS forces began to manuever wildly briefly, but then turned into an orderly formation.

Interesting Fel thought. Whoever's over there has a cool head.

"The Dosi Vessel is hailing us sir."

"Put the Captain onscreen."

Fel got down on one knee and bowed his head. "I great you, Fleetlord Kassiquit".

The Reptilioid Dosi Moved into a position of respect amongst her people. "And I you, Admiral Soontir Fel of Arlington. Are you in need of aid?"

"Yes Fleetlord, if you would be so kind." Fel explained. Kassiquit hissed.

"I will handle this affront upon our clutch-brothers, the Protectorate."

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


"Admiral Devlin Yezprach, this is Fleetlord Kassiquit in service of the Emperor of the Dosi, and Sovereign of the subject Races, Emperor Harresh IV. You have greatly insulted our clutch-brothers by attacking them without provocation. You Further insult us by association, and by lying when we are well aware of Protectorate doctrine with regards to being approached overhwelming force.

It is highly recommended that you accepted these following offers of mercy;

[1] The return of all remaining Protectorate Servicepersons and equipement.

[2] The return of all Civilian scientists who may have been with the expedition.

[3] The hand over of the alien vessel to myself or Admiral Fel.

[4] A sincere apology for this dishonerable attack."

Kassiquit killed the communications. Her top communications male look up at his viewscreen, and his eye turrets began to swivle wildly.

"What is it?"

"Exalted Fleetlord, the Protectorate" he almost said big ugly, the Dosi nickname for Homo Sapiens, "vessels are recieving a high-priority message from the ansible. We are recieving one too."

Kassiquit bared her teeth inpatiently.

"What is it."

"There's been an explosion at the Imperial Palace in Nuevo San Antonio. Lord Protector McDiarmid is critically wounded and not expected to live. Dr. Henry Pym will be Viceroy for the time being."

[Mr. President]

Autopsy

Orbital Xenobiology Lab
Rigel system

Many people had the impression that all alien life was inherently dangerous and patently hostile towards humans, that space was crawling with parasitic life forms and germs waiting for an unsuspecting human host. Since, however, Commodore Franco had visited the xenobiology lab many times, he knew that much of alien life was so far removed from humanity that it might not even recognize him as alive, that most alien viruses would die instantly if they were exposed to his body’s homeostasis.

The Bree, however, did recognize that humans were alive, and usually took every chance they could to amend that state of affairs.

The ones Franco saw laid out on metal tables as he entered the room would be doing no such thing. Slain by Free Drone soldiers during the skirmish at MI-35, they had been cryogenically preserved and transported to the secret Rigellian laboratory for analysis. A team of xeno-surgeons and Thinkers had been puzzling over the corpses since then.

“Have you found anything interesting?” the commodore asked.

The lead surgeon, a tall woman named Allenby, replied in the affirmative. “The circulatory and respiratory systems were consistent with what we know about Bree physiology. So we decided to examine these subjects’ brains and central nervous systems. Ted?” She gestured at one of the Thinkers, who quickly interfaced with the wall monitor and called up a large image.

“This subject’s brain,” Dr. Allenby continued, “is normal in every respect bar one. The motor cortex - ” she pointed at the bottom left of the image on the wall “ – displays cell constructions not normally seen in the Bree.” The image enlarged to focus on the motor cortex.

Franco asked, “Why does it look like the cells are arranged in rows and columns?” His field of interest had always been astronomy, but the limited exposure to biology he had gained in high school had suggested to him that cells didn’t pack themselves into perfect cubes.

The Thinker, Ted, answered his question. “In short, Commodore, it’s because they are. Materials engineers would call the arrangement body-centered cubic. We use nanotechnology to place individual atoms in arrangements like this when we make super-tensile solids and the like. But the Bree seem to be able to place cells in these types of arrangements.”

“Any idea how?” Franco shook his head in amazement.

Allenby cast a glance at the floor. “None,” she admitted. “I’ve never seen anything like this before. I don’t even know what function this arrangement served in life, but I’d guess it was to improve reflexes or speed.”

“That would make sense,” Franco replied. “The Bree know that they’re inherently faster and more agile than we are. It stands to reason that they’d try to enhance their advantages.”

Silence fell over the laboratory, quickly broken by Dr. Allenby. “But you haven’t seen the strangest part yet.” At her nod, Ted replaced the image of the motor cortex with a full-body scan of a Bree soldier. His spinal cord was shaded light blue to distinguish it on the black background.

“This is a Death Knight who was killed at MI-35,” Allenby explained. “Not only does his brain have the same body-centered cubic cell growth in the motor cortex – you’re not going to believe this – his spinal cord has been replaced.”

Franco blinked. “Replaced?”

“Instead of a spinal cord, there is an artificial cable made out of a material we couldn’t identify running from the brainstem to the base of the spine. We tested the material. It’s superconducting.”

Franco transferred his gaze to the Thinker who had just spoken. “How could he have survived having a thing like that installed?”

Dr. Allenby shook her head. “I couldn’t say.” The commodore bit his lip and thought hard. Allenby interrupted, “I imagine this Death Knight would have had reflexes like lightning.”

“You know,” Franco said quickly, “people have noticed the Bree’s speed and reflexes since the very first encounters. Were we always fighting cyborgs?”

Allenby shook her head emphatically. “I don’t think so,” she replied. “We’ve recorded the Bree’s use of implants and drugs since the beginning, but never anything like this. This is beyond our science – I know we have spinal cord replacement procedures, but to use a superconductor? One that maintains its properties inside an individual’s body? It’s unimaginable. No, Commodore, these are brand new.”

“Brand new,” Franco echoed. “It was a test. MI-35. They wanted to see how their new soldiers performed.”

He recalled the casualty reports from the skirmish, in which he himself had commanded the space forces. One Bree transport destroyed; 321 Bree soldiers killed; 13 war machines disabled. One Drone ship crippled, one destroyed outright. Three hovertanks and a multiple rocket launcher lost. 407 soldiers dead, more than a thousand wounded. And the Drones had forced the Bree to cede the planet.

Franco took some comfort in the fact that the Bree-Gorn war was again heating up, and the aliens would be distracted for a while. He knew, though, that one day the Human Sphere would face millions of these new troops, and prayed that they would be ready.

[Lonestar]

The Palace, Nuevo San Antonio

Lord Protector McDiarmid sat at his expansive but simple oak desk. His cabnint had gone home for the day, and he sat there, alone in his office.

He knew what was coming. The Protectorate had recieved all manner of inquiries, threats, and pleads after that Damn Terren news special. Surprisingly, the GHE had yet to send a customerary death threat. Neither had the Bree, come to that.

He did not know about the GHE, but he knew...he saw the Bree coming for him. He had given a great insult, and in a recent spate of prescience, he had seen Bree Commandos storming the palace.


The Palace shuddered. Ian took a drink from his orange juice. Any second now....

"Sir, we have to get you out of here!" Shouted the Ranger who had been assigned to guard the office. The door opened, and a bolt of yellow light hit the Ranger square in the head. Ian calmly continued to drink.

There stood 5 Bree. The (obvious) leader stepped forward, and held up a PPG.

"For crimes against the Bree, you are sentenced to death."

Ian calmly stood.

"Why don't you fight me, man to man, as God intended. Or are you to cowardly?"

The Bree's face turned into a snarl. He dropped his PPG and pulled out a crysknife. The other 4 Bree sealed the doors to the office.

"Die, blight on life!" The Bree charged...much faster than any Alien Ian had seen. Still, it was nowwhere near enough. Ian was no longer quite human himself.

Ian moved as a blur. In less than a second, the Bree was on the floor, grabbing it's neck. The other 4 charged Ian. Ian moved as a blur again,dropping 3 before the fourth one stabbed him in the gut. With a twirl, Ian drove his ancient Texan Army K-Bar across the last standing Bree's neck.

There was some chuckling from the Bree leader. Ian turned to him, who was lying on the ground hanging on to his wrist.

"Truly, you are almost worthy to live! Almost." There was a mad gleam in his eyes before he tapped a button on his chronometer.

I didn't see this coming, Ian thought, shortly before the white, then darkness engulfed him.

[Lonestar]

Kennibucport, Beta Hydri 4

Dr. Henry Pym slept soundly on his large bed, his wife lying next to him. The kids..and Grandkids...and great grandkids, were all gone now, and only he and his wife shared the large house on the firgid coast of Nueva California.

Suddenly, he was jolted awake by a Ranger bursting into his bedroom and saying, "Dr. Pym, you're needed at the capitol."

Henry Pym never much cared for being jostled out of bed, especially at 0303. Damn, those extra two hours would have been nice.

"I'm sure the Lord Protector can handle it without me." Pym was the only person on the planet who could blow off Ian.

The Ranger cleared his throat. There was a dull sound outside. Pym recognized it as a Orca Transport.

uh-oh

"Sir, There's been an attack on the Palace. Preliminary evidence indicates it was a Bree commando team. His Excellancy is in critical condition. This leaves...you in charge."

Hank jumped out of Bed. "Wake up General McCarthy, Ministers Kolasklar and Ved, and Director Onate."

"Yes sir."
----------

War Ministry, Nuevo San Antonio
4 hrs later

Pym looked across the Table. No, he was now "Viceroy" Pym, a title he didn't particularly care for. Sitting down were The appropiate Ministers from the Cabinant, and General McCarthy from the General Staff, and Admiral Ealstan from the Admiralty Board.

"We sure it was the Bree?"

"Yes sir." It was Director Onate who spoke.

Pym cleared his throat. What he was about to say would plunge the Protectorate into a General War for the first time since....ever.

"Admiral Ealstan, General McCarthy, have your staffs drawn up a list of targets?"

Admiral Eastan spoke. "Yes Sir, We've had a fleet group with 3 MEU's out on exercise not far from the Bree border. Specifically, the Eoforwic system."

Ealstan pushed a button and a Hologram of a system appeared over the Table. Another button magnified the second planet to the sun. There were Red space Stations in orbit of the Green planet, with 10 large spacedocks, of which 7 were occupied with what appeared the be Bree Battleships undergoing routine maintenance. There were 2 Star crusiers drifting nearby, and a dozen or so destroyers ambling about the system.

"It's a forward naval base for the Bree, in addition, they have a colony of 200 mill on the surface. Planetary defenses are mostly umbrella theater shields and planetbased Plasma Cannons. Actual ground forces are believed to be minimal."

Pym walked up and stared at the Hologram of EoforwicII.

"How recent are these Holos?"

"The Ranging ship Faerun is transmitting these live via ansible, sir."

Foreign Minister Grant leaned forward and spoke. "This would match what we've seen from Bree...guests. They honestly think we'll stand by and twiddle our thumbs after they 'taught us a lesson'. You notice they haven't even bothered to Rush those Battleships out of Dock. This is...fairly typical."

"And if we attack them?"

"Arf'ria. The highest state of war whereby only our complete destruction is acceptable."

Pym pursed his lips.

"Do it."
----------------------

Within the Hour Fleet Admiral Vanai lead the 3rd and 9th Fleets into the Eoforwic system. In less than 2 hours the Bree Spacefleet there was destroyed, with the lost of a Battle Crusier and fleet carrier on the Protectorate side. After a 6 hour Plnetary bombardment, Dozens of Acclamator-class landing craft descended upon the surface, unloading 750,000 Star Marines. Although fighting across the surface would continue for a month, the Battle for the Eoforwic system was effectively over.

The Protectorate-Bree war had begun.

[Silence]

Our Lord is a Mighty Fortress
In transit to Sol

In the command center of what was the most expensive ship in the fleet, Marshal of the Holy Host, Dexter Mathews looked at the main viewscreen with a feeling of dread and excitement. The New Crusade was going to begin and he was going to be the one who was in charge of making sure that it would be a successful war. Even though he had fought against this action since the end of the Hammer of God Insurgency, however his former friend and leader of the Believers knew the hearts and minds of the people and played to fear of the new conditions. Ever since the first colony ship landed on Planet the Believers had known war and sacrifice, and peace by now was to much of a alien condition.

“Transit time 5 minutes, Marshal” said Lt. Col Christof McAnders, the aide scared face mirrored Mathews’s concern about the present operation as well. Mathews sighed and got up to stand at the great hologram tank that showed the fleet and its surroundings. Right now it was just battle-wagon that he was one surrounded by the off-color that the computer used to describe the FTL environment. The minutes ticked away in silence as the crews of the mighty fleet waited for the humming of the great engines that where propelling them through time and space to stop.

The view in the tank shifted and instead of a single ship, it showed the Our Lord is a Mighty Fortress along with the rest of the military might of the Conclave of Believers. There was the Fleet which had its ships bristling like angry flying bricks of metal, weapons, sensors and launch platforms. Destroyers, frigates, cruisers, battleships, carriers, pickets, fighters, tankers, hospital ships, armed merchants, there was one of every kind, though the years of the previous war had made the hulls of the ships unpleasant to look at, there was a certain aura of majesty left in them, especially when all the ships had transited in all the same relations with each other, showing the massive crosses erected on their hull all pointing in the same direction. In the middle of the formations where the massive troop transports that carried with it the majority of the Conclave Army in which thousands of men and women waited in their assigned areas for the navy to do their business so they get about to do theirs. It was the largest fleet of Believers' ships since the end of the last war, it had nearly every ship and army unit that wasn’t assigned with the Morgans, or staying guarding the Conclave possessions back home.

“Put me in on inter-fleet communications.” The Marshal said, the communications personal scurried to do that, and within a minute there was the image of the Mathews on nearly every screen. “Soldiers of God! We are about to embark on the greatest Crusade since Miriam launched her October War against the heathens back on Planet. For all to long since our forefathers left Earth those many years ago, we left behind our beloved Holy Lands to make one anew. Now we have tested ourselves against those who would deceive us, and now we seek to claim what is ours once again. God willing we will convince the Earth authorities to give up without a fight. But if such a fight occurs, we will prevail, just as we have always prevail. Pray now for peace, but prepare for War!”

Message sent to Earth
On behalf of Conclave of Believers, I Dexter Mathews, Marshal of the Holy Host, have come to this blessed system to inform the government of Earth that lands that we considered to be holy shall be transferred to our control immediately, or else a the rightful and blessed Believers shall take it from you with bloodshed

[History Guy]

Firaxis
Day 16 of the Peace Conference

“Oh, the Grand Old Duke of York! He had a thousand men…He marched them up the hill, and He marched them down again!” Morgan was singing to himself, and ignoring the faces of any of the delegates sitting near enough to hear him. As far as he was concerned, they could bug off.

It was another break in the action. The Terran chaps had gone off for coffee, or something very much like it. To be honest, though, the Firaxians were a bit more hospital than Morgan might have expected. Indeed, he felt somewhat at home here. It was a strange blend of green and commercial policies that dominated this little world. He wondered how it had managed to remain so untouched by the idiocy and madness that he saw all around him. The universe, as far as CEO Morgan was concerned, had gone insane. The world, if there was any longer one real world, was turned upside down.

“Upside down?” asked Siddiqui, quietly, while talking to Morgan. “I suppose so. The Terrans would say we are upside-down, and that they are right-side-up.”

“They are mistaken, I’m afraid. Something I’ve noticed lately is that the whole universe is upside-down, and that Morgan Interstellar is alone right-side-up. We’ve managed clear heads in all these matters, really. It is everyone else who seems so totally mad. Even our Spartan friends, obsessed with fighting, but quick to get this thing over and done with. What is the world coming to when the pacifists want to continue fighting, and the damn hawks want to keep out of it?”

“Here’s Stormhill, Nwabudike. He’s looking remarkably troubled this afternoon,” said Walker, pointing at the Terran striding into the round conference room through the ‘gold’ doors. He had an agitated expression, as though his entire world was crumbling around him.

“What a terrible stink he’s in. I’m afraid we’ve given everyone an excuse to go around blindly zapping people. The Believers are zapping the Earthers, who are in turn zapping the Terrans, who should in turn be zapped by us, but aren’t, because we are too afraid of an invasion plan that most certainly can’t work out now.”

“Walker, what do you propose we do, eh? The idiot Bible-bashers barged in on things – here comes their ambassador now – in the middle of this conference to go blasting the evil, wicked, sin-filled Terrans off to Hades,” responded Morgan. “I suppose we can’t jolly well kill the Terran bodyguard, and do some zapping of our own, now? Not good for business, you know, taking out your prospective partners.”

“Something tells me that they won’t be partners for too much longer…” responded Siddiqui.

“Hardly… - Good morning Mr. Hsiang! – No, I’m afraid they were fools to trust InEn and the Coalition. Oh well. Everyone’s here today. Stormhill, which is ludicrous. He should be out there fighting the wicked, intolerant Bible-bashers. The Bible-bashers themselves are making a pretense of getting along with everyone. Kessel is just sitting in a corner guzzling some soft drink. The Drones are somewhere over there. Everyone’s here, except the aliens. Yang wouldn’t be expected to send in someone when he loses,” continued Morgan.

Someone battered a mallet on the rostrum, and everyone quieted down, except for one sleeping Firaxian diplomat, who snored awfully until someone nudged him in the side.

Mr. Hsiang then ascended the rostrum, and announced that the conference was to continue. Today’s topic: assessment of military damages…and who would pay whom for everything.

“Understandably, Mr. Morgan,” began Stormhill’s diplomat, whatever her name was (Morgan never bothered to look up the name, though he liked the face), “you are adament where the bill is concerned, suggesting that you were fighting a purely defensive war…”

“I wouldn’t say ‘defensive’…but you can use it all the same,” quipped Morgan, with a grin. The moods of the Terrans had soured considerably after the Believers crossed the border, and shot up some tollways, so perhaps it was understandable that they did not quite appreciate his (albeit twisted) sense of humor.

“Admiral Kerensky reported that the recent losses his command suffered in our successful campaign in the Corporate Sector were heavy, though they were to be expected. However, the laws of our charter would ask that you, as an offensive party, would pay us reparation funds, which would run up the bill quite considerably.”

Walker stood up, his flashy (tasteless) red shirt glinting in the artificial light. “The bill you put forward to us is somewhat higher than expected, I must admit. But, as you were so compliant where prisoner exchange was concerned, please allow us to make some inquiries into the fairness of this total.”

“Ah…we can allow this, yes…”

The discussion continued, and Morgan finally lost interest. It wasn’t very hard, actually. Especially with the good looking faces about. Secretaries, and the like. He felt like he could use a good symposium about not. A hang-over would be preferable to hours of this drivel. As he wandered off into his own little world, Siddiqui gave him a little nudge.

“What?”

“Look at these guys.” Siddiqui gestured to several impeccably dressed individuals quietly walking into the room, and seating themselves near the rostrum, unannounced, and apparently unexpected. “Peacekeepers. Lal’s boobies, in a post-Lal world. Ever since Parfat’s assassination, they have been quiet politically. Internal troubles. The replacement has to be removed, and his replacement is, well, a Nazi. Lal might just pop back, they say. Oh well. They are old news.”

“What are they doing stumbling around here?”

“Keeping the peace, naturally. Can’t have one diplomat poking the eye of another, or other such wicked displays of violence. They have to maintain their archaic charter, so they say. It never ends. I’m surprised they don’t have protestors outside banging on the doors, and blue-bereted soldiers running around with rifles making sure that no one gets hurt.”

“God. I have to get out of this idiot place,” responded Morgan, rubbing his temples, wishing he could walk off and get drunk somewhere.

“Would you confirm that with Admiral Kerensky?” said Walker to the Terran, his voice waking Morgan up from his little trance.

“That can be done,” responded the Terran ambassador, turning around in a way that caught Morgan’s interest. Stormhill nodded, and reached for some sort of commlink device.

After a few minutes of waiting, his face turning redder than before, he stood up, and left the room, still jabbering into his commlink. “What do you mean? Why can’t you?”

“Damnation. This is getting entertaining,” said Morgan.

“Think we should give him our present?” asked Siddiqui.

“Yes, damn it. Go get him.”

Siddiqui removed a small parcel from his briefcase, and quietly made his way out the large, metal doors, in the direction that Stormhill had departed. The Terran was in the hall, speaking quite loudly into his commlink. “What is this? Raise him! How can his commlink be ‘turned off’? He is in constant contact with Terra! What is going on, damn it?”

He suddenly noticed Siddiqui’s presence, and gave a little snort that did not become him in the least. “This is embarrassing. I’m going to have to go in there and tell everyone that Kerensky is ‘unavailable’. Hell. I’m going to look like an ass.”

Siddiqui tried to ignore it, and handed him the parcel. “Compliments of the CEO.”

“What the hell is it?”

“Open it. We intercepted it via taps on the transmissions from Drecaille’s office. It is quite genuine, I assure you.”

Siddiqui then turned around, and strode back to the hall, catching only a low “Oh God” as he left the hall. He was sure, from the tone, that it wasn’t a prayer.

Morgan wasn’t quite so shocked and horrified when he received the news that Stormhill was making his way back to Earth, and was, therefore, unable to attend the last few days of the conference.

However, the conference ended later that day, and Morgan prepared to return home. Things had gone quite well indeed. In his own little way, he felt somewhat indebted to Elise Drecaille, and her murderers. They’d saved him an arm and a leg. If everything continued this way, there could only be continued profit, and that is all a Morganite should ever really be thinking about.
++++

TRANSMITTED MESSAGE
FROM: SECRETARY GENERAL STORMHILL
TO: COLONEL FESSEDEN, TERRAN COUNCIL SECURITY

Am coming home immediately. Terrible news. Drecaille is a traitor. Will be back as soon as possible.

D. Stormhill
Secretary General
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ENCRYPTED TRANSMISSION
FROM: PRESIDENT DRECAILLE
TO: ADMIRAL WAKASAZHI

As of now, the Earth Coalition regards Secretary General Daniel Stormhill of the “Terran Alliance” as a traitor to his country, and a public enemy at large. He is wanted for crimes against the community. Remove him from command immediately, and place him under arrest so that he may await trial.

Elise Drecaille
President, Earth Coalition
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[Lonestar]

Eoforwic System

Admiral Vanai strode into the briefing room on board her flagship, the Reprisal, a Goliath blk II Battleship. Sitting around a table were her staff, as well as General Sabrino and his.

A stern woman with blond hair up in an even sterner bun, she could and did intimidate nearly everyone she came across. Only a handful, the Lord Protector, Admiral Ealstan, and Admiral Fel (who happened to be her husband) didn't whilt when she tried to get her way. She wore the simple olive Green Uniform with 4 silver stars of an Fleet Admiral.

"Good morning Admiral, I trust you slept well?" That was General Sabrino.

"Probaly better than you Mark. How's the situation on the surface."

"I hate to use the phrase, but 'textbook' comes to mind. In the last 24 hours we've secured the mjor cities of the Eastern Continent, and the IV Corps are sitting across the Twegan River from the Eoforwic capital."

Vanai frownd. This didn't jive with what she'd read of Bree society.

"I would have thought they'd put up more of a fight."

"The Bree? The Bree military and civilians are fighting tooth and, uh, claw. But their slave caste, 'shamed ones', are welcoming us with open arms. There appear to be many hundreds of slave communities on the surface, and the Shamed Ones are gleefully telling us where bunkers are, barracks, etc."

"How soon can you take," Vanai looked at the name, she couldn't pronounce it, "Eoforwic capital?"

"We're going to enter the capital tomorrow, but it'll be a meat grinder. Fortunately, we got about 10,000 new 'Hyperion' Cybers from Black Sands that'll be the vanguard. It could be a lllooooooooooonnnngg fight though, with terrorist activity afterwards."

Vanai nodded. Well, as long as they were on the topic of making wild ass guesses....

Turning to her Intelligence Officer, she raised an eyebrow, expecting her morning briefing.

The Commander cleared his throat.

"Looks like the Believers are going to go off and try to kill the Terrens. We don't know the fleet strength, or when, but one of our Ranging ships noticed their fleet departing from a station not far from Sol."

"Any indication they're interested in us?"

"The Believers to this date haven't expressed an intrest in us, Ma'am."

Vanai nodded for him to continue.

"Hydrin Media this morning, ISN specifically, ran a series of stories from a Bree colony. As expected, the Bree have declared that only or complete and utter distruction, blah, blah, blah, but it's okay to have media there. The average FREE Bree is hopping mad, but interviews with Shamed Ones match what we're getting from the surface."

The Intel man took a breath and continued.

"Foreign Governments have been making calls which equate to the diplomatic 'what the Hell is going on?'. Information about the Bree Commandos hasn't got off world yet, and the Peacekeepers condemmed us in a resolution yesterday. Morgan Interstellar issued a statement to the effect 'We stand by the Protectorate, but don't expect us to provide help.' The Dosi, of course, are honoring their treaty and we'll be seeing a few Dreadnaughts making Port calls at Protectorate worlds. The GHE is being Charecteristically quiet."

Vanai smiled. "I bet Viceroy Pym has his hands full right now."
-----------------

Executive Office Building, Nuevo San Antonio

"No I don't have a comment." Commerce Minister Ved raised his hands to cover his eyes from the flashes of holocameras.

"Minister Ved, will these actions delay or change plans to grant Chairman Morgan an Executive Directorship in CHOAM?"

"Plans are unchanged." Ved was silently swearing as he marched up the stairs.

"Is our economy going to be mobilized for complete war?"

"Sorry, can't say." Ved opened the door to the huilding and hustled in. Foreign Minister Grant was in the Lobby laughing.

"Shut up."

"Don't feel bad, they kept on harrasing me about Ambassador Atvar's visit last night. I hear Senator Cruz, " The Senate Presiding Officer, " Didn't get more than an hour's sleep last night."

"That's more than what I got." Ved mumbled. Grant laughed.

The two entered the Executive briefing room, and stopped. Ved noticed that the room was unusually crowded, with Representitive's from Morgan Intersteller and the Free Drone's there. Grant scowled and quickly put on a 'happy diplomat' face. Ved supposed Pym had invited them without telling the Foreign Minister.

"Ambassadors," Grant inclined his head, the two responded with inclinations of their own. "Sir," to Dr. Pym. Hank motioned for everyone to sit.

The Day began with a short announcement from the Ambassadors re-affrim what they had said in public the day before. Then the two left. Ved wondered what the Hell that meant. Then the briefings began, going on and on for hours. By the end of the morning briefing, Ved was ready to drop dead.

Too Bad the Bree had declared that the Protectorate will be completely 'cleansed', which left only one option for the Protectorate, really.

Genocide.