NationStates Jolt Archive

Report of the Special Committee for the Creation of Special Religious Practices for the Suppression of External Harmful Tendencies in the Relocated Population of Abu-Dhabi Khristatata

Darkened Eagle Security Clearance Required

Addressed to: Imperial President D'ron Christopher Smith, Federation of Sentient Peoples
Informational Copies to:
Lady Sirithil nos Feanor, Eternal Noldorin Empire of Menelmacar
Empress Rialla ux-Rihad, Empire of the Eternal Dawn
Lord Commander Adrian Stark, Exalted Star Supremacy of Revenia
King Gregory de los Santos, Federal Monarchy of New York and Jersey

Section 1: Requirements of Religion

The Religion must be structured in a way as to limit the violent tendencies of the Khristatatan population, limit their technological base, and still be easily accepted by the majority of the population.

As such, it should be a modification of the basic Khristatatan form of Christianity, stressing instead the non-violent aspects of the religion. Further, its primary focus would be to dis-encourage the creation of indigenous technology, presumably by a creation of a series of Tenets which prevent the development of technology. It is recommended that the level of indigenous technology not be allowed to exceed the level of Napoleonic Technology on Earth.

Section 2: Introduction of Religion

To introduce the Religion to the Khristatatans is where the primary difficulty lies. The presence of a predecessor religion, and the lack of complete national catastrophe and/or iconoclast provides an unstable element in the introduction of the new Religion.

As the most obvious course of action, mass mindwiping and re-education is not possible, the recommended course of action is as follows.

For the hyper-capable space colonies, we would recommend disabling them, followed by the introduction of knockout gases to incapacitate the colony's population. The population should be kept unconscious until they are on the surface of Mercury IV. Minor memory wipes should be performed to eliminate the recollection of any attacks performed on the colonies to disable them. During transport, randomly selected members of the colonial populations should be indoctrinated to the new Religion. If possible, these selected members of the communities should be exposed to The Voice of God, described later in this report.

As for the planetary population, elimination of automated defenses and defensive weapons systems, along with any remaining Earth-based military assets, should be completed as soon as possible, before the Khristatatans no longer feel as if they are at war. Following this, any attempts to rebuild said assets should be met with lethal force. Then, as soon as possible, collection and deportation of Khristatatans to Mercury IV should begin, following the same methods described for the space colonies.

Following this, no contact with the Khristatatans should be maintained, except through The Voice of God.

Section 3: Interaction of Religion

The interaction of Federation and Allied Personnel with the new Mercurian Population should only take place through the auspices of the manufactured Religion, and even that interaction should be kept to a minimum.

If at all possible, no personnel should ever interact directly with the transplanted population. The probability for accidental exposure of the constructedness of the Religion is too high. By this, the units known as The Angels of God should not be used, except perhaps during indoctrination and introduction phases of the religion, and primarily during the collection of the Khristatatan population for relocation to Mercury IV.

Further, the only interaction that will hopefully be required is the interaction through the unit known as The Voice of God. This unit will allow for reinforcement and correction of the path of the Religion, as well as for warning the population when they deviate from the Path of the Religion.

Any interaction that results in the end will be from the development of indigenous technology higher than that of the Napoleonic Level. This interaction should be committed through the units known as The Hand of God. This will be used to wipe away infidel technology higher than the proscribed level.

Section 4: Equipment and Personnel

Primary Religious Interface: The Voice of God

The Voice of God will be the primary method of interaction between Federation (or Allied) personnel and the Mercurian Population. As such, it should be impressive, and in theory, natural, to a degree.

As such, it is recommended that The Voice of God be a rock or set of rocks arranged in such a way as to produce a holy site. Additionally, The Voice of God, such as it is, must possess divine powers.

Primarily, it should be able to Pronounce. If it is to be a 'voice,' it must possess a voice. A deep, masculine voice is probably best. Additionally, subsonic disharmonies should be used for the creation of feelings of awe and fear while in the Presence of The Voice of God.

Secondary functions would also include self defense, to prevent tampering. Energy beams or non-visible weapons would be best for this situation. Further options for secondary functions would be 'holy water,' which as Mercury IV is a mostly desert planet, would be invaluable. Presumably, an aquifer could be tapped, cleansed, and provided with healing elements.

Secondary Religious Interface: The Angels of God

The Angels of God is to be the method through which 'face' to face personal interaction can take place if required. Upon consultation and a few different design schematics, it has been determined that the Presidential Cadre's Mark 2 Special Equipment Package Battle armor can be modified to suit the need to produce 'angels.'

With the removal of the standard weapons load out, and some streamlining, the armor while still appearing powerful, becomes much sleeker and majestic. Metallic wings can be added to the armor suit as well, providing the appearance of an 'angel.' Wings four meters in span seem to be the most appropriate.

Weapons would include a flaming sword, built of battlesteel, much like the current battle blades (which can be retained), with a plasma flamer built into the hilt of the sword, giving it the ability to both be wreathed in flame and shoot flame. Also, a laser designator for orbital fire support should of course be included, along with a Ultra-high Frequency Stunner array, to give more disabling power.

For effect, the armor should be white and gold, with the ability to both project a 'halo' of light, which can be done with a holographic imager, and wreath itself in flame, through a light flammable coating.

Dropships with active camouflage systems should be available for retrieval and transport of the Marines in the Mk2 SEP-ANG Mod. Retrieval should be accomplished through airborne pickup, where Marines would jump into the back of hovering dropships, 'leaping into heaven.'

One Company of 'angels' should be enough for enforcement purposes, as they should never have to be used.

Divine Interference Option: The Hand of God

In cases wherein The Voice of God is not obeyed, and the Tenets of the Faith fail, and interference becomes the only option remaining to prevent technology past the proscribed time frame from arising, it must be swift and sudden.

A small network of satellites and remote aircraft with active camouflage systems should be able to successfully monitor and interdict any indigenous technology above the proscribed level. These of course would be controlled from the same location in orbit as The Voice of God, and as ansible communication systems will allow for instantaneous communications, this should probably be located in the command area of the shipyards, and not directly in orbit.

It is highly favorable that orbital deployments be kept to the minimum required.

As such, only The Angels of God and the active interdiction systems of The Hand of God should be in orbit of Mercury IV. The active interdiction systems should consist of either railguns or energy weapons capable of delivering destructive weapons fire to precise locations on the surface below. The system should be large enough that at no time is any part of the planetary surface uncovered.

Prevention of External Influence: The Protectors of the Faithful

The establishment of a Fleet presence in Mercury should be a primary concern. Firstly, Mercury is an excellent location for the construction of a shipyard, due to its proximity to the Rampage system and the massive resource fields there. Further, to maintain system security, mine fields and static defenses should be developed at the Mercury-Rampage and Mercury-Integro warp points. Also, mobile Fleet assets should be deployed.

These assets, in many cases, will be visible from the planetary surface, and as such, should be explained away as The Protectors of the Faithful, as would the weapons systems described as The Hand of God.


Signed,

Chris Lebenzon, International Relations Directorate
Micheal Moder, Professor of Religious Studies, Vanderbilt University
Richard P Hendrick, Weapons Systems Engineer, Military Directorate
Jennifer Foster, Professor of History, Vanderbilt University
Stuart Wilson, Trade and Commerce Directorate
...

[Tag]

Report of the Special Committee for the Utilization of the Apache-Nexus Warp Point Chain

Eyes Only: Code Word Clearance: Clausewitz

Addressed to: Imperial President D’ron Christopher Smith, Federation of Sentient Peoples
Informational Copies:
Lady Sirithil nos Feanor, Eternal Noldorin Empire of Menelmacar
Lord Commander Adrian Stark, Exalted Star Supremacy of Revenia

Section One: Utilization of the Mercury System

Due to the Mercury System’s location and special astrographic considerations, it is ideal for certain purposes, possibly vital to the security of the Federation and its allies. Especially related to the presence of three warp points in the Mercury System, the hyper-cancellation effect exhibited by the gravitic interactions, extending to twenty-nine light days from the primary, makes it an excellent secure solar system.

This becomes important in consideration for the construction of both secure shipyard facilities and the presence of the Khristatatan Relocation Site, and accompanying facilities.

Utilization of Mercury IV: Khristatatan Relocation Site

As is detailed in the Report of the Special Committee for the Creation of Special Religious Practices for the Suppression of External Harmful Tendencies in the Relocated Population of Abu-Dhabi Khristatata (Darkened Eagle Security Clearance Required), the planet Mercury IV will be used for the relocation of all captured members of the Khristatatan population.

As for Mercury IV itself, the planet is currently in a state of ecological restoration resulting from a global killer catastrophe on the order of ten thousand planetary years (12,000 T-years) previous. Indications seem to show that Mercury IV was in possession of a Society with Late Electromagnetic Era technologies, with no indication of magneto-gravitic, electro-gravitic, or electromagnetogravitic technologies.

As such, it appears that an extra-planetary body, approximately the size of Orm Embar, or the Californian province of Texas, hit the planet at sufficient velocity with which to basically penetrate the crust layer, causing massive damage, in addition to atmospheric debris and planet wide firestorms. The object appears to have been mostly iron and nickel in composition, and trace radioactivity indicates that the planetary population attempted to use nuclear weapons in large quantity to divert or destroy the object. The evidence indicates this attempt was unsuccessful.

As for the planet itself, small mammalian creatures and insect life, analogous to roaches and rodents, survive, and seem to be the dominant life forms, along with a few forms of avian life. While the planet is mostly barren rock or desert, there is one large ocean, which at one point was probably larger. Some areas of grassland, with scattered scrub bushes and trees exist.

Minimal terraforming would be recommended for the survival of the Khristatatan population, including the planting and scattering of certain edible crops, in patterns such as to suggest wild growth.

The atmosphere, if a way to thicken it can be discovered, should be thickened slightly, though it is not required for habitation. Atmospheric pressure is approximately 0.85 T-standard. Composition is close enough to T-standard, with a slightly lower nitrogen and slightly higher carbon dioxide ratios, relative to the percentage of oxygen in the atmosphere, which is also slightly higher than T-standard, at thirty percent (30%). Surface temperatures usually fall between -5 and 30 degrees Centigrade.

Utilization of the third moon of Mercury VII

If possible, a small agriculture colony should be established on the third moon of Mercury VII, hereafter referred to as Bloom, the designation assigned by the civilian science team aboard the vessel S.P.S. Matrix. About two thirds the size of Earth, the moon is rich in heavy metals, giving it a much higher density, and therefore, approximately Earth equivalent gravity. None of the heavy metals appear to present in quantities lethal to humanoid life, and as such, pose no problem to the establishment of a small colony.

If this colonial plan is carried out, it will provide greater flexibility in the supply chain to Federation and Allied forces in the Mercury System, by providing them with a food source.

Unfortunately, this also ties the eventual Fleet presence to a civilian population in need of protection, unless purely automated labor is used, which is a possibility.

Utilization of the Mercury System as a Whole

Pursuant to the goals of the Federation of Sentient Peoples, in addition to establishing the Khristatatan Relocation Site on Mercury IV and the colony on Bloom, a large military presence would be constructed in system.

Primarily, a fourth Anglachel-class Battle Station and shipyard should be constructed somewhere in system, either in orbit of the primary or in orbit of Bloom. This station would be the command center for the Religion (as described in the aforementioned report), through the use of the ansible communication system, while a second orbital facility, considerably smaller, was placed in orbit around Mercury IV, for the deployment of ground based assets and local control, should it become required. This fourth Anglachel would not require the troop module, that allows for the deployment of an Army Group aboard, nor the massive dropship complement that accompanies that deployment.

The shipyard would be in place, and would have excellent access to the resources of both the Mercury System itself, but of the Rampage System as well. In addition, to secure the system further, as Rampage and Integro are not secure systems, the Mercury ends of the warp points leading to both systems should be secured with static defenses, including remote weapons platforms and mine fields. A large sensor network should also be emplaced to prevent n-space approaches to the system. Additionally, a mobile force of at least a Task Group should be assigned to system defense.

Section Two: Utilization of the Apache System

As Apache is the other system in the warp point chain ‘secured,’ it is the secondary option for the eventual positioning of a secondary shipyard facility.

Centered on an Anglachel-class Battle Station and Shipyard, the system industry would be fed by both the system’s resources and the surrounding systems down the warp point chain, until the Matrix warp point junction is reached.

Additionally, static warp point defenses should be constructed on the Apache ends of all three warp points, and should be backed by a mobile force of at least a Task Group.

Section Three: Utilization of the Remaining Star Systems

Due to the vulnerableness to hyper launched attacks, the remaining systems, lacking the hyper-space repulsion effect of more than two warp points, requires than no defenses be built there, and no mobile forces assigned to them permanently.

All star systems between Apache and Matrix will feed the industry of the Apache system, while the resources of the star systems between Matrix and Mercury will feed the resources of the shipyards there.

But, a mobile force should be assigned in the event that it is needed, both to patrol the communications and sensor arrays, and to guard the freighters bringing in the raw materials to the shipyard systems. Should these systems come under attack, the mobile forces should rejoin the easiest to reach stationary force.

While the raw materials in these systems are valuable, they are not yet valuable enough to fight over, so prudence is suggested.

Signed,
Janay Enno, Trade and Commerce Directorate
Dimple Edel, Military Directorate
Jan Maragno, International Relations Directorate
Randal Puca, Trade and Commerce Directorate
Courtney Zysk, Military Directorate
Peter Konica, Colonial Directorate
…

Office of the Imperial President, Imperial House, Griffin, Commonwealth of Sentient Peoples, FSP

D’ron was reading a readiness report for the upcoming operations to be conducted against Lost Americans when he was distracted by a blinking purple light on the status display on the holoscreen. He reached out and touched. Cortana resolved a split second after he touched, her glowing purple form, red hued numbers scrolling over her form.

The Imperial President came straight to the point. “What’s wrong?”

The EI gestured at the wall holodisplay, currently turned off. “May I?” He nodded, and the display clicked on, flashing to a domestic, or more specifically, a local, news channel. D’ron’s eyebrows shot up when he saw what was happening.

“Why?”

“Apparently, we have a security leak. At least part of the ADK reports have been leaked.”

“Dear god.” Cortana nodded, agreeing with D’ron’s assessment.

North-East Intersection of Main Street and Griffin Way, Griffin, Commonwealth of Sentient Peoples, FSP

Jackson Emerson stared in horror down the broad avenue to northward. Fortunately the shock which permeated his mind did not affect his shoulder mounted HD camera. He worked for Ring Network’s local news station in Griffin as a cameraman, and was normally a consummate professional. But this…

This was outside his ken. No one had seen anything like this since…

Since the last Imperial President was murdered. But that had been in the Manilowian capital, not in Griffin, the largest, and oldest city in Dor Lomin.

The people were literally rioting in the streets. The rival Angel Communications local station had broken the story, but no one had expected anything like this as a response.

Worse, in one of the best policed cities in the world, there were no police in sight. And though Emerson did not know it, his images were being transmitted throughout the Ring Network to those people still in their homes, which could not be very many, considering the number in the street.

The crowd was flowing towards Jackson, and he slowly backed away, until he bumped into something solid. The news crew’s hovervan. And then, there was a crackle, and a sizzle of ionized air. The air turned a glowing blue as people pressed into the flow control barrier.

Then, everything changed. Sirens pierced the air, over powering the crowd. It was not just the sirens of the police cruisers now flying in overhead at a couple hundred meters per second. The Civil Defense sirens were being used to amplify the noise.

As the Police cruisers flashed overhead, black shapes separated from them, falling towards the ground.

Riot squads in armor. And then, the voice no one wanted to ever hear. Through every speaker and public address system within three or four kilometers of the riot’s main body, came the voice of Griffin, the city’s controlling Electronic Intelligence.

PEOPLE OF GRIFFIN. THIS IS AN UNLAWFUL ASSEMBLY AND EXPRESSION OF GRIEVANCE. DISPERSE IMMEDIATELY. YOU HAVE ONE MINUTE TO COMPLY.

The noise of the crowd vanished, and some people near the edges seemed to be drifting away, then more. But most stayed, and the minute passed both quickly and with glacial slowness.

VERY WELL. YOUR TIME IS UP.

The Riot teams lining the area opened fire. Sonic stunners swept the area, and heavy riot foam began to coat the rioters. They panicked. And Jackson caught it all, transmitted live.

The police, backed by the internal defensive systems build into the towers surrounding the area, quickly suppressed the riot. In less than ten minutes after opening fire, nearly a million people lay unconscious in the street.

A low rumbling interrupted the silence of the aftermath. Griffin’s servitor ‘bots had arrived. There was no need for the police to arrest this many people. There was no room to arrest this many people. The ‘bots would separate the crowd, returning them to where they belonged, whether work, or home.

They would wake, with a splitting headache, and destroyed clothes, but otherwise, no worse for wear for their experience.

And it was all on film.

Office of the Imperial President, Imperial House, Griffin, Commonwealth of Sentient Peoples, FSP

D’ron watched the entire incident on the HD, the images transmitted live and unedited from Jackson’s HD feed. As the view died, he looked at Cortana. “What was the problem?”

“Apparently, some of them were objecting on moral grounds, but many, and perhaps most, were objecting to the cost of this in the middle of a war.”

“I’m not to happy with the cost myself, but it has to be done.”

“True.”

And so it would be.

tag.....too much reading for now, my eyes hurt

S.P.M.S. Optimism, Construction and Resource Ship, Special Government Contract 984, Transit Queue, Earth Side, Earth-Apache Warp Point

“Captain, we are approaching transit station.”

MacDougal turned his eyes away from the display and looked at his Astrogation Lieutenant. “Very good, Mister Serway. Wait for the signal from Shambhala Station to make the jump.” MacDougal’s eyes returned to the plot. He was a naval reservist, and held the rank of Captain in the Space Navy as well, but even in wartime, ships took a while to build. Though they will be built faster when I complete my mission. He glanced at the ten ships holding station on the Optimism. He was the senior most skipper in the group, but the small icons were tiny next to the bulk of the Transit Station. In fact, all 500 million tons of civilian shipping in his convoy was tiny next to Shambhala’s massive size. The energy platforms, the mines, the station, and a full battle group sat at station on this side of the warp point. Another battle group sat just on the other side, he knew, though they were invisible on the plot.

He glanced at the visual display as a ship burst from the warp point, energy bleeding away in a rainbow of colors.

“Sir, we have the go ahead to transit.”

“Very well, make the jump.”

The multi-megaton freighter drifted forward under a fraction of its drive power, and then, slipped into the warp point, and as it traveled through the tortured tunnel of space time, it ceased to exist for five minutes by the universes clocks.

It flashed into existence on the other side. “Move us down the lane, and transmit the authentication code.”

Wing Briefing Room, S.P.S. Capella, Battle Fleet, Earth Orbit

Eighty-four people sat in the small auditorium used for the fighter group briefings. The crews of every fighter assigned to the flagship, awaiting their commanding officer.

It had been two days since the terrible battle that had surprised the Fleet so badly, that had killed so many. But fortunately, no one in the small, close knit fighter wing of the Capella, or at least, none of the flight crews, had been lost. The same could not be said for any ship in the fleet, amazingly enough. The holoscreen at the front of the room snapped alive, and a collective gasp of breath came up from assembled personnel.

Fleet Admiral Farragut looked out of the screen at the assembled officers. “Good morning, I know you all were expecting to see someone else, but for a strike of this magnitude, I thought I would brief you myself. This transmission, if you are wondering, ladies and gentlemen, is going to every ship in the Fleet.” He smiled at them.

“No doubt you are wondering what I mean, when I say massive operation, though. As I’m sure you all know, the Lost Americans Surface Navy is currently headed towards the Federation, and I have little doubt that you would like to get some of your own back. That is not going to happen. At least, not this time.” This screen changed to display a map of a desert country, most clearly not the Confederacy. “This is your objective. The Nation of Abu-Dhabi Kristatata.” The screen changed back.

“No doubt many of you are wondering why we’re attacking another nation when our own is under threat, and I assure you, that there are strategic reasons behind this, but you do not need to know the full reason why. But not all the fighter wings will be committed to this strike, so Lost Americans will be engaged. And as we are at war, the Khristatatans will not be expecting us, so now is the perfect time to strike them.” He smiled, and it was hungry, predatory. “This time they won’t escape. You squadron and wing commanders will have your individual targets. Good hunting.”

Commander Jagstoni stood up near the front of the room, before the screen once again displaying the map of ADK. “Ladies and Gentlemen, Fleet Command has identified a bit over two thousand potential target sites from satellite recon of ADK. We are responsible for thirty of them, specifically, these thirty.” The display changed and zoomed in, highlighting thirty of the massive energy batteries near the capital. “The attacks will be in wing pairs. Your fighters will have your specific target site. There will be forty-five hundred fighters participating in the strike. Two per target, and the rest will be flying CAP. If you decide your target is too hardened, limited orbital support will be provided. Any questions?”

“Why don’t we just take out everything from orbit, sir?”

“Because we aren’t looking to cause civilian casualties. A full orbital strike of this scale would probably kill way too many people.”

“Ah, yessir.”

“Anyways, once we have destroyed all the ground emplacements, we will be limited to providing air support for any military units deployed on the ground, but that isn’t going to happen for a few days, probably. Any more questions?”

There were none.

“We launch in five hours.”

Operation Crying Rock, Air Assault Phase, T-00:04:30

Robin Calesiti, Flight Officer in the Capella’s third Longsword squadron floated in orbit, separated from her wingman by twenty meters of vacuum. “Ready for this, Tommy?”

“Sure thing, Robin. We’ll slam these fools and be back for a late lunch.”

She smiled involuntarily, but she knew it would not be that easy. It never was. She only had a seventy percent success rate over all in ground assault sims, which in her opinion, suddenly looked like very low odds indeed. “Right, Tommy. We’re going in the first strike, so let’s be ready.”

“Aye aye, ma’am,” he replied jauntily.

They waited in silence for the next couple of minutes, and then the all TacNet comm. channel crackled. “First Wave… Go!”

Calesiti peeled her fighter over, and headed towards the ground, Flight Officer Thomas Pintear just behind. As they hit the atmosphere, the secondary drive function came online, peeling the atmosphere out of their way, and glowing bright blue.

The incoming fighters weren't very hard to notice for the massive cluster of metropolitian areas that was known as Izumoati. Gunners, in trucks on the ground and in their turrets on towers and spires, watched the fighters come in. With the turn of their head they moved the guns, all that was need was to press the 'Fire' button, and so they did.

Turrets and gun emplacments opened up, missiles, gauss shells, and old gunpowder propelled projectile weapons, all aimed at the fighters.

The ground defences weren't as efficent as usual. There were gaps in the system, power shortages, men shortages, ammunition shortages. But for a metropolitian sub-conteinant, these problems could be solved, for awhile.

Operation Crying Rock, Air Assault Phase, T+00:02:30

As the ground defenses opened fire, the first strike group leveled off, high out of reach of most of the weapons, and five hundred fighters forming the reserve wheeled over and began to track in as their sensors fed their plots, and TacNet filled the dataplots with threat sources, targets far below.

Screaming downwards, they locked in their target, weaving to avoid counter-fire, occasionally burning down missiles that got too close, as sensors clawed at the ground and then locked onto the assigned targets. At three kilometers, kinetic missiles lashed out from under the wings, seeking self-immolation against the defensive batteries. And the fighters came behind them, faster and faster, until at five hundred meters, they broke for space again, at their closest approach leaving behind presents in the form of cluster munitions, FAE, and napalm, flooding the target areas with fire.

Then the first strike group came in, blazing through the atmosphere like slow moving blue lightning bolts.

Calesiti and Pintear’s fighters slashed through the atmosphere, sensors calling out to the ground, and reading the response, feeding the computers. Linked to TacNet, the fighters of the first wave struck with lethal speed and ferocity at those locations known to possess surface to space and surface to air weapons. Through the fighter AI, each pilot was part of the coherent whole, neural interface allowing communication far faster than conscious thoughts.

Target?

Target Acquired.

Lock?

Target Locked.

IP?

Approaching IP…. Arm, arm, arm…

Armed.

Fire.

“Firing.” From each fighter, kinetic missiles sliced into the atmosphere, penetrating the fighter drive fields, and seeking their goals. Eight kinetic missiles charged towards each target as the fighters broke for vacuum.

Many of the defenseive turrets were hit, but it didn't matter much to the populus, their defending was only half-hearted. Or at least mostof the defenders committed themselves half-heartedly.

Several lasgun shots lanced out at the fighters in an attempt to destroy them, but that was all that came.

Operation: Crying Rock, Air Assault Phase, T+00:05:30

As the first wave of fighters screamed heavenwards, leaving glowing, heated pits from their weapons in their wakes, as the air crackled with ionization as the knifed through it. A few of the defensive lasers scored hits, and even less of the fighters faltered with them.

The half-hearted defense the Kristatatans were putting forth was no match for the fighter wings of the Federation at the peak of their training, and their focused ferocity. Perhaps normally, they would have been, but now… It was if the mauling the Federation had given their space forces a six weeks before had broken their morale.

But none of the fighter pilots were likely to complain.

As it was, when the defenses opened up, new, previously unknown defensive positions were spotted, and plotted, and the reserve fighters, held back for this, roared down again to hit, spewing kinetic and flaming death from their wings.

Behind them came the second wave of fighters, focused on the next five hundred targets. And as they opened fire, yet a third wave roared downward, followed by the fourth as yet another set of fighters opened fire. And in between, the reserve fighters struck again and again.

High above, Flight Officers Calesiti and Pintear hung upside down, the Earth above their heads, and watched as thousands of fires raged through the land of Abu-Dhabi Kristatata.

“Damn, Robin, aren’t you glad you don’t live down there?”

“Yeah, Tommy, I am.”

They continued to watch in silence until they were recalled to the Capella for debriefing.

And from that, someone else would decide if another strike was needed, or if the Fleet could being landing the Marines.

Many sections of the city sent out messages of capitulation, but some were cut off by explosions. A fire torando swirled throughout Izumoati but that wasn't cause by the fighters of the Sentient Peoples.

Flag Conference Room, S.P.S. Capella, Battle Fleet, Hugh Earth Orbit, Over ADK

Farragut gazed down at the massive holographic layout of the ADK megalopolis of Izumoati. Areas claiming to have surrendered were tinted lightly with amber, whole ones still putatively hostile were tinted with blood red. Firestorms, muted in brilliance to protect the humans’ eyes, raged throughout the display.

Muttering something under his breath, Farragut used his neural links to manipulate the display. Near the edges of the huge city, around the small farming outposts, glowing blue arrows appeared in midair. On each one, a small spinning icon of a different intact Marine company appeared, eagles, gryphons, manticores, other mythical creatures, crossed weapons, shields, all on different colored flags.

Then green marks overlaid rows of buildings throughout the city, cutting the city into segments. Farragut smiled. He turned to his staff communications officer. “Send this, general transmission to the citizens of Izumoati. Order an evacuation of all the buildings marked in green.” He then looked at the only non-human standing in the room, which was the Capella avatar. “What would you recommend for destroying the marked buildings?”

“I would say the main particle cannon batteries, Admiral. They’ve got the power to vaporize the buildings, if that’s what you want.”

“Yes, I plan to cut the city into pieces to provide kill zones while we clear out each section.”

“Makes sense, sir. When do you want to begin?”

Farragut looked at the chronometer on the wall. “Give them twenty-four hours from the time we send the message. In the meantime, begin cleaning out the small farm communities around the city.”

An echoed “Aye, aye, sir” sounded in the room from all the other officers.

People of ADK and the city of Izumoati, the following coordinates must be evacuated in twenty-four hours before bombardment begins. The areas targeted will be completely leveled and nothing will survive the experience.

<[Coordinates follow]>

OOC: Yo Ai. I was thinking, you could really just take over from here. If you need to know anything you could just TG me or talk to me on IRC. If you need me to make an IC post, just let me know.

Marine Briefing Room, S.P.S. Capella, Battle Fleet, High Earth Orbit, Over ADK

Corporal Rebecca Mullen trotted into the briefing room and smiled as she moved over to sit with her squad. Private First Class Amir Ellis nodded as she sank into the seat beside him.

“Good morning, ma’am.” Amir was an excellent soldier, despite a slight over obsession with formal military courtesy. But he knew it was over the top, and perhaps emphasized it even more as part of his pretty good sense of humor.

“Good morning, Amir.” She smiled brightly, looking up at him as she sat. The Corps had a height requirement, and ‘Becca had only passed it by a single centimeter.

A loud tapping sound echoed through the room as the Colonel flicked the microphone with his finger to get their attention. A thousand pairs of eyes snapped to him.

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. We’re going to continue Operation: Crying Rock today, initiating the ground phase of the campaign.” A map popped to life on the wall behind the Colonel, displaying Izumoati and the surrounding farm communities. “These are our objectives.” Blue circles flashed to life, highlighting ten of the small collections of buildings. “One company will be hitting each farm community. You’ll each have half a squadron for air cover and support. Since the dropships are being retained to carry prisoners up to the freighters, you’ll be making a full combat drop, with capsules.”

His gaze slowly rotated over the assembled personnel. “You’ll be dropping with split loadouts, lethal and non-lethal. The goal is to take them alive. Resistance is to be ended by whatever means necessary. Lethal force is authorized, but discouraged. Especially among the farmers, who will be absolutely essential to maintaining the Khristatatan population once they arrive on Mercury IV.” He smiled intently. “This should be relatively easy, compared to the city. We go in four hours.”

Operation Area 4x119, Izumoati, ADK

Jason Abdullah glared at his suitcase as he slammed the lid shut. Sixteen hours remained until the Federation’s deadline.

Deadline. Ha. That’s a good way of putting it, since we’ll all die if we don’t follow their directions.

The neighbors did not believe the Federation would do it. After all, the Federation was claiming to be the ‘good guys.’ Jason doubted it, though. He did not know of anything that ADk had done to the Federation to warrant such treatment. And he had tried to convince Rebeka to come with him, but she had refused to leave her parents. It had devolved into a shouting match, and with her throwing him out of the apartment next door. He sighed heavily, not wanting the last thing he had ever said to her to be said in anger. He hoped they were right, that they would be alright, and the Federation would not bombard.

He slipped on his long jacket, and a face mask to protect against the ashes that permeated the air outside, thrown up by the fires of the Federation’s first assault. Grabbing the suitcase, Jason strode to the door and glanced back around the single-room apartment as he sighed once more. Somehow he knew this would be the last time he saw his old life.

Drop Room 4, S.P.S. Capella, High Earth Orbit, Over ADK

“ATTENTION ON DECK!”

Rebecca Mullen snapped to attention as the chamber rang with the sounds of one hundred battle-armored Marines coming to attention. The Captain, followed by the Lieutenants, stepped into the drop room. Their visors were up as their eyes ran over the troops assembled before them.

“Alright,” the Captain drawled slowly, “you all know what your job is. We have two goals, to complete the mission, and second, to all come back alive.” He smiled. “Personally, I’d rather you call come back than we took all the Khristatatans alive. I trust no one has any problems with that?”

“No, sir,” the response rumbled back.

“Good. Seal up, and man your drop capsules. Good hunting.” The Captain and the other officers reached up as one and flipped their visors down, vanishing behind the mottled black battlesteel.

Corporal Mullen watchas her troopers followed suit, and then sealed her own helmet with a soft whoosh of air. The tactical displays blinked to life as she moved towards her capsule, and climbed in. Everything went black as the capsule sealed and the air was pumped out, then replaced by shock absorbing gel, tightening its grip on her in the close blackness.

‘Becca smiled as she heard the music begin…

Farming Community C-4, Near Izumoati, ADK

Kareem Mahmud, eldest member and leader of his small community, glanced into sky as he heard a terrible noise. That is when he saw the fire from Heaven, ten thousand streaks of red-gold flame bringing down the Wrath of God, setting the very sky itself ablaze. A rush of horror filled him as he saw things he did not understand.

But it was hardly the first time he had felt this horror. Only the day before he had been utterly terrified when the blue lightning that sowed fire in its wake came down from Heaven and destroyed a quarter of the village, along with their single defensive missile launcher that no one even knew how to work anymore.

He did not know what he had done, or his village but he knew that God must be angry with them, and now, he thought, they would all die…

Someone shouted in horror as they pointed up. And Kareem saw them as well. The terrible lightning was returning…

Operation: Crying Rock, Initial Ground Assault, Farming Community C-4, Near Izumoati, ADK, T+00:12:43

In a boiling flame, ‘Becca exploded out of her capsule. The shock gel was flammable on contact with the air, though it was all for effect. She much preferred hitting targets without intact defense nets, and she was extremely grateful for the fighter pilots who had risked so much to take out the defensive installations.

She blew her last parachute…

One hundred meters.

Fifty Meters.

Twenty. Corporal Mullen released her parachute and came in to a hard but safe landing with her jump jets. As she hit, she looked for icons on her squad and her commanding officers. They had hit in a company circle around the village, in the crop fields.

“Weapons up!” she snapped, but her squad was already doing it.

Over the command frequency, the order came. “Even squads, advance.”

“Let’s go,” ‘Becca called out to her men. And quickly forward they ran, scanners at full power, reaching out, searching for the signs that gave away life.

Another order came. “Ground and freeze…”

The advancing troops froze on the ground as the six fighters assigned to the mission flashed by over head. Bomb canisters detached and exploded over the village, spreading knockout gases everywhere.

Suddenly, with a whine, a few bullets bounced off PFC Ellis’ armor and his gun came up, tracking in on his attacker. More bullets clanged off the armor of Lance Corporal Jackson, and his gun came up as well. The bullets were too slow and light to penetrate the battlesteel armor, and the guns were extensions of the two men’s bodies. Their weapons growled, spitting explosive rounds back at the shooter, five rounds each, a single burst. They could hear the beginning of a scream, abruptly cut short.

“Move out.” The order came again over the command frequency, and the two circles began to close in on the town. Only two more Khristatatans were killed during the advance, both firing at the advancing troops.

They reached the edge of the village and began to probe building by building, cleaning out the Khristatatans, and stacking the unconscious bodies outside the buildings. The six point squads were in sight of the center of town when Mullen heard something, a high pitched scream.

“DEMONS!” Then she saw him, an old man, possibly the oldest man she had ever seen, running towards her. Something was wrong with his gait, and his robes were not flapping properly. All this flashed by in an instant, and her gun came up. Five solid slugs ripped through the air at the man before she even realized she had fired.

The first tore his calf apart, the second his thigh and the third, his hip. What the fourth and fifth bullets did, it was not ever entirely clear, as at the same time the fourth bullet should have hit, the man exploded violently as the bomb strapped to his chest blew apart.

‘Becca stared in horror at the burn on the ground, wondering what could have possessed the man to commit such acts. Then she shook herself, then called in. “Village C-4 is clear, to the center.”

“Copy that, we’re sending down the dropships now.”

Operation: Crying Rock, Khristatatan Retrieval Mission, Initial Ground Assault, Low Earth Orbit, Approaching the I.M.V. Ethics Gradient, Over ADK, T+02:10:34

“This is Dropship Capella-Eleven to Menelmacari Imperial Merchant Vessel Ethics Gradient, requesting permission to dock and unload Khristatatan passengers.”

“Permission granted for bay three, Capella-Eleven. Enjoy your stay.”

“We will, Ethics Gradient. Thank you for your hospitality.” The tiny dropship slid into bay three, nestled in the side of the massive interstellar superfreighter, to reemerge some thirty minutes later, empty of all cargo.

Flag Bridge, S.P.S. Capella, Battle Fleet, Very Low Earth Orbit, Over ADK

Fleet Admiral Farragut looked at the chronometer slowly ticking away the last seconds of his deadline he had given the Khristatatans. He opened his mouth, then smiled grimly, closing it once more. It would not do to execute the fire plan early.

“Fleet Orders, initiate fire plan Izumoati on my mark.”

Five… four… three… two… one… zero. “Fire.”

And Battle Fleet, in a finely meshed coordination, regulated through TacNet, spoke with streams of particles, flaying the city beneath them. Quarter kilometer wide kill zones were burned out of the city, chopping it into hundreds of subsections, none of which were larger than nine square kilometers.

Operation Area 4x119, Izumoati, ADK

Jason had found a place to stay in a school near his home, but the it was near enough he could still see his building where he had lived. It stood high, and square in the middle of the kill zone.

A blinding flash swept across the area, blue-white, tearing at Jason’s eyes. As his vision came back, slightly fuzzy, he thought there was more wrong than there was. His building was gone. Then everything popped back into focus, and he realized he had been right, and Rebeka’s family had been so very wrong.

There was nothing left in the kill zone, just smoldering buildings along the edges. It had been burned down to glass. Jason fell to his knees, and the tears began to flow. “REBEKA!” Those nearby had never heard a more heart wrenching sound. “REEBEKAAAAA!” His gaze shifted higher, away from the kill zone, towards the sparkling blue sky that had brought the death of his dreams. “DAMN YOU! DAMN YOU ALL!”

I will have my revenge. And the tears continued to flow.

Flag Bridge, S.P.S. Capella, Battle Fleet, Firing on Izumoati, Very Low Earth Orbit, Over ADK

“Admiral?”

Farragut turned his gaze away from the holoplot, showing the destruction his vessels were carving through the Khristatatan megalopolis. “Yes, Lieutenant?”

“The IMV Ethics Gradient is requesting departure clearance. They’re full of the farmers from the villages.”

“Give them permission, and tell them to have a swift journey.”

“Aye, sir.”

Farragut turned his eyes on a different plot, and watched as the giant Menelmacari superfreigher vanished in the red maw of its tesseract drive. “Alright, which Menelmacari ship is up next?”

“IMV Prosthetic Conscience, Admiral.”

“Alright, as soon as we’re done quartering the city, start the Marines and the dropships in their dance again.”

“Aye, sir.”

Farming Community C-4, Near Izumoati, ADK

‘Becca stood under the hot spray as the shower sluiced deliciously across her skin, slowly rotating with her eyes closed. They had finally gotten the temporary barracks set up, and she was the first one in her squad to get to take a shower, and privilege she was going to make the most of.

Just like the rest of the company, and indeed, the entire Fleet Marine Force, or at least, the currently deployed portion of it, she had not had a shower in three days, and her battle armor had not been cleaned in the same amount of time, due to the intensity of operations against the city, which had been progressing for just over four days.

They were slightly a head of schedule, and were supposed to begin hitting Row Four today. On a good day, the regiment could clean out a two operational blocks in twelve hours, using the same tactics used on the farming communities, just larger in scale. Fighters would fly over and drop tear gas and knockout gases, both in standard spray containers and penetrators into the buildings. Loud speakers would announce that any and all resistance would be met with lethal force. Then the regiment, having filtered into the kill zone surrounding the operational block, would proceed in, using non-lethals until they were fired upon.

As invariably happened. Rebecca had no idea how many armed civilians she had killed in the past few days, but it was too many. She rinsed her hair out again. It was short, but still longer than the men wore theirs, so it took her longer to get it feeling clean again.

The shutoff warning buzzed. Even if rank hath its privileges, she still did not get any more hot water than any one else did. She pressed the cutoff with the palm of her hand, and watched as the water trickled away into nothingness.

She slid open the door, and stepped out into the locker room, such as it was. More like the wood hut in which the showers had been placed. She grinned at the thought and nodded to Amir, who was already stripped, waiting on his turn. After they had agreed to let her go first, the rest of the squad had drawn lots to see who went next, supervised by her. ‘Becca picked up the towel and nodded to Amir. “Have fun.”

He grinned back at her as he stepped into the shower. “Yes, ma’am.” She chuckled at his enthusiasm, not that she was not glad to be clean. She was in fact, very glad, and smiled as she finished drying off.

It might be hot here, but I’d still rather be wearing my Federation black, she thought as she pulled on the black jumpsuit. Like all the Marines, the jumpsuit helped them remember they were human, and not the mechanical nightmares that their battlearmor identified them as. Damp hair pulled back in a pony tail, beret resting properly on it, boots laced up as loosely as regulations allowed, she walked outside into the sun, and immediately wished they were permitted sunglasses with the uniform.

Damn, but it is sunny here.

‘Becca walked over to the ‘Depot,’ which was the place company was storing its ‘suits in town. She walked along the aisles until she came to hers, and ran a critical eye over it. No serious damage. No sensors and no weapons that can’t be unplugged and plugged back in with new ones. When in powered down mode, the armor reverted to its basic flat metallic grey color, and the damage was clearly obvious. The black carbon scoring, on the back and right side, that had come the first day of operations…

’Becca was moving slowly around the corner of the building, when she saw movement, and lifted her arm, calling the squad to a halt. Two fingers up, then over. PFC Ellis and LC Jackson had moved forward cautiously, then broken into a run, stopping on the other side of the street, behind a delivery truck of some kind, abandoned. Suddenly, there was a telltale whine and then a white hot explosion, followed by another as RPG’s exploded against their positions.

She shook her head, bringing up her tracking displays. Two point sources of unidentified movement. If she stepped around the corner, she could have them. With lethal speed, she slid around the corner, battle rifle uncoiling like striking serpent as she did so. A five round burst sounded the second her line of fire was clear. Another burst. Two enemies down.

A startling shriek, and flash of fire, and ‘Becca jumped towards the collapsed wall from the first attack. The white light came again, nearer this time…

When she’d opened her eyes again, the second wall was gone, and another car further down the street was torn apart by sustained fire from at least one battle rifle, possibly more. There was not enough left of it to tell. “We’re all clear now, ma’am,” LC Johnson was reporting. She had not been out long…

‘Becca knew she had been lucky that day. Her eyes continued onward, and tried to shy away from the black splatter across the front, but her mind brought back two days ago with brutal clarity…

Bullets clanged off her armor as she advanced. This building appeared to have been a school, but whoever was in it now knew something about fighting. Not much, but something, since their weapons did little more than slow her team’s advance, not being powerful enough to stop it.

She switched her battle rifle to full automatic and began to chew through the walls, merely tearing them apart, not bothering to check what was inside, the rabbit warren of classrooms making true searching of the building nearly impossible anyway. The firing stopped, and she raised an armor-gauntleted fist. She exploded her fingers outward, signaling for the squad to split up. There did not seem to be anything here that would threaten the armored marines, and no power sources that suggested the type of weapons needed to injure or kill through battlesteel.

‘Becca slowly walked forward, her sensors probing ahead of her on full power, trying to make sure she did not walk into a trap. She pressed open a door, and…

Searing white light, pressure, pain, being suppressed by her implants. She was staring at the ceiling of the building, and started to sit up, and paused. Standing at her feet was a child, not more than ten or eleven years old, holding a rocket propelled grenade launcher as long as the little girl was tall. Her clothing was singed, and her blonde hair was extremely dirty. At her movement, the child struggled the launcher back onto her shoulder and Rebecca froze. Her enhanced eyesight watched the girl’s finger tightening on the trigger, the hate burning in her eyes. “Why?” the girl mouthed in silent question, before she exploded in a spray of red blood and gore as PFC Ellis’ battle rifle tore her apart…

‘Becca shook her head, forcing the memory away. Reaching out, she began unfastening the rifle mount, as a prelude to further cleaning…

Blammo!

Flag Briefing Room, S.P.S. Capella, Battle Fleet, Low Earth Orbit, over ADK

Fleet Admiral Anson Farragut looked down at his holographic plot once more. He was growing very tired of looking at the city of Izumoati.

Most of the city glowed a pleasant blue-green, representing cleared sectors, but a few sectors still sullenly burned red. Two or three million people remained resisting the efforts of the forty-five thousand marines he had left.

“General Coglin?”

“Yessir?” The commanding officer of the Federation Space Marines, General Jeb Coglin, looked up from his own examination of the plot.

“Can we finish this quickly?”

“I believe so, Admiral. There are twelve city segments remaining, and our best estimates predict between a hundred and fifty thousand and two hundred fifty thousand people in each segment.

“Packed in like sardines, are they?”

Coglin chuckled. “Not really. I’d check the population density in Griffin sometime, were I you, Admiral.”

“Good point. Now what’s your plan?”

“Well, I have forty-five thousand marines, and while I’d prefer to hit each sector consecutively with a concentrated force to decrease the odds, I’m afraid that they’ll just get in each other’s way.”

“Understandable. So what odds are you considering instead of five to one?”

“Thirty to one.” The General said it without flinching. Those were horrible odds against an entrenched enemy in urban combat, which had a voracious appetite for soldiers during the best of times, which this would certainly not be. Still, the civilians living in those sectors were not exactly trained soldiers. The Khristatatans of Earth did not have an intact military. “That’s the worst case, since we’re assuming an even distribution of the remaining Khristatatans.”

“Do you think that is a safe assumption, General?”

“Yes. Thermal scans and power usage readings indicate general comparable levels in all twelve of the sections.”

“Well, I hope that will be enough. Do you want more troops?”

Coglin blinked in surprise. “Wherefrom?”

“I can get an army group deployed in five days, if you want them.”

The General shook his head, declining the Admiral’s offer. “No, Ground Force is really for heavy field combat, and the infantry, without full battle armor, would just be ground apart in the street fighting.” He sighed, and added wistfully. “Can you get me fifteen thousand more marines?”

It was Farragut’s turn to blink. He knew, as did Coglin, that there were not fifteen thousand more uninjured marines in the entire military, even stripping everything dry. “I can pull four thousand more from the Patrol Battlegroups currently in orbit. They’re yours, if you can use them.”

Coglin smiled faintly. “Actually, that should work.” He reached down and played with the table controls, preferring to do his map work hands on, and not through his implants. Icons blinked to life, and moved about. “I’ll hit these five isolated segments with nine regiments to each, while you work on getting me the patrol marines, and then hit these seven segments clustered together with seven regiments to each. That keeps below the ten thousand marine maximum I think could safely operate in an area that size.” He met Farragut’s eyes. “You should be able to deploy the asteroid miners within a week.”

“Excellent, Jeb. Make it work, and if you need anything else from the Fleet, let me know.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

<Tag>

Operation Area 4x118, Izumoati, ADK

Corporal Mullen looked at her squad, soot black armor towering where they stood, battlesteel golems of death, ready for one final operation, the final assault on the last stronghold of the Khristatatans on Earth. The kill zone separating their safe cleaned area from the final operation area was less than one hundred meters to the south.

4x119 had been hit three times so far, and each time, the Federation Marines had been repulsed by the shear amount of firepower that poured forth from the buildings. Every unaccounted for weapon in ADK must have found its way into the operation area, for they were impossible to crack. A thousand, then two thousand, then seven thousand marines had hit the area. This last strike would be ten thousand, which was the most General Coglin was willing to accept in a single area.

This would be the last attempt to take the people out alive. They would expend no more marines on this section if this assault failed. Too many marines were only alive because of complete control of the air allowed insanely quick evacuation times to waiting hospitals in orbit and in the Federation. And too many marines had died in the god forsaken shithole of a country. Rebecca understood why this had to be done, and even still, she felt proud to be a part of it. But too many friends had died.

The Captain came in. “ATTENTION ON DECK!”

It was time to finish it.

Quin Primary School, Khristatatan Militia Command Center, Operation Area 4x119, Izumoati, ADK

Jason Abdullah had changed in the last few months. Leaner and stronger, his clothing hanging loosely on his body, his hair long and uncombed. He looked nothing like the professional he had been months before.

He was still a professional, paid in the blood of his enemies now, a professional soldier, in a since. But he did not fight for a cause, a country, or even for money. He fought, because that is all that remained to him. Because everything else had been stripped away by the Federation of Sentient Peoples, leaving him nothing but combat. He wanted to die now, but he wanted his sideparty to Hell to be as large as it could be, composed of the Federation bastards. The bastards who had taken Rebeka from him, wiped her aside like she was nothing more than trash to them.

He wanted to die. He checked his rifle, the explosive rounds ready. The rocket launcher that was his main weapon, the pistol on his belt, and the equivalent of one thousand pounds of TNT strapped to his body. He was a living weapon, waiting for its turn. He was ready for death, as long as they died too.

It was time to finish it.

Operation Area 4x119, Izumoati, ADK

A rumble of thunder tore through the sky, and then lightning flashed. Blue lightning, thick sheets of it, spearing from the heavens above. A change in tactics.

From all the other areas that the Space Marines had assaulted, they had managed to figure out a number of things. Those who could not or would not fight were always gathered near the center of the operational areas, while those willing to fight remained in the out areas. The largest portion of these defenders remained in the second ring of buildings inside the kill zone.

The bombardment vaporized the first, second, and third rings of buildings in successive waves of terrible blue lightning. The sky literally began to burn along the outskirts of the region, and it was into this superheated air that the Marines advanced.

Their battle armor could easily handle it. Unarmored beings could not, be they Khristatatan or human.

Corporal Mullen’s squad had point for her company, as it was the only one without losses. Across the killzone they bounced, using the exoskeletal muscles of the armor to propel them quickly, covering the half kilometer in half a minute. Among the superheated ruins of the other side of the kill zone, they began sweeping with every sensor they had, though the remnants of the bombardment left little in doubt.

They detected no survivors. They continued to advance, though at a slower pace.

* * * * *

Some part of Jason had mourned when the death rained down again. He had known, he had tried to warn the militia commanders. They were too predictable. But to save the people under their protection, their wives and children, girlfriends and lovers, they had committed to an outer defensive position. Again.

Just as the other three times, and just as all the rest of the city’s divisions had. They had tried.

Most of the commanders were dead now, with their troops. But Jason had taken his squad, six men and one woman to a place they were told not to be. They were in the sixth ring of buildings from the outside, which, thanks to the bombardment, was now the third.

He leaned out a window, and hoisted his rocket launcher to his shoulder, setting it on the ledge. They would be here soon, the Federation bastards. And he would kill as many as he could before he died.

* * * * *

PFC Amir Ellis crept around the corner of the building before him. He hated acting as pointman. After all, the pointman was always the first to get shot at.

This time proved no different. The whistling sounds of rockets filled the air, and Ellis jumped, trying to get clear. But these people were smart, experienced, and heavily armed. He was hit in the air and tumbled, the blast tearing away his leg from mid-thigh.

As he hit the ground, his implants were already cutting off the blood flow, sealing the leg, killing the pain as he tried to stand upright, or to crawl. Anything to get out of the open. Nothing worked…

* * * * *

“AMIR!” Rebecca knew instantly when it happened, the green icon on her HUD turning first red tinged, then a dull blue. Code Blue. PFC Ellis was dead.

“Alright,” she snarled angrily. “Johnson, Carmine, Daniels, curve out left. The rest of you, with me.” She spun to her right, slamming on the jump jets. At least Amir’s death had let them know where the enemy lay in wait.

* * * * *

“MOVE IT! MOVE, DAMN IT!” Jason shouted at his squad as they ran from their first position. They had to keep moving, or the superior firepower of the Federation Marines would pin and slaughter them.

And then he would be able to kill no more.

* * * * *

Johnson’s half of the squad ran left, sensors on full, reaching out from power signatures, life signs, anything to tell them who had killed Amir. He had been one of them, their friend, their brother in arms. They wanted the people who had killed him.

They found them. Carmine went down immediately, his battle armor clattering to the floor, headless, the torso blackened and burned. Daniels, always having been the quickest draw splattered his killer against the far wall in a spray of blood as explosive rounds from the battle rifle on his arm tore him apart. Johnson’s rifle was up then too, firing, when a single round hit the piled rockets stored there for reloads.

* * * * *

Jason watched the building across the way blew out of three floors. Three of his men down. They were the strongest and the fastest with the rocket launchers, so he had sent them to cover the other side, to confuse, and perhaps catch the Marines in a crossfire.

The fact that he had not, as they explosion clearly showed, meant it was time to rethink his plan. The other side of the building, and quickly, before those Federation bastards could come from behind. They ran again.

* * * * *

Rebecca’s face went white with shock as the explosion registered. She had seen Carmine go down, but Daniels and Johnson had had it under control…

Johnson was still alive, but barely, and he would not last long without immediate assistance. Daniels was not. But eight rockets had been used to take down Amir, fired at the same time, which meant eight people. Five were unaccounted for.

Five still needed to die.

* * * * *

Jason smiled as he raised the launcher into position and bracketed the oncoming Marine in the optical sight. Number twenty-seven. He pulled the trigger, ignoring the whistles from around him as his troops also fired.

Three of the four marines went down.

* * * * *

Rebecca was blown backwards against a wall by the shockwave as the five rockets detonated in quick succession. Gibson, Bloom and Lawrence were down. Bloom was dead, with Gibson and Lawrence not far behind.

Her face was white, but not with shock now. Now it was with hatred, a disease a soldier could not afford. To live, passion could not rule. But there was nothing left but hate, burning, raging inside her.

“I need air support,” she snarled into the comm.

* * * * *

Two Longswords streaked groundward, riding their drives at maximum, blue streaks resembling the particle cannon beams not so very long before.

Robin and Tommy hunched forward, tracking into the target data provided by the marines on the ground. They all carried laser designators for a reason, after all.

They fired on the building, kinetic warheads streaking as energy states towards the foundation. It never stood a chance.

“Area is clear for evac shuttles,” Robin reported calmly.

* * * * *

Jason struggled to open his eyes. His breathing was labored, and his leg was on fire. He could feel the heat of blood running down his thigh. He coughed, and turned his head as he spit out blood.

Struggling to his knees, he looked around for a weapon, anything. He saw Diana, dead, her eyes open in shock. They had been lovers for these terrible months. Not in lover, just finding comfort in each other at night, a physical escape from a brutal reality. He closed her eyes with his hands.

A booted foot crunched down in front of him, and he raised his gaze, traveling up the soot black armor to the helmet, the snarling as he recognized the last marine, and that she was female. “Murdering bitch,” he tried to snarl, but ended up coughing up more blood. But even as he said it, he recognized the providence which God had laid before him. A chance to kill one more as he died, perhaps to steal someone’s love from them as his had been stolen. He tried to stand, clinging to boots, so he could look her in the eye as he killed her with the bomb strapped to his body, under his coat.

He made it half way up, before the marine, her arm extended almost to assist him, let her battle blade unsling from that arm, straight through his stomach. He coughed up more blood, spraying it across the front of her armor. Her other hand closed on his throat, forcing him to look up.

The effect of his smile was grotesque as he stared her in the eyes. “Goodbye,” Jason managed to get out clearly on the third try, and began to laugh as he pulled the cord to detonate the bomb.

* * * * *

Rebecca Mullen, Corporal, Federation of Sentient Peoples Space Marines began to laugh then too, and the man impaled on her battle blade and with his neck in her armored gauntlet blinked in confusion. She released his neck, and his head flopped forward as he looked down.

Her battle blade was right through the detonator box of the bomb. It would not go off in a million years. One massive armored finger tilted his head back up to face her “Goodbye,” she whispered, in a voice colder than space. The other battle blade separated his head from his neck in a spray of why blood was left in him, his body slumping to the floor.

Whirling at a sound behind her, Rebecca relaxed as she saw the evac shuttles landing to pick up her wounded.

And that is when the explosion came, and the darkness took her.

Francesca Miller National Military Medical Center, San Hamon, Commonwealth of Peitha, FSP

The flicker of light gleaming off of battle steel, the sound of flesh and bone ripping, shredding apart… A body falling. Satisfaction. Anger. Freezing cold despair. A bright flash…

Darkness…

Pure, absolute, total darkness…

Forever… not quite. Light…

Rebecca Mullen cracked open her eyes and stared blankly, through half hooded vision, at the ceiling, running her eyes over the patterns in the tiles as she slowly opened them further, wincing slightly at the light, and how it hurt her eyes. She began to wiggle her digits, fingers and toes, testing them, and instinctively smiling as she felt each one respond. Her eyes flicked around the room at each sound, wondering what they were, trying to identify them.

Then her questions, for the most part, were answered when a young woman in a set of white military issue scrubs came in. The hospital was identified as Federation by the uniform the woman wore, and then, when she spoke, it was with a decided Vanderhill accent on her Standard. “How are you feeling?”

Rebecca blinked, and breathed in and out deeply. She could not feel any pain. “I feel alright. I guess.”

The nurse moved closer, looking at the bed readouts, then turned to face Rebecca. “No pain?”

Rebecca shook her head. “Should there be any?”

“No, there shouldn’t. Most of your injuries are completely healed. You weren’t hurt that badly, and only got brought here because the transport that brought you in was carrying a more seriously wounded soldier from your unit.” The nurse kept rambling on, and her description of the injured soldier caused Rebecca’s throat to freeze as she remembered watching her men die. She could not talk as the nurse continued. “Lance Corporal Johnson, PFC Gibson and Private Lawrence all survived as well, though their injuries will require significantly more hospital time than yours. You were lucky, Corporal.”

Lucky. Right. I lost half my squad to that ambush. I should have called in the fighters sooner. I should have…Rebecca began to cry, tears running down her face as she made soft choking sounds in her throat.

The nurse looked up in alarm from where she had been puttering with one of the machines. “Whaa?” Her strangled sound of alarm choked off as she saw the problem, and she moved quickly to the bed and took ‘Becca’s hand as she sat down. “It’s okay. Shhhh. It’ll be okay.” She reached out and gently brushed Rebecca’s hair out of her face, then with a tissue wiped at the tears. “It’ll be okay.”

Rebecca slowly stifled the tears, and nodded, swallowing hard. Maybe it will one day. But not soon.

Former City of Izumoati, Occupied Federation Territory of Abu-Dhabi Khristatata

One might have thought a city that had no people would have been silent. Then one might have considered the amount of stuff that was left behind when the people were evacuated and considered that there might be some noises.

Or that there would be animals left behind, and they would make noises. Or for nothing else, for a city broken and shattered in horrific warfare, that there might have been whistling though broken windows, past slivers of glass.

So upon further consideration, one might think that there would be noises, soft and insignificant, but there none the less. But in human terms, as silent as a graveyard. All this silence, no movement, no life, just a dead city.

And so the city had been for some time after the last Federation Marines had left. But no longer. The city screamed now, its very structure protesting the latest development in absolute warfare.

The massive mobile refineries plodded across the city, tearing it apart by the very steel structure it was made of, forcing the metals and minerals into its gaping maw, a fiery furnace burning everything down it consumed, an ever-hungry machine wiping out the changes the Khristatatans had brought upon the landscape. The remnants of the city were being consumed and reborn for the good of the Federation.

While the asteroid miners were optimized for vacuum, zero gravity work, they would continue to do their job here just as well, though unloading them as their storage bays became full became a considerably more difficult task in a gravity well. Fortunately, other than the buildings themselves, the country was flat, for the Khristatatans had strip mined even their mountains away long ago, leaving a barren plain of sand behind. Soon, even that would be gone, for the silicates that remained were valuable in and of themselves.

The top one hundred meters of the country were being stripped away by the massive mining machines, the extent of their reach, until they would leave the entire country below sea level, with small dikes near the coast to prevent the ocean from coming in. It would take months, no doubt, perhaps even a year to finish, but the miners could continue their work without ceasing, as machines were wont to do. And then, and only then, would the final indignity be performed. In carefully coordinated salvos of particle cannons from the entire Federation Fleet, for even the Solar Colonial Defense Forces would be called in to participate, the entire country would be glassed over by energy transfer, the silicates forming a solid sheet in what was once a country. Then a kinetic weapons salvo to tear apart the landscape, to make it unusable, unrecognizable, a veritable wasteland of broken glass.

But there would be one further salvo after that, for this was hardly the last act. The final salvo would destroy the dikes, letting the ocean in. A new sea would be created, and the nation of Abu-Dhabi Khristatata would be gone from Earth. Forever.

The machines continued their work.

The Place of God, Khristatatan Relocation Site, Mercury IV, Mercury System, Joint Federal-Imperial-Supremacy Space

The darkness… shattered by light, by sound. Lightning, terrible blue lightning across the burning sky.

The heat; molten metal; flame. Death from above. A gaping maw into Hell itself, brought forth by the demons.

Then the terrible, long darkness.

Then the angels came. Beings of glorious flame, skin glowing with radiance and light. Friends and confidants, they brought light into the darkness, and brought the new world, a new world of peace and safety.

Matthew Izaroi trembled slightly as he opened his eyes from the vision to once more stare at the beings that had come. Luminous beings, cloaked in light and flames, messengers of God Himself. And they had brought him here, to this place, a place of rocks that thrust up from the ground, a place where Matthew trembled to merely stand.

He swallowed, looking around him. The beings, their wings and lights and flames all around, surrounded him. Their gaze was fixed upon him, and he could not move for his terror, though his entire being wanted alternately to cower on the ground or run for his very life, his very soul.

MATTHEW.

The voice shattered his resistance, and he fell to his knees. “Who… whaa…” he murmured.

MATTHEW. MATTHEW MY CHILD, I HAVE A MESSAGE FOR YOU. A MESSAGE OF HOPE AND PIECE FOR ALL YOUR PEOPLE. IT WAS BY MY WILL YOU WERE BROUGHT HERE, TO THIS PLACE, THIS WORLD, TO BE REBORN.

“Who?” His voice shook with fear, with a primal terror, for he wanted to cower, for it to all go away. He looked around wildly, trying to spot the source of the voice, but it seemed to come from mid air.

YOU KNOW WHO I AM, MATTHEW. YOU WERE BROUGHT TO LEARN MY WILL FOR YOUR PEOPLE NOW. HERE, IN THIS PLACE, YOU WILL BUILD THE SOCIETY YOU WERE MEANT TO HAVE. IN THE OLD LANDS, YOU WERE CORRUPTED BY TECHNOLOGIES, BY FAULTY LEADERS. HERE IS YOUR NEW PLAN. GO FORTH AND SPREAD MY WILL ACROSS THIS WORLD, BY WORKING IT WITH THE REACH OF YOUR ARMS AND THE STRENGTH OF YOUR BACKS. LET YOUR FEET CARRY YOU ALL YOUR DAYS, AT LET TECHNOLOGY NEVER AGAIN CORRUPT YOU IN ALL YOUR LIFETIMES HERE.

“But how, my Lor…”

WHEN YOU BREAK THIS VOW, THOSE WHO COMMIT ERROR WILL DIE. MY ANGELS WILL SEE TO THAT. MY WRATH WILL FALL WHERE IT DOES, AND EACH TIME, YOU MUST LEARN. LEARN WHAT IT IS TO DEFY ME, AND WHAT IT IS TO LIVE IN PEACE AND HARMONY. GO.

Matthew tried to stand, but his knees, his legs would not cooperate. He collapsed again, and trembling pushed himself back to his knees. His gaze rested on an angel, and he trembled more as it stepped towards him. “GO.” Matthew pulled himself to his feet and ran out the only break in the rocks, headed for home, whereever that was. He knew not of what the Voice had spoken, only that it was with power, terrible power, and that it must be obeyed. And so he would tell others.

Emperor Roger II Ballroom, Imperial House, Griffin, Commonwealth of Sentient Peoples, FSP

The large ballroom was brimming with people, all dressed in the solid black of the Federation of Sentient Peoples Full Dress Uniform. No headgear, of course, they were inside.

The Federation military had no required hair cut, but regulations prohibited the displays to people’s natural hair color. Most was short, as befit the Marines who made up the majority of the people present and their need to wear combat armor. Looking carefully, computer links could be seen hidden in the hairlines, allowing them to access their armor’s full functionality.

Among the Marines were three injured, only one of whom was what was generally qualified as ‘walking wounded.’ Rebecca Mullen stood with these three, her expressionless face a telling mask among the other excited faces. Face her with heavy enemy fire, her comrades being blown down around her, and she could remain calm, or at least focused on her task. But face her with the Imperial President of the Federation…

‘Becca turned back to Lance Corporal Emilio Johnson, Private First Class Melvin Gibson and Private Robert Lawrence, the only survivors of her squad. With no losses until the final engagement, half of them had been wiped out in moments by a team of enemy rocketeers. Who were all dead now, thanks to the survivors.

Strains of music drifted throughout the ballroom, and everyone in uniform that was standing snapped to attention as the Imperial President of the Federation of Sentient Peoples entered the room at the top of the grand staircase, accompanied by the First Lady. They too were dressed in black, D’ron in the traditional civilian blacks of his family, and Lady Lesley in a black floor length gown, a flame of her red hair cascading down her back.

As they proceeded down the stairs, Rebecca wondered what exactly was in store for her. The Captain had been smiling as he told her why she was being awarded the, whatever it was she was being awarded, but had politely refused to tell her what it was. God knew they needed heroes right now, but Rebecca had not wanted to be a hero, and hoped that they would not be awarding her something she did not deserve.

Of course, she deserved nothing, having lost half her squad. But the Captain had been adamant. The bomb the last Khristatatan had been carrying had been large enough, even from where he was to destroy the rescue shuttles that had been landing. Her actions had saved more than ten crew persons and over forty injured Marines loaded on those shuttles. As it turns out, had she used her battle rifle, the slight electrical release when the rounds exploded would have been enough to set off the explosives and that the only way to have disarmed it short of removing the detonator was exactly as she did, with the non-conductive battleblades.

By bouncing in, ready to slaughter anyone still alive after the airstrike, with an eagerness to spill blood that still sickened her slightly, she had saved lives and won a medal she did not deserve. Would never deserve. But she would receive anyways.

The President and his wife reached the bottom of the staircase. Rebecca and the survivors of her squad were out front, standing, if they could, at attention. At least until the President spoke.

“At ease.” D’ron smiled at the assembled top heavy half squad. “Well, Sergeant, I understand you’ve done something to be proud of.”

‘Becca was stunned into silence. He had been in the military, he could read rank insignia, there was no way he would mess her rank up, yet, he was looking right at her. Obviously, the comment was addressed to her, and her brain eventually caught up. ‘Er…yes, sir, uh, Mister President.”

“It’s okay, Sergeant Mullen. Every survivor from your squad is being promoted, as are many, many of the survivors over all. I’ll be counting on all of you to add this experience to the collective memory of the Federation Space Marine, so the next time this happens, I won’t need to sign as many promotions orders. We lost too many good people.”

“Yes, sir.” That Rebecca could agree with.

The President nodded. “In that case,” his voice assumed a drill sergeant like quality, but smoother, more an officer’s command tone. “Attention to Orders.” The gathering snapped to. “Rebecca Mullen, on this day, by order of the Imperial President of the Federation of Sentient Peoples, at the recommendation of the Officer Corps and the Promotions Board of the Federation of Sentient Peoples Space Marine Force, I hereby present to you the Rank of Sergeant, and all the benefits and requirements thereof.” He nodded, and General Coglin, of all people, stepped forward and changed her insignia, then stepped back.

“Further, on this day, by order of the Imperial President, at the recommendation of the Officer Corps and the Promotions Board of the Federation of Sentient Peoples Space Marine Force, I hereby advance Emilio Johnson, Melvin Gibson, and Robert Lawrence one level in Rank.” The Captain of their company came forward, accompanied by the Lieutenants, and changed out the rank insignia on the three injured men.

“Congratulations, Marines.” The President was still smiling. “Furthermore, to the entirety of Sixth Squad, Second Platoon, Company Four, First Marine Regiment of the S.P.S. Capella I present the Bloodied Star, for injuries received while in combat. For those who could be here, and those who could not, we salute your given blood in defense of the Federation.” His expression hardened slightly.

“Sergeant Rebecca Mullen, of the Sixth Squad, Second Platoon, Company Four, First Marine Regiment, of the S.P.S. Capella, stand forth to attention for orders.” Rebecca stood up even straighter at the President’s words. “For your actions during Operation Crying Rock, firstly, allow me to express my personal thanks. And secondly, for actions demonstrating heroism under fire, which in the face of personal danger, then Corporal Rebecca Mullen saved the lives of more than forty fellow Marines and ten AeroSpace Service personnel in personally disarming an Enemy quipped with high yield explosives, and being injured in the process when the stored cache of enemy munitions exploded, I award Sergeant Rebecca Mullen the Distinguished Service Order of the Federation of Sentient Peoples.”

Voice of God Control Room, S.P.S.S. Argus, High Orbit, Mercury IV, Mercury System, Joint Federal-Imperial-Supremacy Space

Lieutenant Commander William Turner sat back as he flicked off the transmission down to the surface. This was not the most interesting of assignments, but he was forced to admit, playing ‘God’ was quite fun. Especially when the Khristatatans looked like they were going to piss their pants with fear when in the presence of the Voice.

Using his orbitals, he watched as the newest convert, Matthew, ran away from the place where the Voice was located. The Angel Company Marines would catch him, though, stun him, and drop him off in a camp area during the night when no one would see them. Using hypnotic preparation, they would have him remember how to get back to the Voice, despite its distance from where he would be deposited.

Another control, another view, this one of the camp where Matthew would be deposited. People were hard at work there. Some, no doubt confused as to how they knew how, were working on building a large covered pavilion out of the trees found nearby. Several women were working on weaving a grass roof to cover it when the men had constructed it. A couple of men were attempting to construct a fishing net for the lake that was nearby, and a couple of others were fashioning bows for hunting. All those skills had been implanted hypnotically. The industrial, technological Khristatatans would have stood no chance of surviving here. And so, when they awoke, they had a pressing need to perform their implanted skill at least one time immediately.

It was smaller world, Mercury IV. No doubt the Khristatatans would assign it a name soon, despite being as scattered as they were across its surface. Dry and warm, it was thirty percent water, but nearly forty percent of that was fresh water. Some forests and rivers, some grasslands. Terraformed farmland already prepared for those who knew to tend crops occupied many areas near the camps. It was a good world, and the Khristatatans would survive, and no doubt thrive there.

And all the while, if technology greater than gunpowder or steam engines would appear, it would be shattered by the Wrath of God, dispensed from the Argus controlled weapons satellites in cloaked orbit around the planet, while the station itself would appear as little more than a bright star in the heavens, for no telescope the new inhabitants would ever build could pick out its details.

They would be there, forever watchful. And perhaps one day, the Khristatatans would emerge once more in the universe. But if so, William Turner doubted his descendants to the tenth generation would live to see it, or even the hundredth generation.

Maybe, just maybe, that would be long enough.

#tag#

Aboard the USS Observant

29.1 light-days from Mercury

The Gadianton-class steatlh frigate appeared out of hyperdrive. The captain of the craft smiled as he surveyed the starmap. According to the data from Project Jericho's STCSS, he was now near - comparatively - to the supposed location of the world.

He read the reports. Everybody in his crew read them. They didn't like the Federation much recently, to say the least. Now, they hated them. To them, los Federales where always child-murderers - many had brother, fathers, sons killed in the massacres that followed the ODW - but now they learned they were also torturers on the moral level of Mengele - or worse. They apparently committed grotescue experimentation on the minds of about one hundred million people. They couldn't do anything about it. Yet.

But they would wait. And one day, the time would come.

OOC: No. You can't detect a cloaked craft at 29 light-days.

Solar Orbit at Two Lightweeks, Mercury System

The sensor array floated numbly among the stars, one of many, so far from the place it orbited, that it was merely a brighter speck in the sky. But that far out, and emplaced with the most sensitive sensor arrays known to the Federation, free from interference by local stellar bodies and such, it had an active detection range of almost three light weeks.

So when the hyperspace wake flared, intersecting normal space, and burning a hole in at least two different dimensions, the massive flare along the gravity spectrum was visible instantly. The array further knew it would be more than two weeks before more information would come in at the slower speed of EM radiation, but that did not concern the central computer.

Instead, the information it had slid through molycircs into the ansible comm, and lashed out across the gulf of space, over the Federation system known as TacNet.

Mecury System Command and Federation Central Command, two stations 2500 lightyears apart recieved the information at the same time.

Mercury System Command, S.P.S.S. Angpilinel, Between Solar Orbits 5 and 6. Mercury System

The watch officer blinked as he watched the report splash up on the main monitor. The sensors were reporting a hyperwake. He depressed a comm stud in the command chair, turned to face the image of the blond woman who came up on the monitor. "Admiral Parker, we've got a hyperwake at the edge of the NGFTL Zone."

The rear admiral's eyebrows raised up in surprise. "Any more information on it?"

The watch officer turned back to face the monitor. "Well, the sensors aren't detecting a ship, ma'am. I'm guessing either cloaked or too small to be picked up on gravitics. But we'll have more information in two weeks or so when the platform can analyze the EM data."

Pursing her lips, the admiral nodded. "Inform the Revenians. And ask them if they would like to investigate. From their intel and ours, this could be an Allanean probe. Further, all ships in system, and all stations are to go to tight beam only communications or through TacNet. No sense in letting anything leak out. We shouldn't need any other response until we have more information. Parker, clear."

The officer carried out his orders.

Captain (Sg.) Cameron Branson nodded slowly. Admiral Winters' orders were clear...and he would be pleased to carry them out.

"Commander Ferris, tac-group to form onto us. We will be making a concerted Starfall to a point outside the system, with guns loaded. Prep to transit..."

Ferris nodded once, and transmitted the orders. She was a good skipper, really...

Five minutes later, Captain Branson's Magog and the five other Brazen class Destroyers of his tac-group made star-rise...vanishing into drivespace.

...they had exact coordinates...and if Mr. Baddie was still their in five days...then Mr. Baddy was gonna find himself in a nasty situation...indeed.

Branson's Destroyer squadron made starfall in a burst of multi-colored light. Immediately upon exitting, the powerful sensors of six Brazen class Destroyers began sweeping space nearby their exit point.

If that hyperdrive ghost was still anywhere within a lightweek of where it had been, Magog and its cohorts would find it...and the only concievable way that Mr. Ghost could have gotten out of -that- sensor sphere was via FTL...

Cameron Branson smiled a predatory smile...

"Come out, Come out, wherever you are...You can run, but you can't hide."

Captain Benson smiled as the Revenian craft appeared out of nowhere just in front of him. He said, calmly:

"Computer, turn on communication channel. Prepare to broadcast a recorded video message. Begin:

"Revenian vessels, this is the HMS Observant, Captain Benson speaking. This is a scientific vessel of the Allanean Stellar Navy. We are not engaging in any hostile activity, but rather observing the subspace qualities of the Mercury system. As you know, King Napoleon has signed a peace treaty with the President of the Federation, thus you cannot deal with us as you would with a hostile craft. We are ready to accept an inspection team aboard the Observant. Given that you hold obvious firepower superiority - most of the weapons this shiip had where replaced with sensor arrays - you shouldn't fear us. Captain Benson, over."

Cameron Branson snorted immediately upon hearing the message...

"Signals, get me a line to those arrogant bastards."

His signals officer nodded, "Aye, sir. Live line."

Branson looked straight ahead, the very image of Revenian naval competance. Short-cropped black hair and silver eyes, and his immaculate uniform jacket...yes, quite perfect.

"Captain Benson, I am Senior Captain Cameron Branson, CO Magog. Be aware that the Mercury system and surrounding area, which you are in, is a restricted zone. This is your warning, drop whatever you are doing and FTL out of here. You are -not- welcome here, whatever your status with the FSP is. If you do not immediately make your exit from this system and its surrounding space, I am fully authorized by my government to fire upon and destroy your vessel."

He paused for a moment, "Captain, I don't want to kill your crew, but I will if I have to. Your government should have considered -asking- before they sent you out here. Regardless, if you're still here in fifteen minutes, I'm going to blow you out space. Branson Clear."

The line was cut...

Branson wasn't bluffing. Mercury -was- a restricted zone. Protocol didn't just allow him the -option- of killing the intruding craft, it -required- him to do so. Brazen class Destroyers didn't mount the required marine detachment for boarding, and the fact that his squadron had been detached instead of something heavier indicated that Admiral Winters didn't particularly want to bother with the Allaneans.

They left or they died. Either way, they didn't stick around to bother Admiral Erik Winters, Commanding Officer, RSN Sixth Fleet. Which suited him just fine, and Cameron Branson had read the full report on Allanea...and frankly, he almost hoped the Allaneans didn't run.

He would -enjoy- blowing those sick bastards to hell. Anybody who considered 'Death by Dolphin-rape' to be a legitimate form of execution needed to be purged from the galaxy before they had a chance to mate...because something was seriously wrong with them.

Benson shrugged. For the last two weeks, the craft's sensors were recording. H hoped it would be enough for Project Hand of Moses, but he had to make certain. He smiled into the camera:

"If I may inquite, Mr. Branson... how far out does that restricted area extend?"

Captain Branson watched the digital ticker idly.

He smiled ruthlessly as he heard the Allanean answer.

"Stop stalling, Mr. Benson. According to protocol, the restriction extends out to one light-year. But we can't be assed to patrol that far. However, Mr. Benson, if we -should- find you within that restricted zone again...we will not hesitate to open fire. Your time is running out, Mr. Benson..."

Time marched on, and Cameron Branson's grin widened.

Benson blinked at the answer.

"Those people are crazy. Period. Prepare for Hyperdrive."

And the HMS Observant disappeared. A few hours later, it emerged from Hyperdrive 1.25 light-years away from Mercury IV. An encrypted, directed-beam subspace transmission was sent out to Earth.


"Peak, this is Benson. Had to retreat to 1.25 liras, observation means insufficient. Request permission to return to Earth."

(So, when we can expect an Allanean response when that 'beam' reaches earth in somewhere around 2500 years. Wonderful.)

Captain Cameron Branson gave the signal, and Magog and her crew made star-fall, returning to Mercury proper. Too bad those Allaneans hadn't pushed it...Cameron really would have like to bust 'em up a bit.

Ahh well. Such is life.

[quote(So, when we can expect an Allanean response when that 'beam' reaches earth in somewhere around 2500 years. Wonderful.)[/quote]

Subspace transmission.

IC: "Remain in place. Parallax observation gear is on the way."

OOC:

Allanea, in case you're wondering what data you picked up...

You'd have observed everything that happened a month before your arrival and upto two weeks before your arrival, since last I checked, you only had non-FTL sensors.

Therefore, you observed a battle group launching, and leaving the system. And some random ship movements. And whatever Rev was doing. Probably training against the FSP detachment, which is what he's normally doing.

OOC: FSP, my sensors weren't geared towards observin your troops, but rather towards the subspace/physics qualities of the three gates and the FTL-dampening field generated by them. I do not care about your troops at all.

OOC: In that case... the warp points (not gates. points are natural. gates rarely are.) would be noticable as large subspace disruptions with large overlapping ripple patterns extending out from them, which merge around the sun and create a new, more powerful ripple pattern that dissipates at about 28.5 light days. It is this pattern which blocks hyper-dimensional access, forbidding subspace or hyperspace travel, or anything involving similiar dimensional qualities. There is no way to disrupt it.

Back on Earth

The BattleGroup was gettng ready. Not for combat, but for a different kind of mission that time.

Ground crews where running out to the small stealth corvettes, removing weapons and replacing them with subspace observation sensors. With ear-splitting howls, the ships took off, one after one after one.

Later, those ships would take position at closest safe distance from Mercury IV, observing the system, silently, from different points and angles.

The parallax image created by the craft was later recreated on computer screens of the Sklifasofski Medical Institute, the Kazansky Institute, and the Gates Institute.

The think tanks digested the information, like a python digesting its prey. It would take time to know the answer they sought for. Lots of time. They, however, where ready to wait.

Given their current brainwashed state, the Federation's victims would find waiting even easier.

(Note: 'closest safe distance' would be outside the 1 ly restriction zone. Allanea was given one warning, all other interceptions will be shoot-to-kill. Assuming that you aren't willingly sending your crews on a suicide mission, then all data you will receive will be over a year to 2 years old. Nice for historical detail, but largely useless for planning anything else.

OOC: Revenia and FSP, I am not watching your troops. No. Give up. I don't care about your troops. I'm watching the dimensional ripple-thing.

IC:

Port-Allanea University

A student rushed into the room. "Doctor Rabinovich, your DVD has arrived."

Doctor Moses Rabinovich, Allanea's foremost physicist, slid the DVD into his drive. He raised both eyebrows as he saw the high-quality VRML image of Mercury's subspace distortion appear on-screen.

"Wonderful," he mumbled, "Wonderful... So the DoD wants to recreate a smaller version of this? Their cash is my command".

OOC: tag

Cortana made the electronic equivilent of a contented sigh as she closed the file at last, the images of steam rising making for a complete story.

The Allaneans had been up to something, before their mysterious destruction, before their abrupt end, and the last few months of data in the file supported that conclusion. The secret talks with Ancient and Holy Terra, likely a prelude to some sort of agreement, though she could only speculate as to what. The research outpost on Mars, employing hundreds of Khristatatans, some of whom were never seen again. At a guess, some sort of experimentation on them, and from the data, purchase reports and such, it likely had been an attempt to reverse the process by which the Federation had reprogrammed the billion relocated Khristatatans. The scout craft in the Mercury System, studying the effects of the FTL denial. Sure, the FTL denial. There were plenty of systems closer to Earth where the same effect could have been studied.

And with Alexander Kazansky dead, thanks to a group of very handsomely rewarded dwarves (The Revenia team had been paid off seperately, and secretly.), Cortana could now close the file on Allanea forever.

So she did, and devoted that small segment of her vast capability to something else. Pondering, with the destruction of AMF, and now, Allanea, by what appeared to be the same method, if there was something else out there smashing the Federation's enemies for them. If so, Cortana could only hope it would continue, as her attentions returned to the confused data she was getting from a study of Arda, and specifically, the Five Kingdoms and its outlying bases.

(OOC: I'm not nearely as eloquent as FSP, but here goes nothing...)

Harm Coldfist exhaled sharply as he browsed the report...

"Well, Durandal. It looks like they're all dead..."

"Yes, Harm. It does at that."

Harm smiled a lethal smile, and cold, frigid fire burned in his eyes...

"Durandal, Seal File on Allanea. Thank the Pancreator -that- is over."

And the Controlling Entity that inhabited the computer-moon of Nexus did the equivalent of an electronic cartwheel as he closed and sealed the file on Allanea...never to be re-opened.

Finality was a BEAUTIFUL THING!

(OOC: If this makes no sense, I'll summarize. Allanea is dead. Allanea will remain dead. Allanea can not and -will- not affect Revenia in -any- way, shape, or form in the foreseeable future. Thank you.

-Rev)

OOC: And so those two people have exposed themselves for what they truly are. This is my final comment on this. Mind you, since Quin himself does NOT ignore me, this only makes my life easier.