NationStates Jolt Archive

[OOC: Anybody can get involved in this. Feel free.]

HE GAZED out at the beauty of her. She was white, pure white, like a star. She was made of three elegant shapes: three tubular shapes, with a crossbeam. Gentle swerving curves gave her a beautiful elegance as she rested in the Imperial Trade Conglomerate Docking Station, at the Eternal Dockyards, Vilya Elenoston Space.

She was immense. Larger than the most massive carrier that the IDF had ever built, by many magnitudes. If she were a carrier, she would ably carry seven or eight thousand eXon interceptors - and the pilots to fly them. She had cost nearly a trillion Relhames to build...

A trade ship. Simply that. She had weapons, of course - weapons to match a Commonality Space Force warship, indeed. Far beyond that capacity, actually. She could likely engage half of a Squadron single-handed - so long as no CMF frigates were present - and come out victorious. She had twenty-four eXon space superiority interceptors - enough to see off most more agile threats. She was designed to be able to respond to as many threats as possible as quickly and ably as possible - and she was the only ship ever built completely by Nenyan hands. The engineers had been brought in especially; it was not that she was intended to be built by Nenyans alone... they had merely been the best of the best in their field in the old EOTED. Now ICEL had risen in EOTED's place, but whatever flag the Valiant flew, she was his ship.

His.

Oh, others would use her, naturally. She was twelve miles in diameter, Stars' sakes. A small planet, you might say. ITC resources were vast, however. Profits for the last year were astronomical - the ITC had the internal economy of a small country because it was a small country, inside a larger country. The economic side of the Commonality. Everybody in the Commonality worked for the ITC - almost everybody, anyway. The stellar engines had been provided from the outside - even he didn't know where from.

But, in truth, this ship was a flying city. She would have a population of about two thousand at any one moment in time, he knew, once the Valiant Project took flight.

She was designed to fulfil two roles: one, she was a luxury liner. She would carry several hundred passengers in one small area of the ship, in greater luxury than could be found anywhere on Earth - perhaps arguably in the Solar System, although nobody could claim to have sampled all of the luxurious places in worlds, so it was impossible to tell. Two, she would haul cargo. Massive amounts of cargo. The idea was that she would take a great many things to Mars, and from Mars, to Earth. She wouldn't use the Earth-Mars Highway built by IsnCo, ironically - she would Transition between Earth and Mars instead.

She would also be able to serve as a platform for trading companies. They would hire her hangars, use her as a base of operations. She would operate out of only eight or nine locations, using her hauler ships to drag her cargo down to the surfaces of the planets below - or consumers would come to her, buy what they needed, and take it themselves. Or request delivery.

And, whether her captain wanted her to or not, she could provide a quiet location for less savoury activities. There would be a strong security contingent - all former IAF officers, from the old Commonwealth of Ma-tek... brutal men, some of them, the captain knew. His security chief would have an immense workload - but that man was not yet selected. That would probably be an outsider - not an Iluvauromeni individual. The Conglomerate didn't want an insider. Too much in the way of payment hassles - which was why the majority of dockers would be foreigners, too.

So the Valiant lay before him, at 'anchor', although she was larger than the dockyards themselves. If she were to move, the dockyards would be shattered by the motion of her mass. It was a disturbing thought.

Cavellero flinched as a flight of eXon interceptors swept past the VisiWall. Those things always unnerved him. They were too fast, too agile. Someone was bound to die eventually in one... nobody could keep up. He didn't understand why they didn't just make unmanned vehicles.

Because nobody would die, then, he understood. He still didn't like it.

His walk from the window to his quarters was uneventful, dull. He sighed, tapped a contact as he sat down at his terminal, and awaited the response from the representative of the foreign government he had been trying to reach all day long-

#tagged

~Tag

Tag

Could the LRRSF perhaps be planning on using the Valiant as a base of operations for high-speed freighters, and therefore have a team aboard or something?

The Commonwealth of the Wick would be intressted in renting some space for one of our shipping companies. As of yet our contact in Sol have been scant, we believe this to be the perfect oppurnity for economic growth.

We can use anything from bulk freighters to dropships or cutters...
IF this is possible please TG me with possible details.

[OOC: Mind if I'm said foreign government? If you do mind, I can edit this post. Oh, well not government, just a former CEO and former military old guy and a bunch of his friends... could buy a government, but don't govern.]

Tyranny of the Old. That's what they called it, the younger generations. Hell, he'd called them that when he was young, too. Only he'd had no idea.

They outnumbered them by a vast margin, now. There is a time-value to money; the longer you're around, the wealthier you'll be. And if not, well you generally won't last long anyway. Survival of the fittest.

Paul Goreson wasn't just fit - he was booming. Most of his internal organs, his legs, his spinal column and associated networks of tissues had years ago been replaced by the finest gear one could afford. And that was back when the Conglomerate could make medical equipment worth a damn. Those suckers still pumped.

Then, too, there was his chemical therapy. He was a virtual walking nest of possible injections and hormones for anything from extra speed to escape from some hoodlum or disease-crunching. At any moment he could summon, with the greatest of ease, any emotion, any state of mind or body. He could, and did, view sexvids and then erase his arousal with a deftly timed click of a button. No dirty old man here.

Old money, was what some called it. Well, Paul was 115 this month, and planned on staying around forever.

He lived, along with a large community of the Old in New State City, Santa Barbara, in a luxuriously spaced, green and well-kept neighborhood. Superficially, one apartment complex was much the same as another. But within, there were varieties of comfort relating indirectly to the number of residents.

As a result of his old money, he could afford the best. On his level, there were a mere 75 other residents. Compared to the rest of the city, it was hella splendor.

But it was getting worse. Crime in the city was increasing, and even the corporate police had difficulties. Population kept increasing. The current ruler, Abadas - Paul had not voted for him, but more importantly he had managed to dissuade the usual power backing in his community from backing Abadas. It hadn't mattered; the chips were in the hands of the old, but 'the old' were hardly all allied.

So, it was time to leave. Not just NSC, but Earth itself. Mars, he knew, had kiloacres of land occupied by absolutely nothing. Through his position and gossip he learned that Santa Barbara had still done almost nothing with Noachia; the megacorps held the territories they had purchased, and defended them, but built no colonies.

It was so obvious. Mars has space - but not infinite space. The supply has to be doled out no faster than the market can bear, or else prices drop. And those megacorps had paid a huge fee for the land (at the 'request' of the ITDO, although Paul did not know this).

But there was a price. And Paul had enough saved to afford it.

The real question, the real problem, was much more difficult. How to get there? The megacorps built no civilian passenger ships. And he wasn't about to buy one of those Bolden Corp tin cans and vomit in null-gee before and after planetfall.

He'd arranged a negotiation... but he'd never negotiated with aliens before.

Robert Jones liked everything made by Ma-tek. It was all so elegant, pretty...unlike the blockish, functional designs spat out by the shipyards in LRR.

Being a young university student studying spaceship design, he had lept upon the opportunity to get some first-hand experience. So here he was, aboard a frigate headed towards the giant station.

"Attention CSS Valiant, this is the LRRSV Ziggy Stardust, we're carrying an LRRSF survey team to look over the ship, if that's ok. They'll tell you more later. Requesting docking clearance, over."

<TRANSMISSION Opens>
<TO:ALLIES, ICEL, ITC>
<FROM: MILITARY Directorate, FSP>
<RE: NEED For Resupply to Mars Task Group>

Greetings honored friends and allies,

We come to you in an hour of need. Our Mars Fleet forces have recently been engaged in heavy fighting, and as a result, are short of missile resupply. Unfortunately, due to a number of other commitments, both our privately owned freighters and government owned vessels are on missions, and we lack the ability to make this delivery.

We request your assistance, knowing that you intend the CSS Valiant for the Earth-Mars route, we hope that we could encourage you to move your launch forward so we can resupply our vessels as soon as possible.

Thank you.

~John-117, Minister of War

<TRANSMISSION Terminated>

Low Earth Orbit, Headed into Commonality Space

Leigh Damon watched through the forward viewport as she guided her shuttle on final approach towards the shipyards, and the huge white mass that waited there. Ricona Weapons had its own freighters, but the recent outbreak of violence on Mars has led to the call for a hurried delivery, and the CSS Valiant was the next available ship.

Besides, the government was paying for it. Of course, all she had to do was get her cargo shuttle into a launch bay. The shuttle itself could have made the journey all the way to Mars. She had the life support, but it was too slow.

Ricona and Lucas-Williams were working on it, but Mars had no indigenous mass missile production facilities yet. Other things had been more important. But with the deployment of the Mars and Venus Heavy Task Groups, they were going to have to get some heavy weapons production facilities in place sooner.

But in the mean time, Leigh would have to deliver by riding in the massive ITC Vessel. Well, she and nine other shuttles. Even here in Earth Orbit, a squadron of Longsword fighters orbited the shuttles, but stopped at the requisite distance from the Commonality facility. No need to get more ships in there, as there were more than enough flitting about.

She keyed up her comm panel. “This is the S.P.M. Shuttle Jane leading the Federation Flight Group Mike Hotel Victor November Zero Three One, requesting docking instructions. Transmitting clearance code now…”

As the transmission speared across the gulf of space, Leigh reflected on the massive starship. She had never seen anything so big built to move at speed before. Absolutely nothing.

And that was frightening.

Hyperion Transport Systems HQ

-Most interesting sir. EOTED have just finished building a large cargo/luxury liner ship.
-And how does this concern us?
-Well, you know that we’ve recently been thinking of expanding our merchant ship fleet. To enhance this, it would be necessary to have a more mobile hub to serve our transport routes. It would be possible to rent hangers on their ship
-But where does it go? Our traffic is mostly Mercury to Earth now. Mars is, quite honestly, saturated with cargo traffic.
-Well, we may be able to expand into Mars-Earth traffic with this factored into our strategy. That is, of course, until our longer range transports come out.
-That’s a long way off. Anyhow, crunch the numbers and I’ll write them a letter.

====

To: Imperial Trade Conglomerate
From: Hyperion Transport Systems

To Whom It May Concern

We are interested in renting a hanger to service as a hub for our small space merchant fleet. If your prices are reasonable, I’m sure that we can come to some sort of arrangement. We look forward to hearing from you.

Sincerely,

Ralph Huy
Logistics Manager
Hyperion Transport Systems

[OOC: Mind if I'm said foreign government? If you do mind, I can edit this post. Oh, well not government, just a former CEO and former military old guy and a bunch of his friends... could buy a government, but don't govern.]

Tyranny of the Old. That's what they called it, the younger generations. Hell, he'd called them that when he was young, too. Only he'd had no idea.

They outnumbered them by a vast margin, now. There is a time-value to money; the longer you're around, the wealthier you'll be. And if not, well you generally won't last long anyway. Survival of the fittest.

Paul Goreson wasn't just fit - he was booming. Most of his internal organs, his legs, his spinal column and associated networks of tissues had years ago been replaced by the finest gear one could afford. And that was back when the Conglomerate could make medical equipment worth a damn. Those suckers still pumped.

Then, too, there was his chemical therapy. He was a virtual walking nest of possible injections and hormones for anything from extra speed to escape from some hoodlum or disease-crunching. At any moment he could summon, with the greatest of ease, any emotion, any state of mind or body. He could, and did, view sexvids and then erase his arousal with a deftly timed click of a button. No dirty old man here.

Old money, was what some called it. Well, Paul was 115 this month, and planned on staying around forever.

He lived, along with a large community of the Old in New State City, Santa Barbara, in a luxuriously spaced, green and well-kept neighborhood. Superficially, one apartment complex was much the same as another. But within, there were varieties of comfort relating indirectly to the number of residents.

As a result of his old money, he could afford the best. On his level, there were a mere 75 other residents. Compared to the rest of the city, it was hella splendor.

But it was getting worse. Crime in the city was increasing, and even the corporate police had difficulties. Population kept increasing. The current ruler, Abadas - Paul had not voted for him, but more importantly he had managed to dissuade the usual power backing in his community from backing Abadas. It hadn't mattered; the chips were in the hands of the old, but 'the old' were hardly all allied.

So, it was time to leave. Not just NSC, but Earth itself. Mars, he knew, had kiloacres of land occupied by absolutely nothing. Through his position and gossip he learned that Santa Barbara had still done almost nothing with Noachia; the megacorps held the territories they had purchased, and defended them, but built no colonies.

It was so obvious. Mars has space - but not infinite space. The supply has to be doled out no faster than the market can bear, or else prices drop. And those megacorps had paid a huge fee for the land (at the 'request' of the ITDO, although Paul did not know this).

But there was a price. And Paul had enough saved to afford it.

The real question, the real problem, was much more difficult. How to get there? The megacorps built no civilian passenger ships. And he wasn't about to buy one of those Bolden Corp tin cans and vomit in null-gee before and after planetfall.

He'd arranged a negotiation... but he'd never negotiated with aliens before.

The commanding officer stared at the screen with a mixture of incredulity and anger. He could tell this wasn't who he had been expecting. He had been expecting an official of the government of Santa Barbara. He didn't know who the hell this was, but it was someone else. He knew the pertinent officials in the SB government.

He sighed. It seemed his job would be so fun, at this point, that he sorely considered just blowing his head off with his micblaster and be done with it. He tapped the hilt below the desk he was sitting behind...

"You're not from the government are you, Mr...?"

He sighed again. "I'm going to presume that I've been lead on a merry path around about, here. Then again, you might just be calling in at the wrong time. Either way, seeing as you have me on my Command Line number, I'm guessing you have authorization to be calling. - So. Mr... whatever. What can I do for you?"

[OOC: We can assume that our good Captain has been lead around a bit, here, namely lead to believe that he's dealing with the SB government. When he's not. It works best that way, methinks. And yep, that was what I was looking for - someone to jump on in.]

Tag

Could the LRRSF perhaps be planning on using the Valiant as a base of operations for high-speed freighters, and therefore have a team aboard or something?

[OOC: I'm going to guess that this is out of character, because the tag part isn't particuarly seperate from the rest.

Yep, that's fine. Telegram me with the details, and we'll sort everything out so we can get it all nicely accurate here. :)]







* * *



IC:


To: Imperial Trade Conglomerate
From: Hyperion Transport Systems

To Whom It May Concern

We are interested in renting a hanger to service as a hub for our small space merchant fleet. If your prices are reasonable, I’m sure that we can come to some sort of arrangement. We look forward to hearing from you.

Sincerely,

Ralph Huy
Logistics Manager
Hyperion Transport Systems

-{ATTACHED DOCUMENT INITIALLY RE-ROUTED TO IMPERIAL TRADE ENTERPRISES LIMITED}-

-Imperial Trade Enterprises Meme-Secured Communication Data Packet-
-For the Eyes of Ralph Huy
Logistics Manager
Hyperion Transport Systems

~This CDP is Meme-Secured. All access to this data packet will be recorded.~

Dear Mr. Huy,

The CSS Valiant has several different sizes of hangar, of course, so we would require specific details on your requirements. We can also provide command&control facilities, naturally.

Our prices vary according to the deal secured by one of our Negotiators. The Negotiators discuss such matters, to ensure adherance to the Safe Practice of(/and) Rental (Rights) Act, 1 D.E.

However, the price will depend largely on the cargo to be transported. Safer cargo transporters - transporters carrying harmless foodstuffs, entertainment devices or non-toxic medical supplies and the like - can utilize the cheaper, lower-containment hangars.

Naturally, if you wish to transport something like radioactive waste, the price will rise sharply.

It is not inside my purview to disclose the pricing structure, however. That would be against Conglomerate Policy.

However, if you so wish, I may dispatch a Negotiater from the CSS Valiant immediately to begin discussions. Naturally, it will take several hours for them to arrive.

We look forward to doing business with you, Hyperion Transport Systems.

Yours Sincerely,

Associate Elethri

Robert Jones liked everything made by Ma-tek. It was all so elegant, pretty...unlike the blockish, functional designs spat out by the shipyards in LRR.

Being a young university student studying spaceship design, he had lept upon the opportunity to get some first-hand experience. So here he was, aboard a frigate headed towards the giant station.

"Attention CSS Valiant, this is the LRRSV Ziggy Stardust, we're carrying an LRRSF survey team to look over the ship, if that's ok. They'll tell you more later. Requesting docking clearance, over."

The ship is just immense. It is vaster even than the dockyards - and the city-station beyond them looks like a speck in comparison. Vilya Elenoston Space is a busy place - literally dozens of ships, most of them bearing the markings of ICEL companies or FSP traders but also some bearing markings associated with some of the TofY states, come through here every hour of every day - and the giant ring that sits beyond the Eternal Dockyards on the upwards axis is a hive of activity.

It looks like something is being built there, but it's hard to tell what at a glance.

Small objects, stationary in alignment with the other manmade objects in the area, float silently amidst all of the activity: defence emplacements. They don't look that deadly, though, and scans confirm that they're almost entirely composed of carbon - almost solid diamond, except for some other materials in a small compartment at the bulbous rear end of each object.

To make the clutter even more cluttery, long-range observation telescopes sit out at the edge of VE Space, gazing out at the solar system and beyond. Those telescopes are known to be able to count the hairs on the back of a flea on a dog in Melbourne from cislunar space - they have very sensitive liquid mercury focusing mirrors. No wonder fightercraft patrol them, jealously guarding them and preventing anyone from approaching. Even the military dockyards, where several cruisers are taking shape in the docking areas, aren't as closely guarded.

"This is VES-Control Sub-Sentient Guidance Unit Beta-4. You are cleared to dock at Valiant-ENT-111-A, Ziggy Stardust. A microwave guidance beam will bring you in. Follow it closely. Deviations will result in a fine. The Captain will be waiting for you in the hangar bay. Repeat: cleared to dock at Valiant-ENT-111-A. Over," came the dry response aboard the [i]Ziggy Stardust. Clearly an AI.

Paul cleared his throat, not out of nervousness but to rid his voice of the old-man decreptitude that always seemed to build up. And to remind himself to speak loud and clear, with no falter in his voice.

The body got old, and even with miracles of modern medicine, some things you just couldn't avoid.

"Mister Goreson," he replied to the voice - presumably that of the Captain - on the other end of the connection. "You are correct, sir, I am not government, and I apologize if you were lead to believe otherwise, but it was necessary."

He cleared his throat again. Old-man buildup.

"I represent a small but steady faction of citizens," he said, leaving out the senior part of citizens. "We have a destination and would like passage."

Low Earth Orbit, Headed into Vilya Elenoston Space

Leigh Damon watched through the forward viewport as she guided her shuttle on final approach towards the shipyards, and the huge white mass that waited there. Ricona Weapons had its own freighters, but the recent outbreak of violence on Mars has led to the call for a hurried delivery, and the CSS Valiant was the next available ship.

Besides, the government was paying for it. Of course, all she had to do was get her cargo shuttle into a launch bay. The shuttle itself could have made the journey all the way to Mars. She had the life support, but it was too slow.

Ricona and Lucas-Williams were working on it, but Mars had no indigenous mass missile production facilities yet. Other things had been more important. But with the deployment of the Mars and Venus Heavy Task Groups, they were going to have to get some heavy weapons production facilities in place sooner.

But in the mean time, Leigh would have to deliver by riding in the massive ITC Vessel. Well, she and nine other shuttles. Even here in Earth Orbit, a squadron of Longsword fighters orbited the shuttles, but stopped at the requiste distance from the Commonality facility. No need to get more ships in there, as there were more than enough flitting about.

She keyed up her comm panel. “This is the S.P.M. Shuttle Jane leading the Federation Flight Group Mike Hotel Victor November Zero Three One, requesting docking instructions. Transmitting clearance code now…”

As the transmission speared across the gulf of space, Leigh reflected on the massive starship. She had never seen anything so big built to move at speed before. Absolutely nothing.

And that was frightening.

[OOC: Oops. I wasn't clear: Vilya Elenosto used to be in Earth orbit, it's true, but the city was moved out past Mars to the asteroid belt some time ago, where the dockyards were to be built. You can get to VE via the Earth-Mars Highway and from there in what's essentially a straight line (unless you fly around Mars, of course), because VE and the other objects in the area orbit the Sun in line with the Martian orbit - although there's still some distance to travel, naturally. But it'd take about a day to get there, all told, with a good ship. I dunno what kinda propulsion you use, though. Anyhow, Vilya Elenosto is out there. :)

Further, Valiant isn't leaving the yard for a few days yet - once she has some vital crew, she'll make her maiden voyage from Vilya Elenosto to Mars, and then on to Earth. So um. Unfortunate as it is... there'd be no point going all the way out to Vilya Elenosto to get transport to go to Mars, which is nearer than Vilya Elenosto. If the CSS Valiant could be your final destination - which is possible, as all sorts of employment would be needed aboard ship - then we could RP you leaving from the IsnCo Spaceport in ICEL and heading out to the ship. Up to you. Sorry about not giving the proper details... I didn't realize I'd missed something that important. *facepalms*]

Paul cleared his throat, not out of nervousness but to rid his voice of the old-man decreptitude that always seemed to build up. And to remind himself to speak loud and clear, with no falter in his voice.

The body got old, and even with miracles of modern medicine, some things you just couldn't avoid.

"Mister Goreson," he replied to the voice - presumably that of the Captain - on the other end of the connection. "You are correct, sir, I am not government, and I apologize if you were lead to believe otherwise, but it was necessary."

He cleared his throat again. Old-man buildup.

"I represent a small but steady faction of citizens," he said, leaving out the senior part of citizens. "We have a destination and would like passage."

Cavellero scowled openly, amber eyes shifting an angry shade in that uncannily clear way that only Nenyan eyes truly can.

He stood, the recording device tracking his movements smoothly. He was clearly very tall - taller than six feet, perhaps, although the ceiling appears to be rather high, so it's hard to tell... but he certainly isn't bulky. Not thin, either. Elegantly shapely is the word. A great many Human women would gleefully kill millions for his figure. He paces quietly, not bothering to respond for several seconds, before whirling and placing both hands on the desk, leaning down to peer at the screen.

"I don't enjoy being lied to, Mister Goreson. - But do you know what I dislike more than that?"

He straightened, slamming a fist against the desk with impressive strength, considering his lack of bulk. "I do not like my time being wasted! Speak, now!"

It's fairly clear a better explanation is required.

Paul Goreson, in turn, scowled. No visuals accompanied his transmission though; and judging by the Nenyan's anger, that was probably for the best. Not to mention, the young always grew bolder when they knew they faced the old, one on one. And the voice sounded human enough; alien or not, the old were always the old.

"Good. I am not fond of wasting time either," he said boldly, understatedly. "My friends and I would like to go to Mars, and I have it on good authority you are in a position to help." He paused a beat. "We can afford your price... and that isn't a lie."

Paul Goreson, in turn, scowled. No visuals accompanied his transmission though; and judging by the Nenyan's anger, that was probably for the best. Not to mention, the young always grew bolder when they knew they faced the old, one on one. And the voice sounded human enough; alien or not, the old were always the old.

"Good. I am not fond of wasting time either," he said boldly, understatedly. "My friends and I would like to go to Mars, and I have it on good authority you are in a position to help." He paused a beat. "We can afford your price... and that isn't a lie."

The Nenyan scowls steadily, now, and isn't aware he can't be seen. "Yes, I'm sure you can. That's not at issue. What is at issue is just why you have taken this route to purchasing a ticket to travel on the Valiant. Would you care to explain, sir," there is money at stake here, after all, "why it is that you have taken this effort to contact me directly, rather than working through the normal channels to purchase a ticket?"

He still sounds rather annoyed. Yes.

He gritted his teeth.

Now he had several possible answers to give, none of which seemed easily discussed. First, there were the Others. Mars was looking mighty good these days, and he'd only found this possible route there by luck and sheer good connections. There'd be a stampede of the elderly to outbid him for passage, not to mention housing. Second, the government. There was a reason they didn't build civilian passenger spaceships, after all. While his connection was hardly ultrasecure, it was hidden enough to not be obvious what he was doing. Normal channels would have put a red light on someone's desk somewhere. And of course, officially, no colonists were going to Mars, and certainly not in alien spaceships.

"Two reasons," he wound up replying, "Discretion, for one. My associates and I would like this handled quietly, and that would be impossible through the usual route."

He gritted his teeth.

Now he had several possible answers to give, none of which seemed easily discussed. First, there were the Others. Mars was looking mighty good these days, and he'd only found this possible route there by luck and sheer good connections. There'd be a stampede of the elderly to outbid him for passage, not to mention housing. Second, the government. There was a reason they didn't build civilian passenger spaceships, after all. While his connection was hardly ultrasecure, it was hidden enough to not be obvious what he was doing. Normal channels would have put a red light on someone's desk somewhere. And of course, officially, no colonists were going to Mars, and certainly not in alien spaceships.

"Two reasons," he wound up replying, "Discretion, for one. My associates and I would like this handled quietly, and that would be impossible through the usual route."

Cavallero ran his hand back through his hair with exasperation. He knew something like this would happen. The price tag on those damned tickets was so high, only a very... exclusive... few could afford them. All of them would want discretion. He resisted the urge to bang his head on the desk; if the advertising people had paid attention to him, they would have paid greater attention to emphasizing that which he was about to say.

"I'm not sure that you understand fully, sir," he said, not allowing his irritation to show, now, "but this ship is operated from Vilya Elenosto, and is so not under the jurisdiction of any Earth government. Nobody on Earth is allowed to know who is on board at any one time. Not the ITC, not the ICEL government, and certainly not foreign spies. We have a secure, secluded data repository. We have taken pains to create a setup whereby-"

His voice halts.

"Excuse me a moment," it begins again, a faint undercurrent of annoyance evident, "but I need to put you on hold. Ship's business."

The transmission pauses.

* * *

"What the hell? They want us to move now?"

"Now, sir," his first officer, newly arrived, confirmed. She looked worried; she hadn't actually reported for duty yet, and so she shouldn't really have taken the liberty of...

"You just arrive on board, and you bring this news? We're not ready yet, Commander," the Captain stated firmly.

"Conglomerate orders, sir," she said softly. Almost too softly to be heard.

"I see. - Then get us under way, Mr. Reynalds."

* * *

Cavellero sat back down, and clicked the transmission active again. "My apologies, sir. - As I was saying, we actually take immense pains to keep the identities of our clients secret, if they so wish. Only the crew of this ship would be aware of your presence. Still, I suppose we can sort this out. - As it happens, sir, we're headed to Earth now. We'll be arriving in about ten minutes, in all likelihood."

* * *

The vast ship pulled out of the dockyard slowly. It was an impressive sight, especially considering ships were still supposed to be boarding her.

She called out to them on the comms channels. "This is CSS Valiant. We are sorry to report that due to unforseen circumstances, we will be required to leave port early. We will be making the Transition to Earth Space in just under a quarter of an hour. If you no longer wish to land, please signal your intent. Otherwise, please stay in-line with your microwave guidance beams. They will guide you in despite the motion of your ship. - Have a safe and pleasant journey. Valiant out." Her voice is soft, smooth, gentle. Soothing. Definitely an AI, probably a Sentient one.

She was. She guided the Valiant out of spacedock, calling to her sister aboard Vilya Elenosto, asking her to move traffic out of her path. Naturally, Tatya replied-

-{Sister! I am glad to see you moving. Safe journey.}-

She sighed softly to herself. Slowly, she eased away, already performing the calculations necessary for the Transition - and able to do so because of Logistat, the new language that her sisters had slowly concocted over the last months. Mathematics made into a true language that a semantic intelligence could understand. It seemed to be working; she felt more capable than she had when hooked up to calculating machines, at least.

She eased away, guided by her Pilots-

* * *

"She moves nice and steady," reported the helmsman, Jack Coe. Coe wasn't from around these parts. Actually, nobody was, because nobody had ever been born aboard Vilya Elenosto. The first births were to occur in a few months time.

But he wasn't from ICEL, although he was a Citizen. He had voted for the new Constitution, too. He still couldn't quite believe that they'd let him - he'd only been a Citizen for three months.

But they had, and here he was, aboard what he felt was the grandest ship to fly. He loved her, he really did. She was a dream. Smoother than anything he'd flown before, that's for sure - almost. He'd once flown a gravitic flitter...

But that had been years ago. Two years ago, really, but when you're twenty-four, that's years and years ago.

"Steady and sharp, Mister," his current CO told him.

"Yes ma'am," he replied, pausing his constant checks on the AI only to brush his mop of ginger hair back. He really ought to get that cut...

[OOC: Anyone want to claim Coe? If you do, telegram me with a little bit of what background he would have in your nation, and we'll go from there. I'll introduce a new character every now and then, to get things going. :)]

<TRANSMISSION Opens>
<TO:ALLIES, ICEL, ITC>
<FROM: MILITARY Directorate, FSP>
<RE: NEED For Resupply to Mars Task Group>

Greetings honored friends and allies,

We come to you in an hour of need. Our Mars Fleet forces have recently been engaged in heavy fighting, and as a result, are short of missile resupply. Unfortunately, due to a number of other commitments, both our privately owned freighters and government owned vessels are on missions, and we lack the ability to make this delivery.

We request your assistance, knowing that you intend the CSS Valiant for the Earth-Mars route, we hope that we could encourage you to move your launch forward so we can resupply our vessels as soon as possible.

Thank you.

~John-117, Minister of War

<TRANSMISSION Terminated>

Low Earth Orbit, Headed into Commonality Space

Leigh Damon watched through the forward viewport as she guided her shuttle on final approach towards the shipyards, and the huge white mass that waited there. Ricona Weapons had its own freighters, but the recent outbreak of violence on Mars has led to the call for a hurried delivery, and the CSS Valiant was the next available ship.

Besides, the government was paying for it. Of course, all she had to do was get her cargo shuttle into a launch bay. The shuttle itself could have made the journey all the way to Mars. She had the life support, but it was too slow.

Ricona and Lucas-Williams were working on it, but Mars had no indigenous mass missile production facilities yet. Other things had been more important. But with the deployment of the Mars and Venus Heavy Task Groups, they were going to have to get some heavy weapons production facilities in place sooner.

But in the mean time, Leigh would have to deliver by riding in the massive ITC Vessel. Well, she and nine other shuttles. Even here in Earth Orbit, a squadron of Longsword fighters orbited the shuttles, but stopped at the requisite distance from the Commonality facility. No need to get more ships in there, as there were more than enough flitting about.

She keyed up her comm panel. “This is the S.P.M. Shuttle Jane leading the Federation Flight Group Mike Hotel Victor November Zero Three One, requesting docking instructions. Transmitting clearance code now…”

As the transmission speared across the gulf of space, Leigh reflected on the massive starship. She had never seen anything so big built to move at speed before. Absolutely nothing.

And that was frightening.

[OOC: Imagine that this post just occurred. The second half occurs just about twenty-three minutes after the first half. For continuity purposes, of course.

NOTE: All posts regarding docking aboard the Valiant ought to go ahead. Nobody but the FSP ships may dock in Commonality Space (an area in Earth orbit) - all docking that goes on currently is going on just before the Valiant departs, in Vilya Elenoston Space. Once the Valiant returns to Vilya Elenosto, more docking can go on for its 'real' maiden voyage.]

She was far enough away, now, from the station. She sent the signal-

* * *

"Commander... we're ready to make the Transition to Commonality Space," Coe reported, looking back at her.

She sighed, bit her lip. Tapped the contact on her wrist that was sewn into the Valiant crew's standard-issue uniform. "Captain, we're ready to make the Trans-"

"Busy, Commander. Go ahead. Transition authorized."

She stared. She didn't know what at, but she stared. She couldn't understand it... the first Transition of his ship, and he wouldn't be present?

She knew at that moment that it was her time to die. Knew it beyond all doubt. Felt it in her bones. She shivered.

"Yes... yessir," she managed to get out. She was amazed at how calm she sounded, considering her death was just seconds away. She cut the transmission, sucked air into her lungs.

"Make the Transition, Mister Coe," she ordered - Coe was already stroking the console with those strong, masculine hands (now where did that come from? she mused) of his.

She squeezed her eyes shut, hoped nobody would notice-

Nothing happened.

She felt nothing.

She flinched automatically, but she felt nothing. She opened her eyes, slowly. Michael? No, that was Coe. She wasn't at the Pearly Gates.

So much for prophecy.

"Transition complete. Transitional drift well within acceptable limits: two-two-seven-point-four-one-eight microns to the Galactic North-North-East, consistent with expected drift potentialities. Engine spike was logged as nominal. Main batteries functioning normally. No reports of shuddering; medbay reports no confirmed injuries so far. Hull plating is all in place; we didn't lose any of those armour plates like we were worried, ma'am. - Wait. I am getting one red light: it's on the comms relay system. Ah, there it is: looks like we had a temporary blip there - looks like our computer systems suffered for a moment. Don't quite see why..."

He was rambling, she realized. Stars, he had been as worried as her...

The thought comforted her. She stood, walked to his side, leaned down, and said softly, "Everything else fine?"

He blinked up at her. She had no idea why he was looking at her like that. Why the wide-eyes, she wondered...

"Uh, yes ma'am. All fine: eXon defence screen in place. Six fighters launched, as required by protocol."

Before she could nod in acceptance of that, or even straighten up, the woman at CommOps called out, "Ma'am, we have an incoming transmission."

"Play it," she ordered. She let out a breath of air. She was starting to feel comfortable - she knew she would. It wasn't like she was green.

“This is the S.P.M. Shuttle Jane leading the Federation Flight Group Mike Hotel Victor November Zero Three One, requesting docking instructions. Transmitting clearance code now…”

The voice rang out clearly on the bridge - at least the audio systems worked. She pushed aside any further cynical thoughts as she tapped out a text message to her Captain - and recieved a response.

She opened the appropriate contact on the arm of The Chair - the Captain's chair, currently hers (for now, a nagging voice reminded her) - the contact that would open a channel for her to speak through to the Federation shuttle that had communicated with them as they drifted into the tetheryard (technically a dockyard) inside Commonality Space.

"Federation Flight Group Mike Hotel Victor November Zero Three One, this is Commander Siluri Rihad of the Commonality Stellar Ship Valiant. All ships that are to dock are to proceed to ENT-001-A, clearly marked for you now. Microwave beams will guide you in, Federation Flight Group Mike Hotel Victor November Zero Three One. Do not deviate from the expected flight paths. Fines will be levied if such deviations occur."

Stars, she sounded like those damned sub-sentient traffic control AIs at Vilya Elenosto.

"On a brighter note, Flight Group Mike Hotel Victor November Zero Three One, it isn't raining today. Over."

Coe grinned at her.

* * *

"Yeah, the Commander is all right," Lieutenant Commander Kar was telling his wing, "she's one of us. Real military woman. Career. She only accepted the placement because of the profile: she wants a carrier, you know. One of the new ones."

"Yeah, I heard that," CD Two crackled, "but I heard she was gunning for the Commonality. You know, the first carrier of the new class. Second-generation."

"Yeah. Something like that. - Ah, now would you look at that. Longswords. Impressive, aren't they?"

"Perty," agreed CD Four. "But I bet they don't have to suck perfluorocarbon down their windpipe to fly, eh? Lucky bastards. Hey, are we on ext comms lockdown, Can't Duck Lead?"

Kar had to laugh, even though he was submerged in viscous liquid that made him want to vomit every time he was immersed in it. Flying an eXon was worth it, of course. Especially when the new regs said that they had to scramble the initials of their designations, like the foreigners did. Except, ICEL had no formal arrangement - there was alpha, beta, etc, but those were foreign terms and not associated with ICEL. So each wing leader got to choose. Kar had chosen 'Can't Duck', which stood for CD, which in turn stood for Carrier Defence.

The Carrier Defence unit consisted of a small group of pilots, who would always do that job and that job alone. The rest of the pilots never got to fly unless there was trouble: that was the way it would be done. The Captain was going to review it in a month, he had said. Kar hoped so. His little group would be sorely resented very soon if it wasn't.

"Nope, not on lockdown," Kar confirmed, "you're free to chitchat so long as they are."

* * *

"Acknowledged," Lieutenant Esra replied softly. This stuff played havoc with her hair, but she didn't have to wear a helmet - so she didn't have to cut her hair, either. Especially not here. The CAG was lax, seeing as this was a civilian ship - even though the pilots were all Commonality Space Force officers.

CSF officers being paid five times the normal rate hazard pay, she noted to herself with a grin. The Valiant was expected to be a target: that's why she had twenty-four of the fastest, best space superiority weapons ever built by the CSF.

Not to mention E-cannon batteries and a single MMFL unit, plus direct-fire kinetic tubes. She was armed to the teeth - Esra felt sorry for anyone who challenged her.

She tapped at the console in front of her. "Longswords," she said, hoping that the computer made her words understandable through all this gunk (although her fellows understood her, didn't they?), and also feeling that that was the single most lame opening word by anyone in history, "I trust you're having an uneventful flight. Welcome to Commonality Space."

"This is VES-Control Sub-Sentient Guidance Unit Beta-4. You are cleared to dock at Valiant-ENT-111-A, Ziggy Stardust. A microwave guidance beam will bring you in. Follow it closely. Deviations will result in a fine. The Captain will be waiting for you in the hangar bay. Repeat: cleared to dock at Valiant[i]-ENT-111-A. Over," came the dry response aboard the Ziggy Stardust. Clearly an AI.

"Roger that, Beta-4. We are locked onto the guidance beam."

The Ziggy Stardust, a colorful Jungle class frigate, is dwarfed by the size of the station, being a mere 230 meters in circumference (yes the Jungle class is a saucer shape).

The frigate, with various small and large weapons turrets covering the hull, along with shield generators, enters the docking bay. LRRSV ZIGGY STARDUST is painted across the bow in big, luminous letters.

The frigate motors into ENT-111-A, and is grabbed by the station's docking arms (if I recall from my other dealings with you, I think you use arm-type things to secure ships in the docking bay).

Several minutes later, Captain James J. Hendrix walks out of the frigate, flanked by Robert Jones, two ship's engineers, and a ship's astronomer.

Commonality Space, Closing on the CSS Valiant

”…deviate from the expected flight paths. Fines will be levied if such deviations occur. On a brighter note, Flight Group Mike Hotel Victor November Zero Three One, it isn't raining today. Over.”

Leigh grinned. It had been raining when she took off. “We’re coming in, Valiant. I’m glad its dry up here.” That was odd. Very odd. The ship had not even been there when she had guided her shuttle out of the atmosphere. FTL drives disturbed her. A lot. Especially ones like that. Nothing visible. The ship just popped into existence.

She shuddered, then flipped over to the group channel. “Alright, boys and girls, form up two by two. We’re going to board the ark.”

“What’s that, Leigh?”

“Nevermind.” Undereducated cretins. Oh well. “Let’s go.” The bulky cargo shuttles lacked the grace of ICEL ships, for sure, but even the lethal grace of Federation warships was missing from them. They were maximized for hauling cargo in and out of a gravity well.

The number two shuttle closed up the gap, and side by side, in a very pretty display for civilian pilots, and a very tight display, they followed the microwave beams in, their compatriots trailed out behind them, riding the beams.

Longsword Squadron Anglachel 09, Commonality Space

Lieutenant (SG) Lucius de Ruebehat blinked as he picked up the transmission. It was definitely a woman’s voice, and it was garbled. But there were no women pilots in his squadron.

The shuttles? One of them’s in trouble, maybe? “Alice,” he addressed his fighter AI by voice, for ease. “Can you clean that up?”

“I can try,” came back the AI’s soft soprano. “Is this better?”

“Longswords, I trust you're having an uneventful flight. Welcome to Commonality Space.”

“Yes, much.” Lucius blinked, wondering what had made the transmission so garbled. It did not matter, of course. Only polite to respond, too. Alice had gone a step further, too, and had picked out in his mind the ship transmitting to him. He accessed the comm system through his neural link, and brought up an outside channel. “Nice and boring, thanks. Just the way I like them. How about you?”

Well, he thought. It sounded OK so far - but who could tell? The Captain seemed irritated indeed. The young, they had no patience.

After the minor rant he received, and the hold, Paul began to feel impatience himself. The longer a transmission ran, the greater the likelihood of someone overhearing.

And yet he had foolishly attempted a diplomatic approach, beating around the point, so that now he had to say the riskiest bits of information at the riskiest time. He wondered if this was a good idea after all.

Ten minutes, the Nenyan said. Ten! That was much too soon to begin, and he couldn't leave and come back again. He supposed he could get a lift into orbit, but his sudden departure to an alien vessel would not be unnoticed.

"Yes, well we can't be ready in ten minutes to leave," he said, "and I can't leave the country to meet you and return again. I understand you take pains for discretion, but you need to understand my associates will need transport to the surface as well, and-" he hesitated a moment, then pushed on, most aware of the passage of time. "-and that landing will need to be discrete as well. It cannot appear as it is."

Originally Posted by Associate Elethri, 1st Echelon Officer of I.T.E. Limited
-{ATTACHED DOCUMENT INITIALLY RE-ROUTED TO IMPERIAL TRADE ENTERPRISES LIMITED}-

-Imperial Trade Enterprises Meme-Secured Communication Data Packet-
-For the Eyes of Ralph Huy
Logistics Manager
Hyperion Transport Systems

~This CDP is Meme-Secured. All access to this data packet will be recorded.~

Dear Mr. Huy,

The CSS Valiant has several different sizes of hangar, of course, so we would require specific details on your requirements. We can also provide command&control facilities, naturally.

Our prices vary according to the deal secured by one of our Negotiators. The Negotiators discuss such matters, to ensure adherance to the Safe Practice of(/and) Rental (Rights) Act, 1 D.E.

However, the price will depend largely on the cargo to be transported. Safer cargo transporters - transporters carrying harmless foodstuffs, entertainment devices or non-toxic medical supplies and the like - can utilize the cheaper, lower-containment hangars.

Naturally, if you wish to transport something like radioactive waste, the price will rise sharply.

It is not inside my purview to disclose the pricing structure, however. That would be against Conglomerate Policy.

However, if you so wish, I may dispatch a Negotiater from the CSS Valiant immediately to begin discussions. Naturally, it will take several hours for them to arrive.

We look forward to doing business with you, Hyperion Transport Systems.

Yours Sincerely,

Associate Elethri

====

Ralph looked over the reply and typed out his message:

To: Associate Elethri
From: Ralph Huy - Logistics Manager

Very well. You may come to our offsite way depot at the L1 point. I'm afraid the accomodations are not up to your standards, though. There, we can discuss more specific terms and I'll be able to give you some specs on our ships.

We look forward to meeting you.

Sincerely,

Ralph Huy
Logistics Manager
Hyperion Transport Systems.

[abroad an Inquisitorial Black Ship, the Malleus Maleficarum, an ensign rushes forward to the captain's section, carrying a urgent psyker message.]

"My Lord Inquisitor, the CSS Valiant will be passing by within a few days. What are your orders?"

"Scan the ship for psychic activity as per the normal dictates, but allow it to go on unmolested. The Valiant is much too powerful for a ship such as ours to hurt it. Besides, we needn't worry about confrontation. We have no quarrels with its people. However, I want to be notified immediately if anyone abroad shows signs of contamination."

"Yes my Lord."

The ensign scuttled back to his station. Primus Inquisitor Quentis Aurelius, lord of Malleus Maleficarum , folded his hands and contemplated the recent events. A ship like the Valiant would certainly make life...interesting.

"Roger that, Beta-4. We are locked onto the guidance beam."

The Ziggy Stardust, a colorful Jungle class frigate, is dwarfed by the size of the station, being a mere 230 meters in circumference (yes the Jungle class is a saucer shape).

The frigate, with various small and large weapons turrets covering the hull, along with shield generators, enters the docking bay. LRRSV ZIGGY STARDUST is painted across the bow in big, luminous letters.

The frigate motors into ENT-111-A, and is grabbed by the station's docking arms (if I recall from my other dealings with you, I think you use arm-type things to secure ships in the docking bay).

Several minutes later, Captain James J. Hendrix walks out of the frigate, flanked by Robert Jones, two ship's engineers, and a ship's astronomer.

Unfortunately, with everything going on, the Captain isn't there to greet the LRR people.

So his third officer - the XO, or nightside CO and general administrator - tugged at his sleeves nervously as the ship was hauled into its berth by the giant docking arm. He could hear the boom as the big magnets caught the bird up - delicately, despite the sound - and set her down in the launching berth. She would be fired back out through an EM acceleration tunnel when she launched, under the power of the Valiant.

He hoped he didn't screw this up.

He strode into the bay purposefully...

"Welcome aboard the..."

His voice trailed off.

"Damnit," he muttered, his voice echoing back through the docking bay. I went to the wrong one! The wrong bloody one!



* * *

Corporal Hele'tha, of Conglomerate Security Services Inc., did not appreciate being left to deal with the incoming persons.

"Welcome aboard," he muttered gruffly, trying not to point his wrist-mounted pulse micblaster at the newcomers. Really, the damned things were too threatening. Good for mowing down intruders...

...which hadn't happened (here) yet...

...but absolutely awful for dealing with friendly foreigners.

Hele'tha sighed, inside. Naturally, his face was stoic as ever, amber eyes bland. He was still, unmoving. Might as well be a statue, on the outside.

Inside, he yearned for a good massage. Mm.

The L1 way point depot was nothing to look at. Indeed, it resembled more of a dog's breakfast in zero gee rather than anything nice and shiny. But, for a company that wanted to get into space fast, the OMF modules from Santa Barbara provided the perfect solution. And while some of the modules were approaching 30 years of service, they were built to last.

The modules were also too small to generate any kind of artificial gravity so "orbies" were encouraged to exercise as much as possible. Crew rotations were not up for another month and the arrival of new equipment had been delayed. He tended to get a little sick being in space for so long and longed for the seaside.

He waited for the reply from Associate Elethri and began to make preparations to "sweep the place up". After typing our a few orders in the command journal he then drifted over to his treadmill and, after anchoring himself in, began to jog...

Unfortunately, with everything going on, the Captain isn't there to greet the LRR people.

So his third officer - the XO, or nightside CO and general administrator - tugged at his sleeves nervously as the ship was hauled into its berth by the giant docking arm. He could hear the boom as the big magnets caught the bird up - delicately, despite the sound - and set her down in the launching berth. She would be fired back out through an EM acceleration tunnel when she launched, under the power of the Valiant.

He hoped he didn't screw this up.

He strode into the bay purposefully...

"Welcome aboard the..."

His voice trailed off.

"Damnit," he muttered, his voice echoing back through the docking bay. I went to the wrong one! The wrong bloody one!



* * *

Corporal Hele'tha, of Conglomerate Security Services Inc., did not appreciate being left to deal with the incoming persons.

"Welcome aboard," he muttered gruffly, trying not to point his wrist-mounted pulse micblaster at the newcomers. Really, the damned things were too threatening. Good for mowing down intruders...

...which hadn't happened (here) yet...

...but absolutely awful for dealing with friendly foreigners.

Hele'tha sighed, inside. Naturally, his face was stoic as ever, amber eyes bland. He was still, unmoving. Might as well be a statue, on the outside.

Inside, he yearned for a good massage. Mm.

"Thankyou, corporal...er...if I remember my rank charts correctly. Where could we go to meet with the station's commander, or some ranking official?"

Commonality Space, Closing on the CSS Valiant

”…deviate from the expected flight paths. Fines will be levied if such deviations occur. On a brighter note, Flight Group Mike Hotel Victor November Zero Three One, it isn't raining today. Over.”

Leigh grinned. It had been raining when she took off. “We’re coming in, Valiant. I’m glad its dry up here.” That was odd. Very odd. The ship had not even been there when she had guided her shuttle out of the atmosphere. FTL drives disturbed her. A lot. Especially ones like that. Nothing visible. The ship just popped into existence.

She shuddered, then flipped over to the group channel. “Alright, boys and girls, form up two by two. We’re going to board the ark.”

“What’s that, Leigh?”

“Nevermind.” Undereducated cretins. Oh well. “Let’s go.” The bulky cargo shuttles lacked the grace of ICEL ships, for sure, but even the lethal grace of Federation warships was missing from them. They were maximized for hauling cargo in and out of a gravity well.

The number two shuttle closed up the gap, and side by side, in a very pretty display for civilian pilots, and a very tight display, they followed the microwave beams in, their compatriots trailed out behind them, riding the beams.

Longsword Squadron Anglachel 09, Commonality Space

Lieutenant (SG) Lucius de Ruebehat blinked as he picked up the transmission. It was definitely a woman’s voice, and it was garbled. But there were no women pilots in his squadron.

The shuttles? One of them’s in trouble, maybe? “Alice,” he addressed his fighter AI by voice, for ease. “Can you clean that up?”

“I can try,” came back the AI’s soft soprano. “Is this better?”

“Longswords, I trust you're having an uneventful flight. Welcome to Commonality Space.”

“Yes, much.” Lucius blinked, wondering what had made the transmission so garbled. It did not matter, of course. Only polite to respond, too. Alice had gone a step further, too, and had picked out in his mind the ship transmitting to him. He accessed the comm system through his neural link, and brought up an outside channel. “Nice and boring, thanks. Just the way I like them. How about you?”

CSS Valiant, Commonality Tethering Facility; Commonality Space, Near Earth Space

The First Officer of the Valiant smiled slightly. "Read you loud and clear, Flight Group Mike Hotel Victor November Zero Three One. Over."

She allowed herself to relax in the big chair for a little while... there was time to spare before the Transition.

* * *

eXon Carrier Defence Four, Near CSS Valiant; Commonality Space, Near Earth Space

She grinned, even though the sensation of the fluid swishing against her teeth was unpleasant. Her lungs were full of it - it was pretty gross. Not quite distracting... but still gross. And that had sounded like a male voice.

"I'm in the saddle with no place to ride, Broadsword," she replied cooingly softly, grinning wider to herself, "but I'm sure glad I ain't wrapped up in a furball."

She changed channels for a moment. "Boss, mind if I do a little flyby of the convoy, check they've not got any tails?"

"Confirmed, CD Four. Check in with the Broadswords before moving in; keep things above board. And no FFing, alright? You FF, and I swear I'll have you swabbing the decks. You got me, pilot?"

FFing was Full Frottling - or FunFun. It was in fact named for the man who had pioneered the maneuver - a man who could not pronounce his Th's. He had done it to a science vessel - roared past them at the last moment, causing them to execute needless avoidance maneuvers.

Esra had been present that day - she had rather enjoyed the sight of it. The science vessel had floundered away, and she could just picture the CO swearing at his viewscreen...

Ah, fun fun. She wouldn't do it to a Broadsword, though. She knew FSP spacecraft were well-built, good, sturdy ships. It would be disrespectful to dishonour the pilot that way - to upstage them. Of course, she also wasn't sure that their drive systems wouldn't interact and blow both ships to kingdom come...

Which was never a good option.

She clicked back to the other channel. "Broadsword's, I'd like to do a little flyby of the convoy as it moves into Valiant, if that's alright. Just a visual recce. Maybe we could dance a little." She grinned. The CSF was lax, always had been. So long as its pilots could kill effectively, they were allowed a little playtime.

Also, there was that rumour that the CSF only hired the insane.

Better that way, she figured: space didn't bother anyone who was already mad - after all, it was hard to go crazy when you already were crazy.

Longsword Squadron Anglachel 09, Commonality Space

"I'm in the saddle with no place to ride, Longsword, but I'm sure glad I ain't wrapped up in a furball."

De Ruebehat chuckled softly at the somewhat blatant invitation in the voice, and absently fingered the ring on his left hand that was not there. The war with Lost Americans has cut his honeymoon short, but his CO had promised to make it up to him when they had time. Meanwhile, his flightsuit was too tight fitting to allow him to wear any jewelry while in the cockpit. Or it was sometimes anyway.

As for furballs… “Yeah, since I started to fly I had to get rid of both my cat and my dog. Cat was sick too much, and the dog, well, he was a fighter.”

The voice came again, obviously delayed as it ran through the filter he had had to step up. "Longsword’s, I'd like to do a little flyby of the convoy as it moves into Valiant, if that's alright. Just a visual recce. Maybe we could dance a little."

“A dance sounds lovely. And feel free to inspect the convoy,” he transmitted back, then lowered his head to type in a command to the console under his left arm. The consoles vanished, the flight controls retracted, leaving him in a closed cockpit, as the canopy slowly became opaque.

A rush of information slotted into his brain as the sensors began to feed information directly over his neural link, the controls becoming extensions of his own body, fully melding into a deeper union with his fighter. Alice simply augmented the power of his mind, and he drifted among the stars, the planet rotating under him.

He brought up his drive to full power, and used the phased EM fields of the atmospheric drive to give him an initial velocity, then the EM fell away, leaving the blazing glory of the drive field, wrapped around him protectively as he easily bounded forward under a couple hundred gravities acceleration.

Commonality Space, Closing on the CSS Valiant

The big, lumbering cargo shuttles were the biggest things that could use a Type II Drive, allowing them into the atmosphere with no adverse affects. Between them, the ten shuttles carried twenty thousand capital missiles and HV missiles in capital sabots. More than enough to fill up the Mars Heavy Task Group.

Leigh sighed softly as she maneuvered her cargo of 10 gigatons of firepower towards the gaping docking bay awaiting her shuttles. “Keep it easy, group. Slow and steady, if need be.” She flipped back to the Valiant’s channel. “This is shuttle Jane, initiating docking procedures with bay Echo November Tango Zero Zero One Alpha. Over.” Some people, you could tell, like to play military, using the bloody code letters. Leigh always went with them first to make sure, in case she got a hardcase.

Apparently, the Valiant's first officer was one such.

IC:

To: Associate Elethri
From: Ralph Huy - Logistics Manager

Very well. You may come to our offsite way depot at the L1 point. I'm afraid the accomodations are not up to your standards, though. There, we can discuss more specific terms and I'll be able to give you some specs on our ships.

We look forward to meeting you.

Sincerely,

Ralph Huy
Logistics Manager
Hyperion Transport Systems.
Yesterday 2:36 AM


Rivette Automated Tourer Courier Rapidity, ICEL Airspace, Earth: Time To L1 - 02:37:16

Elethri sighed as the Rivette Tourer vaulted into the sky. He could not feel the movement, but then, who could? It was imperceptible. That was the point of the new PG field harnesses. They held you in place, prevented you from feeling the motion of the world around you. In air, this increased the tolerance of the body to g-stresses by about one hundred percent. The effectiveness in PFC - perfluorocarbon, the high-oxygen-transfer liquid used in fightercraft canopies - was even greater.

Thankfully, Elethri did not need to suffocate half to death in order to travel to the L1 point.

He tried not to consider the disturbing fact that nobody was piloting the ship. It was there, though, prickling at the edge of his consciousness. There's not even a cockpit, he realised. He wasn't sure if this was good or bad: if there had been one, the urge to break in there and take control might have been overwhelming.

He shuddered at that thought. That would spell certain death, he was sure. He wasn't a pilot. Not at all. Never flown anything in his life, not even a paper plane.

Still, it wouldn't be long...

* * *

Rivette Automated Tourer Courier Rapidity, ICEL Cislunar Territorial Claim Alpha-Zero-Zero-One (Tether Propulsion System Alpha); Time To L1 - 00:41:1

He was bored. Stars, he was bored. There was nothing to do. Sure, the ship had a TVC unit and a food dispenser and-

Eh, he had eaten. He had seen all the offered TVC shows - or didn't want to see the ones he hadn't. The only thing of interest was the view out the window. Earth space was crowded. All manner of ships were visible when he enhanced an area here or there on the VisiWall. Some were sleek (and sometimes bulky), but deadly-looking - military patrollers - and some were just fat, bulbous and bulky freighters.

None to match the Valiant that he could see, though. Still - it was rare that a ship of her size could even be moved into orbit around a planet. If it weren't for her PG fields mitigating the influence of her mass, she would indeed have caused minor tidal difficulties.

The ship trembled as a great arm caught it and flung it onto a new course: the Rapidity had reached the second-to-last waypoint, he knew. The rather blandly named fifteen-kilometer radius area of space known as ICEL Cislunar Territorial Claim Alpha-Zero-Zero-One was home to Tether Propulsion System Alpha, which was basically a big arm that grabbed stuff and threw it away from the Earth. Why it was the 'Cislunar Territorial Claim' he didn't know, because it wasn't in cislunar space. That hardly mattered, though. Now the ship wasn't even moving under its own power, but was hurtling outwards at such a speed that it would be just a little while now before he arrived...

Rivette Automated Tourer Courier Rapidity, L1 Rendezvous Point; Time To L1 - 00:00:10

He jerked awake as the ship pinged a gentle tone at him.

Awake, sir, he heard in his mind. No, wait - that was outside. Ears. Through his ears. Noise, sound.

He actually woke up. Looked around, blinking. He didn't say "Where am I?", though, because that would have been somewhat redundant. He was on the Rapidity, and he'd arrived.

"At bloody last," he murmoured.

"I do not understand the request, please restate," suggested the computer. He ignored it, padded over to the console set into the wall in a little alcove back from the large, ugly food dispenser. Tapped keys softly with smoothly curved and elegant fingers - fingers that fly, accustomed to the new-fangled touch-sensitive displays. Not that it had always been that way...

"I'm here," he sent out helpfully via the radio.

Well, it was a start.

* * *

[abroad an Inquisitorial Black Ship, the Malleus Maleficarum, an ensign rushes forward to the captain's section, carrying a urgent psyker message.]

"My Lord Inquisitor, the CSS Valiant will be passing by within a few days. What are your orders?"

"Scan the ship for psychic activity as per the normal dictates, but allow it to go on unmolested. The Valiant is much too powerful for a ship such as ours to hurt it. Besides, we needn't worry about confrontation. We have no quarrels with its people. However, I want to be notified immediately if anyone abroad shows signs of contamination."

"Yes my Lord."

The ensign scuttled back to his station. Primus Inquisitor Quentis Aurelius, lord of Malleus Maleficarum , folded his hands and contemplated the recent events. A ship like the Valiant would certainly make life...interesting.

[OOC: Just a little note for future reference regarding this (and I'm sure we could make this very interesting - drop me a telegram if you want to discuss the possibilities):

There are seven psionically gifted individuals aboard the Valiant at any one time, at the moment. Two of those are powerful projecting/recieving empaths, and one of those could be considered partially telepathic. Occasional snatches of surface thoughts - on that order. Empathically, the two powers on board - the captain and his first officer, both of whom are Nenyan (all the psi gifted on board are Nenyan) - are exceptionally strong (for their species) and capable of several things.

The first officer is what is classified as 'upper talent', capable of a wide-range of projecting capabilities as well as the usual semi-instinctive reception abilties native to her species. As she is actually trained to use these abilties, she is adept at making herself difficult to see (to the order of near-invisibility) around psionically lesser individuals (although they may be aware of the deception at a low conscious level), or even projecting images and feelings into the minds of those around her. She is not very adept at the latter, however, as such takes long years of practice, and she is not old enough to have had the time to practice said abilities.

The captain is another matter. I won't go into his background because it will ruin the first story-arc involving my characters on the Valiant, but suffice to say that he is very, very well trained, and very capable. Comparative to most psionically gifted individuals, his mind positively burns with talent for those who are capable of perceiving it. However, due to certain character-history-related matters, he almost never consciously makes use of his abilities. He is also amongst The Cursed, as most potent Nenyan empaths are.

This means that his mind, by default, if you will, attempts to hide his existance from the world around him. He has to concentrate throughout his waking hours (and sleeping ones) to remain visible to lesser psionically gifted individuals. If he does not make the effort, they cannot perceive him at all. His voice becomes unheard, he is unseen, and completely undetected. He also becomes exhausted in a matter of minutes because of the level of physical effort required to attain this state of 'invisibility', and, as almost nobody can see him in this state (unless by chance they look right at him, which always shatters the illusion, even in fully trained and normal Nenyan intelligence operatives), this can result in medical difficulties if he does not end his 'invisibility'. Therefore, he takes carazactolene-4, which suppresses a certain area of his brain slightly, allowing the sub-conscious control of The Curse that most Nenyans naturally exert.

The first officer will also be particuarly visible, as she is undergoing a physiological change which will shortly become apparent. :x]

[OOC: Just a little note for future reference regarding this (and I'm sure we could make this very interesting - drop me a telegram if you want to discuss the possibilities)

OOC: Thank you very much. I will be sending you a tele soon.-Horatio888

"Thankyou, corporal...er...if I remember my rank charts correctly. Where could we go to meet with the station's commander, or some ranking official?"

The stoic robot-

Wait, no, the corporal - who still wanted that massage but didn't have a clue where he could find one at this hour in space - shrugged slightly. Nobody at any point would ever understand why he did it - for he did it often - but he never shrugged unless he wasn't actually unsure of something. "Follow me," he grunted helpfully. Well, it was helpful in that it didn't involve being shot.

That's less than helpful. The corporal grinned at the thought - inside.

The persons from LRR are lead out from the bay - where a small ping can be heard as they pass through a blueish lighted area - and towards a large door. Through the door, they discover (with their eyes - the corporal doesn't play tour-guide), that this is a lift shaft. Heaven knows you need them on a ship like this.

There is no sensation of motion, and no windows with which to observe the motion, but a few seconds later the doors swish open again with a dull clunk as they make contact with their holding magnets - and the corporal leads the visitors out onto the command deck.

Not the bridge, mind. The command deck.

It's vast.

This chamber alone would be large enough to house several Olympic swimming pools, and possible fit a soccer pitch in at the side to boot.

And it's pretty empty. There are consoles scattered throughout, but they're mostly off and dark. Those that are on are occupied by smartly-uniformed - blue uniforms, dark blue - people of varying racial descent. No Nenyans, though, and nobody here has the distinctively sharp facial bone structure that Iluvauromeni native humans tend to have.

One of the persons in uniform - she looks to be a Lieutenant, by her rank pin - smartly walks to meet the corporal, and speaks with him for a moment.

"Ah, welcome aboard," she smiles - the corporal already heading back to his post.

"Welcome aboard the CSS Valiant. I'm Lieutenant Susan Scott," which definitely isn't an Iluvauromeni name, "how may I help you?"

* * *

Executive Officer Tang was about ready to tear his own hair out. Literally. He had found the bay, but the less-than-helpful Security officers he found there had merely shrugged and intimated - with their less-than-intelligent-sounding grunts and groans - that the visitors had 'moved on'.

He hoped that didn't mean they'd thrown them out an airlock.

With a sigh, he strode towards the nearest access point for the InterLink - the network of maglev train tubes that ran through the ship...

OOC: Ahem...

Longsword Squadron Anglachel 09, Commonality Space

"I'm in the saddle with no place to ride, Longsword, but I'm sure glad I ain't wrapped up in a furball."

De Ruebehat chuckled softly at the somewhat blatant invitation in the voice, and absently fingered the ring on his left hand that was not there. The war with Lost Americans has cut his honeymoon short, but his CO had promised to make it up to him when they had time. Meanwhile, his flightsuit was too tight fitting to allow him to wear any jewelry while in the cockpit. Or it was sometimes anyway.

As for furballs… “Yeah, since I started to fly I had to get rid of both my cat and my dog. Cat was sick too much, and the dog, well, he was a fighter.”

The voice came again, obviously delayed as it ran through the filter he had had to step up. "Longsword’s, I'd like to do a little flyby of the convoy as it moves into Valiant, if that's alright. Just a visual recce. Maybe we could dance a little."

“A dance sounds lovely. And feel free to inspect the convoy,” he transmitted back, then lowered his head to type in a command to the console under his left arm. The consoles vanished, the flight controls retracted, leaving him in a closed cockpit, as the canopy slowly became opaque.

A rush of information slotted into his brain as the sensors began to feed information directly over his neural link, the controls becoming extensions of his own body, fully melding into a deeper union with his fighter. Alice simply augmented the power of his mind, and he drifted among the stars, the planet rotating under him.

He brought up his drive to full power, and used the phased EM fields of the atmospheric drive to give him an initial velocity, then the EM fell away, leaving the blazing glory of the drive field, wrapped around him protectively as he easily bounded forward under a couple hundred gravities acceleration.

Commonality Space, Closing on the CSS Valiant

The big, lumbering cargo shuttles were the biggest things that could use a Type II Drive, allowing them into the atmosphere with no adverse affects. Between them, the ten shuttles carried twenty thousand capital missiles and HV missiles in capital sabots. More than enough to fill up the Mars Heavy Task Group.

Leigh sighed softly as she maneuvered her cargo of 10 gigatons of firepower towards the gaping docking bay awaiting her shuttles. “Keep it easy, group. Slow and steady, if need be.” She flipped back to the Valiant’s channel. “This is shuttle Jane, initiating docking procedures with bay Echo November Tango Zero Zero One Alpha. Over.” Some people, you could tell, like to play military, using the bloody code letters. Leigh always went with them first to make sure, in case she got a hardcase.

Apparently, the Valiant's first officer was one such.

No such alterations for changes in flight mode were necessary in the eXon, of course, but Esra drew extra air into her lungs. She always felt heightened in the PFC, although it tasted dreadful and made her feel sick (at first). Her mind felt sharper - probably because of the higher oxygen transfer rate.

And she had no control stick, no buttons to press in order to control the movement of her vessel - the button consoles were for other matters, such as navigation or tactical displays. Just a flat console which she controlled with gentle movements of her hands; her hands disrupted very weak magnetic fields, and those disruptions were measured and responded to by the computer. It took a great deal of training to use the system - but response time was far higher than with the old stick system.

Her craft leapt forwards, using local gravitational influences to propel herself, by pushing against them with so-called psuedo-gravity fields. Not quite anti-gravity technology... but a 'primitive' variant of the same. Not really actually very primitive, either, but simpler and far less dangerous. Also, it didn't interact with MI fields... so when she was inside the EM influence of a planet (like the Earth) she could use both MI and PG propulsion in concert. That meant that she could make far more delicate tweaks to her roll, pitch, and yaw - and her turning speed was drastically improved with no real increase in g-stress. It took alot of stress before the ship was actually under any real stress - the PG fields 'converted' the g-forces into propulsive force. Thus the very movement of the ship made it move faster - a very useful design.

She shot towards the Longswords, only calling out a, "On my way," once she was well on the way.

* * *

The eXon hadn't been visible from a distance, and it isn't exactly common to get close enough to see one properly. And they tend to move fast, have small silhouettes, and thus are hard to track in the vastness of space (unless they're spewing fire and brimstone, of course).

It turns out to be an interesting little vessel. Stubby, not at all graceful, she doesn't look like an ICEL vessel. Not really. She looks nothing like any of the modern Sharp (K#, M#, G#, X#) series - nor much like the older aircraft, such as the C#, although that's not surprising. She is a pure spacecraft, not designed for an atmospheric role (although capable of fulfilling one in a pinch), and that's clear from her shape alone.

She exists in three axis, not two, with a quadruple-wing arrangement: a horizontal wing, a vertical wing, and two shorter diagonal wings. The wings curve, giving the vessel a spherical shape - resulting in perfect rotational and static symmetry. The wings are short and stubby, largely there to provide axis centering for the pilot, who sits dead-center. The cockpit appears to be seperate from the rest of the vessel, mounted on gyros - the pilot may turn without the ship turning, and, thanks to the symmetrical nature of the eXon, this means that the ship doesn't need to turn: the pilot turns instead.

And there don't appear to be any mounted weapons. These are probably stowed inside the hollow depressions visible under the wings, and those things that look like scratch-marks on the hull are likely electron weapons for extreme close range combat...

She's not a very pretty bird, but she looks effective.

And she powers towards the Federation vessels, the pilot turning as she swings past, maintaining thrust in the same direction so she may watch the vessels through her wrap-around VisiWall cockpit...

She begins sending again:

"And I wasn't referring to dogs or cats. But you knew that - it's a nice, peaceful, calm day out here."

She instantly regretted the words. Now, she knew, all hell would break loose. It was just a matter of time.

Oh well.

* * *

"Acknowledged, Jane," the first officer of the Valiant responded clearly. She liked the book. The book kept things from going boomity-boom.

"Cut engines when you hear the ping. You'll know what I'm talking about when you hear it; you might also feel a little tingle, but that's just the PG field locking your ships into the docking arms."

Well, he thought. It sounded OK so far - but who could tell? The Captain seemed irritated indeed. The young, they had no patience.

After the minor rant he received, and the hold, Paul began to feel impatience himself. The longer a transmission ran, the greater the likelihood of someone overhearing.

And yet he had foolishly attempted a diplomatic approach, beating around the point, so that now he had to say the riskiest bits of information at the riskiest time. He wondered if this was a good idea after all.

Ten minutes, the Nenyan said. Ten! That was much too soon to begin, and he couldn't leave and come back again. He supposed he could get a lift into orbit, but his sudden departure to an alien vessel would not be unnoticed.

"Yes, well we can't be ready in ten minutes to leave," he said, "and I can't leave the country to meet you and return again. I understand you take pains for discretion, but you need to understand my associates will need transport to the surface as well, and-" he hesitated a moment, then pushed on, most aware of the passage of time. "-and that landing will need to be discrete as well. It cannot appear as it is."

The Nenyan considered his options. The man was clearly set on secrecy - but by contacting him on this line, his secrecy was finite. The captain knew the man's location - or at least, would once the memetic intelligence traced its way back to the source of the transmission. According to the data stream, there was nothing to prevent memetic interference - the captain wasn't even sure if a foreigner would recognize the tiny, semantic-based intellects. They were sub-sentient, naturally, but were quite effective - so long as you didn't send in something other than an analogue or digital medium. This had to be done, since this was a very important line to the captain of the Valiant; one had to be able to verify that you weren't talking to some random person of no importance.

Of course, it was possible that the source wasn't traceable. But that didn't matter.

He decided not to inform the man of his level of knowledge - or level of potential knowledge. "Sir, although we will of course naturally be forced to gather information for our own purposes - limited information, naturally - this information would not be disclosed. We could, also, lay on transportation all the way from the ground to Mars - with the utmost silence. This would mean minor inconveniance - transfers would be necessary - but we feel that our service can provide the," he paused thoughtfully, "privacy... that our clients wish to attain."

[OOC: I could have sworn I posted this last night...]

Paul had, of course, no idea about subsentient programming and was only vaguely aware of the nature of his connection.

He'd talked to an old friend of his, who had in turn gotten in touch with yet another friend. The old friend was of minor importance, but his contact, whoever he was (as it turned out, Eldebrath Yorn, former financial worker for the PCC) had actually rerouted his communication using military channels. The fibre-optic signal was relayed a few times before being shot to an ITDO communications satellite of the older variety, and from there via laser beam to the Valiant.

However, the path would differ significantly from ITDO messages of any sort; the encryption was low level, and any determined investigation would yield Goreson's own residence on one end and the nonmilitary nature of the communication. It was a matter of time until someone noticed what looked like a malfunctioning satellite and, at the very least, stopped the transmission.

But it was another electronic intelligence - MetaPratt One - whose job it was, ultimately, to report such matters to the biologics. And MP1 did no such thing in this case.

Meanwhile, Paul Goreson, blissfully ignorant of his own luck, decided he didn't care about what the aliens knew. The bigger, more close to home, more troubling threat was the Federal Government - oops, Paul recollected, the CoFedCo. A rose by any other name...

"That is acceptable," he replied to the captain, trying not to show haste but now on the verge of losing that battle. "And as I said, we can afford any extra compensation you need for your discretion. But this line is not completely secure, you see, and I'm afraid I must cease transmission very soon."

[ooc: Well there's a lot going on, it's easy to forget the old man....]

<snip>
"That is acceptable," he replied to the captain, trying not to show haste but now on the verge of losing that battle. "And as I said, we can afford any extra compensation you need for your discretion. But this line is not completely secure, you see, and I'm afraid I must cease transmission very soon."



"Understood," the captain responded, immediately changing language and speaking Nenyan - he can say far more far quickly that way - and allowing the computer to translate on-the-fly. Which it was easily capable of.

"Then if you forward a rendezvous site for your pickup, we will deal with it. No charge for the initial leg of the journey, and if you don't like the fee, we'll take you right back home. - That way, we can save time here, yes?"

Faint clicks can be heard in the background - the captain is working while he talks. Possibly typing.

The stoic robot-

Wait, no, the corporal - who still wanted that massage but didn't have a clue where he could find one at this hour in space - shrugged slightly. Nobody at any point would ever understand why he did it - for he did it often - but he never shrugged unless he wasn't actually unsure of something. "Follow me," he grunted helpfully. Well, it was helpful in that it didn't involve being shot.

That's less than helpful. The corporal grinned at the thought - inside.

The persons from LRR are lead out from the bay - where a small ping can be heard as they pass through a blueish lighted area - and towards a large door. Through the door, they discover (with their eyes - the corporal doesn't play tour-guide), that this is a lift shaft. Heaven knows you need them on a ship like this.

There is no sensation of motion, and no windows with which to observe the motion, but a few seconds later the doors swish open again with a dull clunk as they make contact with their holding magnets - and the corporal leads the visitors out onto the command deck.

Not the bridge, mind. The command deck.

It's vast.

This chamber alone would be large enough to house several Olympic swimming pools, and possible fit a soccer pitch in at the side to boot.

And it's pretty empty. There are consoles scattered throughout, but they're mostly off and dark. Those that are on are occupied by smartly-uniformed - blue uniforms, dark blue - people of varying racial descent. No Nenyans, though, and nobody here has the distinctively sharp facial bone structure that Iluvauromeni native humans tend to have.

One of the persons in uniform - she looks to be a Lieutenant, by her rank pin - smartly walks to meet the corporal, and speaks with him for a moment.

"Ah, welcome aboard," she smiles - the corporal already heading back to his post.

"Welcome aboard the CSS Valiant. I'm Lieutenant Susan Scott," which definitely isn't an Iluvauromeni name, "how may I help you?"

* * *

Executive Officer Tang was about ready to tear his own hair out. Literally. He had found the bay, but the less-than-helpful Security officers he found there had merely shrugged and intimated - with their less-than-intelligent-sounding grunts and groans - that the visitors had 'moved on'.

He hoped that didn't mean they'd thrown them out an airlock.

With a sigh, he strode towards the nearest access point for the InterLink - the network of maglev train tubes that ran through the ship...

"Pleased to meet you, Lieutenant Scott. I'm Captain James Hendrix of the LRRSV Ziggy Stardust. I've come, along with some of my ship's crew, to ask you weather the LRRSF could use the Valiant as a base for our merchant operations. Oh, but Rob here, he's just here to look at the ship...er...something like that."

"Acceptable, good sir," he said again. But now for a rendezvous - that would be difficult to coordinate. Not everyone could make it to lower orbit, and certainly not unnoticed. The only real solution was to trust the Nenyans some more; their abilities and intentions.

No going back now, for certain. The Captain now had more than enough evidence to report to any authorities in Abadas's regime, and crush Goreson like a bug. Trust was all that was left.

"I will send coordinates for initial pick-up later," he said uncertainly, beginning to feel like he was some sort of drug supplier. "Unless you tell me otherwise, I will assume we have a deal." And, cryptically, he hung up.

"Acceptable, good sir," he said again. But now for a rendezvous - that would be difficult to coordinate. Not everyone could make it to lower orbit, and certainly not unnoticed. The only real solution was to trust the Nenyans some more; their abilities and intentions.

No going back now, for certain. The Captain now had more than enough evidence to report to any authorities in Abadas's regime, and crush Goreson like a bug. Trust was all that was left.

"I will send coordinates for initial pick-up later," he said uncertainly, beginning to feel like he was some sort of drug supplier. "Unless you tell me otherwise, I will assume we have a deal." And, cryptically, he hung up.

Cavallero sighed heavily once the contact was broken. He strongly suspected still that this was an awful waste of time - a green light blinking showed the origin had been successfully traced before the call had ended. No real surprise there... but there were other things to attend to. Long-term contracts could well be secured over the next few days, he knew...

Which was more important than the call he had just finished.

He still wasn't entirely sure why he hadn't hung up; he had gotten some sense, some feeling that this was important.

He took a gamble, and placed a call on his really secure line.

The woman on the other end asked for his codeword in a rather overly-cryptic manner, and he gave the response required to speak to the proper authority.

"Ahh, Commissioner," he was saying some moments later, "I'm glad to see you're back on Earth. I had feared that you were still on Vilya Elenosto - the time-delay in communications would have been unbearable, given the circumstances."

The Commissioner grinned. She was a flame-headed woman, human, who had a reputation for getting things done. She was also in charge of one of the most powerful organisations in the Commonality - Imperial Defence Force Intelligence.

She nodded slowly as he provided what little he knew - in truth, he was a little worried about a terrorist attack. Those seemed to happen an awful lot elsewhere, but none had occurred in ICEL... well. Ever. Not since the inception of EOTED two years earlier, at any rate. The last attack prior to that had been thirty years ago, too - terrorism had never gained the popular appeal in Iluvauromeni territory, because it was considered cowardly. You could kill your enemy, sure, but you had to do it in the right way. Even if it was illegal, it had to be done the right way.

So the fact that foreigners were on board did make him a little uneasy. He wasn't racist - far from it. But he was practical, and the statistics spoke for themselves. Most foreign states didn't have quite the bloody history that the Iluvauromeni had - they hadn't worked off their bloodlusts quite so well, or something, so that they were more violent.

At least, it seemed that way. Then again, it was more likely that there were just less oppurtunities for violence in the Commonality itself.

She looked very interested indeed, Cavallero noticed, as she spoke softly, quietly, "Well, that is all very interesting. But I don't see that it means anything."

He didn't believe her for a moment.

He counted down, mentally, from five.

Four, three, two, one...

"Did you happen to trace the location?" she asked matter-of-factly, as if it were an afterthought. Of course, it wasn't, but Cavallero didn't let that knowledge show.

"Naturally," he told her as he passed the information on - but scrambled completely, the data was useless. He tried not to smile at her clueless expression as her computer failed repeatedly to access the file.

"The meme is degraded," she stated with a frown, before adding in a hurry, "but I'll let you know what I find out."

Cavellero scowled as he cut the transmission. He wasn't sure why he had decided not to pass on the information - he hadn't passed on everything he knew, including the offered location of the call and the history of previous calls had been made somewhat vague in his explanations, too...

He wasn't sure why...

But he knew he'd had to pass the information on, in some form. This way, however... IDFI needn't know the entire story. And somehow, he felt sure that this would be profitable in more ways than one for the Valiant, too...

"Pleased to meet you, Lieutenant Scott. I'm Captain James Hendrix of the LRRSV Ziggy Stardust. I've come, along with some of my ship's crew, to ask you weather the LRRSF could use the Valiant as a base for our merchant operations. Oh, but Rob here, he's just here to look at the ship...er...something like that."

Scott nodded, slowly. "I see. - But, um. 'Something like that?'"

He looked from one to the other questioningly.

Something or that just sounded bizarrely...

Well, suspicious. Scott wasn't a suspicious person. No, really. He just found the whole vague thing rather suspicious. Vague stuff was always suspicious. Like those foreign adverts he had once seen for some fizzy drink - 'No link to stomach cancer has ever been proven'. Well, what did that mean? They'd obscured the evidence? It was shaky, that's what it was.

At any rate, since he could hear a voice in his ear informing him, "I'm on my way," he decided it might be wise to say, "The captain is on his way."

"Robert, why don't you tell them what it is you're doing, because I don't really know."

The tall, young human walks foreward.

"I came to study the design of the Valiant. That's what I'm doing in the university."

Hendrix, being a robot, never went to a university, so the idea is quite alien to him.

"At bloody last," he murmoured.

"I do not understand the request, please restate," suggested the computer. He ignored it, padded over to the console set into the wall in a little alcove back from the large, ugly food dispenser. Tapped keys softly with smoothly curved and elegant fingers - fingers that fly, accustomed to the new-fangled touch-sensitive displays. Not that it had always been that way...

"I'm here," he sent out helpfully via the radio.

Well, it was a start.

* * *

L1 Waypoint Depot #4 – Hyperion Transport Systems

The nav tech picked up the arrival of the EOTED shuttle as it neared. He watched its progress until a radio transmission was received.

“I’m here,” crackled the voice over the speaker. The nav tech nodded to the comm tech who then replied,

“Welcome Associate Elethri. Trust your journey was well? Please dock at module 1. Mr. Huy will be there to greet you. Be advised to suit up. L1 Waypoint Depot #4 out.”

The waypoint station resembled a string of long white sausages with, in most cases, four smaller sausages sticking out of each large sausage. Of course, the sausages were really Type 1 OMF modules, each measuring 16 meters with varying diameters. Most modules forming the spine of the waypoint depot were about 5 meters across. Large external rods connected the modules, adding extra strength to the frame. Sprouting from the main string were modules of various sizes – some nearly as big as the center modules. Haphazardly, a few modules dangled from even these – suggesting that the waypoint station was by no means complete.

The modules were clearly labeled in large red letters and followed a numbering scheme branching out from the center. So. Module 1 (a docking module) was emblazed with a big “M1” and branching from it were M1a, M1b, and M1c. At module 8, a Bolden corp transport could be seen – perhaps undergoing routine maintenance.

Antennae nests complete with sat dishes clustered at regular intervals along the more exteral facing modules while large solar arrays faced the sun, drawing in power to keep the entire station going.

Flashing lights near module one increased their tempo while technicians in full zero gee suits began to fiddle with the airlocks. One or two “stood” by with tools ready to make any adjustments in case the airlocks didn’t match.

OOC: News of your change of government most likely wouldn’t have made it here yet.

edit: I should add that I don't know a whole lot about space stuff so, like Mr. Huy, I'm bound to make plenty of mistakes.

"Robert, why don't you tell them what it is you're doing, because I don't really know."

The tall, young human walks foreward.

"I came to study the design of the Valiant. That's what I'm doing in the university."

Hendrix, being a robot, never went to a university, so the idea is quite alien to him.

"Ah," the Lieutenant replies, not looking too sure if that's good or not. Really, he's out of his depth. He's just a systems controller. He checks the computer. Makes sure it works.

This talking stuff is difficult.

"Well, um."

His blushes are saved when Cavallero, curiously, marches in through the very same InterLink access point that the visitors entered through. Yet wasn't he supposed to be on this same deck-?

The Lieutenant stiffens to attention. "At ease and back to your post, please, Lieutenant," Cavallero stated with a small bow of his head and a smile of thanks for carrying the burden until he got here.

As the Lieutenant left, Cavallero wondered why he had been dealing with it, and not the XO, as he had ordered. Odd.

"I'm sure you've been welcomed aboard," the captain began, beaming at the visitors, "and I've already listened to your conversation with the Lieutenant, of course, as... well, that doesn't matter. - I'm sorry to delay, Mr. Hendrix, but... The point is, I'm not certain of this 'studying' bit. Why the Valiant, young man, and what do you wish to study here?"

Cavallero is tall, elegant. These Nenyans look like Elves, kindof, but the amber eyes and the more smoothly pointed ears don't look very Elvish. Nor does the tropically-tanned skin.

And those eyes... are extraordinarily expressive. Yet - they say little. The captain seems pleased - in good humour - but really, despite the bright expression of those amber eyes, they don't say anything. They just look... very, very alive.

"Well, I've got this paper due in a bit...and we're supposed to evaluate the design of a modern starship. So, I thought I might do it on the Valiant."

Captain Hendrix is puzzled, but says nothing for lack of words.

"Well, um...yes, perhaps someone could show Rob here around, if it isn't too troublesome. But my purpose here, as you may have heard, is to inquire about the possibility of using the Valiant as a base for LRRSF merchant and scientific operations."

Commonality Space, Docking with CSS Valiant

Leigh grimaced. She hated weird feelings. At least she was used to the feeling of the drive field interpenetration, but ‘tingly’ was not a feeling she was a fan of. She guided the shuttle forward under a fraction of its minimum power, easing towards the docking bay. “Acknowledged, Valiant.”

Meter by meter, slowly, the shuttle, which she had thought huge, vanished into the stupendous bulk of the massive city-freighter. Then…

PING

Damn, she wasn’t kidding. Leigh dropped Jane’s drive completely, allowing it to finish the docking under the control of the bay’s arms.

And damn, there was tingle. She shook her body, trying to shake the feeling, but it would not go away. Perhaps she would get used to. Leigh turned her attention back to the scanner console, and watched as the other nine shuttles began to dock one by one.

"Jane showing hard dock, Valiant control."

Longsword Fighter Anglachel 0901, Commonality Space, Near the CSS Valiant

De Ruebehat gunned his engine as the identified fighter began to move towards him. He stretched out with his sensors, and looked at the ship. Ugly thing. He began to stretch out his legs as well, slamming forward at his full acceleration, more than enough to crush the planet below into nothingness, had it been focused on the planet in the manner which gravity wells acted.

But it was not, and so, did not. He tore through space, speeding faster and faster on the wings of a triple spectrum manipulation, clawing at space itself. He laughed happily, as rarely did he get to unleash his fighter when he was not being shot at.

He was approaching speeds at which dogfighting became impossible, at least, so what might have thought, especially as he closed head on, velocity growing quickly.

"Well, I've got this paper due in a bit...and we're supposed to evaluate the design of a modern starship. So, I thought I might do it on the Valiant."

Captain Hendrix is puzzled, but says nothing for lack of words.

"Well, um...yes, perhaps someone could show Rob here around, if it isn't too troublesome. But my purpose here, as you may have heard, is to inquire about the possibility of using the Valiant as a base for LRRSF merchant and scientific operations."

Cavallero blinked with some level of confusion. "I presume you work for LRRSF... uh... Rob?"

He couldn't help but sense the metallic mentalic taste that Hendrix had; kindof salty, but charged. Just what he'd always experienced from that kind - but it did show the degree of sophistry was not mere response programming. At least, Cavellero assumed that.

Commonality Space, Docking with CSS Valiant

Leigh grimaced. She hated weird feelings. At least she was used to the feeling of the drive field interpenetration, but ‘tingly’ was not a feeling she was a fan of. She guided the shuttle forward under a fraction of its minimum power, easing towards the docking bay. “Acknowledged, Valiant.”

Meter by meter, slowly, the shuttle, which she had thought huge, vanished into the stupendous bulk of the massive city-freighter. Then…

PING

Damn, she wasn’t kidding. Leigh dropped Jane’s drive completely, allowing it to finish the docking under the control of the bay’s arms.

And damn, there was tingle. She shook her body, trying to shake the feeling, but it would not go away. Perhaps she would get used to. Leigh turned her attention back to the scanner console, and watched as the other nine shuttles began to dock one by one.

"Jane showing hard dock, Valiant control."

Longsword Fighter Anglachel 0901, Commonality Space, Near the CSS Valiant

De Ruebehat gunned his engine as the identified fighter began to move towards him. He stretched out with his sensors, and looked at the ship. Ugly thing. He began to stretch out his legs as well, slamming forward at his full acceleration, more than enough to crush the planet below into nothingness, had it been focused on the planet in the manner which gravity wells acted.

But it was not, and so, did not. He tore through space, speeding faster and faster on the wings of a triple spectrum manipulation, clawing at space itself. He laughed happily, as rarely did he get to unleash his fighter when he was not being shot at.

He was approaching speeds at which dogfighting became impossible, at least, so what might have thought, especially as he closed head on, velocity growing quickly.

The arms smoothly grabbed the ships, one by one - without actually touching them, but holding them fast instead with magnetic fields until the PG fields snap into place (the tingle) to deposit them on their launch struts - and, a few seconds later, the tingle ends as the PG fields deactivate.

"Welcome aboard CSS Valiant," a soft feminine voice announces in the hangar bay.

* * *

She had to laugh. Not on the open channel, of course, but she did have to laugh. She had a feeling he was going to play 'chicken'...

Which - a quick check of her sensors confirmed - would be pointless. The PG drive would interact with his drive, and the two would repulse. There was no way in hell they could get closer than a kilometer, tops.

One of them would be knocked off-course, however...

So she charged, pushing the eXon gently but insistently forwards, exerting constant and easy acceleration. She sets the pilot carriage to roll, in all three dimensions inside its bracers, which just feels fantastic, truth be told. No real tactical advantage to it, although it would probably look quite strange from the outside.

She cut the zoom on the wraparound VisiWall, and, although the incoming craft was just a speck, she knew from the readouts how fast it was coming in.

So she aimed at it.

And grinned wider.

OOC: Just speeding this up a bit.

The EOTED shuttle glided smoothly into place. A clang, and then the module airlock connected to the shuttle. Fortunately, only a few adjustments were needed to accommodate the new arrival.

A whir, and then the airlock compartment was flooded with breathable air as Associate Elethri waited patiently. Soon, a metallic voice spoke:

Atmosphere normal. You may remove space gear. Atmosphere normal. You…

The second door opened, and in drifted Ralph Huy. He was clad only in a grey jumpsuit with the Hyperion company crest over his left breast. Underneath was his name in block letters in English and Vrakian.

“Hi!” he said cheerfully.

Docking Bay ENT-001-A, CSS Valiant

Leigh smiled to herself as she felt the tingle die away, a vast improvement. Tingles were always bad.

But they were gone now. She could here the whispers of the next shuttle, settling into its docking cradle, reporting a hard dock.

Commonality Space, Near the CSS Valiant

De Ruebehat could feel the changes in space time as the two craft rocketed towards each other, using nothing so primitive as rockets, of course. Time began to slow, not measurably to any human.

But to a human linked to an artificial intelligence, running in some of the fastest, most advanced computer hardware that the Federation had ever designed, and permanently linked in the faster than light tactical network of all Federation military AI, the differences were glaringly obvious.

And so, his mind whirring, and his fighter body around him responding at his own body did, as electronic nerves carried out his will, he twitched his direction slightly, bringing the nose directly in line with the ICEL fighter.

Swinging his arm under him, he began to spin like an ice skater across the ice, turning on his feet…

But the fighter was no ice skater, as it began to barrel roll through space, accelerating all the while.

Cavallero blinked with some level of confusion. "I presume you work for LRRSF... uh... Rob?"

He couldn't help but sense the metallic mentalic taste that Hendrix had; kindof salty, but charged. Just what he'd always experienced from that kind - but it did show the degree of sophistry was not mere response programming. At least, Cavellero assumed that.

"Well, indirectly, Sir. I attend a university which is sponsored largely by the LRRSF. I'm here for my own benefit. I'd just like to look around, take some notes here and there."

Hendrix becomes increasingly displeased. What is this kid talking about? This looks like it'll take all my time here just to get him on his way! thinks James.

Hendrix is, again, at a loss for words.

OOC: Just speeding this up a bit.

The EOTED shuttle glided smoothly into place. A clang, and then the module airlock connected to the shuttle. Fortunately, only a few adjustments were needed to accommodate the new arrival.

A whir, and then the airlock compartment was flooded with breathable air as Associate Elethri waited patiently. Soon, a metallic voice spoke:

Atmosphere normal. You may remove space gear. Atmosphere normal. You…

The second door opened, and in drifted Ralph Huy. He was clad only in a grey jumpsuit with the Hyperion company crest over his left breast. Underneath was his name in block letters in English and Vrakian.

“Hi!” he said cheerfully.

Ralph drifts in just in time to see Elethri's helmet dissolve into liquid and slip down into the bulky spacesuit that the amber-eyed Nenyan is wearing. Nenyan ships may be graceful and full of sweeping curves, but not anywhere near as much thought or effort has been put into making their spacesuits anything but functional. Despite the bulkiness - the suit is all right-angles - however, Elethri moves smoothly. A faint hum when he moves quickly alludes to machine-assisted motion.

There aren't any visible readouts on the suit, and no flashy lights. One could almost be disappointed.

"Hello," Elethri said cautiously, peering at Ralph as if he wasn't sure the man would understand. "Is the translation unit functioning correctly? It's quite new, and feels quite strange to me..."

Elethri sighed internally. The implant seemed to be working okay; it was tied into a small computer in his suit that translated his thoughts into a different language. It was strange to think with lag - but the lag only occurred when he willed the translation to begin.

He didn't pretend to understand it; he just hoped his words weren't coming across as gibberish.

Then he blushes furiously, muttering under his breath, "Of course it is. I understood you." He sticks out a hand.

"Associate Elethri. An honour, I'm certain."

4th Ambassador Neurat, officially designated 'ICEL Ambassador to Sol System', was pleased with the manner in which things were progressing in the Commonality. Not only were some of the stuffier, less useful ways held over from the Empire of old being phased out or completely removed, but some new improvements in freedom left many in the Commonality with a sweet taste on their tongue. The 'solidifaction' of roperty rights in the Constitution, in particular, seemed to be pleasing: a great many people were moving house back in the Commonality - his own house would soon be taken from him and given to a young family, he knew. He didn't mind; his quarters on the Valiant were larger than his house had been, and his possessions had arrived there some time ago.

Neurat was the leader of Great House Takur-Dth'gar, the joining of the old Great Houses of Takur and Dth'gar; Dth'gar human, Takur Nenyan.

Neurat had been taught that seven centuries ago - fairly recent for the Nenyans but quite a while ago by Human terms - a Nenyan man had been taken by a Human woman for her husband. The woman in question had been Surthari Dth'gar, known to the Empire of the Eternal Flame as Heryhta Yrmá - Warlady Firehand. Surthari was leader of the Dth'gar tribe, which was the strongest of the Last Three Tribes.

Neurat sighed; the Last Three Tribes - the Dth'gar, the Um-Menjdari, and the Em-jipur - had been all that had remained of the fifty or more Human cultures that had once lived in the area now known as the Commonality seven hundred years ago. The rest - slaughtered by the Imperial Assault Force, under the banner of Eternal Flame. The Eternal Flame of conflict, conquest, protection of The People - Nenyankind had slaughtered most of its neighbours to prevent those neighbours from slaughtering them.

They had not entirely destroyed the cultures - just 'trimmed' the populations back through 'warfare' (which often involved the destruction of entire settlements, with the deaths of all of the male populations at the least - although killing of female and infant humans had been considered distasteful at worst until just over a thousand years ago); this 'trimming' left the Human population decimated throughout what was now the Commonality, although the Shelbattanu-Rhea area had been the last human-dominated area to fall before the end of the two thousand year Conquest Wars.

But seven hundred years ago, just the Dth'gar, the Um-Menjdari, and the Em-jipur were unconquered. The Menjda - relatives to the Um-Menjdari - were slaves, the Rihad now favoured as court jesters or comedians, and the Tok'Si little more than beggars that littered the lesser settlements of the Empire. The Nenyan ruling party - the Imperial Family - often bemoaned the lack of aid given to the lesser Humans publically, and urged the population to offer up their time and help...

But they had done nothing themselves. They had simply continued to wage war - as they had been doing for over a thousand years already. The Nenyan population had, originally, been heavily outnumbered. But by the time of the rule of Emperor Dak-Surith The Butcher, the Human population in Nenyan-dominated lands was dwindling - and Dak-Surith had decided to enact genocide on the Dth'gar for their refusal to submit to The Imperial Might.

The IAF had begun offensive after offensive, battering back the Dth'gar; still, the war was bloody, and fought on difficult terrain. Neither side could possibly gain the upper hand - an impasse was reached. The death toll of this war-within-the-War began to grow to stupendous levels, considering the low-tech weapons involved; historians estimated that as many as six million died on both sides in the Twenty Year Dth'gar Campaign.

The Dth'gar leadership shifted many times during those twenty years, and, for the last two years of the war, Surthari commanded both the Dth'gar People and the Dth'gar Army. She won the hearts and the minds of the people she lead - and she won the heart of the Crown Prince, who was fighting on the front. He saw her deeds, and, despite his efforts shortly thereafter to kill her, often later stated that he fell in love with her on the spot - or so the history books said. She had defeated him, captured him, and taken him back to her camp as a captive - and then, under uncertain circumstances, they were married. The Dth'gar conflict fell into disarray; neither side was entirely sure what this meant: the Dth'gar honour system dictated that such a marriage absolved any disagreement - and so did the Nenyan honour system.

The result of the union had been several generations of half-breeds; Human genes assert themselves more strongly than Nenyan genes, which is why under Commonality Law such interbreeding is illegal between native Humans and Nenyans.

Indeed, Neurat carried so-called Human genetic markers. It was why he was not Lord Neurat... but Ambassador Neurat, Head of Great House Takur-Dth'gar. Interestingly, in the Garith language - the language of the Dth'gar - Rihad equated to 'Takur' - essentially, Crown. Neurat was interested in such things - he enjoyed words.

He knew that Takur essentially meant 'Crown', and that Rihad also meant 'Crown', or perhaps 'Royalty'. Yet 'ux' - the appendage given to the Great Royal House ux-Rihad, all of whom were of the Imperial Bloodline - was etymologically linked to 'nos', a Quenya word essentially meaning 'of' with regards to familial ties (or so his Grey Book of Nenyan-Quenya Similarities stated). Yet-

His console bleeped at him. Annoyingly, he lost his train of thought. A finger flicked at a tab softly. "Yes?"

Not the proper response, but the title 'Ambassador' had its uses.

"Unidentified fightercraft, you are entering the CSS Valiant controlled space. FoF acknowledgement is required."

Neurat tutted under his breath. The Three Star Sigil was emblazened on his underbelly, complete with the Imperial Seal on each wing - what did they think, that someone had broken into the Citadel hangar and stolen a prototype Rapid-class fighter/conveyance vessel? Not bloody likely. Still, he sent the code - without acknowledging vocally. He counted down, mentally. Three...

Two...

"Ambassador," came the voice of Cavallero, who he knew to be Captain of the Valiant, "I am surprised that the Diplomatic Corps failed to inform us of your imminent arrival. - But where is your staff?"

Neurat chuckled under his breath before pushing-to-talk. "My staff will arrive at Mars, Captain. They're en route to Vilya Elenosto on board the CSS Profit and the other freighters assigned to the Valiant. As well as your missing staff, I believe, Captain."

Neurat tried not imagine the difficulties that would occur if foreign diplomatic staff arrived before the ICEL diplomatic staff was on hand. He did not wish to contemplate the workload he would be faced with in that event...

"Ah, I see, Ambassador," Cavallero's slightly irritated voice responded, "then you may dock at Defence Hangar C. Cavallero out."

Neurat just grinned as he guided his fighter into the hangar bay.

"Well, indirectly, Sir. I attend a university which is sponsored largely by the LRRSF. I'm here for my own benefit. I'd just like to look around, take some notes here and there."

Hendrix becomes increasingly displeased. What is this kid talking about? This looks like it'll take all my time here just to get him on his way! thinks James.

Hendrix is, again, at a loss for words.

Cavallero raises a hand, the conversation interrupted by a beep. He fishes an odd looking skin-coloured contraption out of a hidden pocket, and slips it onto his face... somehow. His lips move faintly, but he can't be heard to say anything, and nor can any words be heard from whoever is communicating with him.

He doesn't speak for long - assuming that's what he was doing. "Sorry," he offers quietly, before peering at both individuals.

"This isn't really entirely proper... but as an act of goodwill, I'll assign someone to show... Robert... around." He turns, calls out a name quietly - his voice has an odd way of carrying, even when he speaks quietly.

"Friend Laurel?"

The word 'Friend' is spoken as an honorific; it's clearly a title of some sort, although the meaning might be somewhat mangled in the translation.

A redheaded female gets up from behind a console with a grace that shames the smoothest of dancers, halting before the captain with her hands behind her back. She has the oddest eyes... they're not quite blue, nor amber, but somewhere in between.

Or possibly both. Her skin is a pale, soft pink, as if she's been in the sun too long. And her ears look slightly too pointed. But she's clearly not Nenyan, as she only just about reaches the 1.5 meter mark. And she has wide shoulders (and hips), with a waist to die for...

She wears a different uniform to the captain; hers is an unusual jet-black uniform with only three strange white dots on each colour. There is no rank pin, and she wears black gloves.

There's something about her figure that's just a little too perfect, however-

A small smile creeps onto Cavallero's face. "Ah, Friend. I thought it might be apt if you gave a little guided tour to Robert, here..."

The Liason doesn't look impressed. An eyebrow arches slightly. "Really," she replied softly.

"Yes, well, you've not..." Cavallero cast a look at Hendrix before continuing. "You've not been online more than six hours, Liason. I'd rather we..."

"Wet my gums, Captain?"

Cavallero smiles wryly; he saw this as a prime oppurtunity to annoy Laurel - after all... he'd been annoyed so frequently today, someone else might as well be. "Aye," he responded simply.

She shrugs-

* * *

And Friend Laurel seethed silently. She increasingly suspected that Cavallero was not entirely comfortable around an AI - yet he did not seem uncomfortable around this foreign intelligence. She sent a microwave burst towards Hendrix, then repeated on several different wavelengths - radio, infrared, ultraviolet light - all the equivalent of a simple, "Hello." Probably.

She hoped that incompatibilities did not alter the message somehow. That would be most unfortunate.

She thought and did all of this in just a few fractions of a second, of course. And at the same time, she was the ship, in the ship, around the ship-

It could have been very distracting...

Except, it just wasn't. She occasionally wondered why this was, exactly, but she dismissed it as unimportant to the current situation and moved on.

"I trust a tour given by the living embodiment of the ship itself would be appropriate," she asserts softly, in the dominant language used in LRR.

Docking Bay ENT-001-A, CSS Valiant

Leigh smiled to herself as she felt the tingle die away, a vast improvement. Tingles were always bad.

But they were gone now. She could here the whispers of the next shuttle, settling into its docking cradle, reporting a hard dock.

Commonality Space, Near the CSS Valiant

De Ruebehat could feel the changes in space time as the two craft rocketed towards each other, using nothing so primitive as rockets, of course. Time began to slow, not measurably to any human.

But to a human linked to an artificial intelligence, running in some of the fastest, most advanced computer hardware that the Federation had ever designed, and permanently linked in the faster than light tactical network of all Federation military AI, the differences were glaringly obvious.

And so, his mind whirring, and his fighter body around him responding at his own body did, as electronic nerves carried out his will, he twitched his direction slightly, bringing the nose directly in line with the ICEL fighter.

Swinging his arm under him, he began to spin like an ice skater across the ice, turning on his feet…

But the fighter was no ice skater, as it began to barrel roll through space, accelerating all the while.

Docking Bay ENT-001-A, CSS Valiant

As each freighter is locked into position, a small data squirt from the Valiant to the docking freighter occurs. The data contained therein is simple information; expected behaviour upon leaving the docking bay (apparently the docking bay is surrounded with a sensory grid that can detect 'billions of variants' of fungus exhaled by visitors) - and a map of the accessable areas of the ship.

The largest accessable area is a vivid green, and is marked 'Biome Area' in six major languages. Most of the other areas are shopping centers, swimming pools, and the like; but there is a fairly sizable group of blank areas, marked black for unnocupied and unused.

* * *

Near CSS Valiant, Commonality Space, Near Earth Space

She continued to roll the ship towards the Longsword, gaining acceleration as she went. She was actually pushing the tolerance limits just a little - but the other fighter accelerated far faster than she did, and she had to admit to a little jealousy.

Still...

She wondered if the fighter would have the maneuvaribility to move aside on the wake of its own inertia...

Suddenly, she mused, this doesn't seem like such a great idea.

And then the stentorian female voice in her head spoke:

"CAG to the insane bastard playing chicken. If you're not a smoking wreck after this stunt, I'll kick your arse. You hear me? - But be sure to get sensor details on that FSP fighter. Intel is intel."

The insane bastard playing chicken laughed to herself, and pushed her craft just a tiny little bit harder, surpassing the 'expected human tolerance level' - nobody had had the balls to test the human body in quite this way...

At least not in the Commonality. Who knew what some of those barbarians out in the rest of the world did.

Abruptly, she begins to work on the PG fields - with quick, smooth, gentle caresses of her hands through the liquid that sloshes over her control console - to alter her center of gravity; shifting it 'backwards' (from her perspective) in preparation for...

Something.

Cavallero raises a hand, the conversation interrupted by a beep. He fishes an odd looking skin-coloured contraption out of a hidden pocket, and slips it onto his face... somehow. His lips move faintly, but he can't be heard to say anything, and nor can any words be heard from whoever is communicating with him.

He doesn't speak for long - assuming that's what he was doing. "Sorry," he offers quietly, before peering at both individuals.

"This isn't really entirely proper... but as an act of goodwill, I'll assign someone to show... Robert... around." He turns, calls out a name quietly - his voice has an odd way of carrying, even when he speaks quietly.

"Friend Laurel?"

The word 'Friend' is spoken as an honorific; it's clearly a title of some sort, although the meaning might be somewhat mangled in the translation.

A redheaded female gets up from behind a console with a grace that shames the smoothest of dancers, halting before the captain with her hands behind her back. She has the oddest eyes... they're not quite blue, nor amber, but somewhere in between.

Or possibly both. Her skin is a pale, soft pink, as if she's been in the sun too long. And her ears look slightly too pointed. But she's clearly not Nenyan, as she only just about reaches the 1.5 meter mark. And she has wide shoulders (and hips), with a waist to die for...

She wears a different uniform to the captain; hers is an unusual jet-black uniform with only three strange white dots on each colour. There is no rank pin, and she wears black gloves.

There's something about her figure that's just a little too perfect, however-

A small smile creeps onto Cavallero's face. "Ah, Friend. I thought it might be apt if you gave a little guided tour to Robert, here..."

The Liason doesn't look impressed. An eyebrow arches slightly. "Really," she replied softly.

"Yes, well, you've not..." Cavallero cast a look at Hendrix before continuing. "You've not been online more than six hours, Liason. I'd rather we..."

"Wet my gums, Captain?"

Cavallero smiles wryly; he saw this as a prime oppurtunity to annoy Laurel - after all... he'd been annoyed so frequently today, someone else might as well be. "Aye," he responded simply.

She shrugs-

* * *

And Friend Laurel seethed silently. She increasingly suspected that Cavallero was not entirely comfortable around an AI - yet he did not seem uncomfortable around this foreign intelligence. She sent a microwave burst towards Hendrix, then repeated on several different wavelengths - radio, infrared, ultraviolet light - all the equivalent of a simple, "Hello." Probably.

She hoped that incompatibilities did not alter the message somehow. That would be most unfortunate.

She thought and did all of this in just a few fractions of a second, of course. And at the same time, she was the ship, in the ship, around the ship-

It could have been very distracting...

Except, it just wasn't. She occasionally wondered why this was, exactly, but she dismissed it as unimportant to the current situation and moved on.

"I trust a tour given by the living embodiment of the ship itself would be appropriate," she asserts softly, in the dominant language used in LRR.

"Oh yes, that would be great, thanks a lot!" says Robert. Hendrix, unaccustomed to communicating with humaniform robots, sort of stutters for a moment.

"Hi," he says. He looks blatently robotic, in his shiny chrome finish, and somewhat awkward, unlike the more refined Laurel. Being a country with a majority robot population, LRR should have in theory advanced the science of robotics further than anyone else. But the breakthrough was with sentience, and once that was achieved things just sort of coalesced into...well...nobody really knew what. Hendrix is not just a robot, but basically an entire solid-state sentient life-form.

"Now, Captain Cavallero, I have some matters of buisiness to discuss with you, if that's alright."

Then he blushes furiously, muttering under his breath, "Of course it is. I understood you." He sticks out a hand.

"Associate Elethri. An honour, I'm certain."

“Er, yeah…”, replied Ralph. He hesitated. He was a logistics manager and not some slick Hyperion Transport marketing rep. It was his idea to try and get some space aboard the Valiant, but he thought he could pass it on to someone else. Someone better with words. He sounded like someone with a mouthful of potatoes.

“Ah, well, Associate Elethri. Perhaps I should explain something. You see, it was my idea that I passed on to my supervisor. I kinda didn’t expect anyone from your end to come out here. That is, well, I guess my boss figured it would be easier for you guy to see us here and to see what we’ve got.”

The last phrase sounded rather lame. Ralph was amazed at the helmet dissolving feat. Clearly, he thought to himself, these guys are way more advanced. But still, business is business with them I suppose.

Securing themselves to strategically placed handholds, Ralph and Elethri climbed “up” into the third module. Another airlock door hissed and they passed into the adjoining moudule open which revealed a small room. A table resembling that found at a fast food joint was anchored to one wall, complete with chairs. Above the table was a small portal which one could see some of the waypoint station. On the table itself was a securely anchored computer flat screen monitor with keyboard. Elsewhere in the room, there were cargo contained strapped to the walls.

Ralph monkeyed his way to the table, motioning Elethri to follow.

"Oh yes, that would be great, thanks a lot!" says Robert. Hendrix, unaccustomed to communicating with humaniform robots, sort of stutters for a moment.

"Hi," he says. He looks blatently robotic, in his shiny chrome finish, and somewhat awkward, unlike the more refined Laurel. Being a country with a majority robot population, LRR should have in theory advanced the science of robotics further than anyone else. But the breakthrough was with sentience, and once that was achieved things just sort of coalesced into...well...nobody really knew what. Hendrix is not just a robot, but basically an entire solid-state sentient life-form.

"Now, Captain Cavallero, I have some matters of buisiness to discuss with you, if that's alright."

Being a different sort of robot altogether to Hendrix - she doesn't really even inhabit the body she's using - and also having been carefully 'raised' to be utterly non-prejudiced to any being displaying sentience, Laurel actually finds the chrome finish rather charming. She resists the temptation to change the shape of her outer shell to alter the way that light was reflected to mimic the other AI, however...

Organics tended to find that disturbing, Laurel had discovered. Once or twice.

She altered her gaze to Robert. Idly, she wondered if he knew whether she wasn't an organic... She wondered what species he would think she was. For a fleeting moment, she wondered what it would be like to be telepathic; to know those things, without having to wonder.

She asked Robert, "Is there any particular area you would wish to see first?"

* * *

Cavallero nodded briskly. "If you'll follow me, please, sir," he said quietly, politely, motioning with his arm.

He might well be in something of a hurry, as he doesn't wait. He heads towards the transport tube, again.

“Er, yeah…”, replied Ralph. He hesitated. He was a logistics manager and not some slick Hyperion Transport marketing rep. It was his idea to try and get some space aboard the Valiant, but he thought he could pass it on to someone else. Someone better with words. He sounded like someone with a mouthful of potatoes.

“Ah, well, Associate Elethri. Perhaps I should explain something. You see, it was my idea that I passed on to my supervisor. I kinda didn’t expect anyone from your end to come out here. That is, well, I guess my boss figured it would be easier for you guy to see us here and to see what we’ve got.”

The last phrase sounded rather lame. Ralph was amazed at the helmet dissolving feat. Clearly, he thought to himself, these guys are way more advanced. But still, business is business with them I suppose.

Securing themselves to strategically placed handholds, Ralph and Elethri climbed “up” into the third module. Another airlock door hissed and they passed into the adjoining moudule open which revealed a small room. A table resembling that found at a fast food joint was anchored to one wall, complete with chairs. Above the table was a small portal which one could see some of the waypoint station. On the table itself was a securely anchored computer flat screen monitor with keyboard. Elsewhere in the room, there were cargo contained strapped to the walls.

Ralph monkeyed his way to the table, motioning Elethri to follow.

Elethri watched carefully, looking for objects of cultural importance as he moved. And mannerisms of importance. He hoped he wasn't missing anything, but... Sometimes one can never be sure. He took great care not to touch anything but the walls and floor - he hoped they were indeed walls, and not abstract art, although he dismissed the thought as silly almost as fast as it formed.

He quietly drew in a deep breath.

Calmness was required. He watched Ralph for a moment. "That does indeed sound a rational course of action," he offered, slightly uncertainly. Again... he hoped the translation wasn't getting mangled, somehow.

Elethri watched carefully, looking for objects of cultural importance as he moved. And mannerisms of importance. He hoped he wasn't missing anything, but... Sometimes one can never be sure. He took great care not to touch anything but the walls and floor - he hoped they were indeed walls, and not abstract art, although he dismissed the thought as silly almost as fast as it formed.

He quietly drew in a deep breath.

Calmness was required. He watched Ralph for a moment. "That does indeed sound a rational course of action," he offered, slightly uncertainly. Again... he hoped the translation wasn't getting mangled, somehow.

Ralph slid himself into the chair and did up his waist seatbelt, albeit loosely. He motioned for Elethri to do likewise and offered up an explanation,

“Well, a guy doesn’t have to strap in, but it makes talking easier without floating around the room. At least for me it does. Anyways…”

He tapped a few keys. The monitor displayed a screensaver depicting the company logo. Then it dissolved and soon a diagram showing the main shipping routes for Hyperion appeared. Small moving dots, representing freighters slowly moved in their paths. The planet Mercury was clearly labeled, as was Earth and Mars. The bottom right corner showed the number of ships, their registration number and manifest of their cargo in a spreadsheet style format.”

“Yeah. This display is real time. Or, at least accounting for the delay in transmission time. You can see here that a large volume of our traffic is Earth-Mercury, but we are looking to expand into the Mars-Earth shipping. We don’t have one of these way point stations that way and, well, the CSS Valiant would fill a much needed gap. Only thing is though, Mars has a history of being a real hot spot militarily speaking.”

A pause.

“Say, er…would you like something to drink? I could go for a scotch myself.”

Ralph slid himself into the chair and did up his waist seatbelt, albeit loosely. He motioned for Elethri to do likewise and offered up an explanation,

“Well, a guy doesn’t have to strap in, but it makes talking easier without floating around the room. At least for me it does. Anyways…”

He tapped a few keys. The monitor displayed a screensaver depicting the company logo. Then it dissolved and soon a diagram showing the main shipping routes for Hyperion appeared. Small moving dots, representing freighters slowly moved in their paths. The planet Mercury was clearly labeled, as was Earth and Mars. The bottom right corner showed the number of ships, their registration number and manifest of their cargo in a spreadsheet style format.”

“Yeah. This display is real time. Or, at least accounting for the delay in transmission time. You can see here that a large volume of our traffic is Earth-Mercury, but we are looking to expand into the Mars-Earth shipping. We don’t have one of these way point stations that way and, well, the CSS Valiant would fill a much needed gap. Only thing is though, Mars has a history of being a real hot spot militarily speaking.”

A pause.

“Say, er…would you like something to drink? I could go for a scotch myself.”

Elethri did not feel the need to strap in, really, beyond politeness. He enjoyed microgravity... as did many of his kind. Not all, though. Some vomited so violently that...

Well, best not to consider that, Elethri decided as his stomach promptly executed a perfect somersault. He watched the screen carefully, committing as much of what he saw to memory as possible; although he possibly didn't need to: the small fibre-optic camera stitched into his suit recorded more thoroughly - at least, he hoped so. Interference was possible, after all. He did wonder why they were willing to show such tactically valuable material off, but decided that the data was probably time-lapsed, despite the claim of a real-time image. Real-time information - even with the lag involved considering the limits of merely luminal-velocity communications - would be too valuable, he decided.

Still, it could be useful information in some way or another.

Nor did Elethri feel the need to point out that Nenyan genetic code, unlike Human genetic code, did not lack the genes required for the biological production of vitamin c - he could drink quite heavily without effect, so long as he didn't exceed the potential of his body to deal with the alcohol. It was drinking heavily for a Human, anyway. As a rule, Elethri didn't often drink alcohol...

But if it made things go more smoothly, then it was worthwhile. "I'll have the same. I don't believe I've tried that variety, although I've heard it's... an interesting drink," he hedges. Actually, his information is limited to the knowledge that scotch contains alcohol. Various varieties of fruity alcohol drinks are the preferred method of inebriation in the Commonality (at least among the Human population - Nenyans rarely drank enough fast enough to become inebriated), after all.

"And we are aware of the... history... of Mars. The Valiant carries state-of-the-art Commonality space superiority interceptors - piloted by CSF pilots, not civilians - and she has other protection beyond her own defensive systems."

Elethri's expression changes suitably as he leans forward, almost conspirationally. "The CSF maintains a 'watch' on the Valiant. If she was attacked beyond her capacity to defend herself, a whole Stellar Squadron would no doubt be on hand to Hop in to defend her."

He shrugs, though. "I sincerely doubt that any such threat would, could, or will rear its head, however. The conditions required for such a threat would give us considerable time to take adequate steps to mitigate that threat. The Valiant is a big ship, with a full Security complement. She would be a very difficult target under the best of circumstances, and for simple freebooters, likely an impossible one."

He shrugs, though. "I sincerely doubt that any such threat would, could, or will rear its head, however. The conditions required for such a threat would give us considerable time to take adequate steps to mitigate that threat. The Valiant is a big ship, with a full Security complement. She would be a very difficult target under the best of circumstances, and for simple freebooters, likely an impossible one."

Ralph pressed an intercom button and was greeted with a burst of static. Then, a feminine voice replied,

"Yes Mr. Huy?"
"Yeah, err... Susan? Could you send down some scotch? You know, in those bottles with the straws since the last time it kept floating away."
"Yes sir."

He turned to Elethri with a sheepish expression. Then, composing himself, he began,

"Well, that's good to hear about the Valiant. Actually, we didn't really have any doubts about whether the ship can defend itself since we figure you guys are quite capable in that regard. I guess I should have been more clear..."

Here, he indicated the map.

"You guys mostly go Earth-Mars. I guess we are wondering how we can keep our costs down in such a busy market. You know, it might be hard to find some niche there with so many players. That's why we started our here. Less competition."

He looked again at Elethri and smiled.

"So, what are your going rates? We mostly haul personnel, med supplies, and raw materials. Nothing fancy or dangerous. And we are obviously willing to comply with whatever regs you guys have.


Another buzz on the intercom. Ralph winced at the static then said, "Susan, would you mind sending Ivan up as well? For crying out loud, he the accountant."

"Right away sir."

Ralph pressed an intercom button and was greeted with a burst of static. Then, a feminine voice replied,

"Yes Mr. Huy?"
"Yeah, err... Susan? Could you send down some scotch? You know, in those bottles with the straws since the last time it kept floating away."
"Yes sir."

He turned to Elethri with a sheepish expression. Then, composing himself, he began,

"Well, that's good to hear about the Valiant. Actually, we didn't really have any doubts about whether the ship can defend itself since we figure you guys are quite capable in that regard. I guess I should have been more clear..."

Here, he indicated the map.

"You guys mostly go Earth-Mars. I guess we are wondering how we can keep our costs down in such a busy market. You know, it might be hard to find some niche there with so many players. That's why we started our here. Less competition."

He looked again at Elethri and smiled.

"So, what are your going rates? We mostly haul personnel, med supplies, and raw materials. Nothing fancy or dangerous. And we are obviously willing to comply with whatever regs you guys have.


Another buzz on the intercom. Ralph winced at the static then said, "Susan, would you mind sending Ivan up as well? For crying out loud, he the accountant."

"Right away sir."

Elethri gave a small, comfortable little shrug. "It's difficult to say without more information. The price is tailored to the situation and requirements of the customer; we do not use fixed prices. We operate under the IsnCo selling system; that is, we fix the price to the customer, not the customer to the price. For example, the price might rise if there were safety concerns, and so on."

Docking Bay ENT-001-A, CSS Valiant

Five of the massive, for ships capable of a single crewman, anyway, cargo shuttles were in hard dock now, having received the data transmission from the Valiant.

“Aw, come on, Lead. Can’t we have a bit of a break?”

Leigh sighed, having expected the voice as soon as she saw the content of the transmission.

“No. The contract is specific. Minimum time possible. Which means if you leave your ship, Johnny, I won’t get your shuttle out of this bay for hours, I know that. Which means you stay put. And because you need to, everyone does.”

“But, Lead, I won’t get lost this time.”

“Bullshit, Johnny. This ship is six times the size of the last ship you got lost on. Without a nav computer, I surprised you can find your way to the head in your own house. That’s final. Shuttle One, out.”

Commonality Space, Near the CSS Valiant

Gravity and time flowed by, stretching, spinning, looping in on themselves as space elongated, then shrank. De Ruebehat blazed through space as shining star, feeling the energies around him.

Including scanner energies. He laughed, the transmission going out on an open channel, a laugh of enjoyment and fun, as he ordered another change with his mind, ‘mind over matter’ coming true as his thoughts changed his reality.

A burst of electronic fuzz, static to its most extreme washed over his position, multispectral, and as it cleared, the fighter flashed in a spiral along its base course. But that was not the only thing, it was joined by a second fighter, the electronic warfare suite blazing away at full power, doubling the signature even to the extent of a hologram to confuse visual scanners.

One would intersect the ICEL fighter as the flight plans met, and one would not. It was tempting to count on it being the hologram, but could one be absolutely sure?

Docking Bay ENT-001-A, CSS Valiant

Five of the massive, for ships capable of a single crewman, anyway, cargo shuttles were in hard dock now, having received the data transmission from the Valiant.

“Aw, come on, Lead. Can’t we have a bit of a break?”

Leigh sighed, having expected the voice as soon as she saw the content of the transmission.

“No. The contract is specific. Minimum time possible. Which means if you leave your ship, Johnny, I won’t get your shuttle out of this bay for hours, I know that. Which means you stay put. And because you need to, everyone does.”

“But, Lead, I won’t get lost this time.”

“Bullshit, Johnny. This ship is six times the size of the last ship you got lost on. Without a nav computer, I surprised you can find your way to the head in your own house. That’s final. Shuttle One, out.”

Commonality Space, Near the CSS Valiant

Gravity and time flowed by, stretching, spinning, looping in on themselves as space elongated, then shrank. De Ruebehat blazed through space as shining star, feeling the energies around him.

Including scanner energies. He laughed, the transmission going out on an open channel, a laugh of enjoyment and fun, as he ordered another change with his mind, ‘mind over matter’ coming true as his thoughts changed his reality.

A burst of electronic fuzz, static to its most extreme washed over his position, multispectral, and as it cleared, the fighter flashed in a spiral along its base course. But that was not the only thing, it was joined by a second fighter, the electronic warfare suite blazing away at full power, doubling the signature even to the extent of a hologram to confuse visual scanners.

One would intersect the ICEL fighter as the flight plans met, and one would not. It was tempting to count on it being the hologram, but could one be absolutely sure?

{@~It sensed and felt, reaching outwards, instinctively. There it was! A tendril of thought caught on it, tweaked it, investigated it, a magnetic field line trembling at the contact.

There! An illusion or not...

It trembled with confusion. One was real and one was not. Every scanner but the electromagnetic interaction device - the quivers of EM field lines were measured by infinitely delicate devices composed of strands of material only a micron and a half across suspended in exhaustively purified water. When an electromagnetic field altered 'shape', the strands trembled minutely; tiny waves shuddered out through the water, which were in turn detected and analysed by sensitive equipment. Thousands of tiny such devices composed the EM scanning suite, which utilized a weak static MI field - that field was reaching out, now, tasting. One was real, one was not; the mass reading was entirely wrong.

It was clear. Yet the other sensors all argued- Intercession was required. It fired off a tightbeam laser transmission to the more sophisticated computers aboard the Valiant~@}

And the Valiant recieved them, concluding the investigation within a single computational cycle. She evaluated, repositioned certain thought processes, fired back a response, and executed her own response - having barely been aware of the request-

And the pilot raised her eyebrows with concern as one fighter became two. But before she could say a word, the computer bleeped at her. "Warning. This maneouvre has been designated beyond possible organic reaction levels. Manual controls overriden."

She immediately pulled back her hands, although it was a pointless manouvre; the control panel was dead anyway, except for comms. Still: no need that the other guy know that. Looking at the visual - for a fraction of a second, as her thoughts were moving quickly in the world of the inner mind - she realized that she wouldn't be able to react fast enough to attempt to pull off an evasive manouvre if she guessed wrong.

She hoped the computer would figure it out; if not, she'd be dead. She pulled down the harness; she knew that the movements of the ship might well exceed the tolerance level given in the 'manual', but she also knew that the tests had ceased at a certain point. She would probably survive two or three more +gs than the manual said - and probably one more -g. Possibly. She hoped.

She peered at her display screen - only the control panel that guided the craft was offline - and noted a small output display. She grinned... and reached out to click open the manual comm control toggle after setting the radio to the correct frequency.

In a sweet-sounding voice (once the interference is dealt with, it sounds kinda sweet), "I hope you don't mind doing it with the lights on, baby..."

Time flowed fast from here on out; the computer, astonishingly, chose the real vessel and aimed at it, head-on-

* * *

The electronic countermeasure system sets off a battery of alarms on board the Valiant, but those alarms are confirmed by the concern of the eXon AI that reports difficulties.

The Valiant herself was not concerned - at least, she did not suspect that an attack was imminent, as some of the low-level defence AIs had immediately bleated; she had been listening to the transmissions between the pilots, and understood the situation.

Still, she didn't see any reason not to make things interesting.

Exterior lights boom into existance on the outside of the ship, brightening the light in the area significantly; a madly twinkling new star appears on the day and night sides of Earth showing below, so bright are the lights - the simplest defensive countermeasure available, simply because they blur the visual image of the ship at long distances. This was the fun part: if either pilot hashed up in some way (which they already had, in her 'eyes'), then they deserved to have their stupidity shown to the world in full, brighter-than-day colour. - Hopefully no primitive tribes fall down and worship the new Sky-God, but one can never be too sure...

Secondly, she tightened and increased her own static PG field strength, unfortunately causing the loss of gravity on seven decks. That's not a problem, though, as those decks were unoccupied anyway. Mostly. A few maintenance people are pretty pissed, though, when their drinks end up smeared over the walls...

She hovered (metaphorically), ready to catch the two foolish organics should they miscalculate; should an error be made, she could, in theory, reach out and push one of the ships away on a new course.

In theory, that wouldn't crush the ship and kill the pilot.

A phrase hovered on the edge of her consciousness: No battle plan ever survives the first shot of an engagement.

Somewhere, a small slice of her consciousness wondered if this applied to the type of engagement that preceded marriage...

Docking Bay ENT-001-A, CSS Valiant

Leigh smiled as the last of the heavy cargo shuttles settled in, and her board lit with the ninth confirmation light. Well, so much as the holographic interface was a board.

The entire flight was in, and they were ready to go.

She keyed on her mic. “This is Federation Flight Group Mike Hotel Victor November Zero Three One to Valiant Control. We’re all snugged up here, and ready to go when you are.”

Commonality Space, Near the CSS Valiant

The distance was falling quicker now, ever quicker, kilometers flashing by in an instant. De Ruebehat heard the voice in his head, calling out to him from all around, but the words meant nothing for a moment. Flight was everything. Until he managed to pull enough of his consciousness free of the link.

That was the danger. It was always the danger. The sense of being God while linked to the AI was tempting, consuming.

But the Psych requirement for being a pilot was too high now. De Ruebehat pulled out, but it took him a split second to recall what the voice had said. Split seconds that were becoming a liability as the distance dropped ever faster.

“I prefer the lights on. I like to see what I’m doing.” That was all before he vanished back into the mists again, a mist suddenly brightened with electromagnetic flares. And it locked the ICEL fighter before, highlighting its course. They would collide of course. A lucky guess on someone’s part.

Or maybe not. You were supposed to launch a missile inside the hologram. He had not done so. Missiles were expensive, after all, and he would no doubt be yelled at if he had. Of course, he was going to get yelled at for this stunt anyway.

His final course correction. Five kilometers. Four. Three. Two. One… a whispered command flashed through the systems. A power interrupt slipped into place. The burning blue glow faded. Electromagnetics pulsed. And the fighter stopped dead in space in less than ten meters.

Docking Bay ENT-001-A, CSS Valiant

Leigh smiled as the last of the heavy cargo shuttles settled in, and her board lit with the ninth confirmation light. Well, so much as the holographic interface was a board.

The entire flight was in, and they were ready to go.

She keyed on her mic. “This is Federation Flight Group Mike Hotel Victor November Zero Three One to Valiant Control. We’re all snugged up here, and ready to go when you are.”

Commonality Space, Near the CSS Valiant

The distance was falling quicker now, ever quicker, kilometers flashing by in an instant. De Ruebehat heard the voice in his head, calling out to him from all around, but the words meant nothing for a moment. Flight was everything. Until he managed to pull enough of his consciousness free of the link.

That was the danger. It was always the danger. The sense of being God while linked to the AI was tempting, consuming.

But the Psych requirement for being a pilot was too high now. De Ruebehat pulled out, but it took him a split second to recall what the voice had said. Split seconds that were becoming a liability as the distance dropped ever faster.

“I prefer the lights on. I like to see what I’m doing.” That was all before he vanished back into the mists again, a mist suddenly brightened with electromagnetic flares. And it locked the ICEL fighter before, highlighting its course. They would collide of course. A lucky guess on someone’s part.

Or maybe not. You were supposed to launch a missile inside the hologram. He had not done so. Missiles were expensive, after all, and he would no doubt be yelled at if he had. Of course, he was going to get yelled at for this stunt anyway.

His final course correction. Five kilometers. Four. Three. Two. One… a whispered command flashed through the systems. A power interrupt slipped into place. The burning blue glow faded. Electromagnetics pulsed. And the fighter stopped dead in space in less than ten meters.

An AI, no matter how unsophisticated, is never jumpy, nor nervous, nor impatient. And for the incredible amount of time involved - from the AIs perspective - it simply waited. Millisecond after Millisecond ticked by, sluggishly, slowly. The danger of the situation did not intensify its perception of speed - it did not speed, slow... It made no difference. It waited.

The pilot, for her part, strove not to shield her eyes; she wanted to see her death, if this was to be it. It took a masterful effort of will; her mind was screaming at her to hide, run away, disappear away from the danger - the impossibility of running away made her arms want to raise, childlike, to cover her face. If I cannot see the danger, it cannot harm me, she thought, deep down, where the inner child resides.

Time stretched for her. Seconds became picoseconds, relatively. Not because of her speed; her thoughts were racing, her mind focused on everything and nothing at the same time - a dizzying array of thoughts swept through her, beneath the surface-

She had not expected the other pilot to be quite so...

Like her. That was it, wasn't it. She hadn't expected anyone else to be quite so insane as she could be...

I swear, never again, she swore to herself and to Eru and to anyone else who might hear.

And the AI waited. Time was getting close, now. If it were capable of anxiety, it would have been anxious. As it was, it was programmed to wait until oppurtunity presented itself. There was no other way; if it acted too soon, that would usually be worse than reacting in the millisecond range.

That was not the case here, perhaps-

Yet there! The calculations in Logistat intensified, turned into a coherant story, a path blazing in gold as telltale signs from the FSP craft created new avenues, new methods-

It analyzed them, blisteringly fast, using the combined computational power of the Valiant and most of her support craft for twenty milliseconds-

Then it acted. It was not aware of the act, for it was merely a machine, but-

* * *

The PG fields reached out, leaching motive energy from the very reverse motion of the fighter ahead of it; just a little, a tiny, tiny, insignificant amount...

But enough to cause the ICEL interceptor to roll over the craft it had been about to collide with. It does not slow, however. It hurtles around - the pilot inside already unconcsious as g-forces vary wildly between +gs and -gs. It slows, however, from a blur of glaring white light; the PG fields snap out of existance, replaced by MI fields which catch onto those around them, manipulating, bending, altering the flow of electrons subtly enough to pull the craft away from it's previous course - the readouts in the interceptor read at 32gs for nearly thirty milliseconds before the interceptor rights itself, hurtling away and decellerating gently...

* * *

She came to, blood floating in the PFC around her. She retched instinctively, but it was just tiny globules of blood; probably from the cut on her wrist. She must have slipped forwards and scraped the edge of the console as she - blacked out? Or were they white-outs?

She wasn't sure, but she knew her head...

No, her entire body-

Was on fire.

She screamed, the pitch inside a certain range that triggers an emergency distress call by the AI, and promptly blacked out again.

* * *

Tertiary Command Centre, Hangar Deck Alpha, CSS Valiant

Tortoi scratched his chin and finished crunching on the rather chewy - stale, he suspected, but that just added flavour - chocolate biscuit he had just popped into his mouth. Whole.

He was a large man. He didn't feel comfortable in this stupid, tiny chair. It was apparently strong enough to bear him, but he doubted that. He was edgy.

And when he was edgy, he ate too much.

Finishing the biscuit, he clicked open the comm to the ships that had finished docking, and spoke in his rather odd-sounding, rolling, guttoral accent, "We are scheduled for departure," it sounds like 'wee arr skeduled for dee-parrtay-yur', "in seven minutes." Een sevain minates.

[OOC: I note that none of my characters speak English: that's just... Englished stuff. Like the English policeman in 'Allo 'Allo who spoke terrible French, but in English. Kindof. Just... to be sure that's clear. :p]

Commonality Space, Near the CSS Valiant

De Ruebehat shot downward, relative to his fighters orientation, ‘falling’ straight down as the drive field came back on line, accelerating in a new direction. He was already committed to the action when he realized it was a mistake. Even the inertialess drive did not disguise the horrible jolt as the drive fields interacted, the ICEL fighter rolling past.

Both shot outwards, random vectors assigned by, on the Federal pilot’s part, an unexpected interference. He whirled out of control for a moment, spinning wildly, before he killed the drive again, drifting in space. He could feel the ICEL fighter still clawing at space nearby, drifting further away, still under power. A flood of coherent, coded EM washed across him, an unknown signal from the fighter.

He shook his head, the ringing in his ears tearing into his mind, making it hard to think, to control his ship around him. A whispered command brought him out of it, out from the trance of total immersion in the system. The physical controls flickered back to life, as he unsteadily reached for the stick and keyed up his communications system on an open channel.

“ICEL fighter, are you okay?” Other than a bit shaken, he was alright, but the ICEL fighter was speeding off into the middle of nowhere, possibly under a dead stick, the way it was flying.

Docking Bay ENT-001-A, CSS Valiant

Leigh Damon smiled as she heard the message. She was always a fan of moving quickly in cargo operations. Because people that were able to move quickly knew what they were doing.

"Copy that, Valiant Control. Standing by."

Commonality Space, Near the CSS Valiant

De Ruebehat shot downward, relative to his fighters orientation, ‘falling’ straight down as the drive field came back on line, accelerating in a new direction. He was already committed to the action when he realized it was a mistake. Even the inertialess drive did not disguise the horrible jolt as the drive fields interacted, the ICEL fighter rolling past.

Both shot outwards, random vectors assigned by, on the Federal pilot’s part, an unexpected interference. He whirled out of control for a moment, spinning wildly, before he killed the drive again, drifting in space. He could feel the ICEL fighter still clawing at space nearby, drifting further away, still under power. A flood of coherent, coded EM washed across him, an unknown signal from the fighter.

He shook his head, the ringing in his ears tearing into his mind, making it hard to think, to control his ship around him. A whispered command brought him out of it, out from the trance of total immersion in the system. The physical controls flickered back to life, as he unsteadily reached for the stick and keyed up his communications system on an open channel.

“ICEL fighter, are you okay?” Other than a bit shaken, he was alright, but the ICEL fighter was speeding off into the middle of nowhere, possibly under a dead stick, the way it was flying.


Out of control in a relative sense alone, the eXon spun and wheeled as the AI brought it under control and slowed it down; as its velocity finally dipped to 2.2km/s, a small porthole on the Valiant opened...

...and a thin white line is seen only as it catches the light given out by the Valiant still; glittering pure white, it latches onto the eXon and hardens into a solid line. The interceptor's motion is arrested slowly, between reverse 'thrust' by the eXon itself and the slow drag of the line. As its relative velocity dips low enough, the eXon's engines snap offline - and it is slowly, then more quickly, hauled into the Valiant.

A voice announces from the darkness to the FSP pilot:

"I wouldn't worry. According to her readouts, she's just concussed," the voice says dryly, "although I'd be a little more cautious in future, were I you. CSF Flight Leader out."

Elethri gave a small, comfortable little shrug. "It's difficult to say without more information. The price is tailored to the situation and requirements of the customer; we do not use fixed prices. We operate under the IsnCo selling system; that is, we fix the price to the customer, not the customer to the price. For example, the price might rise if there were safety concerns, and so on."

The airlock hissed open and a rather large bald headed man with a red beard floated in. He seemed to have some difficulty moving about, as if everything on the station was just a bit too small for him. Plus the fact that this was his first time in space didn’t help matters. A stream of invectives spewed from his mouth as he conked his head on a bulkhead. Then he saw Ralph and Elethri.

“Ah, er…my first time in space.”

Ralph rolled his eyes and made the introductions. Ivan nodded and then began.

“Well, I guess it all comes to price, eh? Basically, we’ve found that the transportation costs are a little bit higher than expected. Usually we move raw goods such as iron and so forth and really, the extration costs are about the same as on Earth. It’s just factoring in all this fuel that makes things expensive. Plus, we think the commodities market is slowly approaching a glut so we have to limit our production.

We are kind of like a glorified delivery service at the moment and partially subsidized by our government. So, since we are new at this game we’ve yet to turn a profit.”

He quickly added.

“But, you know, we’ve only been at this for a couple of months. We are thinking long-term here. We are also looking into transporting more profitable cargo, such as manufactured goods, specialized equipment,…you know. For now, mostly raw materials such as iron is a large percentage of our cargo.”

OOC: Haven’t really found anything great on transportation costs of iron. Pig iron seems to be about $140-160/ton.

[OOC: AAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!! Braindead action, there. Sorry, Vrak. I'll re-edit this in a mo... well, hopefully. I'm more busy now then I was then... I totally got confused between the Valiant and another transport operation.

Oops...]

Elethri stretches a little. "Well, let me explain our cost system.

"Firstly, mass. Mass is critical."

Elethri pauses to chuckle at the pun quietly. "Yes, well. - As I was saying: mass is critical. First is mass, then comes carriage fees; carriage fees are dependant on demand. The higher the demand for space, the higher the carriage fees. The lower the demand, the lower the fees. Consequentially, prices can fluctuate a little. Or will.

"Then we factor in other matters: requirement of special precautions, the cost of security measures if particuarly required, freight conveyance costs if the client cannot bring the goods to the Valiant directly, and so on.

"To give a basic outline. One ton of pig iron would cost seventy-five Rels - that's Rlh0.75 - to transport from Earth to Mars. Every thousand tons further costs 1% more than the last thousand tons. So if you send five thousand tons to Mars, it would cost Rlh4,125."

[OOC: Current exchange rate:- Rlh1 = US$1.29]

Ivan nodded, then explained.

"Ah, okay. Well, you see, we are thinking of reserving a hanger or two for our exclusive use. Course that depends on the price but yeah, we see your fine ship as more of a mobile bay to service our fleet - not to transport our freight."

A pause as Ivan grabs the bottle and takes a sip of beer.

"Let me make sure I read you right. I can understand the carriage fees being dependant on how many hangers you've got available, and extra fees for the type of cargo. But are you also charging for the mass of the payload as well? Basically, our ships have a maximum payload mass of 560 metric tons while the ships themselves, at maximum load including fuel, are about..."

A quick tap on the keyboard.

"...yeah...er...5939.5 tons."

He turns to Ralph.

"Does that include external container modules?"

Ralph nods.

Elethri sighs quietly. "Then that's an entirely different proposition. When dealing with ships, we replace mass considerations with those of volume. That's basically because it's easier to accomodate for greater mass, but we can't afford to 'overstock' the ship with the actual size of the ships berthed on board.

"Really, I suppose - without going into some long, drawn out calculations that won't really help all that much - we could probably manage to give you a lower price than for five thousand tons of iron per ship, if you were to sign a long-term contract. Probably a lot lower - depending on the length of contract.

"We at IsnCo conduct futures-business as well as present-business; we look more to the future than the present, in fact. We have long-term goals; if we can secure a long-term contract from you, it would go a ways to achieving that goal. Therefore, I can say with all honesty that we could offer a lower price."

The way that the Nenyans conduct business is, in some regards at least, certainly... unusual... by most capitalist standards.

Elethri sighs quietly. "Then that's an entirely different proposition. When dealing with ships, we replace mass considerations with those of volume. That's basically because it's easier to accomodate for greater mass, but we can't afford to 'overstock' the ship with the actual size of the ships berthed on board.

"Really, I suppose - without going into some long, drawn out calculations that won't really help all that much - we could probably manage to give you a lower price than for five thousand tons of iron per ship, if you were to sign a long-term contract. Probably a lot lower - depending on the length of contract.

"We at IsnCo conduct futures-business as well as present-business; we look more to the future than the present, in fact. We have long-term goals; if we can secure a long-term contract from you, it would go a ways to achieving that goal. Therefore, I can say with all honesty that we could offer a lower price."

The way that the Nenyans conduct business is, in some regards at least, certainly... unusual... by most capitalist standards.

Ralph cut in before Ivan was about to reply.

"Ah, Elethri. The ships we use are 44 meters long by 11 meters high and wide. The 560 tons was the maximum payload mass that a ship can carry while the near 6000 tons was the maximum mass of the ship itself, including a full load of fuel and cargo. A long term contract would be better. How many years are you offering? After all, you guys are building a new Earth-Mars thingy."

Ralph leans forward.

"I've heard that our company was thinking of investing in that project of yours."

The curious thing about Elethri is that he is rather... blunted... in the body-language area. Oh, his face is expressive, alright, but his posture rarely changes. His back remains straight, and his hands are allowed to half-float, just below heart-level. His hands are not shaking in the least; indeed, they're just as steady as his entire body.

The lack of movement renders him almost statue-like from the neck down.

His bright, distinctively Nenyan amber eyes, however, are a different story: everything is said in those expressive, kinda glowing eyes. They sometimes seem to glow just a little, or catch the light really well - just for a moment here or there - and that's when they're at their most expressive, their most vivid. And sometimes, from across a room, if you just glance, they almost look sea-blue - if you look from the right angle. Then again, they might look green; the angle of the light seems to alter the colour in the most curious way.

Still, front-on, they're vivid amber. Bright, gleaming, full of expression; Nenyans must have more muscles around their eyes than Humans, for his eyes manage to convey so very much - some of the time.

For instance, now, they convey a sense of amusement; it's a cheerful sort of amusement, a friendly amusement.

"Ahh, now you're mistaken, I'm afraid. IsnCo is building the EMH - or rather, I believe, is contracting the CSF to build it for them. Contracted, rather, as the EMH is actually built. IsnCo and our company may well have identical ownership, but we are different setups."

Elethri smiles slightly. "Indeed, in some countries, we would be considered rivals - we both focus on the Earth-Mars run, currently. Of course, we have nothing against the IsnCo succeeding... so long as it does not impede our niche; but then, to do so would be an economic crime, under our laws. So we have no such fears.

"So I'm afraid that your allusion of the provision of funds to IsnCo, although appealing to my good nature, does not appeal to my business sense. My apologies for the method of my explanation, if it seems at all abrasive.

"And as for how long a contract... why, we're willing to set up a contract length for as long as you wish. Ten years, twenty, twenty-five... five or six decades, if you prefer. Ten, twenty decades? We can set up a deal for frequent revision of the contract, if you wish such a lengthy contract. - For stability," he adds with a wry smile.

ICEL Space, Near Earth Orbit

A cluster of electromagnetic signatures converge from 'above' the Valiant, rapidly decellerating into the local area. As the EM signatures define at 475,000 klicks out, it becomes apparent that two ICEL frigates, sixteen destroyers, and one 'previously unknown' contact have just Hopped into ICEL space.

Meanwhile, from below, a supermassive EM signature makes itself heard as it rips through the Earth's atmosphere - unleashing the usual barrage of thunderclaps heard throughout Ax-turath - finally emerging several minutes after its initial appearance on orbital surveillance units or ships with line-of-sight scanner visibility.

What emerges is clearly the new flagship of the 2 Stellar Battlegroup: the words Yliaen Calyma - "Bright Star" - are brightly scored onto her hull in the elegantly flowing, left-leaning Nenyan script. In fairly normal ICEL tradition, she is the second of her class, and as such she is the first of the revamped version of the previous class: she is Eagle-X class, not Eagle class, or, in Iluvauromeni native speak, Syrne-X class.

She appears to be in 'ceremonial' style - her hull has been especially 'repainted' (although no paint - at least not in the traditional sense - is really involved) so that she displays the banner of the Commonality on her upper side. Her belly is still painted with the usual LLR* black paint, however.

She is quite a large ship, to say the least; oddly designed in corkscrews-like twists, the hull sweeps back to the widest point at the centre - in cylindrical fashion - and then sweeps down to a visually near-flat edge at the stern. This speaks of the new design style in the new ICEL warships: despite being all-aspect platforms, they now have aft-and-fore facing gunports. The gunports are not visible, but they are doubtless set into the shadowy depths of those

The bow is more conical, in the tradition of all modern ICEL warships; the bow cone is, as usual, littered with strange score marks running in bizarre geometric patterns - indeed, the entire ship is scored with these strange grooves, but the bow cone has the greatest density. There are also two depressions in the sides of the bow cone: these appear to be two rather large gunports, or possibly for stowing mission-critical equipment modules.

Almost all of these CSF warships converge at a point thirty-seven thousand kilometres to the stellar port-north-north-west of the Valiant; one of the ships, however, hangs back at around 272,000 klicks.

This ship is different from all the others, in that it is long, but not at all wide. Just fifty-seven metres across, she stretches for nearly a kilometre and a half; almost her entire length is dominated by her two massive predatory forward-swept wings, slowly arcing into two spherical end points far beyond her central bow.

At the end of each of these massive structures attached to the small, compact rear section of the ship are some twenty-five small circular impressions: these are without doubt gunports. However, they are 90% larger than the gunports on the other vessels; furthermore, a careful scan with good equipment would reveal the the guntubes are actually the full length of those constructs, but, other than the tubes there are small hollows in the otherwise liquid-filled structures. If the scans are high-definition, they might reveal the shape of the racks contained inside those hollows - and perhaps even the bulky shapes of the missiles stored inside.

On the hull of the ship is scored - surprisingly, in English - is the name Enforcer.

* * *

Near Earth Orbit, unclaimed space; IDSS Enforcer, Flag Room

The Commodore was displeased. He had transferred aboard the Enforcer three days ago - and it had taken two days for the new warship to catch up with the Battlegroup at the waypoint.

That had cost the Battlegroup an entire day in arriving here; hence, the mission was behind schedule. As it happened, it didn't matter much - the launch of the Valiant, unbeknownst to most, had actually occurred a day late due to the difficulties in delivering crewmembers. Logistical nightmare, it had turned out to be - not the CSF's problem, of course, but the Commodore sympathised.

The 'group was now sitting in orbit above the Commonality - ish. And they would follow the Valiant to Mars, arriving about two hours after her.

At that point, the mission would begin.

* * *

CSF High Command, location unknown

Ax-randiri Rihad sighed as he stared at the communication - a day behind schedule. The 'group would arrive at Mars a day and four hours later than expected; that meant that other components of the current maneuvers would need to be reshuffled.

And the Enforcer, the new secret pride of the fleet, with her two kilometre long acceleration guntubes, might never make the grade. Her new Type VII MI engines were still underperforming - despite the new 'punch' unit at Vilya Elenosto, she had failed to accelerate to the requisite velocity to begin the required series of Transitions without the aid of the rest of the 'group at the rendezvous point; if she had succeeded, she would have been able to arrive just moments after the rest of the 'group at Earth. Nobody would have noticed the discrepancy.

As it was, she still arrived just moments after the rest of the Battlegroup - but she was still far too slow.

With a sigh, he punched out the code to contact the designer - High Lord Commodore Aglar ux-Rihad at Vilya Elenosto.

[OOC: *LLF = Low Light Reflective]

...

"And as for how long a contract... why, we're willing to set up a contract length for as long as you wish. Ten years, twenty, twenty-five... five or six decades, if you prefer. Ten, twenty decades? We can set up a deal for frequent revision of the contract, if you wish such a lengthy contract. - For stability," he adds with a wry smile.

OOC: (-) before a character’s speech would indicate they are speaking in Vrakian.

IC:

“Er…yeah…okay,” replied Ralph. Clearly he was embarrassed and then glared at Ivan.

-The hell? Didn’t you know about that?
-You’re the one who suggested it…
-Because you’re the one who gave me that information. We’ll talk later you pakrah. Anyhow, what do you think?
-I think we should just go for an initial 5 year contract. Why commit ourselves for such a long time? Still, the question that the Valiant is safe really wasn’t my main concern. What concerns me is that Mars always seems to be a brushfire so we may lose ships in some kind of crossfire.
-We always have the Mercury-Earth route to keep us going.
-Yes, but we want to eventually expand into Jupiter. And for that, we need Mars.
-Alright, I’ll tell him.

Ralph then nodded to Elenthril and said,

“We’re willing to sign an initial 5 year contract that guarantees us access to hangers large enough to accommodate two of our current ship sizes as well as fuel and maintenance access. As well, should we fall under attack – we would like it if your fighters try to help us. We, of course, shall follow your regulations regarding flight, docking, and cargo and pay the necessary fees. I think that’s about it.”

Elethri managed to keep a straight face for as long as he could, which turned out to be just long enough; the man finished speaking to him.

Then he broke into a broad grin. Conversationally, a glint in his eyes that matches the open amusement all over his face, he notes, "I hear we're considering the Jupiter route as an extension, should the Earth-Mars route not be profitable enough on its own. ICEL does business out that way, you know."

He pauses a moment before inclining his head apologetically, explaining: "I speak twenty-six languages - one of which is Vrakian. Not all that well, unfortunately - I didn't say I speak twenty-six languages fluently. We're big on music and song and words, my people; we try to learn as many languages as possible, so we can taste the many flavours that words come in."

He pauses before going on:

-I do hope I have not caused offense?

Elethri decided not to point out that he, like all ITC negotiators, also wore a state-of-the-art translation unit.

Elethri managed to keep a straight face for as long as he could, which turned out to be just long enough; the man finished speaking to him.

Then he broke into a broad grin. Conversationally, a glint in his eyes that matches the open amusement all over his face, he notes, "I hear we're considering the Jupiter route as an extension, should the Earth-Mars route not be profitable enough on its own. ICEL does business out that way, you know."

He pauses a moment before inclining his head apologetically, explaining: "I speak twenty-six languages - one of which is Vrakian. Not all that well, unfortunately - I didn't say I speak twenty-six languages fluently. We're big on music and song and words, my people; we try to learn as many languages as possible, so we can taste the many flavours that words come in."

He pauses before going on:

-I do hope I have not caused offense?

Elethri decided not to point out that he, like all ITC negotiators, also wore a state-of-the-art translation unit.

OOC: A bit presumptious on your part, Ma-tek in regards to Vrakian. But I'll go with it.

IC:

Ralph and Ivan looked at eachother.

"Er...yeah. Okay," said Ivan, "No offence taken."

Elethri stretches his legs out just a little before adding quietly, "And as a matter of course, we would provide military interceptor escorts, as is the ITC requirement."

Elethri stretches his legs out just a little before adding quietly, "And as a matter of course, we would provide military interceptor escorts, as is the ITC requirement."

Then Ralph leaned forward as best he could in zero gee. Although the way point depot did have a spin to it, it never seemed to be sufficient enough.

"We are interested in an initial five year contract. What say you, Associate Elethri?"

Elethri opened up a small smile, allowed a small, pleased quirk of his eyebrows. In fact, he wasn't pleased. He was disappointed. But he was not about to let that show.

"Five years is but a blink of an eye, but we would be happy to sign such a contract, yes... so long as the terms are right," he agreed, with a small tilt of his head at the last.

[OOC:

To all and sundry:

It'd be nice if an Ambassador (and staff) or two could arrive to work at the Embassy area on the Valiant, seeing as it's got the only ICEL Embassy outside of the Commonality proper.

Pretty please? :p]

Commonality Space, Near the CSS Valiant

Suppressing a chuckle, De Ruebehat keyed on his comm. “Don’t worry, CSF Flight Leader. Me and everyone I fly with will be more careful from now on.” He smiles, even though the voice only system will not transmit it, and he cannot be seen. But it does creep into his voice.

“Especially when we fly with the craziest bastards this side of Apache. FSP Lead, out.” Killing that channel quickly, he flipped back to his squadron’s frequency. “Let’s go home, boys and girls. Our birds are safe in the nest. Mars Alpha Base can worry about them now.”

The twelve fighters flickered to life, drive fields distorting space at a fraction of their maximum power, as they slid serenely back towards the space station they called home.

Elethri opened up a small smile, allowed a small, pleased quirk of his eyebrows. In fact, he wasn't pleased. He was disappointed. But he was not about to let that show.

"Five years is but a blink of an eye, but we would be happy to sign such a contract, yes... so long as the terms are right," he agreed, with a small tilt of his head at the last.

Ralph raised an eyebrow.

"Well, I believe that we already stated our terms. 5-years exclusive use of your hangers that can accomodate two ships that we already gave the dimensions for. Fuel and maintenance access along with military interceptors to render assistance should our freighters fall under attack."

A pause.

"Now, I think you need to state the price here, Associate Elethri."


OOC: Lemme think about the ambassador thingy...

OOC2: Let's just say that we accept and move along. That way, we won't have to get bogged down in nitty gritty and begin devoping other stories here. What do you think?

Ralph raised an eyebrow.

"Well, I believe that we already stated our terms. 5-years exclusive use of your hangers that can accomodate two ships that we already gave the dimensions for. Fuel and maintenance access along with military interceptors to render assistance should our freighters fall under attack."

A pause.

"Now, I think you need to state the price here, Associate Elethri."


OOC: Lemme think about the ambassador thingy...

OOC2: Let's just say that we accept and move along. That way, we won't have to get bogged down in nitty gritty and begin devoping other stories here. What do you think?


[OOC: Great.

OOC2: Agreed. This was getting a bit drawn out anyhow; I'll send you a telegram or ten, if you like, and/or we could sort things out on irc. Up to you. :) But this particular bit is kinda... dragging out, aye.

OOC3: The Valiant is moving out to Mars in my next post. Therefore, all Ambassadors wanting to board will board at Mars or at the stop after that, at Tyelca Tuo (the ship goes back there one more time, then begins its 'real' Earth-Mars runs - this is, in part, a test-run, although the ship is already fully tested and ready to fly).]

IC:

Unclaimed Near Earth Space/Unclaimed Stellar Space: Yliaen Calyma, 3 Stellar Battlegroup

The Battlegroup moved off, as a unit, Yliaen Calyma leading the way into EMH Space. The 'group accelerated sharply for a moment, then cut all engines as they sped past the first ring, accelerated under the power of the Earth-Mars Highway.

The second ring arrived quickly, firing them on faster, to the next ring, which was a little further out, and then on, and on, accelerating on the way to Mars.

On the bridge of the mightiest warship in the Commonality Space Forces there was silence. There were only two officers on duty, and neither of them were senior staff members.

The senior staff were assembled elsewhere, in the 'observation bubble'. There was no bubble on the exterior hull at all, but this room simulated that effect. There was microgravity here, so all present floated.

The Humans didn't seem to like it much, but the Nenyans didn't mind very much. They were comfortable, in fact; this was, after all, a party.

The Captain was not present, however.

He stood in his ready room, above the bridge and closer to the top of the ship, gazing at the visiWall and out at the lightly-speckled starscape. There were not that many stars visible; it was a fiction that in space there are stars to see all places that the eye can travel. Here and there alone he could see stars, unless he dimmed the interior lighting. And then there were the exterior lights, and those could not be turned off, lest someone suspect they were attempting a stealth approach.

So the stars were quietly subdued, just here and there, unmoving as the Battlegroup moved to Mars at the highest acceleration curve possible, using the Earth-Mars Highway (at a cost of just over sixty million Relhames) ahead of the Valiant.

* * *

The ships tore through space, scattering dust particles that struck their charged hull plating away from them as they struck them; those same dust particles, smashed into particulates upon impact, are fired away with the energy of cosmic rays; they achieve speeds close to the speed of light when they are sent hurtling on their way through the cosmos, so severe are the impacts against the hulls of the ships as they push above .12c for just a microsecond or two, and the warships are pulsating white-hot, despite the low density of the dust particles they intersect with - the high-rate acceleration having severely pushed the understood hull stress limit to the limit...

And then they are eaten up by a wave of bright blue-white light, and vanish.

* * *

Unclaimed Space, Near Mars Space/Unclaimed Space, Areosyncronous Orbit

Two and a half minutes later, the 2 Stellar Battlegroup emerges from its final transition and begins to decellerate hard, swinging past the final ring in the chain of the EMH and using it to recharge their 'batteries', so to speak, to provide enough energy for the final decelleration and establishment of orbit.

They sweep in on a high polar orbit, announcing their peaceful intentions - and that they are merely an escort force passing through en route to open stellar space - and then slowly switch into a areosynchronous orbit, taking great pains to avoid crossing any territorial boundaries.

One ship emerges after all the others: it hangs back, near the final ring of the EMH and thus inside ICEL-controlled space. It is the long, thin warship, clearly a long-range strike vessel - and it appears to move far more slowly than the others.

[OOC: Great.

OOC2: Agreed. This was getting a bit drawn out anyhow; I'll send you a telegram or ten, if you like, and/or we could sort things out on irc. Up to you. :) But this particular bit is kinda... dragging out, aye.

OOC3: The Valiant is moving out to Mars in my next post. Therefore, all Ambassadors wanting to board will board at Mars or at the stop after that, at Tyelca Tuo (the ship goes back there one more time, then begins its 'real' Earth-Mars runs - this is, in part, a test-run, although the ship is already fully tested and ready to fly).]


Ralph and Ivan grinned.

“It seems that we have a deal , Associate Elethri.”

They both extended their hands and, after a hearty shake, began to get sloshed – as is customary in Vrak after the closing of a major business deal. Or sometimes even during negotiations. Vrakian opera was piped in and Ivan and Ralph begin to sing and then cry like big, blubbering babies. It would seem that they still missed their homeland and haven’t quite gotten used to living in space for an extended period of time. Bottles of vodka, whiskey and pieces of food drifted aimlessly in the zero-gee environment, remnants of the small but boisterous feast. The Nenyan was escorted off afterwards, with more backslapping and handshakes.

Soon, the good news was relayed to headquarters. Official arrangements were made to integrate the CSS Valiant route into Hyperion’s long term plans. The five-year contract was, of course, an initial trial to see how everything would work out. More Bolden corp transports were leased and additional way point stations near Mars were being considered.

As well, the mention of an embassy presence aboard the Valiant itself was passed along through the appropriate channels.

OOC: Is it okay to assume that Elethri may have mentioned that to Ralph and Ivan?

Ralph and Ivan grinned.

“It seems that we have a deal , Associate Elethri.”

They both extended their hands and, after a hearty shake, began to get sloshed – as is customary in Vrak after the closing of a major business deal. Or sometimes even during negotiations. Vrakian opera was piped in and Ivan and Ralph begin to sing and then cry like big, blubbering babies. It would seem that they still missed their homeland and haven’t quite gotten used to living in space for an extended period of time. Bottles of vodka, whiskey and pieces of food drifted aimlessly in the zero-gee environment, remnants of the small but boisterous feast. The Nenyan was escorted off afterwards, with more backslapping and handshakes.

Soon, the good news was relayed to headquarters. Official arrangements were made to integrate the CSS Valiant route into Hyperion’s long term plans. The five-year contract was, of course, an initial trial to see how everything would work out. More Bolden corp transports were leased and additional way point stations near Mars were being considered.

As well, the mention of an embassy presence aboard the Valiant itself was passed along through the appropriate channels.

OOC: Is it okay to assume that Elethri may have mentioned that to Ralph and Ivan?

Elethri enjoyed the drinking, although he didn't actually get drunk. It was always fun to watch inebriated Humans, although he didn't let his amusement show, beyond 'having fun' amusement. To an extent, he even tried to mimic the drunk behaviour, just to fit in; just a little, mind. Slight slurring of speech is all, really.

He went home rather pleased with himself, of course...

He just hoped that they wouldn't forget his gentle 'pushing' remarks regarding the Embassy aboard the Valiant; hopefully, they hadn't been too inebriated to pay attention.

[OOC: Ayup! He most definitely would have.]

IC:

* * *

On Board The Valiant

The speakers on board the Valiant boomed out their warning that the ship was about to proceed to Mars, but if they hadn't, it would have been tough to know that the vessel had moved at all. Apparently, the T-drive doesn't cause vibration when it kicks into gear.

* * *

Near Mars Space, Sol

The Valiant burst into existance inside ICEL-controlled space near the exit terminus of the EMH, drifitng for several thousand meters before returning to a relative halt. The ICEL warships rapidly formed up around the massive freighter/liner, their gunports whirring open in preperation for the half-expected assault; there is no movement from the Valiant or any of the other ships for at least another ten minutes, and no vessels that are docked - except the interceptor escorts - are allowed to vacate the ship.

First, security.

[OOC: If any of you insane piratical types intend to attack the Valiant on her maiden voyage, now is seriously not the time to do it! ;)]

Satisfied that nothing is going to attack, the ICEL warships depart via the Earth-Mars Highway, eventually to return to Earth space.

[OOC: Bumpity kinda thing for those who had ships aboard to haul butt out.]

[OOC: *Peers about.* Hey, I gotta get those ships off the Valiant sometime soon - you're losing us money!... ;P]

[OOC: Though long-sleepy (as I have no intention of giving up the ideas I had for future roleplay with the Valiant), I'm curious if there'd be any interest in rejuvenating this thread?]