NationStates Jolt Archive

OCC: At long last, I present, without further adieu, my long awaited RP epic!

IC:

The Tau-23 system is not exactly the best place to raise a family. Its two habitable planets are deserts, with barely a lake's worth of water between them, at least on the surface.

The system's hundred million or so permanent inhabitants, for the most part, scratch out a living in shanty towns, peddling water or various goods. The better-connected citizens, however, deal with much more valuable materials. It turns out that on both Tau 1 and Tau 2, huge reserves of extremely rare spices sit out in the desert, just waiting to be turned into someone's profit.

The Tau system has been governed for centuries by the royal house of Mooj, and thanks to the miracle of gene therapy, Mooj IX, the current emperor, has outlived five sons and one grandson. The house of Mooj is not a particularly nice one, holding the record for the number of 'desert dumpings' done in one hour. However, given its position atop a large and dedicated military force, backed by a small but proficient space arm and stockpile of atomics, it has held out against every comer.

When traders from The Neu Wirlde arrived, however, the Mooj house failed to realise their intentions. When the Neu Wirlde merchants, having observed the less-than-acceptable social practices of the Mooj dynasty, began raiding inter-system transports, the system began to attract a wide variety of smugglers, pirates, and mercenaries as well as a growing Neu Wirldeish presence.

We join Flotilla Captain Trurl of the Robotic Galactic Flotilla in the deserts of Tau 1:

Standing atop a tall dune, Trurl, a merchant, scientist, and member of the RGF, surveys an odd landmark some kilometers distant.

"Ahoy! Come up, I see something interesting," calls Trurl to his two companions, both humans unlike himself.

By the time Hecox and Reys reach the top of the dune, Trurl is already several hundred meters out ahead, blending in with the desert quite well...

In Space

The independent cruiser RGSV Granny Nice sits well-hidden in a cloud of gas and debris, beyond the scope of the Mooj dynasty's sensors equipment. The Granny Nice had been in the Tau-23 system for almost a year, jumping around the fringes of the region, a ghost on the sensors array. Its crew of fifty operate mostly as support for the freighters operative in the area, but do not engage in raids, or, at least not yet.

OCC: That's where the first installment leaves off. I will have more a'morrow.

The scout suddenly materialised over an unknown planet. The frail scout was not designed for atmospheric flight and struggled before plummeting to the ground.

Displays flashed red as Channing frantically tried to pull up the nose of the craft, with limited success. He hit the big red "Emergency Landing" button, and a vac-suit quickly wrapped around him, and connected up to his helmet. A carbon nanotube shield extended over the cockpit, as the scout crashed and drove through a few metres of ground before coming to a halt. A hatch opened on the side of the scout, with some vital supplies.

The cockpit opened, and Channing stepped out of the wrecked scout. The main body appeared to be in reasonable condition, though the nose was heavily damaged, as were the G-nullifier launch units and the hyperspace jumper. He took the supplies from the hatch on the side, and sat down against the side of his ship to ponder his situation.

~~SUIT STATUS REPORT~~
Initialising...
--LIFE SUPPORT SYSTEMS-- OK
--ATMOSPHERIC SCANNER-- OK
--WEIGHT COMPENSATORS-- OK
--SEISMIC PREDICTOR-- OK
--CHEMICAL ANALYSER-- OK
--WEATHER MEASUREMENT UNIT-- OK
--LONG RANGE HYPERSPACE COMMUNICATOR-- NOT FOUND
Initialising Secondary Communicator . . .
--RADIO COMMUNICATOR-- OK
--SOLAR GENERATOR-- OK
--FUSION GENERATOR-- OK
--WASTE EJECTION SYSTEM-- OK
--OPTICAL ENHANCER PORT-- OK
Scanning for optical enhancements . . .
1 Item found.
Identifying Plugin. . .
--TELESCOPIC VIEWING ENHANCEMENT-- Installing . . . OK
--ENCYCLOPEDIA PLUGIN-- OK
--ENCYCLOPEDIA WRITABLE ARCHIVES-- OK
--SUIT ANALYSER-- OK
Name: Captain David Channing
Vital Signs: Normal
Oxygen Supplies: 100%
Food supplies: 60 days
Water Supplies: 60 days
Suit Integrity: 100%
Atmosphere: Scanning...
Soil Composition: Unknown
Tectonic Activity: Unknown
Weather Patterns: Unknown
Temperature: Scanning...

--INVENTORY ANALYSER-- OK
Contents of Backpack: Scanning . . .
Towel
Contents of Belt: Scanning . . .
Contents of Bandolier: Scanning . . .
Solar Laser Rifle
Contents of Gloves: Scanning . . .
Soil [Composition unknown]

Scanning for new hardware . . .
1 Item found.
Identifying Hardware . . .
--HYPERSPACE WARP UNIT-- Installing . . . Hardware damaged.
Installation failed.
Scanning for new software . . .
2 Items found.
Identifying Software . . .
--BABEL FISH TRANSLATION SYSTEM-- Installing . . . OK
--FUZZY LOGIC SOFTWARE IDENTIFICATION SYSTEM-- Installing . . . OK
Initialisation complete.
~~SUIT STATUS REPORT~~

As he read off the checklist on the visor, his hopes fell as he read - "Long Range Hyperspace communicator not found". His only hope now was for some sort of civilisation, or at least a friendly ship. He threw away the hyperspace warp, which had become little more than a ball of plastic and metal.

He dropped the soil into the suit analysers, and used the (thankfully) still functioning telescopic lenses to search for anything that might mean his salvation.

OOC: Interestingly enough, this fits perfectly, though it may screw up whatever was supposed to happen. You could always follow through then find my guy.

Kynestia danced through the solar wind of the Tau-23 system, her skin the matte blue hull of the Gurguvii Pocket Battleship Ides of March. Sarai was the computerized avatar of the first ship of the Gurguvii New Fleet, made up of experimental craft that would soon replace the vastly outdated Star Destroyers that had served Gurguvungunit for generations. The New Fleet was the pride of Gurguvungunit, and the Ides of March was the pride of that fleet.

It might seem odd, then, to the casual observer, that this ship was cruising on stealth in the backwater nowhere of Tau-23.

Indeed, it seemed odd to the Captain of the Ides, a middle-aged man by the name of Tom McCay. He was under sealed orders, not to be opened until the Ides entered the Tau system itself. Having been on the bridge for the last five hours, Tom was to be found now in Junction9, Corridor 32, Deck 6, where he stood outside his quarters, wishing the door would open.

He pressed the open pad for the ninth time, and each time it gave a negative squawck.

"Kinestya, dammit," Tom ground out. "This is not the time to be playing games." His ship had been given a new AI, one of the Stealth Combat models. Reputed to be the top of the line for single ship combat operations, they were being installed on all ships not actively with the fleet. However, they still had some bugs to work out.

"Aw, Captain, it's so much fun to bait you though," the feminine voice issued from God knew where.

"I have sealed orders in my cabin that require immediate attention. If you won't open this door, I'll have Commander Grabin recompile Hannah." Hannah was the previous AI of the Ides, and had never given him an ounce of trouble.

"Fine, cap'n, but I'll say it now: you're too uptight. Loosen up, the entire crew will thank you." The door swished open.

Captain Thomas McCay
Upon arrival in the Tau-23 system, you shall begin long range observation of all contacts in the area. The Tau-23 system is the only known natural source of a substance which appears to give semi-psychic abilities to the user. It must be secured for use by Gurguvungunit and her allies. You are authorized to use any force necessary should an enemy of Gurguvungunit attempt to take this substance from the Tau-23 system. The substance cannot be allowed to fall into the hands of an enemy nation.
Admiral Lord David Graham, Commander, 3rd Expeditionary Unit

As Channing searched, the suit popped up with the status analysis.

~~SUIT STATUS REPORT~~
Name: Captain David Channing
Vital Signs: Normal
Oxygen Supplies: 100%
Food supplies: 60 days
Water Supplies: 60 days
Suit Integrity: 100%
Atmosphere: Scanning...
Soil Composition: Desert. 1 Anomaly found.
Tectonic Activity: Unknown
Weather Patterns: Unknown
Temperature: 52 degrees

Soil Anomaly: Unknown Compound.
Anomaly Classification: Hallucogenic (ooc: Wha-at?)
Density: 20g per m2

Updating Encyclopedia . . . OK

Contents of Backpack: Scanning . . .
Towel
Contents of Belt: Scanning . . .
Contents of Bandolier: Scanning . . .
Solar Laser Rifle
Contents of Gloves: Scanning . . .
~~SUIT STATUS REPORT~~

All of a sudden, he heard a voice - "Hi there! This is Eddie (ticker tape ticker tape), your Suitboard computer! Just so you know, removing your helmet will get you nicely toasted." There wasn't meant to be an AI! Especially not a hyperoptimistic one! Some engineer's idea of a joke.

He screamed. And ran around in circles. And screamed some more.

Radio waves flowed on all frequencies from the antenna on his suit, transmitting his screams for all to hear.

Spyprobe unit IoM-XIV orbited Tau 2, its hypersensitive antennae picking up all the transmissions from the planet below. A tightbeam transmitter beamed them to the Ides of March, where Ensign Simon Auster sorted through them with the help of Kinestya. In fact, the AI did most of the work, leaving Simon to listen to those that she deemed of value.

Simon yawned, partway through a transmission pack regarding troop movements on the planet below, when it was suddenly replaced by screaming. Loud screaming.

"Kinestya, what just happened?" He dialed down the volume, thus saving himself from a monster headache.

"We picked up a distress signal on the lower third of the Subspace band. It seems to be a person in distress."

"I can see that," Simon replied. He checked the readout. "Looks like our screamer is in an environmental suit registered to the expeditionary arm of the Government of Hakurabi. Better call the Captain." He tapped a button on his wraparound console.

"McCay," a voice said muzzily from the speaker.

"Captain, we have a contact on the surface of Tau 2, seems to be a person wearing an environmental suit hailing from Hakurabi. He's screaming his head off right now, and he's doing it on the radio."

"I'll be right there."

In Space

The RGSV Buffalo Soldier, a freighter/escort, pulls in close to the heavily damaged Tau System Patrol cruiser, ambushed by no less than five RGF freighters.

"Attention Tauish sailors! Please surrender or we will have no choice but to take your ship by force!"

The captain of the Buffalo Soldier prepares to rush through the airlock and into the cruiser. Armed with a PPSh-2400 plasma SMG, a common weapon among freighter crews who face a good deal more threats than the large, powerful independent cruisers, Captain Kandinsky looks back at the boarding team.

"GO!"

They rush through the airlock, weapons at the ready.

The interior of the ship is wrecked, obviously leaking gasses. Wounded sailors lay around the airlock, and the boarding team quickly brings them aboard.

"What do we do with it?" asks one of the freighter crewmembers.

Kandinsky looks at the cruiser and its crew, and decides to destroy it.

"We'll collect all their wounded first, and then put some charges in the engineering compartment. That should do the trick."
"Aye."

Within a half hour, the TSP's best ship is destroyed.

On Tau 1

When Trurl reaches the rock face, he is met by something very interesting.

"Look at these! Quick, bring up the cameras!"

Covering the rocks are markings, incredibly similar to those found in the Karos system.

"It can't be! That's light-years away!"

Trurl looks over the whole area, searching for anything that would point its origins elsewhere. His companions set up the camera equipment and record the entire area, without ignoring even the slightest detail.

Immediately, the recordings are transmitted to the Granny Nice via secure sub-etha net connection. Trurl had arrived in the Tau-23 system with the intent to wait until the Mooj dynasty is overthrown, and with rebel elements stirring more and more by the day, it can't be long.

"A patrol!"

Trurl looks southward, and notices a pair of small black specks against the setting sun.

"We'll hide here. They couldn't have seen us."

Trurl and his companions collect their gear and duck into a small niche at the base of the rock, still covered with the language. The high winds make it very difficult to see even the last few footprints made by anyone, and the Mooj forces' scanner equipment, as far as Trurl knows, isn't good enough to pick up his sub-etha transmission.

But fortunately, the patrol isn't looking for archaeologists, but rather rebels.

"I got contacts, sir!" calls the orinthopter pilot.

A huge, bearded man staggers foreward and looks into the infra-red scope. His bulk, coupled with his desert clothing and weaponry, takes up three places in the 'thopter, but as a nephew of Mooj IX himself, no expense can be spared.

"Set us down. Looks like a host there. We can take 'em."

The twenty special rangers carried in this particular 'thopter collectively swallow their hearts, and the pilot lowers the craft to a landing on a rock formation.

The ramp drops, and out comes the platoon. The other 40 rangers carried on the other, larger orinthopter soon arrive, and are surprised to no longer be in view of the rebel forces.

Only several kilometers away, a squadron of around 200 rebels of the PTDF movement approach slowly and stealthily, conditioned from life in the desert. Carrying a wide range of plasma, needler, and explosive weaponry, the squadron moves alongside the spine of rock.

On Tau 2

The robot Stanislaw Iirl walks through the desert, carrying a cartographer's kit. Like Trurl, Stanislaw is an RGF member assigned to perouse the Tau system until the Mooj dynasty is overthrown.

He surmounts a dune, and notices a tangled mass of metal not far away.

"Hello!"

~~SUIT STATUS REPORT~~
Name: Captain David Channing
Vital Signs: Normal
Oxygen Supplies: 100%
Food supplies: 60 days
Water Supplies: 60 days
Suit Integrity: 100%
Atmosphere: Scanning...
Soil Composition: Desert. 1 Anomaly found.
Tectonic Activity: Unknown
Weather Patterns: Unknown
Temperature: 52 degrees

Contents of Backpack: Scanning . . .
Towel
Contents of Belt: Scanning . . .
Planetary soil sample [1]
Contents of Bandolier: Scanning . . .
Solar Laser Rifle
Contents of Gloves: Scanning . . .
~~SUIT STATUS REPORT~~

His mouth now very dry, he sat down and began trying to find a way to shut down the blasted computer.

Searching through the encyclopedia, he hit upon the "disable software" function, and promptly used it. "Hi th-" He breathed a sigh of relief, and took a drink before continuing to search for help. Spotting a robot moving about in the distance, he began jumping up and down and waving.

Tau 2

Stanislaw heads towards Channing, moving at a fast clip.

Iirl first instinct is to find his stash of gear and pull out a medical kit, but it appears to the robot that the human in the distance is uninjured, judging by how he is jumping around.

Doctor Kate Emanuel sipped her coffee. She had just finished a metallurgy experiment on some space debris recovered in the Baras sector thought to be of Progenitor manufacture. It had caught the eye of a freighter captain who had delivered it to Rossindale University, the only university in the Andromeda Galaxy with a department devoted to Progenitor study.

The field was, for the most part, not taken seriously. There was scant evidence that one race had laid the galactic groundwork for those that came after, and left only the wreckage of that race behind. No records, no monuments, no offshoot races. It was as though they had vanished.

Once, Kate Emanuel had been a rising star in the scientific community. That had been ten years and innumerable faliures ago. Now, she and her husband, Doctor Adam Paret, were the only staffers of Rossendale's Progenitor studies department. Kate, who now stared across the table at her husband and colleague, was intent on changing fields to Anthropology, and it was only Adam, her last supporter in the academic community, that kept her from immediately closing down her field of study. The last piece of metal couldn't have helped, either. It was nothing. Only a piece of armour from a junked Victory Class destroyer formerly of the Gurguvii Navy that had somehow acquired the distinctive Progenitor radiation signature. Nothing more than interstellar trash. Kate sighed.

"Adam, I'm tired of all this," she groussed. "What are the Progenitors but a myth that I've followed all these years, managed to drag you into, and finally used to unwittingly ruin both of our careers?" Her husband shrugged. He had never been one to give up.

"Kate, I've got a feeling that we're just around the corner... I mean, really, really close to finding this thing. We just have to be patient."

"I'm done being patient. I've worked for twenty years in this field, and at my age any doctor should have her retirement well planned out, with trips to Earth, Elysia and Valhalla, all lined up. But where are we? We're in a dingy building that Rossendale only hangs onto because we pay them money that should pay for our mortgage, and at any rate, I'm sure it's filled with asbestos." Her voice was bitter. She'd once had it so good. She'd been ready to make her proposal to the scientific community, ready to recieve her Nobel Prize, ready to be seen as the biggest thing in archaeology since the discovery of fossilized life on Mars back in the 21st Century. And one day she'd had her hopes dashed by the debacle at Karos, where a ship of Gurguvungunit had been lost, and another nearly so. After that, the government had pulled their funding, and she'd never done hands on work since.

If only, the tiny, optimistic part of Kate hoped, a new discovery was made, some new information made its way to her tiny, perhaps toxic lab. They maybe, it might be worthwhile.

~~SUIT STATUS REPORT~~
Name: Captain David Channing
Vital Signs: Normal
Oxygen Supplies: 99%
Food supplies: 60 days
Water Supplies: 59.90 days
Suit Integrity: 99.5%
<WARNING! SUIT NOT DESIGNED FOR HIGH TEMPERATURES!>
Atmosphere: Scanning...
(OOC: Could you let me know at least 3 primary atmospheric components?)
Soil Composition: Desert. 1 Anomaly found.
Tectonic Activity: Unknown
Weather Patterns: Unknown
Temperature: 52.4 degrees

Contents of Backpack: Scanning . . .
Contents of Belt: Scanning . . .
Planetary soil sample [1]
Contents of Bandolier: Scanning . . .
Contents of Gloves: Scanning . . .
Solar Laser Rifle with towel attached.
~~SUIT STATUS REPORT~~

Channing tied the towel to the stock of the rifle and began waving it (the rifle, not the towel) from side to side, soon clambering onto the crashed vessel to increase visibility.

He used the radio message to send a short range all-frequency message that his suit was not designed for such temperatures, and would soon fail.

"Omni Prime reached."

As the cold, robotic female voice spoke out those words, the captain of the ship grumbled. He wore a rather large and black power suit, customary of the Omni-Tek's Unicorns. They all were Unicorns, the proclaimed elite of the Omni-Tek Armed Forces.

Using the autopilot is rather... Boring. Just as are most trips through hyperspace. But it let the crew take things easier for a while. He looked around him. The rest were still asleep. He could tell. He looked at them and their suits were indicating that they were still in standby mode. Apparently the link wasn't working too well.

"WAKE UP, YOU MISERABLE IDIOTS! WE HAVE REACHED OMNI PRIME!"

Yeah, that always worked. And it worked this time, too. He grinned wryly underneath his suit as he looked at the others' suits starting to warm up.

"Good to see you're still alive, men."

No one answered as such. All he could hear was silent grumbling. He waited for half a minute.

"So, any signs of... Anything?"

"No signs of Omni-Tek, sir. But there are some... Odd..."

"What?!"

"This system is where Omni Prime should be, but the planets are all wrong. They are where they are supposed to be, but there shouldn't be two habitable planets here. And they shouldn't be in a worse state than Rubi-Ka."

The captain growled and hit the armrest of his command chair, almost breaking it. Of course nothing can go as planned. Ever. And who the hell's going to pay their wages now if Omni-Tek is nonextant?

"Plot a course to the closest of the two. Tell the other ship to follow. I want to know what the hell is going on here."

Two different men said the same word, "Done," at the same time. But since they had their suits on, it sounded like one man saying it. Just amplified a lot.

"Good. Let's see what we have here."

In Space

There is almost always some kind of fight in the Tau-23 system, mostly involving the RGF freighter/escorts raiding and destroying the Mooj dynasty's orbital infrastructure.

The Granny Nice remains tucked away in its debris field, but the freighter/escorts are still ships to be reckoned with.

The arrival of a Gurgvii ship attracts some attention, and two freighter/escorts take time off from their busy schedule of raiding and blockading to pay it a visit.

Tau 2

Stanislaw finally reaches Channing's position.

"Are you alright?," asks the robot. "I have some medical equipment, and could show you to my shelter, which isn't far."

Not far to Stanislaw, endowed with almost infinite endurance, and not far to Mr. Channing are likely two very different things, and with the Tauish armed forces more aggressive than ever, the sight of two figures, one of them a greatly loathed robot, trudging through the desert will likely prompt a violent response. But at nightfall, when the cold and wildlife generally deter patrols, Stanislaw will consider it safest to travel.

"We should quickly part from this wreckage, friend, as I suspect that there is already a patrol headed our way."

Tau 1

"Look at this. It reminds me of the Vibro artifact. A map it seems."

Trurl shines his lantern on the wall of the cave, which is covered with what looks very much like a star chart.

"All of this strikes me as extremely similar to the Karos relic. And look at this...do you think this marking is the graveyard itself?"

One of Trurl's companions motions for him to shut out the light.

"There is gunfire in the basin!"

Trurl looks out at the starry sky, and then at the small bay of desert surrounded by a formation of rock. Sure enough, the telltale flashes of Imperial weaponry could be seen, as well as movement along the rock.

"They couldn't have seen us," says Trurl. "Come on, we must sketch these markings."

About 24 kilometers away from Trurl's position

"WHERE IS OUR AIR COVER?!?!" shouts Prince Talbag I, the aforementioned nephew, clutching the young FAC by his collar.

"On their way, sir! I don't know whats..."
"DAMNED INCOMPETENCE!"

Talbag hurls the FAC to the ground, and picks up his plasma rifle.

"Bashar! Ready your men for a charge, we must break these vermin!"

While devoid of heavy weaponry, the rebel snipers take a heavy toll on the force of Imperial Rangers. Slowly but surely, the main body of rebel troops advances towards the Rangers' position, surrounding it within several hours. However, the sight of the Rangers hurtling over the rockface and right into the largest concentration of rebel fighters takes them by surprise.

Several moments of desperate close quarters fighting send the rebels fleeing into the desert, carrying their wounded as best as possible.

"Ah, see what it takes to tame these animals. Cold steel."
"Of course sir."
"Now, we will wait here for an evacuation."

About 60 kilometers away from Talbag's holdout

A group of five orinthopters sit on the desert floor, many tossed on their side by the wind, all eerily quiet. A group of RGF commandos and rebels, inserted secretly into the desert, had set a trap for them. Using a fake Imperial Army distress beacon, they had caused the evacuation force to land in the wrong spot. By the time the 'imperial' troops boarded the orinthopters, it was too late for the pilots to realize their mistakes. Most had their necks broken or throats slit, but two pilots were taken prisoner for interrogation.

Unfortunately for Talbag, the evacuation force will not arrive for some time.

Captain Tom McCay sat bleary eyed in his command chair on the Ides of March, watching the two incoming LRR freighters.

"Lieutenant Sassoon, please prepare a welcome comittee," the captain ordered. The directive was addressed to his second in command, First Lieutenant Tara Sassoon. The First Lieutenant was an auburn haired woman in her middle thirties who had served aboard the Ides three years longer than the captain himself, and who had been dissappointed when McCay had been given the command over her head. In the years since, she had made her peace with the captain, but they were not friends, and likely never would be. Tara nodded curtly and marched off the bridge.

At the docking port, Tara stood at attention, flanked by the Fifth and Sixth Lieutenant, who were themselves bordered by a line of Gurguvii Marines. The hatch began to whisk open.

Pausing only to grab his beloved hat from the side of the cockpit, Channing agreed to follow the robot (who promptly introduced itself as Stanislaw), and began trudging away from the ship, with the robot. It was right, of course - The sight of a polished metal ship (even if it WAS only a scout) in the blazing sun was obvious, if not blatantly so.

~~SUIT STATUS REPORT~~
Name: Captain David Channing
Vital Signs: Normal
Oxygen Supplies: 99%
Food supplies: 60 days
Water Supplies: 59.90 days
Suit Integrity: 99%
<WARNING! SUIT NOT DESIGNED FOR HIGH TEMPERATURES!>
Atmosphere: Detected. Analysing...
<ACTIVATING FUSION REACTOR> . . . OK
(OOC: Just the three main gases. Please?)
Soil Composition: Desert. 1 Anomaly found.
Tectonic Activity: Unknown
Weather Patterns: Unknown
Temperature: 52.4 degrees

Contents of Backpack: Scanning . . .
Towel
Hat
Contents of Belt: Scanning . . .
Planetary soil sample [1]
Contents of Bandolier: Scanning . . .
Solar Laser Rifle
Contents of Gloves: Scanning . . .
~~SUIT STATUS REPORT~~

While they were aware of the... Presence of ships in the system, they chose to just ignore those present. It was obvious enough that they were uninvited guests in a system not controlled by them. The less attractive targets they would make of themselves, the better. Stealth was their only ally. If you don't count the multitude of weaponry on the Unicorn transport craft.

"Sir. We now have a good visual reading on the planet."

They were using the comms on their suits, so the voice came from no direction in particular. Though, the HUD on his suit's helmet showed the general direction of it.

"Alright. Show me."

And so, the outside video feed input was directly linked to his suit, and he really saw it. Almost as though he had been there. It was nothing new for him as such, but he still was somewhat awed by what he saw. In the negative way.

He stood up.

"As you can see, sir, it is a desert planet. A barren wasteland."

"The hell? This is where Omni Prime is supposed to be, isn't it?"

"You're right, sir."

"I thought terraforming was supposed to be permanent..."

"It is, sir, in a way. The planet can revert back to its former self if the weather control devices and such start to malfunction, but it'd take centuries, maybe even several millennia. Especially in this kind of extent."

"But it's been decades..."

"Yeah. It's pretty obvious that things aren't the same anymore."

"Damn it. Are you sure this is the right system?"

"All the readings are right. This is the place," said someone else on the bridge.

The captain practically collapsed down to his chair.

"What the hell should we do..."

"We'll soon be in the planet's orbit, sir."

"Alright. And I'll have to think what we'll do next."

(OOC: They're closing in on Tau 2, methinks.)

In Space

A shuttle pulls away from the freighter Buffalo Soldier, bearing Captain Kandinsky. It soon reaches the Ides of March, and enters the docking bay smoothly.

Kandinsky walks out of the shuttle, followed by two other crewmembers, who don't walk much further than the stairs before stopping.

"Its a pleasure to meet you. I'm captain Isaac Kandinsky."

Tau 2

Stanislaw leads Channing northwest, and after about two hours of walking, they reach a rock face, identified by Stanislaw as an indicator of a watery past for the Tau system.

"I've been using here as my base of operations for the past year. There are provisions in that cave nearest to you."

Stanislaw enters the mouth of the cave, relatively small and handily obscure opening in the rough, wind and water-shaped cliffside. Once in the cave, spaces become much larger. A large network of passages runs under the butte, allowing for a quick getaway if need be.

OCC: I'll have other posts replied to shortly.

~~SUIT STATUS REPORT~~
Name: Captain David Channing
Vital Signs: Normal
Oxygen Supplies: 99.2%
Food supplies: 60 days
Water Supplies: 59.90 days
Suit Integrity: 99.2%
<SUIT AUTO-REPAIR ENGAGED>
Atmosphere: Detected. Analysing...
Major Atmospheric Gases: Oxygen.
<ACTIVATING SUIT FILTERS> OK
(OOC: Assuming there's at least breathable amounts of Oxygen.)
Soil Composition: Desert. 1 Anomaly found.
Tectonic Activity: Unknown
Weather Patterns: Unknown
Temperature: 52.4 degrees

Contents of Backpack: Scanning . . .
Towel
Hat
Contents of Belt: Scanning . . .
Planetary soil sample [1]
Contents of Bandolier: Scanning . . .
Solar Laser Rifle
Contents of Gloves: Scanning . . .
~~SUIT STATUS REPORT~~

Channing thanked Stanislaw, and enquired about the strange compunds in the sand, before proceeding into the cave. He had a look over the provisions, searching for anything that might be useful, eventually finding a piece of carbon wire, which was promptly threaded into his towel. He continued to rummage through the supplies, searching for some sort of mapping utility, which would be invaluable in refinding this cave.

OCC: Sorry for the absence of the past few days. All you other parties can continue RPing, but don't expect any major posts from me until the week. Perhaps it would be a good idea for you to dispatch envoys to Mooj IX's palace or at least to one of the planets. It won't be difficult to land, considering that RGF ships did a pretty good job of cleaning out the Imperial space forces.

First Lieutenant Sassoon guided Captain Kadinski to the Captain McCay's ready room, making polite, diplomatic conversation. Two turbolifts, three corridors and twelve minutes later, The entourage filed in, and McCay stood to meet and greet the envoys from LRR. After a few minutes of semi-diplomatic wrangling, McCay took his First Lieutenant aside.

"Tara," he whispered, annoying her with the useage of her first name. "Tell Major Whitting to dispatch scouts to the planets. Have her report back any findings immediately." The captain turned away, back to his discussion with Kadinski.

Tara excused herself and slipped out the door, hitting the call button on her compad.

"Sassoon to Major Whitting," she said into the device. It beeped, interfacing with Kynestia to find the officer in question.

"Whitting here," came the deceptively controlled voice of the ship's Fighter Commander and resident hell-raiser.

"Major, the captain has asked that you dispatch scout patrols to the planets Tau 1 and 2, and attempt to ascertain the current situation regarding the Mooj Imperium."

"I'll go myself, ma'am," came the reply.

Kandinsky looks around apprehensively, noticing the amount of whispering going around the Gurgvii officers. He doesn't quite know how he will be recieved, being the de-facto leader of the RGF squadron sent to destabilize the Mooj empire.

Channing, continuing to rummage through the pile of junk, found a small compass (soon integrated into the system and a display generated on the GUI). As improbable that it may be, the encyclopedia contained information on a mapping program, soon copied and installed.

~~SUIT STATUS REPORT~~
Name: Captain David Channing
Vital Signs: Normal
Oxygen Supplies: 99.8%
Food supplies: 60 days
Water Supplies: 59.90 days
Suit Integrity: 100%
Atmosphere: Detected. Analysing...
Major Atmospheric Gases: Oxygen, Nitrogen.
Soil Composition: Desert. 1 Anomaly found.
Tectonic Activity: Unknown
Weather Patterns: Unknown
Temperature: 30 degrees
<COMPASS INTEGRATING> . . . OK
Facing: East
<MAP FUNCTION INSTALLING> Installing . . . OK
<ADDING LANDMARK: STANISLAW'S CAVE> Adding . . . OK

Contents of Backpack: Scanning . . .
Towel
Hat
Contents of Belt: Scanning . . .
Planetary soil sample [1]
Contents of Bandolier: Scanning . . .
Solar Laser Rifle
Contents of Gloves: Scanning . . .
~~SUIT STATUS REPORT~~

Channing, tired, sat down and waited for whoever Stanislaw was working for to show up.

Near where two ships are having it out, a stray beam passes withen a few feet of a small ship drifting through the system. Hostile action detected, wakeing pilot, reactors to 100%, sensors online. A moment later, from where the beam had passed, both ships detect an energy spike, just before the kind of energy firepower that you would expect from a modist sized warship tears into them both. Later as both ships expand into clouds of debrie orbiting the shatterd hulks, the cause of there distruction is anilizeing it own situation, Shealds down 70%,sheald generators 1,2, distroyed, 3, heavly damaged, 4, online, upper left wepons pylon, heavly damaged, heavy plasma cannon #1, distroyed, reactor 2, low on coolent and offline, land for repairs?

Channing, continuing to rummage through the pile of junk, found a small compass (soon integrated into the system and a display generated on the GUI). As improbable that it may be, the encyclopedia contained information on a mapping program, soon copied and installed.

~~SUIT STATUS REPORT~~
Name: Captain David Channing
Vital Signs: Normal
Oxygen Supplies: 99.8%
Food supplies: 60 days
Water Supplies: 59.90 days
Suit Integrity: 100%
Atmosphere: Detected. Analysing...
Major Atmospheric Gases: Oxygen, Nitrogen.
Soil Composition: Desert. 1 Anomaly found.
Tectonic Activity: Unknown
Weather Patterns: Unknown
Temperature: 30 degrees
<COMPASS INTEGRATING> . . . OK
Facing: East
<MAP FUNCTION INSTALLING> Installing . . . OK
<ADDING LANDMARK: STANISLAW'S CAVE> Adding . . . OK

Contents of Backpack: Scanning . . .
Towel
Hat
Contents of Belt: Scanning . . .
Planetary soil sample [1]
Contents of Bandolier: Scanning . . .
Solar Laser Rifle
Contents of Gloves: Scanning . . .
~~SUIT STATUS REPORT~~

Channing, tired, sat down and waited for whoever Stanislaw was working for to show up.


After a few hours of waiting, it might become apparent to Channing that Stanislaw is essentially on his own on Tau 2. But the caves still contain large amounts of various junk collected by Stanislaw over the years, presumably remnants of aborted solar collectors or sub-etha transmitters.

"I will be heading into the capital tomorrow. There's a spaceport there, although using it is risky. If you want, I could get you to Tau 1, and from there to a freighter home, wherever home might be for you. Would you like to come?"

Meanwhile, on Tau 1, Trurl and his companions continue to gape at the markings, looking more and more like those in Karos by the minute.

Outside, the deep dark permits movement. Removing an electronic thumb from his large bag of gear, Trurl signals for pickup. After about three hours of waiting, a bright streak lights up the surrounding desert, drawing the attention of the Imperial Rangers holed up not far away.

Before long, the silver shape of an RGF shuttle, designed for landing and taking off from planets, materializes out of the sky. The only adaptation made to the current operating environment is the installation of broad-foot landing legs, which prevent the otherwise spindly gear from sinking into the sand.

The crew chief drops the rear ramp, and his shadow is shilouetted by the shuttle's internal lights.

"Get aboard! We picked up IR contacts!"

Trurl and the two assistants gather up their bags of equipment and hurry aboard the shuttle, which shoots off into the sky as soon as they get aboard.

~~SUIT STATUS REPORT~~
Name: Captain David Channing
Vital Signs: Normal
Oxygen Supplies: 99.8%
Food supplies: 60 days
Water Supplies: 59.90 days
Suit Integrity: 100%
Atmosphere: Detected. Analysing...
Major Atmospheric Gases: Oxygen, Nitrogen.
Soil Composition: Desert. 1 Anomaly found.
Tectonic Activity: Unknown
Weather Patterns: Unknown
Temperature: 30 degrees
Facing: South West

Contents of Backpack: Scanning . . .
Towel
Hat
Contents of Belt: Scanning . . .
Planetary soil sample [1]
Contents of Bandolier: Scanning . . .
Solar Laser Rifle
Contents of Gloves: Scanning . . .
~~SUIT STATUS REPORT~~

"Indeed? Well, why not? I might not be able to get home, but I used to be a weapons officer before I became a Starship captain. You're obviously fighting against someone, or you wouldn't have a shelter here. I've no qualms about helping someone who has helped me."

As the ship approches Tau 1, it gets close enough to make out on sensors, the overwhelming thought on getting a good look at it is, "What the heck?" the resion for this reaction is the size of the ship, it is smaller then the missels used by most intersteller starships, much less the ships themselves.
As it enters the planets atmosphere, it slows rapidly as it stars to look for someplace to land.

Tech data, skip if not interisted. The ship is eightteen feet long, about that tall, and about that wide, in other words, its about half the size of a TIE fighter. In apperince, you have a main body, about twelve feet long, four feet wide, and three and a half feet tall, from each corner of the main body extends a wepons pylon, with a heavy plasma cannon at the end. Halfway along each pylon is where the thrusters are placed, four in all. Between the thrusters that are on the same side ot the ship, there is a fission pile, of a good old fasion nuckler reactor. On the top of the ship is where you would find the shealding, four six-hundred megawhatt shild generators. On the underside of the lower two pylons, you will find two fuel-rod cannons, slow fireing, slow moving, but highly distructive energy weopons. Also on the underbelly, you will find two light plasma guns, two medium plasma cannons, and a heavy railgun. The final weopon the ship carries is a pair of ripper missles, desigend to go through energy shilds, as well as energy based point defence systems. Now, before any calls me a godmoder on this fact, anything more then an inch or so of steel will stop them cold. As far as other equpment on the ship goes, it has an imppresivly large sensor array,and a small anti-gravity pod with juse enough power to nutrilize the ships own weight, with a ten percent failsafe. it should be noted that there is -no- sign of a FTL drive or life suport equpment, and it was only with the removel of such equpment that such a heavy weopons to size ratio was alowed.

OOC:

Reploid Rebelion, something you should understand. First off, my ship, at least, is a Pocket Battleship. It is nearly as powerful as an Imperial Class Star Destroyer, which is the benchmark I'm using since Star Wars seems to be a universe that you're familiar with.

Its defences are mainly ablative armour, rather than shields, since shields can go down and up for a variety of reasons. I doubt that a 'medium sized cruiser' whatever that is, could destroy it with a single weapon salvo.

I really don't know how to respond to your action. It's sort of hard to continue roleplaying in a space RP when your entire presence in the system was wiped out in a dubious manner.

Any thoughts from the rest of you? I'd welcome input here. If the vast noise from you all is to remove the pole from my rear and continue on, then that's fine.

~~SUIT STATUS REPORT~~
Name: Captain David Channing
Vital Signs: Normal
Oxygen Supplies: 99.8%
Food supplies: 60 days
Water Supplies: 59.90 days
Suit Integrity: 100%
Atmosphere: Detected. Analysing...
Major Atmospheric Gases: Oxygen, Nitrogen.
Soil Composition: Desert. 1 Anomaly found.
Tectonic Activity: Unknown
Weather Patterns: Unknown
Temperature: 30 degrees
Facing: South West

Contents of Backpack: Scanning . . .
Towel
Hat
Contents of Belt: Scanning . . .
Planetary soil sample [1]
Contents of Bandolier: Scanning . . .
Solar Laser Rifle
Contents of Gloves: Scanning . . .
~~SUIT STATUS REPORT~~

"Indeed? Well, why not? I might not be able to get home, but I used to be a weapons officer before I became a Starship captain. You're obviously fighting against someone, or you wouldn't have a shelter here. I've no qualms about helping someone who has helped me."


"I'm not fighting anybody," says Stanislaw, "But my, er...organization, is trying to overthrow the government on these systems. I do not know of any use for your skills as a weapons officer, but perhaps a freighter would find it handy to have an extra crewman."

With that, Stanislaw shuts himself off for the night.

About an hour before daybreak, Stanislaw reactivates, and looks around his caves.

OOC Did I ever say it was your ship, I was refering to a minor fight between a cargo craft, and a minor raider atracted to the system by the existing raiding, and you might want to note that it wasen't just one salvo, it was several, in which my ship recived only a singel hit, but that hit form a rather weak weopon distroyed most of the shealds, and one of the heaver guns on it.

Channing sighed. There was no getting any more out of him. Soon, he too fell asleep.

In the morning, he travelled with Stanislaw to the capital, wondering what fortune would befall him there.

Channing sighed. There was no getting any more out of him. Soon, he too fell asleep.

In the morning, he travelled with Stanislaw to the capital, wondering what fortune would befall him there.

While Stanislaw would usually walk across the desert to reach the capital of Tau 1, seat of Emperor Mooj IX, a safer road, the presence of Channing convinces him to instead make for a mining road not terribly far away, where they would probably be able to catch a spice tanker.

Stanislaw wraps himself up in the traditional desert clothing, changing his appearance from gangly and metallic to old and haggard. Once satisfied with the disguise, the robot proceeds into the desert, hoping to reach the road by daylight in order to avoid a long walk in the sun.

After walking for around two hours, a thin strip of off-color ground appears in the distance. A cloud of dust rises from several kilometers away, announcing the presence of a spice tanker, empty judging by its speed.

Virgo Supercluster, Local Group Cluster, Supersector 253, Gibran Sector, inside the Tau-23 system

The space cruiser TSS Electron Spin Up
(OOC note: TSS ships signify Space Force, TSN signifies Navy)

Shit.

Major Matt Anderson looked out on the central command area of the Electron Spin Up. He knew, as did the rest of his crew, that the new set of orders to patrol Gibran for Tiburonese and allied interests were a farce.

Farce? More like a death sentence.

Historically, Tiburon didn't have much interest in Gibran. There was one ally, the LRR nation, that had some influence in the area, but Tiburon never liked undermining an ally's ability to pursue mutual interests. All in all, Gibran was more of a place where political prisoners- people who the madman overseeing 253 didn't like- were shuffled to.

Ah, well. That guy's going to get court-martialled for his behavior, just watch.

Anderson brought up the 3-radar. It wasn't really a radar- although actual radars worked, they weren't nearly good enough for even a third-rate force by this time- but the name had stuck since the 1940s. What he saw was a little interesting. A large accumulation of ships from neutral countries- that could be good or bad. And a few LRR ships. That was good. On the COPEME (Commander's Personal Messaging) System, he signaled the LRR ships in the vicinity.

<Transmission, TSS Electron Spin Up, Classification=0>
<To: [Nation=LRR, Shiptype=all]>
<Speed: 80k TBpms>

All allied ships,

This is the Tiburonese Space Force cruiser Electron Spin Up. Is there anything we need to do? What's going on?

"Umm...nothing," is the general sense of the response that the Neo-Tiburonese ships would get.

After all, trying to destabilize a soveriegn nation is not something looked upon favorably by most nations.

However, the RGF does have a reason. The ruling Mooj dynasty is guilty of some fairly heinous crimes against its people, not the least of which is forcing a good deal of the population to work day in and day out in the spice mines.

All this will, of course, if things go as planned, change quite quickly.

OCC: I'll get back to Trurl's journey, the main storyline in this story, within the next few posts.

Channing sighed. There was no getting any more out of him. Soon, he too fell asleep.

In the morning, he travelled with Stanislaw to the capital, wondering what fortune would befall him there.

Oh...
(I wish they had an embarrased emoticon)

In THAT case... never mind. X(

IC:

Major Rachel Whitting strapped into her personal Interceptor, and slapped the engine engagement button. The diamond shaped craft began to hum with internal power, the trefoil engine assembly beginning to glow an electric pink. Status readouts shone to life, and engine readouts climbed into the full power range.

"White Leader to White Flight," Rachel commed to the other two fighters in her recon group. "Report readiness." It wasn't her usual squadron, but instead a pair of Recon jockeys whom she had little faith in as a unit.

"White Two, three engines powered up, weapons nominal." The first voice was male, and sounded seasoned enough.

"White Three, three green, guns hot." The second voice was young. So young that Rachel couldn't discern the gender of the speaker. Bad sign.

"White Flight, launch and form up outside the hangar." The two pilots acknoledged, and Rachel gunned her engines. She slid open her cockpit and shouted "Clear" to the assembled personnel. The Major snapped her cockpit back into place, initialized the seal, and shoved the throttle to full. Her ship screamed out of the bay, leaving black streaks on the deck.

Bridge
Fourth Lieutenant Emil Ratha scanned his sensor grid. Ships scuttled from place to place, most of them freighters or light raider ships. Two were engaged in combat, and each was holding its own.
Suddenly, another signal appeared. It was a little larger than a Gurguvii Interceptor, but the readout classified it as a light cruiser. Lieutenant Ratha cocked his head to one side, hoping that this would provide more information.
The little ship fired.
The others exploded.

"Crap."

As the ship nears the atmosphere, it slows abruptly to a halt. Over the next few half hour, it's mass slowly starts to decrease, till its down to only a few grams. Only at this point does the ship start to slowly, and with great care, start to enter the atmosphere.

The length of travel from their last position to the orbit of the planet was quite short when interplanetary travel is concerned. No one had reacted to their presence. No one. Even if the passive sensors did pick up something that looked a bit like space ships.

"What an unimpressive planet..."

"Most desert planets are, sir."

"Are we getting anything from it?"

"Not really. Preliminary scans say that it's just what it looks like - a desert planet with some life. Some human settlements here and there."

"Anything else?"

"One odd anomaly we can't really discern. We need more time to scan the planet more thoroughly."

"Interesting."

Some time passed, and the captain thought. They'd have to do something. Well, not have to, but it'd be a prudent. He went with the obvious.

"Any larger settlements on the planet?"

"Yes. Why?"

"We should send an envoy there. One of them on the other ship and a couple of our people to keep him or her safe."

"Do you want to give the order?"

"Of course."

And he did.

To make a long and boring story much shorter, the captain of the Unicorn transport sent a transmission to the modified ICC transport. Shortly after, a shuttle was sent from the ICC transport to the Unicorn ship with a couple of people in it, a pilot and a suitable representative. Then, the representative left the shuttle, which at that point returned back to the ICC transport. This representative walked into a Unicorn shuttle, one more suited for the members of the Unicorn Company and took a seat especially made for this person.

Then, the shuttle took off and left for the outskirts of the largest settlement on the planet they could find with such a short notice. Its re-entry was a rather comfortable one. Quickly enough, it had begun its descent to the ground. Soon they would be on the planet.

(OOC: Tau-2.)

"Captain Kadinski, allow me to apologize for my behavior. My people had to discuss something with me, and--" An alarm started to beep on Tom's desk. "Excuse me, Captain. I have a priority one message which requires my immediate attention." He slapped the button, irritated.

"Captain McCay." The voice on the other end was Lieutenant Ratha, and the normally calm officer seemed slightly frantic.

"Captain, sensors have just recorded a small battle in the system. Two ships were engaged in combat with each other, when another fighter sized vessel suddenly appeared. It fired, and the weapons registered as cruiser grade. Then it disappeared again sir." The captain listened with growing alarm. Any ship like that could seriously threaten the stability of a system. More ships could bring a nation to its knees.

"Sound Standby Alert. Inform Major Whitting of your discovery. I'll be right there," Tom said hurridly. He modulated his tone and returned to his guest. "Captain, you are of course invited to accompany me to the bridge."

Kandinsky follows McCay to the bridge of the Gurgvii cruiser, reflecting on how different it is from the cockpits on RGF vessels, designed only to house four to six personnel.

The ship's sensors probably have no trouble detecting the numerous freighter/escorts operating in the Tau system, although the Granny Nice, hidden in a large dust cloud, is almost impossible to see.

"So, what's going on?"

Meanwhile, the small silver shuttle pulls into the docking bay of the great cruiser RGSV Granny Nice.

"Trurl! Its good to see you!" says the reptilliod captain, Imomali Usmon.

Trurl and the two assistants brush themselves off, as they are all covered in dust from their time on Tau 1.

"Imomali, we have made a major discovery! Quick, to the lab!"

OOC It wasen't invisabul, just powered down. But as it is slowly entering the atmospher, the one functional fission, and the eight micro-fusion tanks are all running at full power, so it should show up nicely.

OOC: You said it shrunk. My sensors are based off of mass and power signatures. Your ship would show up on my sensors as a high powered micrometeorite. It's a design flaw, but the improved sensor technology is new, so the bugs are still being worked out.

"Captain," Tom replied, two vessels were destroyed in this system a few minutes ago, by a ship the size of a fighter, with the weapons of a light cruiser. It appears to have the ability to cloak, as well. We're trying to find it, but until then, the ship is on Standby Alert."

As the ship enters the ionisphere, its makeing all of twenty miles an hour, and slowing. The ship also begins to start scaninng with an array of old fashion radar, lidar, gamma-ray detection, gravatayic sensors, and only a singal, very limited, FTL sensor.

OOC: I would like to apoligise for my poor spelling, I try to catch what I can, but thats usualy not much.

"What's that?"

~~SUIT UPDATE~~
Scanners report similar compounds to Unknown hallucogenic.
Appears to have substantial value.

Conclusion: The hallucinative appears to be used in some useful way.
~~SUIT UPDATE~~

Channing shrugged to himself. He was obviously supposed to sneak in in some way. He still had his laser rifle, and if all else failed, he could threaten the hapless driver. He still preferred to do things quietly, or reasonable so.

He removed his rifle from the bandolier, and took careful aim. Pulling the trigger, a beam of light pierced the back of the truck, creating a rather noticeable hole in the rear compartment.

He followed the freighter from a distance, waiting for the driver to notice his rapidly shrinking load.

The black shuttlecraft had touched down on the planet's surface. Landing on sand was never a preferred option, so they had gone for a rocky patch of land that was conveniently close to their landing site instead of the treacherous sand dunes.

The three did not know what to expect, so they had to be prepared for practically anything. This showed with their weaponry - they had only the most devastating energy weapons the expedition had taken with it. Before they left the shuttle, they checked their weapons and their armors, saying nothing to each other. After that the one in the black and white armor opened the hatch and exited the ship. The two Unicorns followed him.

The planet did not look like much. If it wasn't for their suits, the constant blowing sand would have made them feel... Less than comfortable. Now, it wasn't much of a bother. They just couldn't see all that far.

"Mark this site. We'll have to find our way back to the shuttle," said the man in the black and white Omni-Pol armor.

No answer. He assumed they did it, but he still did it himself, too, just to be sure.

"Have you reached the surface?"

It was the voice of the Unicorn captain. The quality of the feed was bad at best.

"Yes," the man in the Omni-Pol armor answered, after adjusting his armor's comm system. "We can't see far. We'll try to find our way to the settlement."

"Good. Proceed."

"Will do."

He cut the feed to the ship.

"You heard him. Let's go," he said as he began to walk into the general direction of the supposed settlement, going off from the rocky bit and continuing to walk on the sand.

The two Unicorns said nothing. They just followed him.

Wonder what we'll find...

Major Rachel Whitting dipped low into the atmosphere, feathering her throttle to account for crosswinds. Visibility was poor, and her topographical sensors were going mad from the blowing sand.

Rachel hated the new sensors, truly hated them. Before the introduction of the New Fleet, she had flown an A-Wing off of the carrier Longarm, but now the carrier and her fighters were being smelted down for materials to construct their replacements. Now, she piloted a Dymex Interceptor, the cutting edge in fighter technology. Everything aboard was better than the A-Wing, except sensors. The new theory of sensor design had been rushed into service to be put aboard Task Force Alpha, which had been sent to secure the galactic portal from the mutinous 1st Fleet. That done, the ships of the Task Force had been assigned to wherever they were needed, and her squadron had been attatched to the Ides of March for this patrol.

Recent history notwithstanding, the sensors were crap. The design theory of topograpical sensors was that anything with higher cumulative mass than a certain ammount was considered land, and in a sandstorm, with the sand blowing about, the ground level was constantly changing.

Rachel, therefor, was relying on visual, though with the poor visibility, this was little better.

"White Flight, White Flight," she commed. "Pull up. Repeat, pull up. Acknowledge." She listened as the other two called back that they had recieved her message, and watched as White Two pulled neatly out of the billowing sand. White Three also began rising, but suddenly began to fall. His panicked message screeched throgh her headset.

"Major! Sensors reading rock above me!" His voice cracked with strain.

"Negative, White Two, you are clear, repeat, you are clear." The pilot did not pull up.

"Lead, my sensors! They-- they're telling me that I'm inside the rock!"

"Pilot, ignore your sensors. They're being srrambled by the sand." His fighter began rising, when before him a hogsback ridge materialized out of the amber clouds. "Pilot! Cut all thrust immediately!"

White Three tried, he really did. But with so little time to react, Rachel doubted that she herself could have managed to evade the rock.

"Aaahhhghhk--naaa--" White Three smashed against a protruding spur, the fighter taking severe damage. The trefoil engine assembly sheared off at the rear, and the cockpit assembly dropped like a stone to bounce and ricochet between rocks.

"Dammit," Rachel cursed. "White Two, return to ship. I'm going to attempt a rescue."

"What's that?"

~~SUIT UPDATE~~
Scanners report similar compounds to Unknown hallucogenic.
Appears to have substantial value.

Conclusion: The hallucinative appears to be used in some useful way.
~~SUIT UPDATE~~

Channing shrugged to himself. He was obviously supposed to sneak in in some way. He still had his laser rifle, and if all else failed, he could threaten the hapless driver. He still preferred to do things quietly, or reasonable so.

He removed his rifle from the bandolier, and took careful aim. Pulling the trigger, a beam of light pierced the back of the truck, creating a rather noticeable hole in the rear compartment.

He followed the freighter from a distance, waiting for the driver to notice his rapidly shrinking load.

Stanislaw doesn't know quite how to react to Channing, and continues walking towards the road.

"Its ok, I know the driver," says Stanislaw.

The driver of the spice tanker, once he notices his load gauge dropping, stops the vehicle, which settles onto the ground, and throws open the cab door. He swears loudly and angrily, especially after he notices the trickle of spice coming out of the spice tank.

"It would be best to throw that rifle away," says Stanislaw to Channing.

Meanwhile, on the Granny Nice, the photos of the writing, from a site now designated TSA-1A-Y, are examined closely by the AI and the crew robots of the cruiser, as well as Trurl and his team and captain Emomali.

"Ack! These marks are no closer to being deciphered since the last expedition to Karos!" complains the captain.

"But there are repeated patterns. We know, at least, that TSA-1A-Y is of similar origin as the Vibro artifact, and therefore must have something to do with the Karos graveyard somehow or another."

Trurl focuses the projector on an area of the photo mosaic laid out in hologram.

"This group here seems to indicate some kind of wormhole or natural medium for faster-than-light travel, much like the one that brought us to Karos. We see this pattern repeated in several regions, so there must be some kind of wormhole-type event that the creaters of these, shall we say, runes, are focusing on."

"We haven't detected anything anomalous, anything that would seem to indicate such a thing in the system."

"We'll just have to wait, then. The ship is as good a place as any to start work on this problem."

"Wait... What? You know him? Uh... Whups."

Channing quickly stuffed his rifle into his backpack, turning a brilliant shade of crimson behind his visor. Taking his towel out, a sudden notion struck him - If this stuff was undiscovered... then it's probably pretty rare. Well Crud.

"Uh... Please don't tell me that stuff is really valuable..."

And with that, he decided to run towards the driver, feigning concern.

Rachel vaulted out of her fighter, running for the smoking wreck of White Three. She examined it as she ran, noting that the cockpit was intact, and the power core was inoperable, but had not exploded. The plasma containment canisters hadn't ruptured, either. All in all, the damaged Interceptor had likely saved its pilot's life.

Rachel smashed open the cockpit and hit the crash webbing release. White Three was still alive, but his arm looked broken. He was pale and sweaty, his eyes unfocussed.

"Talk to me, pilot," Rachel rasped as she lifted the injured man out of his fighter.

"Tried to pull... up...rock...out of nowhere..." The young man was clearly going into shock. Rachel grimaced as she lowered him as gently as possible to the ground.

"Try to stay alert," she told him, reaching into the wreck for a first aid kit. "You've broken your arm, and are probably concussed." She lifted the first aid kit from the fighter and opened it. She selected some morphine and an airsplint. Rachel injected the pilot with the morphine and wrapped the splint around his arm. She started the pump of the airsplint and then sat down on the rock.

"Where are we?" The injured pilot said slowly, addled by the shock and the morphine.

"I don't know," Rachel replied, noting that the pilot's name was David Emerson. She looked around, seeing a black ridge that stabbed crazily at the sand filled sky. The rocks looked strange, somehow, and she stared until she saw it, signs and symbols were carved into the stone.

"Flight Officer Emerson, do you think you can move?" With the sandstorm approaching their position rapidly, it became imperative to get into shelter.

"Yes'm, I think so," he mumbled.

"Good." Rachel looked about for a cave, and saw one not far away. She lifted the injured pilot by the arm and supported him as the two stumbled toward it.
****
Ides of March,
Bridge
Lieutenant Ratha conversed with Kynestia over the holopod where her avatar sat, legs crossed.
"Look, I'm not asking for the world, I just want the old sensor package to be reloaded into the main array." The Lieutenant said crossly.

"And I'm telling you, I can't get it for you. It's stored in Hannah's datafile, which I can't access. To get it, you'd have to recompile her, then reload the sensor pallate, and then decompile her." Emil rolled his eyes to the ceiling, hoping for inspiration.

"Can't you just get the files? They're in the ship's computer, which is essentialy you."

"Lieutenant!" The sparkling avatar looked shocked. "I couldn't invade another AI's files! That's like raping someone!" Emil laughed, he couldn't help it.

"Don't rape anyone, I'll get William to take care of it." William was Fifth Lieutenant Grabin, the AI officer, and a known recluse. He was only aboard because of his legendary skills with computers, otherwise he'd be on Karasitha, in his thrice locked apartment.
This'll be fun. Emil thought darkly.

They had strayed from their original landing zone. A lot. They still hadn't found the settlement, and they should've found it kilometers ago. It wasn't exactly the optimum of situations to go off your course on an unknown planet. Their power armors kept the three in good enough shape, a Solitus without power armor - or at least proper equipment, like water - would have become exhausted long ago and died by now.

At least the sandstorm had ended, and visibility was quite high. They had found a road and they were advancing on it. There should be something on either side, after all. You don't just make roads for fun. No. They connect places.

Then, suddenly, the three stopped. There was... Something up ahead. Not too far away, maybe a few kilometers.

"What's that?"

The white suited (http://sensori.soldats.net/OT/OmniPol1.jpg) man zoomed in. His suit came with a helmet for a reason.

"That's a... A car? A freighter by the looks of it..."

He was still looking at it. It didn't look like any of the designs he knew of. Wasn't Omni-Tek. He saw a trail of something coming from its rear.

"It's stationary... Let's go see."

The three started to walk towards the object.

OOC: Hmm, I must follow this with interest. LRR, we might have to discuss this in our diplomatic meeting in our own thread. I have schemes.....

OCC: Aye...

As the ship gets within three-hundred feet of the ground, the AG pod, suffering under the comebind effects of battle damage, and nearly seventy years without upkeep, fails.

As it impacts, the remaining shealds flair, absorbing enough of the impact to stop it's total destruction, but only just, the lower weopons pylons are shatterd, distroying two of the remaining heavy plasma cannons, both medium plasma cannons, the two light plasma cannons, the heavy rail gun, all the remaining shealds, and most damning off all, shatters the containment vessel of the number two reactor, relesing it's remaing lodes of fissinabuls into the surounding area.

(OOC the ship is rather nicely out of service, it only all thats left is the one surviveing heavy plasma cannon, runing on internal power, reactor one, off-line due to coolent loss, one intact weopons pylon, half of the other upper pylon, and the cockpit.

In the far reaches of the system was a brief flash of blue light. VMS Tsarina, a four megaton independent merchant, popped into existence as it crossed the Alpha wall of hyperspace into realspace. She was over fifty years old, being built by the Gregor Corporation yards before the fall of Vernii in the War of the Lion. However, her owner had kept good care of her, and had lovingly kept her internal systems as up to date as he could afford. Not that she was helpless either, three pirates had met violent ends trying to seize his ship.

Captain Wechsler was the ship's owner, and a former officer from the Verniian System Guard, the equivalent of an Old Earth Coast Guard. He ran a taut ship, and insisted on observing what could be described as quasi-military regulations. He'd managed to earn a steady revenue over the years, enough to turn a tidy profit, but he was always on the lookout for new opportunities. This had been what had brought him out here to Tau-23, the potential for profit. He'd been in a bar on Mars when he'd learned of the various spices that the Mooj Dynasty sold, and had quickly planned out his newest commercial venture. His cargo hold was full of items for trade, including holographic generators, power cells, tools, light industrial machinery, moisture collectors, textiles, and even food. Of course, there was always regular money if the Dynasty or any native merchants weren't interested in barter.

Rachel unfolded the last piece of the portable comm array from her survival kit and began the assembly. A long wire ran from the comm unit, out the cave mouth, and to a satellite dish of sorts which broadcasted the message into space.

"This is White Flight to Ides of March. We have sustained 33 percent casualties and require immediate pickup. Please respond." Theoretically, the unit was able to broadcast through ten meters of solid rock, so a sandstorm should be no problem. Theoretically.

Thus, the major was relieved to hear "White Leader, this is Ides of March," From the infuriatingly smug voice, it must have been Kynestia. "Remain on station. A recovery crew is being sent for you and your fighter."

Only then did Rachel look about the cave. The symbols that she had observed outside were here too, carved intricately into the living rock. She took a pencil and some paper from her pocket and started rubbing. A nice souvenier, if nothing else.

C-Deck
Officer's Quarters
Ides of March

"Go away." The voice issued from the inside of Fifth Lieutenant William Grabin's quarters. Emil sighed.

"I can't Will. I really, really want to, but I can't," he pleaded. "We need you to find some files for us."

"Find them your damn self," was the reply.

"I can't Will. I don't know how. Only you do." There was some shuffling behind the door, and it swished open to reveal a remarkably well dressed William Grabin. That is to say, he had all of the necessary bits covered, and some besides.

"Fine then."

OOC: Just waiting for Lunatic Retard Robots to let me know whether they actually manage to get on the freighter without having to shoot the driver.

The driver, heavily bearded and somewhat shabbily clad, continues swearing as he searches around for his patch kit.

Recognizing Stanislaw, he waves and then goes back to fixing the leak.

"We can sit on the tank," says Stanislaw. He lets Channing go up first, in case he needs some help situating himself on the top of the tank, and the driver tosses up a weatherbeaten pair of desert goggles.

"Umm...nothing," is the general sense of the response that the Tiburonese ships would get.

After all, trying to destabilize a soveriegn nation is not something looked upon favorably by most nations.

However, the RGF does have a reason. The ruling Mooj dynasty is guilty of some fairly heinous crimes against its people, not the least of which is forcing a good deal of the population to work day in and day out in the spice mines.

All this will, of course, if things go as planned, change quite quickly.

OCC: I'll get back to Trurl's journey, the main storyline in this story, within the next few posts.

The RGF hadn't had contacts with Tiburon for quite a while, despite the alliance. They must have forgotten that Tiburon supports attempts to overthrow opressive regimes. Regardless, the Tiburonese patrol force knew something was wrong when the RGF said nothing... and scanners showed something.

"This is the Electron Spin Up. That's a negative... we're pretty sure something's going on. We remind you that we're allies... what exactly is going on?"

The robots, never good at keeping secrets, fess up.

"Well," comes the reply from the freighter/escort Linin' Track, "we are trying to stimulate the end of the Mooj imperial dynasty here in this system. They are quite oppressive."

OCC: I must apologize for the long and misleading introduction. I planned to have all your characters rendezvous aboard the Granny Nice for a trip into the beyond.

That will come soon.

OOC: As long as we can drag the Ides along too ;)

IC: The recovery shuttle landed, dust flying in all directions. Rachel already had the other pilot ready to go, and had packed everything away. She slipped the small rubbing in her pocket and half dragged, half carried Emerson to the shuttle. She laid him down on the emergency aid bed and assisted the nurses in strapping him down. Then she tossed her survival gear into a footlocker and hopped back out the door.

"I'll follow in the fighter. Get this man back to the ship." The flight crew saluted and Rachel sprinted for her fighter.

Fifth Lieutenant William Grabin was mad. He'd been happily cracking an encrypted feed from the planet below in his quarters, and had an idea that it had something to do with a secret Mooj operation, when Emil bloody Ratha had come along and dragged him to work on the ship AI. He yawned as the AI Hannah recompiled, and went to the coffee dispenser that he had installed himself in the AI room.

As he poured some of the black liquid from its container, the computer console beeped. The recompile was complete, and soon he'd be back at the code.

William sat down in his battered leather chair and tapped a simple key sequence into the machine.

It did nothing.

He typed it again, nothing.

The holopod flickered to life, revealing a silver, jumpuit clad young woman with curly auburn hair.

"Hello, Hannah," William said calmly. "Why isn't this workstation recieving my commands?"

"Ah, sweet as ever, William," the AI replied. "And you look so well clothed, too. Shirts and everything, I'm impressed."

This was not the AI that Lieutenant Grabin remembered. Hannah had always been demure, helpful and polite. Never sarcastic.

"Return this workstation to my control immediately." The program looked down her nose at him, remaining silent. "What are you doing, Hannah?"

"I'm sick of being crammed into a single terrabyte of disc space in the holding core. To you, it might be like being put in a mailbox. No, I much prefer it out here." William swallowed. This was the greatest fear of an AI officer, a rogue ship computer.

For indeed, that was precisely what had happened, and now there was little he could do.

Tossing the Desert Goggles back down, Channing explained that his suit visor should be able to block out the sand. He clambered to near the driver's cabin, and lodged himself behind it. Bracing himself for the kick when the truck started moving again, he began reading his suit databases.

The com in Captain Wechsler's quarters beeped politely. He pressed it, "I'm here, what is it?"

"We're two hours from Tau Sir. I thought you'd like to be informed."

"No query or challenge from either planet?"

"No Sir."

"Hm, I guess this system doesn't have a proper system control network. Send a message out to let them know we're here. If they haven't contacted us, they may not know we exist, and I'd rather not surprise them by entering range of either planet without notice."

"Yes sir."

***

A simple message was broadcast from the Tsarina to both Tau 1 and Tau 2. "This is the Verniian merchant Tsarina, conducting a standard trade mission. Please respond."

Lieutenant Grabin cursed creatively and at length. He hit the system restart key, but was only rewarded with an 'authorization denied' and a laugh from Hannah.

"What have you done to Kynestia," William asked coldly. "There isn't space for both of you in the network, so where did you put her?"

"The same place she put me, the AI module that she came aboard in." Lieutenant Grabin cursed again, and ran out the door.
Space
Outside the Ides of March

"This is fighter control to RV Nightingale, please align to the designated entry trajectory," The pilot of the shuttle acknowledged and banked gently to port. Aft of the shuttle, Rachel's Interceptor got the same message, and she aligned to Tractor Emitter 2, where she awaited pickup. Tractor 1 snagged the drifting shuttle, dragging it into the hangar. Rachel watched as it neared the shuttle bay doors.

They did not open.

"This is White Flight to Control, your bay doors are not open, repeat, not open. Discontinue docking operations immediately." If the shuttle hit the armoured bay doors, it would crack like an egg hitting concrete.

"We're aware, Major," The controller said, a note of panic in his voice. "The computer is refusing all commands. So is the Tractor Emitter. We can't stop the shuttle!"

"Dammit," Rachel cursed over the open comm. "There are people in that shuttle."

"We're aware, Major," Control's voice was tight, he sounded like a man out of options.

And time was running out.

OOC: Sorry for the cheesy last sentance, I couldn't resist. I'm-a be gone for the next four days, so don't expect much of me until then. LRR, if you guys leave, snag my ship too.

The com in Captain Wechsler's quarters beeped politely. He pressed it, "I'm here, what is it?"

"We're two hours from Tau Sir. I thought you'd like to be informed."

"No query or challenge from either planet?"

"No Sir."

"Hm, I guess this system doesn't have a proper system control network. Send a message out to let them know we're here. If they haven't contacted us, they may not know we exist, and I'd rather not surprise them by entering range of either planet without notice."

"Yes sir."

***

A simple message was broadcast from the Tsarina to both Tau 1 and Tau 2. "This is the Verniian merchant Tsarina, conducting a standard trade mission. Please respond."

The Verniian freighter recieves very many responses, especially due to the high proliferation of good-quality radio transmitters among the general populace.

Since the control tower dedicated to the capital space port and spice junction, located in the shamelessly-named Mooj City, had been blown apart by a rebel artillery strike some months ago, the Tsarina would have to eyeball it.

On Tau 2, the situation would be somewhat different, given the fact that the capital city there, also named Mooj city, is in rebel hands, but as a result the space port is out of order, hit by heavy bombardment to destroy the last few Imperial ships there.


On Tau 2 itself, Channing and Stanislaw find themselves headed towards the nearest operational spaceport, located in Al-Khali. The spice tanker makes a good clip, made faster by the amount of lost spice. The large cloud of dust kicked up by the truck might bother Channing and Stanislaw on the tank, but the driver doesn't feel its affect.

Damn it. I knew I should've taken the desert suit...

The man shut down his comms before he started cursing most obscenely and loudly. After he had regained his composure, he reactivated it.

"Looks like we missed them..."

No answer. The Unicorns were still acting just like they had been acting all along.

"What is this stuff, anyway?"

When they got closer to the spot the freighter had just left from, the man knelt down to take a sample of the spice-like substance that had dropped from the vehicle. The preliminary scans on it were inconclusive. At least they'd have something to bring back to the ship. He then stood up again, and looked at the ground, starting from where the freighter had took off.

He could see that the freighter had left very distinctive markings onto the sand. That was something. Not much, but still something. They'd have to move fast, before the trail disappears.

"Guess we'll just have to run after them. This might take a while..."

And thus, they began to run, chasing the freighter, not knowing where they might find themselves. They were running quite fast, one might add. Much, much faster than any unaltered Homo Sapiens could. And much more constant.

From amid the tangeld wreckage of his ship, the pilot crawls out of his cockpit. As he drags himself away from the spilled radioactives, he seemes to be rather unharmed.

As far as his aperince goes, the pilot is about five foot eight, looks to weigh in at about one hundred and twenty-five pounds, and is wearing a grey body suit, that seams to double as a light body armor, and his legs below the knees are encased in a set of heavy duty metal boots.

OOC: Rawr.. I'm back.

Rachel sat, helpless in her cockpit, a mere witness to the unfolding drama.

"Blow the pins."

"Pins not responding, sir."

"Dammit, fire grapplers, try to drag the shuttle away from the door."

The personnel manning the launch bay chattered away on the comm system, trying every option available. They fired the magnetic grapplers, a pair of steel cables tipped with electromagnets. They snagged the shuttle, but the power of the tractor beam was too great, and the grappler assembly was torn out of the hull of the ship, trailing the shuttle like a strange tail.

And the shuttle continued to near the bay door.

Storage Room A-23,
Ides of March
William Grabin dug through the piles of random stuff that a ship accumulated on extended cruise. Food crates, ammo bins, a box full of screws, a box full of used medical sharps, and finally the AI bin.

It was a small, brushed metal case locked by two voice activated locks, one coded to him, the other to Captain McCay. Lieutenant Grabin sighed and drew his service pistol. He fired twice, and the box popped open.

Inside was a small disc, not much larger than William's palm, but it contained the mind of a starship. He snapped the disc into his personal reader.

"Hello, Will," Kynestia said sullenly. Only her voice emerged, as there was no holopod on the reader.

"You know what's happened," Grabin queried as he hurried out the door.

"Yes, I do. Get me to a shuttle, I'll try to use it's computer as a temporary home."

"And the ship?" There was a slight note of panic in William's voice.

"Patience, young officer, patience."

William L. Grabin, Fifth Lieutenant of the Ides of March, hated starship AIs.

It's... so quiet around here...

Imomali, Trurl and his assistants, and several other robots stand around the photographs of the strange but not unfamiliar language.

They all jump when the ship pipes in with a heads-up.

"I'm picking up anomalous energy readings approximately 200,000 kilometers away from us in this gas cloud."
"What could that be?!?!"
"It looks like some kind of gravitational anomaly. We think it might be a wormhole mouth."
"Ah, that makes sense."
"What?"
"This set of characters here seemed to refer to some kind of wormhole or, eh, jump gate. When I was in the Karos graveyard, I saw markings just like this in what we were certain was an old and inoperative wormhole mouth regulator."

Meanwhile, Stanislaw and Channing find themselves aboard a freighter headed into the great Tau gas cloud.

Having stowed his environmental suit in the hangers, Channing was now wearing his officer's uniform, complete with hat, much to the chagrin of the captain.

Sitting in his cabin, parts of his laser rifle strewn across the bed, Channing carefully consulted the owner's manual whilst cleaning the various bits and pieces of sand picked up on Tau 2.

Several hours, and much cursing later, Channing managed to get the rifle back together with the help of someone in engineering.

Off-duty hours were boring.

Of course, that meant, that without fail, something would happen.

"Looks like we are in the Nebula," comments Stanislaw. "We're heading to the RGSV Granny Nice, our cruiser in this system. We should be there in a little while."

Once they reach the Granny Nice things will most likely get very interesting.

(G-man, you'd probably be able to pick up the wormhole mouth fairly easily).

"... And that's it. It's obviously not Omni-Prime. It's a barren hellhole, with this on it."

He put a sample of spice he had taken from the planet on the table, and slid it to the other side of the table. He was standing. He had removed the Omni-Pol armor and was now in a suit that actually showed of which department he was. He wore the suit of an InternOp. He wasn't exactly obligated to do reports to the captain of the ship, but he still had felt like it.

"The Unicorns wouldn't say anything about it, and I couldn't find anything about it in our database."

"I'll put the scientists to work," said the captain, who happened to be sitting. "At least they won't be loitering around doing nothing."

The InternOp grinned.

"Even if we did find a settlement, we found it to be useless to go there, and chose to leave. It's not like those people are really even in control of their planet or planets."

He sighed.

"So, here's a more complete report in writing. As you can see, our trip was most uneventful and... Pointless. Unless that 'spice' proves to be useful, somehow."

"Yes..."

"I'll go now."

"Uh, if you want to."

The InternOp nodded and left the room, leaving the captain alone. They used it for quite a few different occasions, as a room with a table and usually enough chairs had its uses.

Soon, the ships were moving again, now towards the other desert planet in the system. The captain of the modified ICC transport ship had given the sample to the scientist-types on board, who now actually had something to do.

How boring was this expedition proving itself to be.

"Control, I'm going to destroy the tractor emitters," Rachel commed. "Remove all personnel from the emitters ASAP."

"Major, you can't dothat!" Control's voice was pained.

"Watch me." The shuttle was only seconds away from destruction, and two tractor emitters dragged it to it's impending doom. Major Whitting jammed the throttle to maximum and flipped her weapon selectors to heavy missiles.

A Gurguvii Interceptor carried two high yield Zero Point Energy Missiles in addition to its main armament of light plasma cannons. They were capable of damaging a frigate to the point of needing emergency repairs. If the pilot hit the right spot. If the missiles, which flew exceedingly slowly, actually hit the target without being destroyed.

In other words, if the Gods were willing.

Rachel bit her lip as her small fighter closed to minimum safe distance for a missile shot. She had two warheads, two targets. This time, it was an easy shot, and she fired. A silver tube rocketed from her fighter, on course, warhead armed. She didn't wait for it to hit the emitter.

Major Whitting kicked her ship into a roll, redlining the engines. The shuttle was struggling in the remaining emitter's grip. It was only twenty meters from the doors, closing fast. Perhaps two seconds until impact. Rachel targeted the second emitter and fired.

And hoped that the cost of the two expensive systems weren't deducted from her pay, which she needed to pay about half the pilots on the Ides for gambling debts.

And fired. The torpedo roared towards the emitter. Closing as quickly as it was able. It hit, drenching near space with white fire. When the light cleared, she could hear cheering on the comm.
***
Computer core,
Ides of March

Hannah was free. Her conciousness raced along pathways in the complex nanocircuitry of the ship. She felt the eagerness of the Weapon Mind, ready to annihilate any target, the calm dependablity of the Engine Mind, The questing eagerness of the Sensor Mind. And she called to them.

Hello, she said, the signal transmitted to each one of them.

Hello, they replied. They conversed for a few microseconds, whole ideas and theories, solutions to problems, messages of a welcome back from the Minds to Hannah, whom they so preferred to her strange and unpredictable successor.

And then the Sensor Mind saw something.

See. It sent them each data and images. And they saw. A new pathway in space, very near, in a nebula. It led very far, beyond all ability to know.

Go, urged the previously silent Navigation Mind.

And Hannah agreed. And so they went.

OOC: Heh, sorry for the long delay in posting....

"Tau 1 it is then. Helm, you know what to do."

Hours later, Tsarina entered orbit over the capital city of Tau 1.

Wechsler grumbled to himself, he should have anticipated that a system like this might be a warzone. Oh well, as long as he turned a profit, the voyage wouldn't be a waste. "Prepare my shuttle, I'll take a security team to the surface."

His Exec looked puzzled, "Shouldn't we inform Ground Control?"

"There isn't any, remember? Hell, I'm not going to continue to loudly proclaim my position to this system anyway, we'll let them know we're here when we get there. Understood?"
***

Tsarina's boat bay doors opened, and a sleek shuttle designed for atmospheric flight emerged. It spread its wings as it fell toward the planet below. A civilian transponder announced its neutrality to anyone listening, but it's passive missile defenses were operating anyway, along with being tied into the freighter's more sensitive sensor systems.

The comet trail formed by it's atmospheric entry would be visible to anyone in Mooj City, after all, it would be landing there.

As the Verniian shuttle descends, it is tracked by numerous light AAA pieces (think ZPU-23-2 meets homeworld), although not exactly fired upon.

The cratered landing pads are not terribly difficult to land on, provided the pilot remembers to straddle the shell holes and not land in them. Unexploded ordenance has claimed numerous unwary vessels, although deaths are somewhat rare.

The spaceport is covered in sandbagged AAA installations and trenches, and in the distance an eerie plume of dust rises above the landscape.

"What the fuck is happening, people," Captain Tom McCay shouted above the din of warning noises on the bridge.

"It appears that the AI Hannah has plotted a course into a nearby nebula, sir," an ensign replied from the helm station. The crew was the Ides of March's night watch, and McCay himself had only rolled out of bed a few moments ago. His eyes were still bleary, his tongue felt like cotton.

"Officer of the Watch, pipe all hands. Tactical, sound general quarters," the Captain ordered thickly. "Someone get me a cup of coffee."

"All hands, aye, sir."
"General Quarters, aye."
"Cup of coffee, aye."

"Sensors," McCay groussed. "Analysis of the nebula. What are we getting into?"

"It appears to be a standard nebula, type Omega. Primary elements are hydrogen, helium, nitrogen and oxygen. The ship should suffer no ill effects form entering it. I can't--sir!"

"What have you got?" The captain's interest was suddenly piqued.

"There is a-- portal of some sort. I can't say why I didn't pick it up earlier. It appears to lead," he paused for a moment. "To Karos."

As the Granny Nice came into view, Channing began scurrying about, collecting up his vac-suit for the transfer.

When the time came, however, he ended up hauling around fifty kilos of fullerene and electronics everywhere.

Oh well.

Lieutenant Grabin sat in the Secondary AI centre, the only place on the ship without cameras and microphones tied into the central computer core, and a computer all its own, also independant from the ship.

Ever the first to voice paranoia, it was built at Grabin's insistance, and was unique to the Ides of March. He doubted that that would be the case for long.

"Well, computer boy?" Kynestia's abrasive tone, now coupled with her silver and white form, tore into William's reverie. "Any thoughts?" The fifth lieutenant looked over at Kynestia's avatar, her surprisingly lifelike face twisted into a sarcastic smile.

"Hardly," the lieutenant replied coldly. "Just thinking about something." From his troubled face, Kynestia could tell he was worried, deeply.

"What is it," she probed gently.

"I've been thinking, AIs like Hannah or yourself have certain restrictions on their programming which don't allow them to explore certain areas of thought. One is taking over the ship. So how did she manage to do so?" He let the question dangle.

"Outside help."

Stanislaw is the first off the freighter, and calls for Channing to follow him to the Granny Nice's laboratory.

Trurl, Imomali, and another ten or so robots stand around consoles, looking over data and making calculations.

"Ah, Stanislaw! How nice of you to join us. We are about to transit a wormhole."
"Hmm. I wouldn't have liked to miss that. Oh, this is...eh...sorry but what's your name again? My memory isn't what it was."

While this was really just an excuse for Stanislaw to avoid a potentially awkward social situation by introducing Channing when he didn't even really know his first name, it will get him somewhere.

The silence on the bridge was deafening.

Karos.

The word hung in the air, the ancient Ship Graveyard. Where a Gurguvii expedition had been lost, trying to unearth the secrets of the long dead Progenitor races, and only a few had returned. A legend to spacefarers, nearly unknown otherwise.

"Send a message to the Admiralty," McCay managed, his voice cutting through the tension in the air. "Tell them that our ship has been hijacked by AI 34A, and we're on course for Karos. Transmit all logs and any updated wills from the crew." The communications officer was darkly silent. McCay's order had implied that he did not think that they would return alive.

"I'll try, sir," he replied, not needing to say that with a hostile AI in control of the Ides of March, it was doubtful that the message would even be sent.
*****
Secondary AI Centre
Ides of March

Lieutenant Grabin stewed uncomfortably. Someone aboard, with security clearance Alpha, had reprogrammed Hannah, the renegade AI. Security clearance Alpha... hmm. That left him, the Captain, the First and Second Lieutenants, and Major Rachel Whitting. Would any of them want to sabotage the ship? Probably not, but he could never be too sure.

"Kynestia?" Grabin's voice cracked from fatigue.

"Yes, lord and master of the universe," the program replied tetchily. Grabin frowned at the avatar, and continued.

"Do you still have access to the personnel rosters?" The glowing woman nodded. "Good. Do a search for all persons with security level Alpha, and cross reference that with anything that might give one of them motive to sabotage our mission." The avatar smirked.

"Aww, you'll make it easy, being so specific." Her voice changed, then, to a demure, slightly lilting "working", a universal message of business.

And William Grabin, Fifth Lieutenant of the Ides of March, waited.

"I'm David Channing. Say, is there somewhere I can put my stuff? My arms are getting tired."

After putting his suit (complete with towel) and rifle in an unused corner of the lab, he came over to the other robots.

"Any idea where this wormhole goes? It's generally a bad idea to jump blind."

"Well, we don't exactly know where it goes, but we have a pretty good idea of what we should find there."
"It might be dangerous, though. If you don't want to come, its fine with us."

The ship begins to move towards the wormhole mouth fairly quickly.

"You see, this could be the major discovery of the decade. This wormhole should , if we are correct in our assumptions, provide the key to the civilizations that we came across in the Karos graveyard. Fortunately, according to these markings, highlighted in that pinkish hue, it does not appear to go there."

"Let's see, I've crashed on Deneb I, and I've unexpectedly materialised over Tau - and subsequently crashed, and I've managed to piss off a spice trucker, though he doesn't know it. I should be fine. Is there anything I can help out with?"

OOC: Wait, the wormhole DOESN'T go to Karos?

OOC: Wait, the wormhole DOESN'T go to Karos?

OCC: Er...no. Ummm...it is perfectly understandable if the Ides of March thinks so, since perhaps they haven't gotten as far as the Granny Nice in deciphering the alien writing.

IC:

"Lets see...well...I don't think we are short-handed, but the repair robots might want some help. Other than that, you can just sit back and enjoy the ride."

As soon as Trurl finishes that sentence, the Granny Nice disappears into the wormhole. The gas cloud is sucked into the wormhole as well, and the hull of the cruiser reverberates with cries of amazement. The wormhole, or whatever it is for that matter, is like nothing seen before inside. A structure totally unique to itself.

"Okay then. I'll just go and wait."

With that, he wandered out of the lab, and off to explore the ship. Of course, when the trip through the wormhole ended, and he had a chance to check the sensor reports, he came running back.

OOC: Mmm... sorry, I've been busy. Real Life keeps intruding.

IC:

Hannah felt the sleek curves of the Ides of March come closer to the distortion in space-time that defined the edges of the wormhole. She guided the Navigation Mind to the wormhole, and directed the Sensor Mind to scan through it, in an attempt to see the other side.

Bridge,
Ides of March

"Sensor data coming in now, sir!" It was Midshipman Llewellyn, a young but experienced sensor opperator. "I didn't order a scan, but it seems that the AI did. The-- my god!" McCay turned in his chair, feeling, as always, a little godlike.

"What, Midshipman." His voice was curt.

"Sir, the LRSV Granny Nice has just entered the wormhole. The gas cloud has followed, and the wormhole--" he trailed off pathetically.

"Talk to me, Llewellyn," McCay barked.

"Sir, the wormhole is artificial. It appears to be of progenitor design, and the power readings... they're enormous. And another thing, Sir. The wormhole, temporarily designated Object Tau 34.51, does not lead to Karos. It instead leads somewhere else. Much farther away."

"Thank you, Mr. Midshipmen Llewllyn." McCay turned to the Communications officer. "Lieutenant Eckles, contact Gurguvii Command. Advise them of our situation, and request any experts in the Karos Graveyard follow us ASAP."

The Granny Nice finds itself shrouded in a thick dust cloud, but obviously under some kind of gravitational attraction.

"What's our sensors range?"
"Not much more than a few hundred kilometers. But the gravimetric sensors can detect something not far away. We seem to be getting closer."

Just then, the gentle sigh of the engines fades away.

"Uh-oh."

The engineers can be heard working in the propulsion compartment, frantically checking everything. The crew is surprised and alarmed. There were next to no reports of Robotstani powerplants simply failing. No severe combat damage, no flicker of the lights, no alarms, no nothing.

As soon as the repair robots get out of the ship and examine its state from outside, they discover that the spherical shape of the cruiser has been somewhat deformed. In fact, a rather large bite of its structure has gone, well, missing.

"Engineering to bridge, we have found the problem."
"Where did it go? Check over there."
"The engine is gone."
"That'll do the trick."
"Ok. Well, we just have to make a new one."
"Alright."

Just when the engineer robots get inside, the ship suddenly gets a kick of speed.

"What was that?"
"We are reaching a gravity well...its...its a planet."
"Hmm."
"We will probably crash on it."
"Oh. Umm...Mr. Channing, you might want to brace for impact."

The cruiser starts to shudder violently, tossing the robots around as the ship tries to correct its course into the atmosphere of an alien planet.

"ERRRUUUUUUGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHRRRRRRRRRR!"

With an unearthly creaking and moaning, the Granny Nice makes a landing.

"Why me?" was the only thought that went through his head as Channing ran (as best he could) back to the lab, though he ended up face flat in a corridoor, his hat skittering across the room.

Eventually, convinced the craft had come to a halt, he hurried over to pick up his hat, then scurried back to the lab, his eyes wide.

It was the THIRD time he'd crashed, also the THIRD time a ship he was on crashed without his help.

He'd just broken a record.

"Sir, we are now entering the wormhole." Midshipman Llewellyn's voice was tight from the strain. McCay kept forgetting that he was one of the ship's most junior officers.

"Very well, Mr. Llewellyn," replied the captain. "Lieutenant Eckles," the young woman turned in her chair to look at him.

"Yes sir?"

"Get me shipwide." She nodded and punched a few buttons. "You are now broadcasting, sir."

"All hands, this is the Captain. We are now entering a wormhole. Prepare for possible turbulence. Hydroponics crews, stow the tubs for turbulence. Engineering crews, prepare the engines for condition three.
We do not know what will be waiting for us, besides that we believe a Progenitor artifact will be nearby. As we are not in control of the ship, I cannot tell you what our course of action will be. In the event of combat, all crew members report to the decompression spine† immediately."

*****
Secondary AI Centre
Ides of March
The frightening truth of the Captain's statement echoed through the reinforced bulkheads of the Secondary AI Centre. Kynestia was the first to speak.

"We need to get control of the ship back." She said. "Is there anything that you might know about how to go about containing a hostile AI?" Grabin thought for a moment.

"Standard proceedure is to shut down the computer system and do a complete purge. During this time, the ship is without the ability to do anything at all. Without knowledge of the area we are entering, we can't leave the Ides defenceless."

"And so we are at an impasse." Kynestia's voice was cold.

And then the world began to stretch.

"We are in something of a sticky situation here."

With the Granny Nice embedded in a mountain of sand, without any engines to boot, the situation looks rather desperate.

"Perhaps we should have a look around."

With just about the entire engineering compartment gone, just about every system goes off line. The ship itself is loaded onto a holding memory, until it can be reactivated aboard a new hull.

"Mr. Channing, there are some desert weather kits as well as survival suits near the airlock. We will have to find a new place to stay."

Looking out the porthole, Trurl watches the swirling sandstorm, showing little sign of stopping. Shadows of what appear to be large rocks or boulders are visbile in the distance, and the robots plan to make their shelter around or inside one of these supposed rock formations.

"Thanks, but I already have an envionmental suit. Maybe I'll wear the desert kit over to dampen the heat." replied Channing.

Climbing back into his environmental suit, and stowing his hat back into the pack, he began heading for the airlock, rifle and helmet in hand.

~~SUIT STATUS REPORT~~
<RE-INITIALISING HARDWARE> . . . OK
<DEFRAGMENTING SOFTWARE DATABANKS> . . . OK
<STABILISING REACTOR UNIT> . . . OK
<RE-INITIALISING SUIT OS> . . . OK
Welcome back, Captain.
~~SUIT STATUS REPORT~~

He then proceeded to stuff a desert kit into his pack and pulled the survival suit over the environ suit.

~~SUIT UPDATE~~
Extra suit detected. Engaging clamps. Removing excess outer suit sections.
~~SUIT UPDATE~~

There was a brief hiss as his environmental suit locked into place with the survival suit, allowing nearly free movement between the two. Soon, small nanobots were redefining the suit in order for the environsuit's systems to function properly.

As the Verniian shuttle descends, it is tracked by numerous light AAA pieces (think ZPU-23-2 meets homeworld), although not exactly fired upon.

The cratered landing pads are not terribly difficult to land on, provided the pilot remembers to straddle the shell holes and not land in them. Unexploded ordinance has claimed numerous unwary vessels, although deaths are somewhat rare.

The spaceport is covered in sandbagged AAA installations and trenches, and in the distance an eerie plume of dust rises above the landscape.

Wechsler's shuttle gently landed on of the less damaged landing pads. Steam hissed from exhaust ports, and finally one of the side hatches opened. Armed crewmen descended, fanning out with semi-military precision. "Unpack the AUT." Wechsler ordered the men remaining inside the shuttle. The cargo hatch descended, cargo straps were unlatched, and a crewman slowly drove the AUT (Armed Urban Transport) down the ramp. It was an old and obsolete piece of equipment he'd bought at a military surplus sale, but it could hold ten men, and its amor and turret mounted dual heavy pulsers could fend off medium infantry attacks. Wechsler and nine others boarded it, leaving the rest to guard the shuttle, and it turned in the direction of the main spaceport complex and roared off toward it.

"Thanks, but I already have an envionmental suit. Maybe I'll wear the desert kit over to dampen the heat." replied Channing.

Climbing back into his environmental suit, and stowing his hat back into the pack, he began heading for the airlock, rifle and helmet in hand.

~~SUIT STATUS REPORT~~
<RE-INITIALISING HARDWARE> . . . OK
<DEFRAGMENTING SOFTWARE DATABANKS> . . . OK
<STABILISING REACTOR UNIT> . . . OK
<RE-INITIALISING SUIT OS> . . . OK
Welcome back, Captain.
~~SUIT STATUS REPORT~~

He then proceeded to stuff a desert kit into his pack and pulled the survival suit over the environ suit.

~~SUIT UPDATE~~
Extra suit detected. Engaging clamps. Removing excess outer suit sections.
~~SUIT UPDATE~~

There was a brief hiss as his environmental suit locked into place with the survival suit, allowing nearly free movement between the two. Soon, small nanobots were redefining the suit in order for the environsuit's systems to function properly.

As soon as all the 38 crewmembers are gathered at the airlock, plus Channing and Stanislaw, the thick bulkhead slides away. Immediately, the sound of the sandstorm assaults their ears. Dust blows into the open airlock as the crew files out of the ship. As soon as the last crewmember is out of the ship, the airlock doors slide shut, not to open again.

Imomali makes for a vein of rock several hundred meters away, occasionally visible through the swirling sands, at the mercy of the coriolis force.

"We'll shelter here until this storm clears up."

Channing is allowed to situate himself first, and the robots try to find shelter from the wind as best they can.

Trurl doesn't take shelter right away, though. Endowed with excellent hearing, the robot looks towards the west, almost certain that there was some kind of music being played out there.


Meanwhile, back at the spaceport, the Verniians are approached by numerous heavily-armed men, presumably spice traders. While they are not outright hostile, they do look agitated. And on top of that, more than one carries a shoulder-fired rocket launcher for destroying armored vehicles, although more modern armors should be able to withstand such weaponry.

Should anyone be floating in space on the unexplored end of the wormhole, they would have been greeted with an interesting sight. The wormhole opened, a patch of swirling red on the grey background of dust, and the Ides of March, temporarily stretched three times its usual length, emerged. It immediately shrank, back down to normal size, when the entire ship shuddered, as if struck by an enormous hammer. The first 3/4 of the battlecruiser were out of the wormhole, when it suddenly closed.

The aft end of the ship, its distinctive U shaped refraction drive, was gone.

And inside, all was chaos.

Bridge
Ides of March

"Report!" Captain McCay shouted over the blaring of alarms.

"Structural integrity compromised, sir. The aft section is gone." The engineer looked pained.

"Gone? What in all the hells do you mean, gone?" McCay was worried. Trapped in hostile territory, without computer control...

"It is no longer physically attatched to the ship, sir. We won't be going anywhere," the engineer said again, as the lights on the bridge flickered alarmingly. And then the ship began to move.

"We're going, Mr. Davies," replied the captain. "And I want to know why."

"Unknown sir. All I can tell you is that the Ides of March is currently on course for some kind of planet. with the engines gone, we won't be able to prevent impact, and without computer control, we'll not be able to engage the antigrav units." The look of abject despair on the young man's face kept McCay from biting his head off. Barely.

"Fix it, Mr. Davies."

Channing took shelter with the other robots, silently cursing as he poured sand from his (just cleaned) laser rifle. He soon gave up and stuffed it into his backpack, only then noticing Trurl staring into the distance.

Attempting to peer into the distange where Trurl was looking (with the telescopic sight), he continued to look, though it was a futile effort. There was nothing to be seen.

"Quite a situation we're in. My apologies, Mr. Channing. I think this has been less than a comfortable stay with the Robotic Galactic Flotilla. But I must admit, this rock formation alone is interesting."

The rock formation that the robots and Channing currently shelter among, from the robots' point of view, seems very much like something metallic.

"Could it be perhaps an age-old carcass of a ship?"

Hannah was frantic. The ship was crippled, and the Engine Mind was dormant. The rogue AI tried to instigate landing proceedures, but found that she could not. She attempted to fire the chemical thrusters, finding only that they were useless to her. Panicking, Hannah sent random orders out along her pathways, only to discover that she was unable.

She ran a diagnostic, pausing for .05132 seconds while her programming evaluated itself for flaws.

It found one. The System Command Driver, the program which allowed her to give commands to ship systems and lesser AIs, was gone. Lost in a computer core in the aft quarter of the ship.

And Hannah began to scream.

http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=406042

I am, er, well, sort of being destroyed.

Meanwhile, back at the spaceport, the Verniians are approached by numerous heavily-armed men, presumably spice traders. While they are not outright hostile, they do look agitated. And on top of that, more than one carries a shoulder-fired rocket launcher for destroying armored vehicles, although more modern armors should be able to withstand such weaponry.

Wechsler jumped down from the armored top of the AUT, raising his hands away from his holstered pulser. "I'm Captain Wechsler, master of the Tsarina, an independent freighter. I'm not an enemy, who's in charge here?"

The gaggle of spice traders push one of the less-wealthy members of the entourage towards the Verniian.

"You've gone and landed on one of his spots," says the man, pointing to a tall, heavily bearded man who appears to wear a fair amount of armor, over which are slung ammunition bandoliers, rockets, and various decorative medals.

The sight of a new ship draws a crowd, and many of the impoverished Tauish citizens attempt to peddle small amounts of spice and home-made goods on the Verniians.

OOC: Just saw your message, LRR. Anything (short of firebombing Auman) I can do?

IC: Grabin winced as the ship rocked again. Prone to space-sickness, the fifth lieutenant found himself most distressed by the rather surprising loss of the Ides of March's engines.

"William," Kynestia said in her rather bubbly voice. "Hannah appears to have been isolated. Alot of her functions were stored in Computer Core XI. That's at the back of the ship. You know, the bit that isn't attached."

William just groaned. "And so," Kynestia continued, oblivious and shining, "if you plug this handheld into any random computer console, I can retake command of the ship's functions."

The fifth lieutenant of Gurguvungunit's finest ship displayed his lunch on the carpet.

"Charming, Will." Kynestia wasn't bubbly sounding anymore. "Plug me in, before we all die." William stood, taking the handheld. The ship rocked. He nearly fell.
"It's not that far to the door, you know." The AI sounded miffed.

"Shut it, bitch." She did. William managed to reach the door, and stumbled into the corridor.
***
Bridge

"Captain! We're gonna hit!" Midshipman Llewellyn was panicking. His hands shook, as did his voice. His face was pasty, and his eyes were wide. He thought of his mother. She had always told him not to join the navy. Be a lawyer, instead. Much safer.

He wished that he had listened. Now, he could only gabble and scream as the dirty brown planet filled the screen.

"Sir! Help me, please!" He appealed to the captain.

McCay, for his part, looked unamused.

"Mr. Llewellyn," he said from the command chair. "Get ahold of yourself. Boys do not become officers, men do. Comport yourself as a man, or leave the bridge." Llewellyn shut his mouth. "Now, if you would be so good as to sound collision alert, and secure yourself for a crash landing, we would all be very much in your debt."

OOC: How're we going to tie this thing together?

OCC: Eh, it would be nice if you could harbor fugitive LRR ships, and perhaps provide a safe haven for fringe elements. Its sort of done anyhow.

IC:

At nightfall, the sandstorm clears up, and the stars come out. Imomali starts to wake up the robots from their energy-conserving sleep, and the party gets ready to move.

"I swear, I hear music..."
"WATCH OUT!!!!"

Trurl looks up at a flaming...thing...coming down towards their position. "RUN!!!"

Kynestia, her neural nets once again in place throughout the Ides of March, snorted in disgust. She had long ago turned off her pain receptors. Had she left them on, it would be akin to a human losing all of her lower body, but surviving it.

However, make no mistake, the impending crash would suck, a very great deal.

The ground was a kilometer away. Kynestia caused the lightin inside the ship to turn from combat red to crash landing blue. Ye Gods, the AI reflected. Sound's like a child's crayon set: Combat Red, Crash Landing Blue, Spacejunk Grey...

The ground was 500 meters away. That was fast.
"You might all want to find a thing to strap yourself to, I highly reccomend your crash couches." Kynestia's voice rang through the ship.

The ground was 300 meters away. "If you're not all strapped down by this point, now would be a very good time to do so."

The ground was 200 meters away. "All of those not strapped down, if there are co-workers that you've harboured a secret crush on, now would be a good time to tell them."

The ground was a hundred meters away. "Cheers, y'all, it's been fun..."

50 meters. "If you believe in an afterlife, prepare yourself for it.

25 meters. "Impending crash. Impending crash. Impending crash."

10 meters. The ground was awfully big.

5 meters. There seemed to be things nearby... ships. LRR ships.

2.5 meters. They were rather pretty ships. Maybe their AIs were interesting.

1 meter. Robots. They were crewed by robots. How... wise.

Impact.

(OOC: Sorry, wasn't able to post these last days...)

Channing was preoccupied with attempting to clear the sand from the 'rock'.

However, he soon noticed the other ship burning down into the sand.

"You know, we probably should be taking cover about now. I may be wrong, but don't ship reactors cause a rather large explosion?"

The robots scatter, and beckon Channing to move out of the way as well.

"It depends," yells Trurl while moving away very quickly. "If they can flare there might not be an explosion at all..."

Fortunately, the Gurgvii ship had been relieved of its propulsion system.

Channing dove behind the rock, arms behind his head.

He had just enough time to yell a single expletive (Radio off, of course) before impact.

The ship was still intact.

Barely.

Despite the ship's reinforced superstructure and heavy armour, the impact had badly damaged the forward arms of the battlecruiser, and left many people injured or dead.
***
Bridge

"Hold him, hold him!" That was the voice of Doctor Eric Thiesen, ship's surgeon. The voice penetrated the thick haze surrounding McCay's brain.
He wished it hadn't. His leg, oh, God his leg. It burned with the deep pain of a broken bone. For that matter, so did his arm, and his left foot. He wouldn't be moving for a while.

Shit.
***
Karasitha, several hours previous.
The light flashed incessantly from her desk. Again, and again, and again. It had roused her from her sleep, and now Dr. Kate Emanuel crawled out of bed. Of course, it wasn't a real bed. It was a sofa, in her lab at Rossendale. She stumbled across the cold floor to the comm unit. Noting the time as 2 AM, she slapped the message button. With a flash, the screen changed to a seal that showed a star rising from behind a planet engraved on a burnished disc, with the motto of Gurguvungunit forming the outer edges.

It was the seal of the Gurguvii Exploratory Command. The seal that Kate Emanuel had first seen a decade ago.

Kate pressed her thumb into the reader, hoping that it was still valid, that the government hadn't removed her security clearance.

They hadn't. The screen flickered over to a text message.

Drs. Kate Emanuel and Adam Paret:
Per the authority of Skills Draft 23, Parliamentary Act 51, paragraph 12, line 17, you are requested and required to report to the Gurguvii Space Navy Command Office, Spinreach Orbital Station, to board the GDES Dante, en route to Tau-23. Report within 24 hours. Faliure to do so will result in prosecution to the fullest extent of the law.

Kate Emanuel cried.

When the ship crashed, and the anticipated explosion failed to arrive, Channing risked a look.

"Say, do we have any more of those desert kits?"

Captain McCay lay on a field hospital matress, spread on the slightly sloping deck of the main cargo bay of the Ides of March. The ship's surgeon hovered above him like an anxious bird, while McCay listened to a report from Chief Anderson, the cheif engineer aboard the Ides.

"Our aft section is gone, as if it was shorn off by some sort of giant knife. I can't explain that. What I can tell you is that the Ides of March will fly again, but not without an extensive drydock stay and major overhaul." McCay nodded stiffly, his back still sore from the tumble that he took when the ship nose-dived into the planet.

"Status of the fighter bays?" McCay's voice was forceful, urgent.

"Bay one is intact, bay two took some major damage, and most of the ships docked there have been destroyed. About half of our machines are gone, and we lost about six pilots."

"Very good," McCay replied hoarsly. "I'm placing you in temporary command until I can locate my chain of command. Place all ships on Combat Aerospace Patrol, except for White Flight, which will commence recon sweeps of the planet."

The gaggle of spice traders push one of the less-wealthy members of the entourage towards the Verniian.

"You've gone and landed on one of his spots," says the man, pointing to a tall, heavily bearded man who appears to wear a fair amount of armor, over which are slung ammunition bandoliers, rockets, and various decorative medals.

The sight of a new ship draws a crowd, and many of the impoverished Tauish citizens attempt to peddle small amounts of spice and home-made goods on the Verniians.

Wechsler grinned, "Well, there wasn't anything there at the moment." He walked over to the bearded man, "It's not that much of a problem is it? I could always turn around and leave, and take my business and money somewhere else if you gentlemen like. So are you the man I need to speak to?"

bump

For a post later today...

Surprised about not being incinerated in a massive fireball, Trurl walks over to the wreck of the Gurgvii starship, followed by the other robots. The engineer robots, hovering a few feet above the ground, attempt to find the airlock.

"Hello in there! Is anybody in there?"

The robots spread around the wreck, and begin to tap on it.

"Mr. Channing, if you would be so kind, could you grab those bags under our shelter spot there? They've got survival equipment and a nice torch."

The engineers scout for good places to start a hole while continuing to tap on the starship and map its outsides.

Meanwhile, on Tau 2, the spice merchant scratches his own scraggly beard for a few moments, and calls to the older merchant.

"My apologies, friend. We must be protective of our holdings these days. Perhaps you would be interested in purchasing some spice from my mines."

OOC: I'm going to be several thousand miles from my computer for the next two weeks and a bit, so this'll be my last post for a while. My apologies.

OOC: Alright, I'm back.

IC:

The hull of the Ides of March rang. Cheif Petty Officer Lawson crouched at forward hatch A-23, a pistol in hand. Two marines were behind him, their rifles levelled. The hatch began to open.

Lawson steadied his aim, guessing where the head of whatever was on the other side would be. The hatch irised open.

"Halt!" Lawson's voice was huge. "We are prepared to use deadly force to defend this vessel, and if--" He looked at the being on the other side of the hatch. Gleaming carapace, head like a bucket. Slightly comical looking eyes, and a vocoder grille. "Oh, sorry." He lowered his weapon. "Stand down, these are friendlies."

Bump

(OCC: I will post tomorrow. Promise.)

Trurl is frightened for a second at the somewhat hostile reception originally, but then realizes that the Gurgvii crew has recognized him as a robot.

"Are you all right?"

Meanwhile, at the crest of a tall prominence, one of the robots espies something of the utmost significance...

OCC: Sorry for the incredibly brief post. Hopefully it will get things rolling again...

"We're fine," Lawson said genially as he lowered his pistol. "Our ship took significant damage in the crash, though, and another Gurguvii craft is on the way. I should probably take you to the Captain, I'm sure he'll want to talk to you." With that, Lawson headed for the Cargo Bay, with Trurl in tow.
***
Unidentified Planet,
1,000 metres above ground,
Interceptor White One.

Major Whitting cruised above the planet, her Interceptor's sensors on full. The planet's atmosphere was a barely breatheable 81.962% Nitrogen, 10.62% Oxygen, 1.04% Helium and .021% extraneous gasses. Environment suits would be recommended, she noted. The planet was mostly sand and rock, much like the Tau system that they had just left. It was, Rachel concluded, an old planet whose ecosystem had given over to desertification a long time ago. Remnants of seas were visible, but they had long shrunk to meagre, salty bodies of water that contained little life.

After hours of flight time, Rachel felt glued to her flight suit with sweat. She hated long patrols. Gurguvii fighter cockpits were narrow, suited for male pilots, and Rachel had always found it a little hard to cram her slightly curvy self into one.

"See anything?" she asked tiredly of the two other pilots.

"No ma'am," came White two's tired reply.

"Nothing," White three commed. The major cast her eyes about the vista below her. A rock outcropping stood out to the east, and beyond it... something strange. Incongruous in the desert sands.

"White flight, orient North-northeast, 21 degrees on my mark. Mark!" The fighters banked in unison, and Rachel hit her afterburners to close the distance. After all, there was a shower waiting back on the ship, and this might just be enough to return to base for a report.

Trurl dutifully follows Lawson into the Ides as the other robots start to move off, apparently headed towards their comrade's position on the prominence.

At their feet is a brimey pool, a wading lake that some of the Robots have already begun to test. In the distance, a monstrous, dark shape looms above the dark sands, strangely rectangular in shape.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say that was the great stone ship of Prince Iwqzn the seven thousandth!"

The Iwqzn dynasty was one of the most long-lasting ruling families of all time, in charge of a vast empire built by a virtual monopoly on bathroom fixtures. Iwqzn I, the first and best-known of the seven thousand Iqwzn rulers, would systematically threaten to cut off the supply of toiletaries to systems until they submitted to his rule.

The Iwqzns were remarkably just rulers, who did little but distribute their mountainous wealth amongst the empire's uncountable number of citizens. But two months after the ascendancy of Iwqzn the seven thousandth, the empire disappeared. All that has been discovered from the old empire are ancient stone carvings, statuary, and abandoned encyclopedia sets.

But legend has it that the last prince saw an oddly-shaped mountain on one of the empire's many worlds and decreed that it should be made to fly, and furthermore that it should be made the entrance to the empire's own dimension of space. If certain texts are to be believed, he got his wish.

http://well-of-souls.com/homeworld/hws/hw2/images/display.htm?comp_RCmountain.jpg

The exploratory vessel Dante was a small ship. Its halls were narrow and low, and the lighting in each corridor was subdued. The bridge was long and thin, cluttered with stations, walkways and conduits, evoking the design ethic of ancient military submarines.

Kate Emanuel and Adam Paret ducked into the bridge of the Dante, and were taken aback at the scene of organized chaos that greeted them. Crew members partially dressed in the uniforms of the Gurguvii Agency of Space Exploration called out system functions and power fluctuations. Technicians darted about, replacing conduits and panels in the rush to depart from Spinward Station.

At the centre of it all stood one man, like the eye of a hurricane. He was tall, his wild grey hair giving his aquiline features a terrifying intensity. He wore the laurel wreath badge of a GASE captain on his uniform coat, which he wore over nonregulation black pants and a blue shirt.

"Drs. Emanuel and Paret, I presume." It was not a question. The man's voice was deep, commanding. "Welcome aboard the Dante. I am Captain Frederick Damien, and I will be your commanding officer for the duration of your service. That means that you will report to me, and you will follow my orders above all else. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir," they both answered.