NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC: Pretty short, but it wraps up the most important information. Everybody is free to join in. I'm new at FT, so be kind. This story/RP is an introduction to the alien race of the Sirens.

Sirens of Titan, Centaurus A

Alien races have the tendancy of being unknown to humans. Some are, some aren't. While some have an extremely documented history, recorded by others, all DNA strings unravelled and their characteristics being less of a mystery then finding out what's real or what isn't: a God or the big bang? The spaceship of the Sirens of Titan abandoned and hopefully forgotten by those who even dared to look at the maps of that particular part of space, floating around somewhere in the vicinity of the Centaurus A constellation. Originating from Neptune's moon Titan, the unwanted, unknown alien race now resides and rests in a foreign galaxy. Banished and sent into exile but their honour and thirst for more still omnipresent. Sleeping, undisturbed by the happenings on a distant place called earth, the milkyway or whatever floats through space as a result of war or natural cataclysm. The juvenile aliens put on cold storage, the elders vast asleep and the clones in breeding machines. Energy is infinite, due to the advanced machinery able to use the pure energy from the quantum foam. An endless, guaranteed flow keeping the Sirens asleep forever.

Thousands and thousands of years ago, when the Sirens were still more alive than today they lured the unwary space traveller to their paradise spaceship, lulling them to sleep. Once they were dreaming about their deepest, most hidden desires the Sirens revealed their true identity: a scavenger, a hungry predator. A beast of untold gore, violence and natural instinct of eating, of putting down the eternal hunger. Floating through space in an abandoned observation station made by a race of aliens or humans eons ago, the mind control abilities of the Sirens are unmatched, not a single helmet or any other device can stop the sweet lulling, your eyes blinded by love, blind for the truth. Only woe awaits those who enter, thinking they pass through the Gates of Heaven. The warm cheers of joy, combined with the softness of the air, the temperature, the odor of splendid wine, a tasty meal or whatever you ejoy to smell.

Yet, something went wrong. A strong mind, who did not fell for the mind tricks entered the godforsaken place and he was not able to kill, for he could only imprison them. Through the vastness of space, he sent his defunct spacestation near Centaurus A to rest between the space debris, asteroids and lost planets. Overly confident in the success of his achievements, the victor left the spacestation, knowing nobody will ever find it. All traces to it erased, no signs of its presence revealed to anyone but himself and his closed, most trusted friends. Asleep they were, the Sirens, but not unconscious. The somehow Sirens feel a presence of someone or something nearby. Whenever a living organism treads to close, the powerful mindcontrolling energy directs itself at the weakest point of its victim. Even when asleep it needs victims instead of eating itself slowly away. It's almost if... The mind of a Siren lives within the head of its carrying and caring body.

Sirens Observation Station #42, In orbit around Gliese 710.

http://www.nationstates.net/images/flags/uploads/sirens_of_titan.jpg

Inside the lone spaceship, the life monitoring units were abuz with activity. A stack of thousands and thousands of datasheets, every single one compiled after ten years of monitoring laid on the metal floor of the vessel. Not a single speck of dust or a single grain of sand was present on the vessel, the intense silence consumed you. If you listened closely, putting your ear against the microphone of any one of the life monitoring units, you can hear the heart pounding slowly of a Siren softly. It's hard to imagine a being so seemingly peaceful can be so... destructive. It's disturbing really, very disturbing. When our researches tried to understand from observations how these creatures live, more questions raised and few were answered. We know they are able to shapeshift, and have unique mind controlling abilities. But that's about it... Unfortunately. If only we can be sure nobody ever finds the spacestation. Why did our brilliant leaders insist on keeping them alive?

Sometimes when I speak these messages into the eventlogger, part of my personal diary I get the feeling this man, who stunningly defeated those monsters forgot something very important. I know, maybe it's just me and my paranoia. But a lifeform such as the Sirens, is one to take into account, believe me. I can't stop looking out the window, into the blackness of space. Even the most bleakest days of autumn on earth are alot happier than this infinity of darkess with stars kept in line by gravity. Here I am, along with seventy colleagues of mine we monitor the Sirens daily. Nothing to report, nothing to report, nothing to report. It seems nobody dares to go near the last(?) resting place of the Sirens. We will keep watch over this craven alien race until we find a way to seal their fate forever.

- Watchofficer Cezzamir Battenfeld, signing off.

"something on the long range scanners, my lord."
"what is it?"
"large power usage near Sol, an outer rim planet named Neptune."
"get a scout droid on the job, but keep distance."
"yes, emperor, i shall."

OOC: all information about my race is here; www.freewebs.com/myrodor/index.htm, i advise reading it if you want an rp. to sum up, Myrodor is a big ship full of robots, but read the thing anyway.

also im pretty sure that titan is jupeters moon, not neptunes

"something on the long range scanners, my lord."
"what is it?"
"large power usage near Sol, an outer rim planet named Neptune."
"get a scout droid on the job, but keep distance."
"yes, emperor, i shall."

OOC: all information about my race is here; www.freewebs.com/myrodor/index.htm, i advise reading it if you want an rp. to sum up, Myrodor is a big ship full of robots, but read the thing anyway.

also im pretty sure that titan is jupeters moon, not neptunes
OOC: Titan is a moon of Saturn. It's also inhabited (as is the entire Saturn system...at least in our universe. Click Here (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/index.php/Titan)) Still, the Sirens in space concept seems interesting. *tag*
Also, it doesn't sound like their in the Sol system...yet

OOC: I changed the first post a bit, perhaps it's a bit unclear. Should be okay now I reckon. I'm not going to spoil what the Sirens are, but perhaps you will know them if you watched a certain film from the eighties.

IC:
Sirens Observation Station #42, In orbit around Gliese 710.

http://www.nationstates.net/images/flags/uploads/sirens_of_titan.jpg

You got to be kidding me! For years we have sat here drinking synthetic coffee, eating de-thawed bread, fruit and other chemical junk! I've had it with this job! The pay is bad, constant lapses of our computer system. Nothing ever happens on this job, so dull. I mean, me and my mates are just checking the computer screens daily, playing a game of checkers or chess or doing our round on this ship. Hell, even the pirates and liars are complaining about this spacestation. Nothing of even the slightest value is present here. I remember when a few space pirates knocked on our airlock...

Yes, they came here, roamed through the halls and corridors and came back to the bridge empty handed. Their captain, a lousy scoundrel, the lowest of low. He came to me and demanded to know where we hid the cash. I told him that we only get food and water, our pay is put on a bankaccount somewhere near NGC 1097, but Mr Piratecaptain was displeased. He left with ten cans of dry spacebiscuits, a pack of tea and a small instant-sexual-satisfaction unit. Especially Walter was pretty pissed for a good while after they took his favourite toy.

Boring boring boring. This spacestation exists for over a hundred years now and nothing has happened near the resting place of the Sirens and I expect nothing WILL happen at all. It's forgotten. Damn if only we could disable the life support/monitoring units from here. It'd be over soon, and I'll just say an asteroid hit it or something. A plausible lie...

- Watchofficer Cezzamir Battenfeld, signing off.

"Hello, there."

Rob Pulson tapped the scanner screen to make sure it wasn't malfunctioning. What was that blip? This area of space was just made up of space debris and asteroids, anyway; probably a malfunction with the radar. Damn...I need a new ship. Of course, Pulson knew he could never leave his craft, which he had christned Quicksilver. It was almost a part of him.

But there it was again...Pulson frowned and looked out into the vast expanse of space. Did he really want to dodge through all the junk surrounding the mysterious object?

Of course he did. He was a treasure hunter.

"Eve. What are the chances of us getting to that object through all this space crap?" The Quicksilver's intelligent AI came online instantly, quickly calculating the ship's odds.

"There is a 13 percent chance of sucsess, Rob." Eve spoke in soft tones as she delivered the message.

"Good, my lucky number. Lets get a move on, then."

A Short Time Later...

Rob gasped. He had just piloted the Quicksilver through the largest pile of space junk and asteroids he had ever seen. Rob thought that he had almost hit a planet! He manuvered the ship one last time around a hunk of twisted space metal and finally caught sight of the object.

"...The Hell? A spacestation in the middle of nowhere?" Rob's jaw fell open as he laid his eyes on the massive station. His mouth watered at the prospect of exploring the huge artifical living space. Imagine what was on board! But first...Was there anyone on board? Rob pushed the Comm button and spoke into a microphone, sending a trasmission to the station and anything else around here that was alive.

"Um...Hello? Anyone home?" Rob pounded his head. What kind of a message was that? Oh well. Mabey he might get an answer!

The TSP Wanderer III roamed the stars silently as it went about doing routine scans of the Universe. To keep up with its namesake, the Science Vessel that was named the Wanderer was locked into a life of attempting to catelog every corner of the known Universe. This had always been known to be a physical impossibility, but the TSP had insisted on keeping the program as a bit of a joke, half using it as a Converstation piece, half hoping that perhaps they may be able to put the Database of information to some use one day.

Alas, none of that had come out into the open yet, and the crew of the Wanderer III attempted to fill their time in space while most of the scans were conducted by the computer. The crew were only there to make sure there was a failsafe in case something went wrong with the computer. Many of them Scientists, often entertained ideas of being punished here for some reason, failing to come up with a rationalization on why their brain power was being wasted on a job that could be accomplished by a Probe.

Today, however, would be different. During his shift on the bridge, Captain Kris Hugo sat in his chair, listening to radio transmissions that had made it out this far in their travels. He had made quite a game of it, listening to the foreign sounds and then attempting to guess their origin point. During one of his sessions one of the bridge officers reported a strange object on sensors, from a catalogued region, something that shouldn’t have been there.

“Sir, It seems to be a large station of some sort. Its purpose is unknown, it has no entries in our databases.” Reported the Bridge officer

“Well, it seems that we’re actually going to have a little life aboard this ship soon. Notify the Scientists that they may have some actual work to do. It is the Torontonian Space Programs initiative to discover these sorts of things. So I’m going to take the liberty to check it out.” Replied the Captain

“Very Good Sir” The Bridge officer stated as he punched in the coordinates of the system into the Jump Vector. After a quick announcement followed by a warning siren, the ship folded space and entered the region.

After a quick feeling of timelessness passed, they found themselves in front of a large station, that hadn’t been there before. Minding the system hadn’t been passed through in fifty years. However, they didn’t seem to be the first people there. There was a small-unknown ship in the vicinity as well. The Standard Introductory Message was sent to both ships.

“Greetings, this is the Torontonian Space Program Vessel Wanderer III we come on behalf of the Torontonian people and mean no harm. The Corporate Autocracy of Torontonias would be most interested in trading technology and otherwise resources”

After the Message the Captain quipped in “This is Captain Kris Hugo speaking, seeing as that message doesn’t quite fit well here, I would like to inquire into the nature of this station. It doesn’t show up on records, and seems to be oddly located for any space construction, this is an uninhabited section of space…”

OOC: General Information On Torontonias and the Science vessel can be found at http://www.esusalliance.co.uk/forums/viewtopic.php?t=864

OOC: I’m assuming that the Station has already been consumed and has been inactive for a significant time, if I’m wrong SOT let me know over MSN.

The Imperial Star Cruiser Purity was an old vessel, a relic from the Dark Empire, its hull was battle scorn, its crew young and inexperienced, ordered upon one of the most gruelling duty patrols that the Navy had to offer. Skimming the edges of the Uncharted Regions the frigate was only a token presence, it could not hold back an invasion, or stop a determined incursion, it was there as a warning, and a token police force, on the off chance that some smugglers would attempt to pass through the desolate sector.

The frigate was a mere four hundred meters in length, but it still packed a significant punch, boasting a compliment of ten heavy turbolasers, and an assortment of lighter weapons. Silently stalking through the dead of space the Carrack was hardly the most exciting place to be, maintaining the persona of law enforcer in a dead system was not what the crew had in mind when they joined the academy.

On the bridge, a skeleton crew were staffed. The captain was in his quarters, seeing to a particular ensign, who had just come on board a few weeks earlier. While the executive officer, commander Kieral was slumped in the command chair, his head tilted to one side, bored, as well as tired. “I think we should implement a combat drill.” The commander mused to the few officers in earshot. “Stir a few things up wouldn’t it?” All he got in reply was a few smiles, then the uncomfortable silence returned.

A few hours later, with his duty shift finally nearing its end, something happened. The sensor consoles came alive, apparently an object was approaching them, not an asteroid, or rogue comet, but an artificial construct, a small station drifting through space. The sensors were immediately brought to bare, revealing the craft in all its mystery. It was large a few hundred meters long and slightly smaller than the Carrack itself, it proved a tantalising distraction from the gruelling day to day chores. “Energy readings?” Kieral enquired.

From the command pit, a young officer quickly answered, a lieutenant Anders, who was in the unfortunate position of being recently transferred from Coruscant; the crew were always hardest of the city dwellers. “Minimal Sir, the craft is on a collision course, and we are not fitted with Gravity projectors.”

“Hmm” Kieral, thought. “Captain Versil to the bridge.” This was not a decision Kieral could make on his own.

Ten minutes later the situation had been briefed, and all crew dispatched to duty stations, quickly and confidently the captain had decided on a course of action, the vessel was to be boarded by Dark troopers, trained personnel in pressureless environments.

Slowly the Carrack was turned about, and brought before the object. Following a parallel course, the captain ordered his troopers to proceed, who were now only a few meters from the alien object, standing in depressurised air locks. The small distance between the alien craft and the carrack provided an excellent opportunity for a precision tubolaser blast, a small section of the alien ships outer hull was blown from its sheathing exposing the vulnerable superstructure of the ship. Without fear or question, the troopers proceeded inside……

Taggy

Sirens Observation Station #42, In orbit around Gliese 710.

http://www.nationstates.net/images/flags/uploads/sirens_of_titan.jpg

“Master, something’s amiss…” The servant tried in vain to wake Watchofficer Battenfeld but no matter how hard he tried, he didn’t wake up. With snot slowly dripping from his nose and his face in an awkward happiness, he laid on bed calm. It was impossible for the servant to wake him up, but he still tried.
“Goddamn! Why the hell do you keep drinking the HalluCoke on duty.” Still shaking the practically unconscious commander, there was no chance he was going to be awake in the next six hours. The other crewmembers were running through the spaceship. The sheer panic was unimaginable, for the first time in probably thousands of years spaceships came too close to the Sirens. Not one, not two, but three! One from a space faring nation known as Torontonias, the Sith and Ravea, well known nations in space.
“Why the hell did Cezzamier lock the command cabin? He’s the only one with access to the Sirens Warning System!” A man screamed while passing an intercom, nothing could be done to warn the ignorant space travellers, a looming doom couldn’t be stopped by mere arms or diplomatic talks – according to the latest datafeed, an Imperial Star Cruiser has connected itself with the forsaken ship. Their faith was sealed.
“For Gods sake someone stop them! They are all going to be killed by these things! The navigators were all biting their nails, franticly throwing insane amounts of coffee down their throats and lighting one cigarette after another. Ashtrays were filled, coffee was spilled all over and some fainted.

This cannot be happening. We tried to warn them…

Centaurus A

The communiqués from the spaceships getting close to the Siren ship were picked up by the internal computer systems and by the restless minds of the Sirens. Yes, they were in range. From inside the cold storage containers the minds were directing the helpless souls of the men in the spaceships. The low tone of the hollow voice made its way into the minds of the captain of the Sith vessel. The irresistible cries for help, the soft moans of something so… I cannot say how it sounds because I never heard it. It’s so, impossible to describe. You have to imagine something like a young kitten or a rabbit. So fluffy, so cute. You don’t want to harm it because it has a certain aura, almost the same as cries of the Sirens. It’s so convincing that even thinking the truthfulness of these cries is made up by a hungry alien race is impossible.
“Come now… Come, we do not wish to harm your men… Come now, help us, and help our beings…” Sentences like these infested the minds of the men. The Sith who already entered the spaceship are the first victims of this reborn scourge of the universe. An invisible gloom, a haze of crimson drifted through the spaceship, the dust coming from an old pressure system had broken down centuries ago. Cooling fluid dripped from tubes in the ceiling onto the floor. An old chamber with the foreboding letters “DO NOT ENTER FOR HEAVENS SAKE” written in blood marked the entrance to the cold storage. Where an anti-matter self-destruction device used to be, only a few disconnected wires remain. Ripped by bandits, or the Sirens destroyed it? The glass cases, the strongest of its kind were filled with gasses to keep them asleep, while the life support units kept on spitting out datacharts.

What’s this? Who built this? Who allowed an AI computer to be connected to a Master Siren? A sinister force was building really advanced equipment for the Sirens, highly advanced machinery and data processing systems of the highest grade. The Master Siren was an early experiment of human scientists when the Sirens were still roaming the universe. The cybernetics is still in working condition albeit a bit outdated. Once the master wakes up, the nanomachines will begin updating there, and their master’s systems as well. The communiqués from Torontonias were picked up by this AI system and a friendly response was sent back along with a few instructions by mind control – telling them entering the ship is vital for the survival of the crewmembers. Medical aid is needed as well as a repairteam to fix the most important structures. Grain and noise was added by a random noise generator, to give the impression something has gone terribly wrong on this supposedly human vessel.

Communication - Interstellair Message Unit
From: Breitner Asteroid Mining Corporation Observation Post Q-1066
TO: Torontonias, TSP Wanderer III
MESSAGE: We... We are in need of... In need of assistance... Emergency systems cant hold on much longer... Stuck for hundreds years... Years... Placed our... Our... Ourselves in coldstorage units nits... Please come to... to... our assistance ASAP.... Over and Out t.

The Breitner Asteroid Mining Corporation went bankrupt hundreds of years ago, some people still know that because it meant the loss of almost three million jobs, and the knowledge many observation stations were lost. Forever everybody thought, but from time to time remains or intact ones are discovered. Mostly between debris like Centaurus A.

Some distance away...

'You incompetent fool of a naviagtionial officer' yelled the captain, 'You are several hundred light years off course. Does this look like TIN?!!!'

another officer turned and said, 'Sir, I'm detected faint energy readings in the debris field a short distance away. Shall we go and investigate?'

'As we are here, we might as well..'

The MCD changed course at at full hyperspace headed towards the source of the signal...

Hours later...

"Captain Battenfeld! Commander, finally you have woken up! A must unfortunate thing has happened in the last few hours, we are so glad you have waken up earlier than we thought" The cheerful communicator walked around Commander Battenfeld, giving him status updates and information on the vessels close to the Sirens of Titan.
"Communicator Cezlensky, open up a secure transmission with our homebase, we need to tell them what has happened. Oh yeah, don't tell them about my HalluCoke experience... I'm sure you understand why people drink that stuff."
"Oh damn right I do heh heh heh." The communicator walked off to his cabin, writing the bad news and sending it to the main station.

The main task of these observation stations is to monitor dangerous alien life forms that can and will wreak havoc when unleashed again by the unwary or freed by the ignorant. Some aliens are powerful by themselves, an extremely well developed muscle structure or are a race of warriors. But the Sirens are everything they have consumed - their whole cellular structure is a chaotic mess, and they lack a form they stick with. Instead, they can shape shift themselves to whatever they want, only to lure people into their awaiting claws, teeth and paws more easily. The Sirens rely on brute strength, their wits and on guns if necessary. A most diverse race, and potentially, the most dangerous alien.

Observation Post #42's sole purpose was to monitor and safeguard the secret of the Sirens being in Centaurus A. Some things are meant to be discovered while others are destined to remain secret. Some connections are seen while others cannot, the Sirens feel the presence of connections, and know their presence is no longer a secret. The only thing preventing their escape is the constant sleep of their body. Their minds however, and I hate to admit it, are alive and well.

Communication - Interstellar Message Unit
From: Breitner Asteroid Mining Corporation Observation Post Q-1066
TO: Ravea, Quicksilver
MESSAGE: Please… Please send help fast… Our… ur engines are broken down for years… lost in space… Please send medical staff aff fast in desperate need of help… we have frozen our our selves selves please do hurry rry… Come to our aid quickly... We are survivors of a catastrophe. We are dying here energy supplies running low ow... Over and out out…

This message was also sent to Ravea who was also getting close to the Sirens of Titan, the same lulling voices were drawing them closer, but close is not enough. They must enter the spaceship, find the Sirens and hopefully, take them home. The more humans or whatever's out there takes the cells of the Sirens with them, the better it is for the ultimate goal. The greater good, only a few strings of genetic data from the true races of Sirens remain in their deformed, misshapen bodies. The spaceships were getting nearer... And the mind control was getting more intense. Invisible hands were drawing the ships to the doomed vessel ignoring the laws of physics just making sure they were going to be there, to act as a host.

Humans: a perfect host for a perfect assassin.
- A long dead fighter of the Sirens of Titan, taken from a personal correspondence from him to his father.

Command Unit - on patrol through space, near Stephans Quintet

"Captain Costinack, this is really, really bad. We received a message from station number forty-two near Gliese 710 telling..." The lady who was going to give the captain the communiqué sighed, gulped and tried to regain her strength before telling it. "Well Captain... It seems several spacecraft are near the Sirens of Titan."
"WHAT THE FU... HELL?" Captain Costinack was going to fuck, he didn't. Cursing wouldn't improve the situation, he balled his fists and grabbed the piece of paper from the surprised womens hands. While walking about the bridge he kept re-reading every word, every letter of it. Thoughts flashed through his mind. Quickly then disappearing to make an even more scarier return moments later. What can happen if a single person carries the cells of a Siren? I shudder to think.
"How the hell can this commander Battenfeld allow any lapses under his watch? Because of his stupidity, incompetence." No he thought, no. This could have happened much, much sooner. I'm surprised nobody found them centuries ago. The captain fell in his chair and opened a bottle of real Scotch whiskey, a rare beverage in deep space. One small sip and he put the bottle back in his personal locker while pondering how to deal with this situation.

Taggeth

This has been an Ineffable Tag, sponsored by Ineffable Friendly Muffin Corporation. (http://s6.invisionfree.com/International_Mall/index.php?showtopic=1731)

Captain Hugo, along with the rest of his crew and Scientists, became minutely entranced by the strange voices that lulled them closer to the station; each person aboard was itching for a reason to come onboard. That reason would arrive in the form of a message

“Captain, we’re getting a distress message from the station, they need our assistance!” Reported the Bridge officer

“Well… then, we’re just going to have to go help them now …aren’t we?” Muttered the Captain, the most affected of the group “Get teams to the airlocks and dock us with the station, bring medical, repair and salvage equipment along as well. There is no telling what is going to be waiting for us onboard

As the Wanderer III docked with the long silent station, there was a odd sense of irony on the bridge that the captains words could not have had a truer ring…

OCC: This looks like a neat RP. Nice Asimov reference there.

IC:

"In the name of god, what is wrong with these accursed plotters?!?! Screw them! Screw YOU! All of you, get out of my sight!"

Admiral John Fisher sits on the bridge of an old Robotic heavy cruiser, RGSV Hawkins. The ship is a good hundred years old, kept intact only by frequent overhauls. And it is on the way to a deepspace shipyard that disaster strikes. Jackie Fisher rules over the Hawkins like one of the tinpot despots of ancient times. The remoteness of his command, in charge of the practically non-existant 2nd squadron of the 1st Battle Division of the Robotic Grand Fleet, lets him get away with what would otherwise be punished as grotesque incompetence.

"Bloody navigation computer! I want it thrown out of the ship!"
"But sir..."
"But nothing! Throw it overboard!"
"Right lads, bring up the torches!"

Old Jackie sits in his obscenely comfortable chair as the navigational computer is promptly cut out of the ship and moved-at great effort-towards the main bridge exit. No less than twenty sailors heft the computer by hand, only to find it too large to fit through the door.

"Admiral, sir, it won't fit!"
"I don't bloody well care! Cut it into pieces and then throw it overboard!"
"Sir, the communcations console is blinking!"

One of the sailors spies activity on the abandoned radio console, whose operator currently supports the right side of the massive navigational computer.

"Well, go check it, man!"
"Aye, sir."

After working the switches and dials for a few seconds, the midshipman stationed at console 1 eliminates interference and picks out a faint signal. Apparently a distress signal, coming from close by. As the astronomy team had yet to be summoned, with their charts, telescopes, and calculators, the crew of the Hawkins, some five hundred souls, cannot be sure.

"Leftenant, order the astronomy team to their station immediately."
"Aye, sah."
"And also, Leftenant..."
"Yes, sah?"
"Have we heard from the Weymouth or Birkenhead?"
"Negatif,' sah. Lysander and Louis have radioed in, 'owevah."
"Hmph. Helmsman, continue on your present course."

http://www.firstworldwar.com/photos/graphics/cpe_fisher_01.jpg

OOC Have you read the Vonnegurt book by the same name? And TAG.

"Ah yeaahs..." The soft whisperings from inside the abandoned spaceship grew in strength and intensity, poisoning the minds even further. Inside the abandoned spaceship only a few AI robots were still in working order, most of them collapsed because of malfunctions or their AI central processing units went insane of the endless loneliness. Even these machines, who thought to lack every kind of emotion being modelled after genetically enhanced human brains; the desingers were wrong. The medical team from Torontonias entered the vessel through the airlock while some insane AI robots were closely watching them, and transmitting all data to the Master Siren's computer.

In his mind, sick of hunger and lust for more he was looking at everything the men were doing. Fresh blood was pouring in. "Come closer my friends, we are peaceful, come and slake your thirst for knowledge and respect by your superiors..." A perfect music began to play in the heads of the Torontonias' men, so serene, so emotional. It was a combination of the most powerful music that brings your most deepest emotions of sadness above, a dreadful weary sound. Tears began to flow as the men walked through the chaos of the long lost spaceship. Meanwhile the Captain - who was now under completel control of the Master Siren, almost if a mind control spell was casted upon him, mesmirized by the powerful explosion of emotions and intense music, he was nothing less than a zombie. Alive and healthy, but his mind connected by an invisible link of mind control. Some men tried to resist, but it was futile. Drawn to the cold storage units, the mechanics received messages how to dethaw the bodies and reanimation.

"My friends, come. Come to us, we do not wish to harm you. We are your friends, your family, your bloodbrothers. We love you, we cherish your presence..."

OOC: Never read it. But my nation is named after the book.

The squad of Dark Troopers made their way into the abandoned hulk, their cloned minds, sterile, and focused, they would and could only follow orders from command. The corridors were dark, musty, with a thick coating of dust on the metallic floors. Oxygen in the section was non-existent, thanks to the breech the Carrack had devised. Scanning through the darkness on multiple frequencies it was obvious that some form of combat had taken place, scorch marks scarred the walls, indicating energy weapons, while the last traces of biological residue signalled a gruesome fate for whatever befell it.

“Status Forty-two?” Captain Versil asked through the squads internal communicators.

“Nothing much sir, we have evidence of a fire fight, some biological residue indicates fatalities, but we have yet to leave the incursion zone.”

“Continue towards this section.” Versil ordered. Transmitting the derelicts schematics the stations plans materialised upon Forty-twos helmet visor, in the centre was a room highlighted in red. “We have detected faint energy readings from this room Forty-Two, you are to secure that area immediately, disregard all other priorities.”

“Company Captain?”

“Indeed, we have unknown aliens boarding the station. Your primary objectives have changed, you are to secure anything of value for the Empire, which we have calculated is most likely in the central chamber; technically the derelict is in Imperial space, but this is a first contact situation, only open fire if they threaten the mission Forty-Two.”

“Yes Sir.” The squad, acting upon the captains information armed their weapons. Kicking off from the wall, forty-two led his squad down the dark corridors, gently floating towards the central chamber they experienced an increasing amount of artificial gravity, finally, Forty-two decided it was enough to walk with.

His squad formed up behind him, their dark armour revealing none of their facial expressions, completely isolated from the cold vacuum of space. “Place the field here and here” Forty-Two ordered. As his men quickly carried out the task a small field of yellow appeared. Hoping the field would hold, the squad opened the heavy bulkhead door that lay in front of them.

Beyond was a large room, circular, and about twenty meters in height. Attached to large conduits were dangling pods, hundreds of them, stretching off into the distance.

“Are you seeing this captain?”

“Yes, don’t touch anything yet Forty-Two, create a perimeter first and prevent the aliens from accessing the chamber, use high yield weapons if necessary.”

“Yes Sir” Forty-Two answered once again. Ignoring the calls of the Sirens the clones troopers were too focused on their orders. Preparing traps, and fortifications, the clones awaited the arrival of the aliens…..

OOC: This takes place before my "Shadows of the Federation" RP
IC:
Atlantian Flagship Olympia - nearing Gliese 710

Rathama leaned on the sciance station's table, having trouble keeping awake. This whole mission had been boring. A sensor sweep of a dead part of space. Now with both of his eyes closed, and him already in the twilight stage of sleep, Rathama was suddenly shaken back to the world of wakingness. His station's control planel was beeping.

Turning his seat around, he looked at the current commanding officer, who was sitting in Admiral Vega's chair.

"Commander" he said to Atlantia "I think you should see this"

Atlantia sighed, not really willing to get out of the comfortable spot she had put herself in. Walking over to Rathma, she said "So what am I looking at?"

"You are seeing several ships in the vicinity, all of them approching some backwater body of rock.

"Hmmm...." Atlantia thought. She took out her wrist communicator "Commander Atlantia to Admiral Vega"

Groggy from having his sleep disrupted, Vega responded a few seconds later "Yes?"

"I think there's something here you should see"

***************

A few short minutes later, the Olympia started on a direct course for Gliese 710, cloaked.

OOC: I'll reply to Sith's post after Torontonias has responded, you will know why when I posted. In this post I'll reveal a small part of the Sirens history, but not much will be given away until I get around to write an in-depth study about the Sirens, where they came from, how the ended up in a lone spacestation and how they came from Titan. About the last thing I have to talk to a member of the Titan region, making sure nothing is slightly godmodded or otherwise impossible. Now, onto the IC bit.

IC:
The spaceship to contain the Sirens of Titan was built hundreds of years ago, not by the Breitner mining corporation but by an individual contractor around the year 2500 AD. The man who ordered the construction was a wealthy man named Karl Minte, a name often associated with the Sirens. Karl Minte was born in future Germany where he studied medicine as well as genetica and cybernetics. He was one of the founding fathers of creating links between the human brain and working AI computers. This was an attempt to create humans with extraordinary brain capacity, outcomputing every other computing system in the universe. Though he couldn't match the awesome power of other major computer systems, he discovered ways to let the computer redesign and reorganise the genetic makeup of cloned cells. Because computers do not make mistakes, Minte became adept at the art of creating whatever he wanted to create. This resulted in several "perfect" human children, but he also created failures. Many failures, so many he just killed most of the newborns after he did a small blood test. Sometimes he killed them when he saw their deformed bodies, but some promising mistakes were made. The most promising mistakes either had an incredibly strong muscular structure, enhanced vision or other kinds of senses being superior to human standards. However, he also created dangerous mistakes.

By sheer accident he created the Sirens when he was mixing the genes of an undisclosed alien breed. He carefully documented every discovery he made, including several shocking ones. In particular this one: "...It's appalling, and this proves nature can never cease to amaze me. But upon investigating the Sirens further guarded by Mr LeVerrier and DeFala, my trusted watchmen I know the alien cannot show itself. Only when lonely he will strike, or when he knows his true identity is about to be uncovered. This can only be done by the test (see page 12, section C). Once an organism is infected by a Siren - a single cell is enough, then the transformation takes approximately five minutes. A perfect copy is created which can talk, use the brains of his/her host and interact with the enviroment. When dead (supposed death by bystanders obviously) cellular activity remains..." Only Captain Costinack knows about these books, and he's the only one who knows where they are hidden.

But Captain Costinack also knows a more darker secret why the Sirens are left frozen in the abandoned station...

The Captain of the Wanderer III personally led the team in as if some other force was compelling him too. Most of the team was unarmed, with the exception of two Guards armed with MFP-330c’s, one of the two standard assault rifles issued within the Torontonian Military.

“Remember, this is a repair and recrew mission, we are to seek out the injured miners, administer first-aid or minor surgery, and give them enough supplies until their home company can bail them out. And for goodness sake, don’t get into any association with them, we already know what happened the last time…” Hugo stated as they departed the airlock into the dreary ship, a resounding sound of “Yessir’s” and “Alright” came from the fifteen-strong party.

As the group progressed inward, they became more and more entranced by the sounds of the “Miners” which they had come to rescue. Fairly soon they had forgotten all about the miners and were consumed with finding the source of the marvellous sounds that had been calling out to them.

They stumbled around the station, jerking involuntarily at sounds other that the beautiful voices they were being lured by. They wondered like this for many minutes until the found themselves in a large chamber, along with the source of the voice, much to the crews dismay, the chamber was also occupied in the other end by a foreign group of armed soldiers. The group, sensing their endangerment, temporarily snapped out of the trance.

“Um, Sir?” One of the scientists inquired to the Captain “We’ve got unknown soldiers on the other end of this chamber, they appear to be armed”

“Let me see, and station our two guards at the entrance, I’ll poke my head in and see what is going on…” Hugo manoeuvred back to the front of the group and slid through the door, to be confronted by large, armoured soldiers, however, unfazed, he just waved them off and asked to see the commanding officer.

“Greetings, We’re just here responding to a distress call aboard this Mining Vessel as per Standard TSP protocol. We mean you now harm, most of the party are scientists or other personnel, all unarmed I assure you. The only one’s we’ve got with weapon are myself and the two guard at the door” He said, motioning to the guards “Although I have to pose the question, what is a armed contingent of soldiers doing barricading a ship that doesn’t belong to them? I don’t think the owners would be very pleased…”

OOC: This is my last post until late Saturday, I think I sent my group where it was supposed to go, if not, I grant Sirens liberty to move them to where they are supposed to go. Also, as to not block up the RP, I also give Sirens limited control over the Rescue group, as well as the Wanderer III, should they have to move, interact, etc. Nothing too drastic mind you, just enough to keep it going.

"In the name of god, what is wrong with these accursed plotters?!?! Screw them! Screw YOU! All of you, get out of my sight!"

Admiral John Fisher sits on the bridge of an old Robotic heavy cruiser, RGSV Hawkins. The ship is a good hundred years old, kept intact only by frequent overhauls. And it is on the way to a deepspace shipyard that disaster strikes. Jackie Fisher rules over the Hawkins like one of the tinpot despots of ancient times. The remoteness of his command, in charge of the practically non-existant 2nd squadron of the 1st Battle Division of the Robotic Grand Fleet, lets him get away with what would otherwise be punished as grotesque incompetence.

"Bloody navigation computer! I want it thrown out of the ship!"
"But sir..."
"But nothing! Throw it overboard!"
"Right lads, bring up the torches!"

Old Jackie sits in his obscenely comfortable chair as the navigational computer is promptly cut out of the ship and moved-at great effort-towards the main bridge exit. No less than twenty sailors heft the computer by hand, only to find it too large to fit through the door.

"Admiral, sir, it won't fit!"
"I don't bloody well care! Cut it into pieces and then throw it overboard!"
"Sir, the communcations console is blinking!"

One of the sailors spies activity on the abandoned radio console, whose operator currently supports the right side of the massive navigational computer.

"Well, go check it, man!"
"Aye, sir."

After working the switches and dials for a few seconds, the midshipman stationed at console 1 eliminates interference and picks out a faint signal. Apparently a distress signal, coming from close by. As the astronomy team had yet to be summoned, with their charts, telescopes, and calculators, the crew of the Hawkins, some five hundred souls, cannot be sure.

"Leftenant, order the astronomy team to their station immediately."
"Aye, sah."
"And also, Leftenant..."
"Yes, sah?"
"Have we heard from the Weymouth or Birkenhead?"
"Negatif,' sah. Lysander and Louis have radioed in, 'owevah."
"Hmph. Helmsman, continue on your present course."

[OOC: In the great tradition of ICEL and LRR vessels 'running into one another'...]

Bridge; IDSS Trooper of Paths, exiting final Transition (37/37) from last known position nr. Jovian Space to nr. Neptune Space

"And...contact," reported the navigation-cum-pilot person situated at the helm, smugly. "Thirteen micron drift. New record for the class, captain."

The captain of this vessel smiled - he was just as smug. "Excellent, captain. Consider that week's leave to be yours, you smug so-and-so."

Laughter from the helm.

"I think my work here is done," the captain at helm decided, standing and relinquishing his post to the usual officer for the position, NavOps 1st Echelon Lieutenant Avadore-Rihad. The middle-aged woman beams.

"Great job, sir," she admits, peering at the console suspiciously for a moment even so - almost as if it has betrayed her by working better for another.

Grins are exchanged around the bridge, the captain stirs happily in the Nest; this is a good crew, he believes strongly.

And his suspicions to this effect are only given pause when the duty SensOps officer reports: "Sir, we have two contacts. One is an LRR vessel; serial number not in the intel file. Markings indicate that it is the Hawk."

Pause.

"Err, Hawkins."

So much for that fantasy, thought the captain wryly.

Another addition, this time from CommsOps - "Sir, unidentified contact is transmitting. Not...quite sure what."

"Getting other contacts now, sir," added the SensOps woman. "Looks like they're either moving in towards or near to the vessel that's transmitting."

"Appears to be a distress signal," adds CommsOps. "At least, the philologists say so."

* * *

The Void

AKA

Space

AKA

Like, You Know. Outside the Ship.

The sleek Iluvauromeni vessel cancelled its forwards momentum - its exit velocity, as usual, somewhere in the .05c area - by the method of utilizing that momentum to swing it in long, spiralling circles.

It does not move towards the vessel transmitting - what's the point? there're enough ships there already - but instead moves vaguely towards the LRR ship.

An open transmission spurts from one ship to the other, via a laser relay.

"Ahoy, mateys."

"Who the blazes is it now, leftenant?"
"Commandah, admiral sah."
"Commander then. Who in the blazes is hailing us?"
"Its a ICEL ship, admiral sah!"
"And what do they want?"
"They say 'ello, sah."
"Return the greeting, and ask them what they want."

A sailor handling the communications console adjusts the communications array until it is aimed towards the Trooper Of Paths.

"Ahey, ICEL vessel. 'Dis is de RSV 'Awkins, yeh. What brings yous out dis fah?"
"Watch your bloody grammar, Commander. This isn't bloody Kingston."
"M'apologies, sah. I'd won' happen again."

The Trooper Of Paths would probably find it unusual that a Robotic warship, a heavy cruiser, is so far away from a station or trade route. The 2nd Squadron is really on a navigation excersize, which Admiral Fisher is failing quite badly. The ICEL cruiser will probably also detect the pieces of the navigational computer flying out of the secondary airlock, victim of Jackie Fisher's irrationality and strangeness. But that's life.

In the engineering compartment, Robotic engineers sit around, playing card games and strumming on a variety of home-made instruments...

"Captain Hugo, we found out how to undo the freezing of the miners." Captain Hugo looked back at the mechanic, nodded and whispered in his ear
"Get through the ventilation shaft, number 23b north of here." Without saying a word the mechanic acknowledged the assignment and he gathered a few men and women to follow him. His attention was fixed on releasing the miners, he began to forget the Sith who were also wandering around the spaceship. Ten minutes later the mechanic lowered himself into the sealed cold storage compartment, and where he say the glass cases, filled with gas.
"They are here my friends, they are calling us. We must obey!" Franticly they began to power up the systems, typing in the access codes given to them by the Sirens, while the head mechanic was shouting orders to his fellow workers. "Press the button marked 'liquid nitrogen valve' and then pull the lever release, that will suck out all the gas."

After an hour of work, the gas has been cleared, and inside the glas cases the bodies of miners laid peacefully. "Begin reanimation, up the temperature to 36°C and then wake them." Only a few moments later of tensity and excitement, the first Sirens began to wake up after a sleep of a few hundred years. Winking and waving to the men who set them free, the head mechanic opened all the cold storage containers. Still walking shaky on legs not used for decades and their hands twisted into insane positions, with their head in an awkward angle placed on their neck, they moved to the men. Waiting to be consumed by the Sirens.
"Master, take us. We are here for you..."
A deep growl, coming from the back of their noses replies, and in a blink the hands of the Master Siren, their fingers, turned into the tentacles, growing fast with claws slashing through the men of Torontonias - while they stood and awaited their destiny with pride. Some five minutes later, the head mechanic was turned into a Siren.
"Now, make them all one of us." The head mechanic ripped his abdomen open, all his intestines whipping around, lashing the men until blood of the Sirens was consumed by the men. A Siren began to pull out his tongue, turning into a long string of tissue, blood gushing from his mouth while spitting it to men who haven't converted yet. When he pulled his tongue out, he started to weave a whip of it. He pulled on both ends, the strength was everything needed to take the Sith clones. Only one would be enough.

An hour later...

Unseen by the Sith detachment, the men from the mission returned to Captain Hugo. "Ah, my mechanics and rescue team has returned. Seen anything weird?" Hugo was sitting on an old drum near the airlock with the two guards, after he came back from the Sith demanding to see their commander. He couldn't possibly know if the commander would see him, but it was worth trying.
"Captain Hugo, nothing is down there. All we found was an AI system gone insane."
"You got to be kidding me."
"Sorry sir, I ain't making jokes about it."
Not seen by the captain, the head mechanic pulled out the nail from his thumb and carefully sliced the ungloved hand of a guard. He did not feel a thing, but the blood made its way into the bloodvessels. Captain Hugo continued. "If I get to see the captain I want you two to bodysearch him, I don't like the Sith, and I don't like risking my life for nothing. You got that?"
"Sir, yes sir!" The head mechanic smiled, for it was he who told Hugo to do that.

The Sirens knew enough, they lifted the veil of mindcontrol, and allowed all of the Torontonias men to return to their own self. But, before they allowed them to leave, the Master Siren sent one last message to him: "Take your men to the nearest human planet once you have concluded your business with the Sith Commander, let them have some fun." And that is exactly what Captain Hugo did; he waited for the Sith to respond.

*****

The Sith were growing restless, they knew something happened to the men of Torontonias but couldn't quite figure out what precisely. But beneath their feet, in the cold storage, the Master Siren was working on a solution to defeat the wards keeping the chamber sealed. No, without the proper tools this will never work. Concentrating on yet another link with a mind, the Master Siren began to fix his attention to the Sith Commander, he must speak with Captain Hugo.
"Speak with him, talk to him, communicate with him, interact with him..." The tone of the words spoken was firm and powerful, impossible to ignore. Like a loud voice in your head when deaf. You cannot turn it off, or turn your head away from the source.

Now, how to get out of the cold storage... The Sith had to do it, and their commander would be the one ordering it.

"Who the blazes is it now, leftenant?"
"Commandah, admiral sah."
"Commander then. Who in the blazes is hailing us?"
"Its a ICEL ship, admiral sah!"
"And what do they want?"
"They say 'ello, sah."
"Return the greeting, and ask them what they want."

A sailor handling the communications console adjusts the communications array until it is aimed towards the Trooper Of Paths.

"Ahey, ICEL vessel. 'Dis is de RSV 'Awkins, yeh. What brings yous out dis fah?"
"Watch your bloody grammar, Commander. This isn't bloody Kingston."
"M'apologies, sah. I'd won' happen again."

The Trooper Of Paths would probably find it unusual that a Robotic warship, a heavy cruiser, is so far away from a station or trade route. The 2nd Squadron is really on a navigation excersize, which Admiral Fisher is failing quite badly. The ICEL cruiser will probably also detect the pieces of the navigational computer flying out of the secondary airlock, victim of Jackie Fisher's irrationality and strangeness. But that's life.

In the engineering compartment, Robotic engineers sit around, playing card games and strumming on a variety of home-made instruments...

The captain sighed. Why they were here was far too long, complicated, and downright boring to even think about going into detail. After all, it wasn't every day that a brand new Glorious class ship - there were only two, and the other was the Glorious, who, in fact, was not too far away - was this far from home without escort.

In fact, he decided-

Opening a control on his armrest, he sends off a communique to the LRR vessel: "We're on our maiden voyage, testing systems and ensuring full operating efficiency. Uh. My SensOps Officer just informed me that you appear to have...debris. Problems. Kindof. Yes?

"Um. Need a hand, Hawkins?"

Yes. Focus on their problems. Not your own. That usually resolves everything.

Because, see, the Trooper of Paths wasn't really here to spy on this big gathering of vessels. Nosiree. Just passing through. Uh huh.

* * *

There are some strange details that don't quite add up, regarding the composition of the hull (which is particuarly heavy on carbon), and the form which the propulsive MI (magnetic impetus) field takes; for starters, according to prior intel (collected by anyone who cared to look), this isn't an ICEL ship at all. Because, see, the MI field is just...

Well, wrong. It appears to be originating from a point outside the ship, which, really, doesn't seem possible. The laws of physics being what they are, electromagnetic fields rarely spring from vacuum.

There are also some odd x-ray emissions from some little nubbin-lumps running the length of the hull - the ship is fairly typical as far as shape: reminiscent of a symmetrical teardrop with a conical nose and rear, with the characteristic 4th generation Iluvauromeni warship 'corkscrew' system to double guntube number; and there are the E-cannon mounts, little depressions at the nose and midsection with little iris ports; the complete lack of visible engines; the lack of protrusions; the small drones flitting around the craft (known in some Space Forces as 'whiskers', but here known as 'fingers')...

Well, aside from the weirdness of the MI field, it looks Iluvauromeni. The captain speaks with a Turath accent. The SensOps officer has a Nenya accent.

So. It appears to just be...

Uh. Different.

The captain sighed. Why they were here was far too long, complicated, and downright boring to even think about going into detail. After all, it wasn't every day that a brand new Glorious class ship - there were only two, and the other was the Glorious, who, in fact, was not too far away - was this far from home without escort.

In fact, he decided-

Opening a control on his armrest, he sends off a communique to the LRR vessel: "We're on our maiden voyage, testing systems and ensuring full operating efficiency. Uh. My SensOps Officer just informed me that you appear to have...debris. Problems. Kindof. Yes?

"Um. Need a hand, Hawkins?"

Yes. Focus on their problems. Not your own. That usually resolves everything.

Because, see, the Trooper of Paths wasn't really here to spy on this big gathering of vessels. Nosiree. Just passing through. Uh huh.

"Umm...yes, Troopah of Paths[/i], we could use a new navigator computah, if yous 'ave 'un. Also...we's picked up some kind of distress signal from 'un ship not too fah 'way. You see it to?"

Fisher sighs and gives the Commander a dirty look. But there certainly is something strange going on. The ship that appears to send the distress call is virtually swimming in strangeness and unusuality. Of course, without a navigational computer they wouldn't be able to approach it very well.

But something is by all means fishy about the distress call...

Meanwhile, RSV Birkenhead, a Town class light cruiser, pops into existance not far away.

The Captain, still under the suggestion of the Mind control left his armed guard, and walked fearlessly into the Chamber that the Alien Soldiers had garrisoned in.

He brushed past the few guards at the door and walked strait into the middle, inhaling a deep breath to speak with

“I see you haven’t responded to my question before, so now I must direct myself at the commander of this Unit, whoever it may be. We came here on a rescue mission; obviously, we found nothing, just a Dysfunctional AI unit. We also came here under limited guard, and most of the men and women here with me have left back to the ship seeing there is nothing to save. This is a dead ship. Noting this fact, I must ask you, why are you working so hard to garrison here? There is nothing of value, just a few cold storage units that have been here for some time. Your business is indeed yours but I would still wish to have a work with your commander about the answers to these questions…”

The Captain finished and waited for a response. He had tried to make sense of what he was saying, but he had a pounding headache that was keeping him from focusing.

OOC: Sorry about the LONG delay. There was a death in the family, and I wasn't near a computer long enough the entire weekend to make a post. Uh...however...I'm kinda confused on whats going on right now...

Sorry guys, I have an exam, and can't spare a minute to RP. so I'm giving control of the Squad on board the delerict to SOT to keep the rp going.

OOC: AO, I'll make a short summary for you. Torontonias has entered the spaceship with the Sirens, and all of them fell under control of the Master Siren's mindcontrol. The medical team and reperation team all got infected by the Sirens. The Sith also came to the vessel but they have set up a few traps and protected themselves with soldiers, and now captain Hugo of Torontonias (uninfected) demands, while under mind control to speak with the Sith Commander. I'll write an IC post here tomorrow, I'm quite busy at the moment.

Sorry to hear about your loss.

OOC: Ah, ok, so nothing I really need to know about ;)

IC:

The Olympia slowly approched a rather large station, still cloaked. Several ships where already in the area, just as sensors had confirmed. The station itself seemed to be anchent.

"What do you think it is?" asked Sing, the navigation officer.

Admiral Vega, now on the bridge, simpy watched as the station got closer and closer.

"Open a channel" he said. Lt. Xol did so.

"Attention unknown station, this is the Atlantian flagship Olympia. If anyone is aboard this station, we wish to make contact"

In the meantime, Jackie Fisher becomes increasingly annoyed at the distress calls.

"Ensign, send whoever it is this reply: 'Unknown vessel,"

The Ensign clicks away on the typotransmitter...

"This is the Robotic ship Hawkins. What is your emergency?"
"Good, sah."
"I didn't ask you what you thought of it."
"Sorry, sah."
"Bah, that vessel obviously doesn't know what its doing. Leftenant? Leftenant!"
"Aye, admiral?"
"Assemble a boarding party to visit that ship. You've got a navigation system on that auxiliary, right?"
"Yes, sah. Right away."

The lieutenant salutes and walks towards the auxiliary bay, collecting idlers as he walks. The armory is visited first, where the boarding party outfits itself in protected EVA suits. Blaster-pistols and blaster-SMGs are also grabbed, in case of any trouble...

BUMPage

bump

I'll post my boarding party later tonight.

I'll try to squeeze in a post today or tomorrow, I'm kind of busy with other RP things. I haven't forgotten this one!

"Sir, reading active scans."

"Hmmm. Took them long enough, didn't it?" The captain leant forwards in her seat. "Anything unusual from the fingers, yet?"

"Negative. Wait...I'm getting a sensor ping from empty space. Mmm. Switching passive..."

While the SensOps Department got their act together - the officer here on the bridge was partly a liason, acting with other crew elsewhere - he tapped open his comms contact again.

"I think we got the gist of that, Hawkins. We don't technically have one, but the SciOps department informs me we have parts to knock together a jury-rigged system that'll probably work well enough to get you home. What ship-to-ship transfer system do you use?"

Contact clicked closed, he glances up. "Anything on that unusual signal?"

"Mmm. This definitely looks like an active sensor pulse, quickly followed by a communication. Intel ought to have info on that one soon. - Triangulating the source, currently...looks like it's about 26,000kilometres away. Definitely nothing there, according to our active scans from a few seconds ago."

"Cloaked?"

"There were those rumours," the first officer muttered.

The captain pondered for several minutes, thoughtfully. The ship was running silent,

"Hmmm. Weapons, divert energy to the support systems for the primary guns, and go defence-hot. Barrier on hot standby."

"Acknowledged."

"Comms, I want a high-gain amplified signal at that possible cloaked ship; I want our signal to come in so loud that they can't help but know we know they're there. Even if we don't. Could be a glitch in the sensors, but maybe not. And if we can get a leg up on whoever that is, strategically, they'll think twice about pissing us off. - Helm, re-orient us towards that signal, vaguely."

"Re-orienting," droned the helm officer, dully.

* * *

The broad-spectrum EM radiation signal - clearly an unencoded signal across various frequencies of the EM spectrum, including both a wide-beam laser signal and a tight-beam microwave signal, fired off at the Olympia - although those aboard the Trooper of Paths do not know this yet - is exactly what the captain asked for: a high gain signal with enough power to capture attention very quickly indeed.

The message is quite simple, and in text.

"Masked approaches can be misconstrued as a prelude to aggression. And, perhaps worse, such methods are just downright rude."

[OOC: If you use sensors or communicate while cloaked, you get seen. Obviously.]

"We don't have any kind of teleportation mechanism, if that is what you mean, Trooper of Paths," responds Admiral Fisher. "I will dispatch an auxilliary craft to pick it up..."
"Sah..."
"What, Ensign?"
"The auxilliary is ready."
"Good, send it off."

The Hawkins releases a small shuttle-sized vessel, which makes for the source of the mysterious distress call.

A few moments later, another auxilliary leaves the Hawkins' auxilliary bay and heads towards the ICEL vessel.

Meanwhile, the Birkenhead begins to feel out its environment.

"The Hawkins is here, captain sah."
"Attention Hawkins, this is Birkenhead. We didn't see you at our prearranged coordinates. Is there anything wrong?"

Captain Feisal Bujumbura sits inside the much more utilitarian bridge aboard the Birkenhead as its primary array is adjusted and its systems are given a thorough post-FTL checking over.

*test tag*

OOC: This is not dead yet! I have big plans now that I'm established in Torontonias and soon US, this will be fun, fun fun!

IC:
The alluring voice from the Master Siren commanded its minions to rest and to get used to the new human "suit" they are going to wear for a long time. Captain Hugo from the Torontonias' vessel must get in touch with the Sith captain, but the armour he is bound to wear is a steep one. His mind is a fortress, his armour is his shell. It cannot be penetrated by force, but the mind of the Master must get through at all costs. Having Sirens in the Sith headquarters and the ESUS, with the established power known as the Silver Turtle, connected with Barbarosea, this is too tempting to ignore and never talk about it again.

We cannot draw more attention to this spaceship, there are too many parties involved already. Maybe... Maybe we must forget about the Sith and wait until we can hit them with our treacherous stealth and despised tactics of mind trickery and control. No, the Sith are too important not to let go, they fall within our grasp. Captain Hugo couldn't be infected; whenever a person is infected their brains are reset, the Master Siren has to gather the most important bits of information before he orders one of his minions to become the victim, easier said than done. No, no matter how good it sounds to have one of us in the Sith, we cannot afford the risk of exposing ourselves as men of Torontonias.

"...Captain Hugo, forget the Sith and their commander... Go now. Go to the nearest human planet and let your crew have fun..."

They will have to wait until the Sith find the cold storage chamber, but that won't take long. The crew of Torontonias left for their ship, and the Master Siren as sucking up as many information required from most of the crew members. This was going to very, very painful.

OOC: This one's for Atlantean Outcasts. A short post, but it'll do.

IC:
"Oh Master Siren, the beings from Atlantean Outcasts have contacted us. We must reply." The soft mumbling was overpowered by the sparks and electrical discharges by the now defunct cooling systems, yet everybody understood what he said. Slowly the brains of the Sirens, still slighly frozen and perhaps showing minor signs of frostbite, did everything in their power to connect themselves with the Atlanteans, establish a mental uplink and to devour their thoughts.
"Master, their roots of their soul of reach deep into their body, grant us your wisdom and illuminate the path."

Communication - Interstellair Message Unit
From: Breitner Asteroid Mining Corporation Observation Post Q-1066
TO: Torontonias, TSP Wanderer III
MESSAGE:*lots of grain on screens, unfinished strings of words, impossible to comprehend*

"That will do, for now." The Sirens have given the Atlanteans the idea something is alive there, and the strong gifted mind of the Master gives them the impression only fragile human beings are present - not the Sirens. The frequency of the mindwaves was getting more intense, the heads less resistant. The shackles of their will were loosening up, like the laws of time and space being loosened by anti-gravity and controlled disruptions of the time-space continuum. An enviroment of total control, while leaving your victim in a state of complete ignorance what happens and will happen to him, is an inmensely powerful ability, if not of weaponry proportions how it is handled by the Sirens.