NationStates Jolt Archive

Sol System

Sol, some might say is the centre of the Galaxy with most, if not all the primary stellar empires having some form of presence in the standard C class system, even if it is a token one.

The system is nothing unusual, it has its fair share of terrestrial planets, gas giants, medium star, asteroid belt and all the rest. However what is intriguing is the attachment that seemingly thousands of Empires, federations, republics and kingdoms have with this most average of solar systems.

Towards the centre of the system, past the rocky ring of the asteroid field there is a planet, this planet unlike the solar system is different, this world is unique. Here the human race was born, here a race built itself up, evolved and eventually colonised the stars, did the Gods, have any idea at how successful their most brilliant creation would become, had they any idea at how successful this most average of worlds would be?

Indeed, in creating the average, the gods had paved the way for the most extraordinary of circumstances to occur.

Jupiter ~ Day One New Menes Dynasty.

Everything was running as usual in the system, everything was ordinary, shuttles and star liners happily cruised here and there, great warships trudged along uncaring for the small “insignificant” vessels around them, everything was just plain… normal. However one thing about the universe is that when things are going just swell, fate takes a step in and decides to smash things up, just a little of course. Why? Who knows, perhaps fate has a sick sense of humour, or perhaps it’s the meaning of life, just perhaps that in order to live, you must earn it through great deeds, for good or bad, morality is after all a human conception.

And it is above the great and vast gas giant, space, well a small segment of it, was no longer space, something had just appeared, not phased, or wobbled into existence but just, quite simply appeared. From the distance it would seem to the untrained and ignorant of all things that Jupiter the most mighty of sol gas giants had gained an extra satellite now totalling seventeen, however the closer you looked the more obvious it would become that this phenomenon was not natural.

The object a vast orb, perfectly spherical and round, without error in any dimension, and from this materialised sphere vast obelisques extending far off into space, of which purpose they served no one knows.

Upon closer inspection as many would undoubtedly do, after all its not every day that an object appears out of the blue, it would be found to be a stellar station. Life signs would reside inside, some many thousands in fact, however the mystery would not be in the interior, after all a human is a human, but it’s the exterior that would raise the eyebrow.

The exterior was amazingly enough sandstone baring endless writings of Ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics, the almost extinct language nearly lost to human history and war, after all, times had changed, and now so had the meanings of each pictorial symbol, and alas without a Rosetta stone the writings would, without an explanation from their writers, remain a great mystery to all. For those grand few lucky enough to be able to read them, the story would describe the plight, and flight of the Egyptian people from Ancient Earth, the great Nile abandoned, the homeland of Pharaoh and the gods forgotten without regret.

And now the sons of the morning and Evening star had returned, but for what?

How did they create such an object, apparently made out of sandstone?

How did they leave Earth?

Why have they returned?

A mystery indeed, perhaps to tempting to leave ignored?

Tag.

TAG courtesy of the Imperial State of Sirens of Titan

The Ledan base and associated moons and asteroids-of-death had long been the centre of The Ineffable Spacefleet. Thusly, whenever anything popped into the Jovian system unexpectedly, they naturally wanted to have a good look, and point lots of missiles, lasers, and other assorted death-dealing-majiggers at it. That's just the way things were.
So, naturally, when another moon miraculously appeared where there had been no moon before, a pair of nasty, weapon-loaded ships were sent out to investigate.

The DSA wolfpack, being based near Leda, were already within weapons range. Indeed, a severely large portion of the entire Ineffable spacefleet was already within weapons range, but they were currently as near to 'asleep' as artificial-intelligence-run ships could be.

The two ships advanced, slowly but surely, scanning the object.
From afar, it appeared to be a moon. But as they focused their sensors, they were instantly aware of a single fact;
"That's no moon!" exclaimed the IHGV Killing Time to the IHGV Ravenous Bugblatter Beast
"Indeed..." came the reply.
"It appears to be some sort of giant space-station."
"Any chance those protusions are guns?"
"It doesn't look threatening...but then neither does a Furling until you see the claws."
"Let's contact it."
"...And then can we shoot it?"
"If it's hostile."

Transmission from the IHGV Killing Time to the station
"Object that Is No Moon, identify yourself and your business here, or we'll blow you up."

"Oh how eloquent."
"Quiet you."

Another day, another contact... a big one, and on the opposite side of the Jovian satellite system, upping the count from somewhere around sixty-three 'natural' satellites to somewhere around sixty-four, depending on which astronomer one asked and whether anyone wanted to count large captured asteroids. The thing's gravysig is enough to tell anyone that it's probably hollow and that it'll play hell with the current chaotic order of heavenly bodies. Jupiter Theatre Headquarters, by now used to such strange things fractally occuring and disappearing around the biggest and therefore Most Fight planet in the system, notes it and bounces a much more polite message off a few Voyeur multipurpose ISR sats.

Given that images show hieroglyphics, and linguist mechminds identify said hieroglyphics as a strange adaptation and expansion of known linguistic structures seen in Ancient Egypt, the transmission is first of all analog audio-only over open radio channels and second in as close to Ancient Egyptian as modern tongues know to get.

* - * - *

This is Sky Marshal M'sha of the Triumvirate of Yut. We could not help but note your appearance. We ask that you identify yourself and your purpose, and offer any assistance you may need.

Sky Marshal M'sha
CO, Jupiter Theatre
TYWS-BB Vinegaroon

* - * - *

Short, simple, and to the point. The last few people to poke around had needed assistance, so one may as well offer beforehand.

Aboard The Venture, Attila D’Hunn was returning to Earth from the Sol Intergalactic Thading Hub (ITH) local gate outside the solar system. He had just attended a conference on Argali Prime. The trip was a waste of time because his trading corporation was underbid by those damn Raglans.

“Sir, there appears to be something going on over by Jupiter.”

“What is it, captain?”

“I’m not sure, there appears to be a lot of radio traffic on the government channels.”

“Let me hear them. Replay the logs in my lounge.”

“OK, boss.”

After a few seconds the AI controlled entertainment center began to play the recording of the past few minutes.

Transmission from the IHGV Killing Time to the station
"Object that Is No Moon, identify yourself and your business here, or we'll blow you up."

A few minutes later was another message

This is Sky Marshal M'sha of the Triumvirate of Yut. We could not help but note your appearance. We ask that you identify yourself and your purpose, and offer any assistance you may need.

Sky Marshal M'sha
CO, Jupiter Theatre
TYWS-BB Vinegaroon

Attila sat back with his fingers steepled and his thumbs touching his lips, the gesture he unconsciously did when deep in thought.

“Hmmm, it sounds like a new nation appeared over by Jupiter. Everyone wants to know who they are. They are unknown by everyone. There is not any trade set up with them. If I were to get there, I could bargain for exclusive rights.”

He accessed the Comm with his Neurolink. It worked smoothly and efficiently. That is what happens when you get the best on the market and upgrade it to military grade. One has privileges when you are rich.

“Captain, swing us around and take us to whatever it is they are shouting at. We are going to cut us a deal.”

The oversized yacht swung around and approached Juipter and the new station, entering into a neutral orbit that would take them within range of the shuttle. Once there, The Venture stopped and a shuttle launched from its bay. The shuttle flew towards the mammoth station broadcasting a single message.

“This is Attila D’Hunn. I have an offer that might benefit both of us. Please allow us to land.”

In one of the most average of places, around one of the most of ordinary of gas giants, one of the most unusual encounters in human history was about to take place. This is the story of a new dynasty, the start of new era.

The great sphere of sandstone remained, nothing happening, no reactions for the welcoming committee that waited so precariously outside, their minds open, their demands obvious.

"Object that Is No Moon, identify yourself and your business here, or we'll blow you up."

A threat, from a species unknown, an Empire secure in its military prowess. These demands never resulted in friendship or willing diplomacy, no, such upstart measures often resulted in wars and …..incidents. But the Dynasties objective was to open limited contact with other primitive Empires, and, Pharaohs mandate could not be ignored, lest the gods curse them for their betrayal. Alas all had to be accepted, each nation would be allowed to interact with the Dynasty…

The great obelisques which extended from each of the four poles glimmered in their shade or sunlight, towering almost one hundred kilometres from the station itself the first event would occur. The pointed tips of each reaching column would slowly open up, diverging into four parts they would create a grand tunnel for any vessel which saw fit to enter.

The Depths of Ra

Within the station the order had finally filtered down, the great doors were to be opened without delay. With a crack of the whip, and a sound of the horns the slaves were put to work. Each one out of many grasped the great golden chains which flowed from the very tip of the obelisques, each one would begin to pull and march, struggling against the onslaught of air pressure, they would persevere and succeed, or there lives would abruptly end.

“Pull!” Screamed Overseer Himola as he caught several slaves not putting in quite enough effort. “Harder!” He screamed again, this time following it with a crack of his whip. Screams erupted amongst the rabble of the Hebrew subjects, their backs turning red with blood as the lashes fell down without mercy.

“Faster!”

“Harder!”

“Work!”

“Faster!”

The shouts were deafening, each one drowning out the grand moan of pain and submission which each slave had now developed. The realisation for them now was that there could be no freedom, not when they were far from home, trapped in the recesses of some great orb which traversed the heavens. No, they are all slaves now and forever, most likely each one would die under the whip, pass on to the underworld at their masters whim.

Throughout the low levels the shrill cracks of whips and pain echoed against the walls, slaves were notoriously hard to motivate and unfortunately they only responded to physical pain, rather annoying really.

Any vessel which decided to enter the hub itself through the great gold lined corridors would find themselves within the grand sandstone bubble, in the centre of the interior was a much smaller orb, from which several obvious docking points would be visible. It wouldn’t take a genius to discover what they had to do next…..

“Boss, the doors are opening for us. I guess they want to talk to you.”

“Good, take us in.”

“Ok Boss.”

The shuttle flew into the open door of the station’s docks. It flew along the seemingly endless hallways of gold. Attila eyed the richness of the passage way.

“Think, if they decorate the landing bays with gold, how much extra they have lying around. We will be able to make billions from them, possibly even trillions. We’ll show those Raglans.”

“Sure Boss.”

The shuttle cleared the approach hallway and entered the massive space with the docking ports. Gilded surfaces gleamed with golden light everywhere. Attila couldn’t help but stare at all the gold, more than he had ever seen in his entire life. The shuttle approached one of the docking arms and the pilot maneuvered the craft until they could hear the automatic mechanisms take over. The shuttle jolted slightly and the pilot began to shut down the engines.

“We’re here Boss.”

“Good, let’s get our gear and meet these people. I want to get the jump on everyone. The early Skrattz gets the Delgar.”

“Whatever, Boss.”

They picked up their satchels and exited the shuttle.

Waiting for them, in a long perfectly white toga was overseer Hel’mar, protector designate of the Ra’ station, and emissary on behalf of the malevolent Pharaoh. Behind him two stocky guards awaited watching and protecting incase of any foul doing. In their left hand was a spear, tall and wrought with electrum, while at their side was a monolatice whip, capable of slicing through almost any known substance.

Clasping his hands together as though he was about to pray Hel’mar bowed his head in greetings. “Welcome.” He said in perfect English. “I am governor Hel’mar, overseer of this station, and you are…..?”

Attila smoothly returned the bow, assuming it was a customary greeting.

“I am Attila D’Hunn. I am one of the Merchant Lords from the Balrogga Empire on Earth. I would like to propose exclusive trading rights with your nation. I have extensive contacts within many nations and my company could get you almost anything that is not restricted by my government. What do you think? Are you game?”

Attila’s companion stood by seeming bored with yet another trade negotiation taking place. He suppressed a yawn and kept the required neutral expression that business demanded.

"Well, they seem to've made it in okay," the sensors officer mutters to himself. In the command room nestled deep inside the armored hull of Battleship Vinegaroon, it's business as usual, with the alert level heightened by order of the Sky Marshal just to keep everyone on their toes. The aforementioned Sky Marshal shifts slightly in her chair, idly swinging her muscular bulk into a more comfortable position as she physically dominates the semicircle of officers, even sitting down. Keen round-irised yellow eyes carefully watch the spherical strategic indicator and its attendant side displays, all while tufted naked, segmented tail gently twitches from side to side in thought.

"Indeed." She folds her broad orange-furred hands together, looking over them, eyes slitting keenly. "Status of the Turtles?"

"No change since their last transmission, ma'am."

"Hrr." A single nod of a felinoid head, bat-wing ears folding up into their protective recesses. "I am loathe to deploy a shuttle whilst the Turtles are preparing to cause a diplomatic incident, whether by their own volition or no. Still no response to our hail?"

The communications officer shakes her head. "No, ma'am. As far as we can tell, no reply to the Turtle transmission either."

"They are accepting visitors, however. HangarCom, rouse up our Diplomatic Officer, and dispatch a shuttle. Take a circuitous route so our friends can step into whatever mess they intend to before we are involved. Additionally, Comm, alert HQ and send a missive to the GEC. This seems more their caliber."

The two officers so addressed reply in the standard "Acting, ma'am" and set about their assigned chores, paging Diplomatic Officers and directing them to shuttles being spun up for launch, sending messages this way and that through secure uninterceptible QE-encoded ansibles. Within a few minutes, a Scarab-class shuttle, appropriately coleopteran in appearance, is casually chucked from one of Vinegaroon's starboard bays and takes a prescribed dawdling route towards the unusual structure.

Hel’mar looked on with a little suspicion, the foreigners were courteous enough, but they lacked the usual enthusiasm that he was so accustomed to receiving. “Mr D’Hunn…” Hel’mar said with a slight pause. “Welcome to our humble station.”

Standing to one side of the corridor the overseer motioned for the two guests to precede him. The gold lined floors seemingly stretched into the distance as a visible show of the Dynasties wealth and power. “Please.” Hel’mar added for extra reassurance. “It would hardly be appropriate to begin discussing trade rights upon the landing pad.” A slight slither tipped the edge of the commanders tongue.

With reassuring satisfaction Hel’mar followed the two guests. Usually such a turn of events would be suspicious but, after all there was only one way to go, and that was forward into the bowels of the jewel-encrusted station.

“So gentleman, tell me, have you travelled far and wide across this Galaxy?” A series of reassuring boasts and tales followed from one of the guests, which only helped to seal their fate.

Smiling and continuing to be friendly the two guests would be unaware of their soon to be most dire of circumstances. Finally the small party had, after a considderable walk reached the centre of the tunnel. Unexpectadly and suddenly the Overseer took a right into a passage hidden by some form of magic or other means. Now flanked by two guards who were seemingly manifested from the walls the guests could only frown at the lowered spear points, they were now effectively prisoners.

Meanwhile…..

Walking down the sandstone corridors which were primarily designated for slaves Hel’mar was hard pressed to reach the third landing bay in time, another envoy would be arriving shortly and if he wanted to survive the new Pharaohs wrath then he had best be quick about meeting them.

Passing several slaves the commander gave the accustomed spit, which was a sign of station and rank. Hmmmm Hel’mar thought to himself. The slaves are growing lazy Passing several unlit torches he made a mental note to have their workload doubled, laziness was not to be tolerated, even if it were in the unused passages.

Passing through a cloaked intersection the governor seemingly appeared at the landing bay, thankfully the new envoys winding and slow course gave him the much needed time win which to catch his breath.

Hopefully he would find what he was looking for……..

OOC: Okay for all those who want to take part, this is going to be a character Roleplay obviously, however it will be setting up future roleplays. The people that are taken prisoner here won’t be permanently damaged, instead they will prove a pivotal role later on in this roleplay and in my nations history.

A courteous bump for viewing.

Noting that those they are being so wary of are possibly being distracted by a small glittering bauble or perhaps a short length of string attached to an oscillating fan, the shuttle crew eventually guides the metallic beetle-shape of its craft into one of the artificial moon's huge docking spires, following the glyphs, recording them, and transmitting back to theatre HQ via whatever Voyeur it happens to have line-of-sight with down the tunnel for analysis.

Then opening up to the smaller sphere, and after waiting several moments for docking clearance or information, the crew of the Scarab-class cargo utility shuttle shrug and take the initiative, choosing an empty docking port and taking advantage of it. Hard vacuum does nasty things to people, so they sidle one of the Scarab's cargo doors up near the docking port before extending a boarding tube with a universal adaptor.

Through this tube come the Diplomatic Officer in the usual sky-blue-and-black double-breasted uniform of the TY Diplomatic Corps and three Mobile Infantrymen (the term applied loosely, given that one of them is a slightly tall ruddy woman with a physique that could inspire jealousy in a main battle tank) in light armor, no more than a partial exoskeleton with plates attached. A Greek Hoplite would easily recognize it to be armor, and would actually consider it to be somewhat substandard to his own... then again, materials science has come a long way. Not a homogenous culture in the least: the diplomatic officer has the very thin almond-shaped eyes and pale complexion associated with Tibetans, two of the M.I. (including the tall woman) look as if they hail from somewhere around Asia Minor, and the last has the sort of dark tan that indicates a Caucasian growing up in a sunny climate.

The D.O. of course takes the lead, bowing shortly as he introduces himself. "I am Diplomatic Officer Namgang Ngabö of the Triumvirate of Yut. Welcome to the Solar System. Or, perhaps, welcome back."

The group of drones formed one of the parts of the Ulterior Motive's extended sensory system, which was, in turn, a part of DA's slowly recovering (And, by now, essentially back to where-it-had-once-been) reconnaissance and surveillance network at Jupiter.

The object was of considerable interest, and while Ulterior Motive was contemplating the option of bitchslapping the rather rude TST vessels, it was (Among other things) also analysing the surface, form, inscriptions...

A little bit of vague meaning could be extracted of the inscriptions, yet, most of it remained utterly unclear, annoyingly so.

For now, it couldn't do much. Well, actually, it could, but it's desire to do so was lacking, and it didn't see a reason to do it, anyway, seeing as two others were already acting...

A more territorial ship would probably have rushed and sent a backed-up diplomat with a small group of lGCDs, trying not to be too late. But given the rather odd entrance, it supposed that possible profits would be low, anyway. Besides, it loathed the idea of sending someone into something that didn't actually bother to introduce itself.

Well, themselves. The electric impulses of human beings inside the sphere were noticeable enough.

For now it kept watching, curiously so, its sensors probing the largish sphere here and there, searching for basic energy flows, currents, magnetic fields, possible communications, wondering how the hell such a perfect structure was even possible with mere sandstone, while being bombarded with the occasional microasteorid...

Actually, perhaps it should have someone present, it thought.

The foreign dignitaries entered the station their eyes skirting around for welcome or was it threat? From above and below all they would find is Gold. Golden floors, Golden walls and Golden pillars, upon which thousands of hieroglyphics adorned the walls.

“Welcome.” Hel’mar announced as he stepped into full view, bowing as he had with the first envoy he followed the contact procedure to the letter. “I am Governor Hel’mar, overseer of this station I welcome you Namgang Ngabö to the contact station Ra’.”

Hel’mar retreated slightly. “If you will follow me gentleman?”

Deeper inside the station.

“Ahhh our guests have arrived.” Overseer Himola said with a tightening grin. “I’m afraid the upper levels are exclusive, but Governor Hel’mar has requested that I give you the full tour of the slaves quarters, you may be spending a significant amount of time here.” The eyes of the slave driver narrowed into a pin point. “Please, follow me.” It wasn’t a request. Himola and his escort almost pushed the Balroggan envoy through the sandstone corridors, unsurprisingly they were alot less ornate with only oil torches and basic pictograms, slowly the tunnels opened out into a vast hall filled with human misery and groans….

OOC: Scolopendra feel free to roleplay the exact same happenings as to what happened to the Balroggan envoy.

The four leave the flight crew on the Scarab and follow Hel'mar as is only appropriate for guests to do, Officer Ngabö sharing a generally pleasant conversation with the Governor as they walk down the halls, a conversation that turns out to be as useless in the long run as it is pleasant. When Hel'mar does a right flank into and through a solid wall and the diplomatic party gets cornered by armed guards with spears raised, this leads to a proper amount of consternation, the three Infantrymen forming a triangle around the officer, watching both directions. The M.I. immediately go for their pistols, stepping back into a balanced stance with modified Weaver grip, and bring them to the ready whilst the Diplomatic Officer starts, then just folds his arms. "Well, this is certainly rude."

Noting the lack of a particular indicator on their powergun pistols--the primer battery used to initiate the breakdown of copper lattices inside their polyurethane disc cartridges is completely dead and thus the resistor-actuated plastic tab that indicates battery charge without resorting to cover-blowing lights is completely to "E"--they reholster their weapons and go for their knives instead.

"Problem?" Namgang unfolds his arms and rolls his weight to the balls of his feet, watching the eyes of the opposing guards.

"Power's drained," the corporal in charge of the M.I. detachment replies without moving his attention from the guards in front of him.

"Hmph. So, what's the reason for this?" This last question is addressed to the faux-Egyptian guards surrounding them.

Unfortunately for the prisoners, hardly any citizens of the Dynasty could actually talk in English. Only a select few had the opportunity to learn and they were all far too busy seeing to the imminent departure.

“They have knives.” One of the guards commented. “Proceed carefully.”

Not heeding the Scolpenderan questions the soldiers began to advance with their spear points lowered. Surrounded with both sides of the narrow corridor blocked there was no escape, only the choice of futile rebellion which would assuredly end in either blood letting, or a nasty slap on the wrists.

“Urvar Velna” The guards repeatedly aired. Their message unknown to the hostiles.

“They will not comply!” Someone shouted exasperated. “We should advance?”

The captain of this small detachment looked on rather nervously, if any one of them were harmed Pharaoh himself would oversee his execution. “No, no physical violence, they must be taken intact and alive, use the darts and let us pray that none of them have a reaction.”

The order was loud enough for all to hear in the corridor. In the second ranks soldiers lowered their spears allowing them to wield only one weapon. “Urvar Velna! Urvar Velna Helaro selanas!” Time was running out, and the guards had issued their last plea, alas however, the nameless captain was forced into authorising the next course of action.

“Open Fire.” He ordered, leaving the outcome to the Gods.

The corridor filled with the tell tale whirl of darts, each one aimed towards the exposed flesh of their prisoners. Tipped with a delightful chemical concoction the delegation would soon find themselves unable to resist.

“Ahhh our guests have arrived.” Overseer Himola said with a tightening grin. “I’m afraid the upper levels are exclusive, but Governor Hel’mar has requested that I give you the full tour of the slaves quarters, you may be spending a significant amount of time here.”

“That’s fine but we will be late…”

The eyes of the slave driver narrowed into a pin point. “Please, follow me.” It wasn’t a request. Himola and his escort almost pushed the Balroggan envoy through the sandstone corridors, unsurprisingly they were alot less ornate with only oil torches and basic pictograms, slowly the tunnels opened out into a vast hall filled with human misery and groans….

“Hey,” Attila complained loudly. “Your boss won’t gain any points playing hardball.”

He looked around at the slaves being worked and whipped. He motioned to his companion to move closer.

“Look at the extents they are going to get a better deal. Those Holo Projections look almost real. I’ve seen better at the Cinema. They don’t even have the lighting right. Jeeze, there is better realism in the Neurolink software I traded to Gelspin IV last month.”

“Boss, those aren’t projections.”

“What do you mean? They can’t be real, either they are actors or they are projections, No civilized world does this anymore.”

“Boss, they are not civilized.”

“You mean..?”

“Yes, Boss, they are real.”

He rolled his eyes at his employer’s gullibility. Attila walked in silence.

"Darts!"

Only the Infantrywoman is fast enough to retaliate by throwing her combat knife at the closest attacker; having no room or time to dodge, the entire team takes it on the chin (or, more accurately, in the neck). Officer Ngabö drops instantly--he's not trained for this--while the M.I. stagger defiantly before slumping against the walls and sliding down to the ground, unconscious.

Today is turning out to be a bad day.

Hel’mar strode swiftly into the command centre, his brow once again covered in sweat. Quickly cursing the nature of his peoples technology and space faring abilities the governor decided that it was time to have some air conditioning installed as well as the secondary priority of leaving. The guests had been captured, one had even killed a guard, with a knife no less, Pharaoh would have to decide her fate, once they had returned home of course, but first there was the tricky situation of escape to deal with.

The contact station had procedures for this situation, after all though some might view the Dynasty as outdated and technologically unique Pharaohs Empire still had to endure administration and regulations.

The final part of this operation was relatively simple, after all, complicated plots often go astray. First of all there would be a power surge along the exterior of the station, giving the appearance of some sort of catastrophic failure in the cooling systems. However, it was a mere diversion, intended to distract any watching eyes from the true event.

In tandem with phase one the outer hull consisting of the great sandstone wall and pillars would crack apart, causing confusion and surprise in those outside, by the time they realise that the “accident” is a ploy, the inner core will have left. It was simple and abrupt, the best type of plans.

“Well, we have what we came for Elvel, begin the evacuation procedure, I want slave bays one through five secured, but leave bay number six open.” Hel’mars tone conveyed the urgency of the task, it wouldn’t be long now until the vessel outside demanded at least some form of communication with it’s delegation, and that couldn’t happen.

Slamming his fist onto his chest in obedience Elvel inputted the necessary commands without sympathy or even pity. Slaves were meaningless, their existence was to serve, and if death is how they fulfilled their role, then so be it.

The command centre was, unlike the rest of the station a simple room, with but one operator and a command chair. The station had no weapons, it had no shields, it even had no gravity, relying on a spinning axis to provide the necessary force. But what it did have was surprise and arrogance, as well as other devices.

As the orders were acted upon the traditional power surge would be heard throughout the station. Guards would leave the slaves to retreat into their bays while they themselves took positions of greater safety within the centre of the orb.

During this chaotic time, the good governor decided that it was time for lunch and shuffled his way towards the canteen……


The captives

The unfortunate story of the Scolponderan and Balroggan envoys is a brief one. After being given the guided tour the two merchants from the benevolent Empire were beaten and tortured, the guards now having nothing to do were given a little freedom on what methods they could implement, as regrettably for the merchants it was deemed by Hel’mar himself that they were not class A prisoners.

The other envoy however received greater respect, they were given medical care by strange men chanting around their beds, while at the door several guards watched, their eyes demonstrating no malice or hatred, just objectivity.

Two days after the little scuffle inside the corridors all the guests were escorted to a holding cell. For the first time the Balroggan and Scolpenderan crews were allowed to interact.

“Well it seems they’re getting along well.” Hel’mar observed from a side room to the cell. “How long do you think it will be until they start talking?”

A tall thin, stringy man was next to the governor. “Truth be told, we don’t know, some times it takes a few minutes, while some may take a few days, but in the end they all begin to miss their world and nation.”

Hel’mar nodded, he too missed home, this was his last mission of the season, hoping that his services would not be needed for another year, the governor prayed that he would get at least some time with his young family. “Once they start talking, alert me and we can begin the interrogation.” Turning Hel’mar paused for a second, he had not anticipated a question.

“My Lord? Shall I begin phase one?”

“Indeed.” Came the quick reply.

For the hungry prisoners down is cell number three food would be grudgingly provided, however, like most food in foreign prisons it would be spiked. The captives would eat their fill if they so chose to partake in the gruel and water provided, however, alas, they would find themselves eight hours later completely emptying their bowels in vomit.

To break a prisoner, you first had to weaken them physically, then mentally…..

Odd, the Ulterior Motive thought, watching the proceedings with a mild (But growing) amount of interest, a few sensors and drones eventually noticing the sudden powersurge.

Wha?

The drones, insofar as they were sentient (Few were) erupted into a string of chaotic chatter, trying to make sense of what was happening. A few more sensors swept the object in question, trying to make a little more sense of the developments, eventually noticing a kind of odd distribution of the power surge, concentrated on the outer parts of the object.

Hrm. I wouldn't expect an accident to go like this.

A few more scans, subcraft slowly coming closer-

And immediately moving away, again, as the detonation occurs.

A few particle beams start to flicker, vaporising debris coming in the general direction of the Ulterior Motive and its subcraft, while a good portion of its computing capacity and sensors start analyzing the general debris cloud.

A quick message to Themisto. Might want to clean up this mess. And damnit, I was lucky not to send anything in.

Consider it done.

A few seconds pass, and the first results come in, leaving Ulterior Motive slightly mystified, for a moment, anyway.

Not enough mass in the debris, and the amount of released energy isn't even remotely enough to explain the missing mass. Another, more detailed check...

Not enough carbon to account for more than perhaps a 10% loss of life, either.

And yet another analysis follows, this time checking whatever the sensors got before and during the detonation.

Hrm. Odd readings for a number of milliseconds. Somewhat comparable (Though not exactly identical) to what one sees when one of the interstellar civilisations fiddles with dimensions to go FTL. Still, the Ulterior Motive isn't particularly experienced with such things, and has trouble making sense of it.

Another report to Themisto follows. It's unlikely that the eggheads there know more, but it can try, anyway. Another moment of consideration, and a few hard fields extend while subcraft move, collecting bits and bytes of debris and corpses. It's unlikely that an in-depth analysis will bring up much, but basic physiology, genetic makeup, and materials engineering skills (With sandstone) are better than nothing.

Come to think of it... The Vinegaroon did have some people on board of the now missing entity.

From: TEU Ulterior Motive
To: TYWS-BB Vinegaroon
Subject: What just happened

"Well, I'm slightly mystified by it. I guess you got the same readings I got <Scan- and Analysisresults attached>, but perhaps the dimension-fiddling makes more sense to you than to me. For the record, doesn't look like it was actually FTL, although I wont take any bets. Any ideas? Oh, and my condolences. Looks like it was a somewhat unusual kind of kidnapping.

Now, if they could for once choose a different planet, rather than Jupiter..."

Bump. Last Post edited. ~Saved for future possible post.

Attila opened his eyes, or rather tried to. One was refusing to open. He carefully felt his face to see what the problem was. When he touched his swollen and bruised face, he jumped in the pain it caused. The sudden movement awakened a fiery burning in his ribs. He held his breath for a few seconds trying to will the pain to die before he did.

As the pain became more bearable, he looked around with his one good eye. He could see he was in a dimly lit cell with some other people. He recognized his pilot but the others he had never seen before. They all appeared to be asleep.

Attila laid there for what seemed like hours before he noticed any of the others moving.



Outside:

The wall of sandstone disintegrated into large chunks. The computer aboard The Venture attempted to move the ship but its owner had placed specific commands that prevented it from moving. The computer continued to monitor the tumbling slabs of sandstone as they approached.

There was nothing the programming would allow the computer to do. The control locks upon its actions did nothing but doom the small pleasure craft.

Minutes later it disappeared in a large explosion as the slab moved through the small ship.

There was nothing left of the ship that could be identified

Ulterior Motive, Sky Marshal M'sha of Vinegaroon. Yes, our shipminds are also puzzled. If this is a kidnapping attempt, then it is a foolish one: a diplomatic officer, three M.I., and two warrant officers do not have any 'information' worth getting into this much trouble for.

We are working on a way to track the cause of the disturbances, just in case you are right. I have also ordered portions of the Jovian theatre's forces to clear out the debris field before it can become troublesome. We can also expect Zero-One naval assets to take advantage of the situation and feed off of the debris, just to keep you advised.

Thank you for the heads-up. We will see how this... situation evolves. M'sha out.

Sky Marshal M'sha
CO, Jupiter Theatre
TYWS-BB Vinegaroon

* - * - *

"Urgh." Namgang groans, picking himself off the floor after the transfer to the new cell. This was nothing like the recruitment brocures for the Diplomatic Corps advertised, and he'd have half a mind to sue if the Segments really worked that way. As it is, let's just say that morale is low. "This is not my best day ever," he grumbles in Arabic.

"Can't win them all," Private Mu'ammar al-Sanussi, one of the Arab M.I., replies groggily, rolling to his feet before moving to shake the others up. "Remind me never to volunteer for diplo guard duty again." He looks to be the kind of guy unused to not joking around; the kind that become unnaturally severe and serious when there's nothing to laugh about. The young trooper with the shaved head isn't quite there yet.

"It's not like any of us were expecting to be shanghaied," the Diplomatic Officer grumbles, looking around. "And it looks like we're not the only ones."

"Hrm," al-Sanussi says as he looks over his shoulder at the two battered Balroggans, "they look in a bad enough way. Hey, Corporal, rise and shine." Confronted with the problem of a slow-to-move fellow trooper, he does what the Infantry does best and apply a reasonable amount of violence; in this case, it takes a few hearty shakes.

Corporal Nadine Fahim growls and swats away al-Sanussi's hand before sitting up. There's not much of what would be called 'beautiful' about her no matter the culture (or the gender) and she seems to either like it that way or vociferously not give a damn. Word around the M.I. racks is that she's the result of a mad scientific experiment that put a kzinretti mind in a human body. So far, she hasn't done anything to quell that story. "Bastards. I lost my knife."

"We all did, unfortunately." The third trooper, Private Bri'jon Imms, adds with a sigh. This is the tanned Caucasian, showing definite Anglo-Saxon roots in his features, his 'unusually' dark skin a result of growing up in equatorial places. The son of two self-admitted 'adventurous, thrill-seeking, and deadly dull' parents, he seems the long suffering type. As he puts it, even he doesn't know if his name is a result of his parents changing their mind in the middle of 'Brian' or just another one of their ultimately failed attempts to 'live on the edge.' "It's going to make escaping interesting."

"Well," Namgang says, "first things first; let's figure out what we have." He moves over to Attila and tries to wake him with a gentle push.

Hybrid Realm – Normal Location – GJ 1243
Time – 1630 GMT Earth Standard
Incident – Harvest

Overseer Senbi was, as usual waiting for something to do. The new Pharaoh being just a little more aggressive than the last had actually found something for the undersized, under-recruited under-funded military to do, making this a new and exciting time for the navy and Empire at large. It was only last year, after three centuries of wait, that a military vessel from the Dynasty had finally left the Sol system, three hundred years of inactivity was a gruelling wait, one that High Command never intended to experience again.

The Isis was in the first batch to leave, and ever since, she had been following orders to harvest space faring species and races, and now for over eighteen months the task was ending and the interrogations beginning. This was to be Senbi’s last mission for some considerable time and he really didn’t want to mess it up.

For two weeks now the Isis had sat in Hybrid space, two weeks of nothing, which now meant that the crew, were understandably starting to lose their patience. This being a quiet system meant that there were few ships coming and going however it did make for a perfect ambush situation. The spacial anomaly that had been so kindly provided would hopefully be detected in time, someone was bound to run into it sooner or later..

So, Senbi went back to doing the only thing he could…. Which was wait.


Five Days Later

At last! Finally some unknown ships were approaching, so far five of the devils had been detected, but that was more than enough. “Status?” Senbi prodded, slightly aware that almost three weeks of doing nothing can and does make a crew sloppy. But thankfully not too sloppy as the green okays came in from each department. The Isis was a Scarab class attack ship, the largest the fleet had to offer and therefore one of the most elegant. Shaped like the much praised Scarab beetles from Earth the Isis was perfectly black, its armour blending into the void that was Hybrid space. Two Hundred meters long she wasn’t the largest ship in the universe, nor was she the most powerful, but she was the most adept in her particular field.

The bridge was crammed to the brim with about ten officers and another fifteen lackeys, of what part they played in the ships operation Senbi had absolutely no idea. He just commanded things and they were done, well, supposedly done. “I think it’s time we got ready gentleman.” The overseer pointed out. “Arm the Harpoon arms and get ready to reel them in.”

On the other side of the event horizon four curious fighters were approaching, their sensors attempting to make sense out of a phenomenon that really had no reason to exist, right here, in the middle of plain old empty space. While behind them a support ship lurked, just incase there was any danger.

Scans, and every conceivable type of radiation was now bombarding the rift in a feeble attempt to unlock its mysteries, and while the curious five were prodding the tear, they were neglecting their flank.

The Isis began its reversion process, which had to be halted halfway through in order to create another tear, almost ontop of the support ship.

“Shiny isn’t it?” Senbi commented as the Harpoons were launched at the patrol crafts hull. The tip of the primary harpoon carried with it a rather special gift which would make life rather difficult for the new recruits.

This was the boring part, waiting for the vessel to be towed into Hybrid space took about a minute, while the far off fighters would be turning and attempting to free their captured Mothership.

Solont Deep Patrol, Theta Wing, GJ 1243 system

“Oh shit! Oh SHIT! Theta wing, get back to the support ship ASAP! We’ve been ambushed!” 1st Lieutenant Vaman was on the verge of panic. What the hell was going on? No sooner had they left the support ship to investigate the G-quake anomaly that another anomaly had opened up right behind them. What’s worse, they could no longer contact the support ship. How could they let something get the drop on them this easily?

Whatever had happened, Vaman wasn’t going to let whatever it was get away with it. Flaring their engines, the four SA-75 Ds peeled off from the first anomaly and rocketed back towards their support vessel.

“Lieutenant! Something’s got a hold of the support vessel! It’s pulling it into the anomaly!” Theta 4 shouted.

“Alright, stay cool Theta wing. See if you can lock on to those cables. If not, take ‘em out with guns.” The four fighters of Theta wing closed together in a vertical diamond formation, rocketing faster and faster towards their stricken friends. Inside the cockpit of the lead fighter, 1st Lieutenant Vaman had his finger over the trigger, watching through the HUD as the little yellow tracking diamond hovered over the cables.

“C’mon, you bastards…”

“Theta 4! Aspect lock achieved!”
“Theta 2! I’ve got lock!”
“Theta 3! I’ve got lock!”
Vaman’s diamond turned red, and the high-pitched ‘Lock’ tone sounded.
“Theta 1! I’ve got aspect lock! Theta wing, fire!”

Simultaneously, the 4 Phoenix VI missiles rocketed from the underbellies of the Solontian fighters, closing the distance to the cables in a mere 5 seconds, making last second course corrections, and then… they missed. Inexplicably! Two passed right between the cables and continued through, aimlessly. The other two seemed to be locked in the last turn they were making when they closed with the target, and spiraled off into space. None detonated.

“What?! How the hell?!” Theta 3 shouted. “Why didn’t the proximity fuses detonate?!”

Lieutenant Vaman had to think fast. In another 3 seconds, they would be on top of those cables. “Theta wing, break off the attack!”

Too late. Whilst three of the fighters managed to turn in time, the unfortunate Theta 2 strayed to close to the support ship, passing by a mere 10 meters from its hull. Right into the ion field generated by the lead harpoon. On board Theta 2’s stricken craft, every panel in the cockpit arced with electricity and died, that terrible sound of the reactor spooling down sealing his fate.
“Theta 2 is dead in space! Oh, shit! One of those cables got him too!” Theta 4 cried, just as another harpoon lanced forward from the anomaly and punctured Theta 2’s craft. Worse, the support ship was already dragged halfway into the anomaly.

Vaman reacted quickly. He either had to swing around and attempt to free Theta 2, and probably get the rest of his wing captured. Or, he could flee, and report to the Fleet what had happened, most likely getting captured along the way. He made his decision.

“Theta 3! Theta 4! Hit your burners and head for the jump node! We’re getting the hell out of here!”

Attila lay in a state of unconsciousness as his body tried to repair itself. His bruised body refused to allow him to wake up no matter how the strangers tried. He only coughed and moaned under his labored breath. Nearby lay Attila’s pilot, his eyes shut and apparently also unconscious.

There was another story going on deep within the mind of the sleeping pilot. Br’Uun was quietly and secretly using his Ta’Nar training. He was carefully using his Bio-Kinesis to cause Attila’s broken ribs to begin mending. He closed the hole in his punctured right lung and stemmed the bleeding that was slowly filling Attila’s lung and causing him to cough. The guards were a little too rough on him and “accidentally” beat the two just a little too enthusiastically.

Br’Uun was not worried about his body, he didn’t need it but Attila didn’t have the luxury of being a Ta’Nar. Besides, if it expired, he could get another grown in the Imperial Clone Tanks. All he had to do is to “hitch-hike” back to civilization in another being or possibly a computer and he would be able to make a report back to the Ta’Nar. First he had to make sure he fit in as human.

He had been assigned to Oversee Attila Da’Hunn in order to learn from his clients. The Ta’Nar placed ESPers in key locations to monitor the Trade Network for information that might be useful to the Empire. It has proven many times in the past to be more reliable than the Official channels because the merchants only were successful if the information they brokered was true. Governments didn’t have that restriction. Many of the Overseers were just pilots, body guards, and other hired help that had a reason to be present but was otherwise “unseen”.

When the strangers first approached his fallen employer he began to passively scan them, effectively listening in to the surface thoughts they projected as they thought or spoke, their inner voice.

“…who the hell are they…”

“…what do they want…”

“…I hope I killed the one I stabbed…”

“…who are these people…”

“…they look hurt real bad…”

“…how can we get the hell out of here…”

“…where can I find some weapons…”

“…we have to get a message out…”

After carefully examining the passive scan, Br’Uun decided to cooperate with the other captives but he would keep his true nature hidden. The best way to surprise the enemy is to hold your hand from untested allies.

The pilot stirred as he regained consciousness, drawing their attention away from Attila who continued to sleep deeply.

“Uhh! Damn, they’re a bit overzealous with those beatings.”

The pilot “just” then noticed his company. He grimaced and held his ribs with one arm.

“Who are you?”

The Harpoons struck the lumbering patrol craft quickly and without mercy. With all five cables now safely secured there was little chance of escape. As the Harpoon gears were interchanged the traditional cranks and creeks of chains and cogs slowly reverberated throughout the military craft. The sound of fate, the sound of inevitability.

As predicted the fighters retaliated to the ambush with a traditional missile salvo, the beeping warheads were quickly rendered useless as they converged upon the primary harpoon. Straying too close to the ion field one of the craft was quickly struck by a support hook, now captured and disabled the golden chains slowly pulled the dazed and helpless pilot into Hybrid space.

Watching with a little glint in his eye Senbi smiled as the two ships were now stranded in his realm. “Open a channel to the two ships.” The overseer demanded. Using a basic long wave radio frequency the ISIS sent out its first communication in over a month. “Unknown vessels, you are now prisoners of the Dynasty, you will surrender to us or suffer the consequences.” As if to emphasise the fact the two rifts which were the only route home closed. “Escape is impossible, prepare to abandon your vessels or be trapped here forever, we will return once your companions have been organised.”

Not waiting for a reply the ISIS left for the jumpnode.

Hybrid Space
Normal Location
Jumpnode X34T1

Senbi watched the small monitor in front of him, it displayed everything he needed to know. The fighters positioning, velocity, power and heat output, along with many other technical aspects of which completely eluded him. He was a tactician, not a science officer. Stretching his back just a little the commander was slightly displeased with his command chair, the base was starting to become worn out, with a small dent becoming more and more apparent with every day of use, he would have to insure a replacement once they returned home, otherwise back problems would ensue, and in a culture where posture is literally your social standing a slouch was as desirable as the bubonic plague.

A small beep sounded from the other side of the control centre, the fighters had passed the half way mark. “Charge the Ion generators and set radius for fifty kilometres, in a non-lethal dose please.” Senbi made sure he reinforced the last part.

As expected a second beep signalled declaring that the fighters had passed the three quarters mark.

“Load Harpoon bays one through six with empty hooks, and prepare to initiate reversion sequence. Generate tear for the projected course of Theta One.”

A third and final tone sounded.

“Execute.” The Overseer ordered.

Unfortunately for Theta one the tell tale signs of dimensional activity was severely reduced, the rift in its forming would be almost undetectable. Tearing it’s way through space and time the fighter would, if everything went according to plan simply fly straight through into the Hybrid realm…………

"I'm Officer Namgang Ngabö," the Asian in a rouged-up blue shirt with silver-lined shoulderboards says, hand moving appropriate to his introductions, "and that's Corporal Fahim, Private al-Sanussi, and Private Imms." He smiles wryly. "They're TYCS Mobile Infantry, I'm just Diplomatic Corps. I guess this is how our hosts reward friendliness."

Solont Deep Patrol, Theta Wing, GJ 1243 system, near the Beta Aquilae Jump Node

All 1st Lieutenant Vaman could hear was the deep roar of his ship’s engines and his own racing heartbeat. Something had just ambushed his wing and taken Theta 2 and the support ship, dragging them into some weird hyperspace anomaly. Instinctively, Vaman looked back. Between the blue glows of his engines, he could see only a motionless starfield. Theta 2 and the support ship hadn’t been destroyed or disabled. They’d vanished. Yanked out of reality by some unseen foe…
His HUD blinked a message, snapping Vaman back to the present.

“Heads up, Theta! 1000 meters to the node! Stay alert, and keep your eyes on your G-rater!” Those bastards were somewhere out there. He could feel it. But no sooner had the order left his mouth that another high-pitched tone sounded in his helmet!

“G-Spike!” Theta 4 yelled! It all happened in an instant. A blackness ballooned outwards in front of them, shadowing the stars beyond. Instinctively, Kilo Vaman yanked the control sticks back and angled up sharply, the sudden G-forces almost overwhelming his inertial dampers. He rolled to the side, trying to bank clear, but it was too late. The SA-75 D fighter, designated Theta 1, clipped the side of the blackness, the right half of the fighter shearing away as Kilo Vaman spun off into space in a trail of debris. Less than a second later, a harpoon lanced forth from the tear in subspace and speared his stricken vessel.

Theta 3 fared no better. Unable to react in time, she had flown straight into the anomaly and gotten herself lanced with minimal struggle, all of the systems on her ship failing as she entered the ion field generated by the massive ship within.

But Theta 4, the first to spot the G-spike, was ready. At the first sign of danger, pilot Jack Petrol cut his primary and secondary systems, yanked the lever in the cockpit that ignited his emergency thrusters, and banked clear of the anomaly. Two more harpoons shot forth from the inky blackness, bearing down on him with frightening speed! Jack pulled back further on the emergency thrust vectoring lever, banking harder. Without his inertial-dampers, he grunted trying desperately to force more blood to his brain and avoid a blackout.

“2 seconds…”

He tried to turn harder, the stars at the edge of his peripheral vision disappearing. Those harpoons almost had him…

“1 second…”

Looking up against the strain of G-forces, he could see the ornately barbed metal tip of the harpoon, pointed at the spot directly between his eyes. With tremendous exertion, he pulled the vectoring lever all the way back, the fighter tightening its turn once again, just as the two harpoons blasted past, a cable scraping against the fighters hull in a shower of sparks. Jamming the lever forward, Jack aligned his craft, the blood returning to his head as it was now him that rocketed towards the assailant.

“One shot at this…”

With frightening rapidity, the blackness before him expanded in his HUD, blotting out all of the stars before him. But just as the darkness engulfed him, he rocketed across the barrier, into the strange blue space inside the anomaly. And then… he saw it. Whatever it was. It looked like no ship he’d ever seen. Rather, it looked like a giant beetle. But all Jack knew was that those cables had originated from this vessel, and they had his friends. Angling towards what he presumed to be the things head, he gripped the emergency ammo jettison lever. Without power, he wasn’t going to get another chance at this. But before he could get close enough, three more harpoons launched toward his fighter!

“C’mon…just a little closer…”

There was no dodging them this time!

“NOW!”

Jack yanked the lever back, and with a resounding WHUMP, 80 superheated tungsten rods blasted forth from the twin weapon pods on the SA-75, rocketing towards the mystery ship’s bow and puncturing its hull, shattering and splintering on impact. Simultaneously, the force of the weapon firing knocked a considerable chunk of speed off Jack’s fighter, the first harpoon rocketing past the spot where he would’ve been. But as he turned to escape, the second harpoon lodged into his engine array. As the emergency thrusters sputtered and died, the third harpoon punctured the main fuselage, and jerked his fighter to a halt.

With a crushing feeling of resignation, Jack unclenched his hands and withdrew them from the control sticks. He’d done all he could. The enemy had him now…

OOC: I’m very very very sorry on the delay of postage, but I’m back.

The taste of victory is perhaps as sweet as a sugary desert, but like the much adorned after dinner niceties, there is always a price to pay for indulgence.

Senbi, still grinning like a child, savoured the taste of battle and revelled in the pleasure of the hunt. His view was one of battlefield dominance, and why not? From his perspective he had long sweeping chains extending from his vessels hull, extending through the void and stretching past the blue haze that was the Hybrid rift.
Senbi, as usual had surprise and tactical superiority, so he could afford to be slightly arrogant, he could waste vital seconds, Senbi believed he could be cocky.

“Discharge detected.” A shout ran up from an unknown underling.

Without even realising it, Senbi’s portable military manual leapt into action, booming orders to his subordinates before he consciously knew anything of the situation. “Shut down the rift and prepare for reversion strikes, I want four scorpions launched and find out why they…..”

Multiple impacts struck the ships back, the gleaming black armour was forced into a dull white as it attempted to disperse the perpetrating energy. Below, in the outer decks air pressure fell and vacuums ensued as the Scarab for the first time endured enemy fire.

Due to the nature of the Scarab itself, force fields and energy fields were impossible to maintain, the interference from the ion generators was far too troublesome to even consider overcoming the difficulties. Instead, the Dynasty engineers opted for a more simple and conventional approach. Above each bulkhead door there was two, very thick, glass cylinders, which, if broken would cause the guillotine like blocks to crash to earth. Of course, anyone underneath them at the time would be paying a visit to Anubis’s halls much sooner than expected. The glass cylinders however were pressurised, so, if there was a hull breech, they themselves would detonate, sealing the sound areas of the ship from a prospective doom.

The ship shuddered at the enemy attack, but it remained, whole and intact, well, for the most part.

In the command centre Senbi had his face buried between his palms, muffling through his shameful shield the former arrogant commander had to ask on the situation. “How much damage?” Was all he could mutter.

And, as usual, the unknowns came up with the information. “Multiple breeches along the back, damage is known until repair crews make an inspection. Commander we still have the enemy fighter in lock.”

“Reel him in.” Senbi soured, he wanted to deal with this pilot himself.

Mercury

The Iron door clunked and creaked as several guards undone the various locks and chains. Entering in full armour the unarmed prisoners would be hard pressed to offer any resistance. Storming the cell the guards headed for their first informant, a merchant, called Attila.

Decorated in large bulky golden armour, any citizen of the Dynasty would immediately be able to recognise that these warriors were of the temple of Set, and as such, were afforded the respect that members of the third house were due.

Lifting up the merchant, much to his distress the guards carted him to another, more secluded room.

When he arrived at his destination, Atilla would find a stone floor, and in the centre of that floor there would be a table flanked by two chairs, and in one corner of the room, a torch, basking him with a low depressing light.

Eventually the drugs pumped into the merchants system would weaken him physically, and once the contents of his stomach were down the drain as it were, things could proceed.

While the guards were distracted, Br’Uun slipped out of his body leaving the autonomous system active to keep it alive while he was gone. He approached the guard in his natural form, a pure mind with no physical manifestation what so ever. He slipped into the body of the guard and quietly rode him while they took Attila away.

The temple glistened a bright orange as the steady flow of priests made their war from the alter. Chanting as they proceeded towards the second prayer chamber the priests of Set ignored the now used human corpse, left destitute and naked upon the iron alter.

Hi’Vata was one of the few guards who was admitted this far into the temple to pray, he was, as many would say favoured upon by his Lord and master Ki’roch, High Priest of Set and leader of the third great house the Khaibit. The temple itself was vast and huge, it had to be, it did after all belong to one of the greatest Gods in the Dynasty, and more importantly, one of the most influential houses. The temple just like his assigned house was grand, gold and iron were everywhere.

Prostrating along the floor, the guard bowed in ritual to the mighty statue of Set, the menacing form, serving to remind those of the Gods unyielding power. Pulling out his silver knife Hi’Vata slashed his forearm in a blood offering to his chosen God, it had been too long since he had been to temple, so long now, that his God demanded blood.

Muttering an incantation for protection Hi’Vata could swear that for only a second, the great torches dulled to fiery blue. Lifting himself off the floor the guard blinked once more and attempted to focus his senses, he was not alone…

There was one…perhaps no, definitely two people behind the alter, their voices gently echoing against the sandstone walls.

“We must do something, we must stop him.”
“You try, and he’ll hang us both, no, we must wait, the Sect is sorting everything out, we just need to buy some more time.”
“But the other temples! THEY KNOW”
“They know nothing, and keep your voice down. The aliens are all in captivity, they only know of rumours.”
“But, they will use their seers.”
“Their seers are clouded, we both know whatever they claim is false.”
“But they have support, they have the support of the masses.”
“And we have the army. The temples will not pursue an open confrontation, they will keep it private trust me.” A slither escaped the voice.
“But what if you’re wrong….”
“I am not wrong, just continue the operation and you will be rewarded. Now…do I have your support.”
“For the time being…yes…yes you do.”
“Excellent, so I trust the operation is ready to go.”
“Yes we’re waiting…….” The two men drifted down the corridor, their voices swallowed by the wind.

Leaving the primary temple chamber Hi’Vata took an unknown short cut ad found himself upon the streets of the Imperial City. This was the very heart of the Dynasty, its soul, it’s blackened hand.

As within all Empires the seat of power drew towards it, almost like a magnet would attract steel, murder and intrigue. Each shadow could hold an assassin, or a rogue wielder both bent on securing their next payment.

But that was not his concern. Hi’Vatas concern was how to find extract information from the Pharaohs prisoner…..

“Hmm… All is not right in the lands of the Pharaoh.”

Br’Uun thought to himself as he occupied the body of the guard. He had ridden the guard while his underlings had carried Attila to the holding cell. Br’Uun could tell the guard was the one who was supposed to do the interrogation so he knew Attila would be safe until after Hi’vata returned. He would take him for a ride to see what he could discover.

So far, he could determine the nation was based upon the culture of ancient Egypt. The Temples were the center of the intrigue and it was the infighting between the different temples which was sponsored by different houses. He could use this information if he could get it back home. He would carefully watch and probe everything.

The two priests were carefully talking together. He listened in on their thoughts they projected while they actively talked and thought to themselves. This was the background clutter that drove so many human telepaths insane. The Ta’Nar could easily sort them out and listen into them much the same way a human could overhear a conversation in a train station. As Hi’vata prayed, Br’Uun listened.

After he was done praying, Br’Uun rode him back to the prison complex, memorizing the route in case he needed to get back.

“HA! Take that, you sonuvabitch!” Jack shouted! While he never saw the actual impact of his shot burst, the vapor jets that bloomed forth from some unseen section of the mysterious ship told the Solontian all he need to know. Direct hit and hull breach. At the very least it’d give the enemy something to think about before jumping another seemingly defenseless patrol. But Jack wasn’t done yet, not by a long shot. Those cables which had attached to his vessel were drawn taut, reeling his stricken and useless fighter to some unseen bay in the underbelly of the insect-like spacecraft, presumably the same fate that had befallen his friends.

Capture. Something every soldier hopes to avoid. And as Jack’s fighter was slowly drawn in, his mind raced through the options he had, desperately trying to find a way to avoid being taken prisoner. His engines were dead, his weaponry was fried, his life support was gone, and the warheads still attached to his fighter were cold. There was no way that he could use them against this unknown enemy. And then it hit him. The ships systems and weapons were dead, but the ship itself could still be used. But, saying it was risky would be an understatement…

Without hesitation, Jack opened his toolkit and withdrew a small screwdriver, and went to work undoing the bolts that held the cockpit canopy. The first… then the second… All the while, his fighter drew inexorably closer to being concealed within the bays of the alien vessel. Each second that ticked by brought him closer to failure. Until finally, the seventh and last bolt was removed, and with a monumental grunt, Jack wedged himself between the ejection seat and the canopy, and pushed it free, letting it float off into the eerie blue glow of hyperspace. But Jack had no time to watch it disappear, because it was time to initiate the second phase of his ad hoc plan…

With all the electrical systems fried, the ejector seat was useless, as were the warheads lying dormant in their pods. But one system on the spacecraft was still functional, a system designed for exactly this sort of predicament: The Tritonol 80/20 chemical explosives packed into the fuselage. Originally designed as a suicide measure for pilots whose craft were being assimilated by the QB parasites, the Tritonol 80/20 charge was guaranteed to destroy the craft, and any equipment or organisms unfortunate enough to be in the immediate vicinity when it detonates. It was a last ditch failsafe, which used a mechanical spring driven pump to mix the volatile chemicals of Tritonol 80/20 with oxygen from the life support system, all of which was triggered by a lever underneath the pilot’s seat. A lever which Jack had just pulled…

Jack had no idea of knowing if the mechanism would work or not, but he didn’t want to stick around to find out. Assuming no damaged parts, he had about 94 seconds before the charge detonated. Counting off the seconds in his head, he pushed off of the cockpit of his dead fighter, and floated through space, reaching for the hull of his assailant’s vessel. It wasn’t hard to find a handhold on the surface of the black ship, and Jack swiftly made his way to the rear of the vessel, where he’d seen the signs of a hull rupture before.

20 seconds…

Fortunately, when Jack came to the affected areas, he found that indeed, the holes in the enemy hull were large enough for him to slip through. The plumes of vapor had stopped. Presumably, if this new enemy ran their ships the same way the SSF did, Jack could assume that they’d sealed the breached sections, which had hence been totally depleted of atmosphere. The lack of an atmosphere worried Jack. With his life support fried, the air inside of his helmet was starting to go stale. If didn’t find a way into a pressurized section of the ship soon, or a way to restart his own life support, he was going to suffocate inside his own space armor. But at least once he’d found his way within the hull, he wasn’t in any danger of being knocked off. A very important fact to consider, because in about 7 seconds, the Tritonol 80/20 charges would detonate…