Revenia
31-07-2005, 05:27
Is it possible to truly understand another person? I don’t know. Is it worth trying? Yes.
The Army of the People’s Liberation of Horatria from the Eternal Foe was a cookie-cutter Horatrian terrorist group. They had somehow, unexplainably (!) managed to penetrate the security around Horatria, in place to hopefully prevent terrorists groups from making it out of the system…
Which might sound impressive to a foreigner, having perhaps sufficient knowledge to know of the general skill with which Revenians acted in seemingly every aspect of their lives, yet among Revenians, it was a simple fact of life.
The sun would rise tomorrow, the grass would grow, what goes up must come down, and Horatrian Terrorists would make it out-system. This was the sad truth.
Because this was Revenia, and because its people were Revenians, acceptance of that truth had been…inevitable. It was, perhaps, best summed up in a brief prepared by the Directorate for the Grand Council. However, that brief itself is not nearly as well known as the lines quoted by High Chancellor Sero in a speech to the Grand Council of Revenia in response to the allegations made by Councilwoman Rebekka Witner of Horatria concerning the failure of House Stark to deal with the Horatrian terrorists.
The stage is set as follows:
The place is the Grand Council Chamber, a great crystalline sphere on the planet of Nexus, half submerged beneath the water. Water fills exactly one half of the sphere, and seemingly floating atop the water, in the center of the sphere, is the platform wherepon the High Council, usually represented by the High Chancellor, may address the Grand Council.
Upon this platform stands High Chancellor Sero Relaren, wearing the white robes of the Administrator, the ornate tri-staff of the office of the Administrator-in-Chief in his right hand. Next to this figure of purity stands Dysaryn Stark, much loved Warprince of Revenia, quite in contrast to the High Chancellor in his subdued black slacks, shirt, and jacket. His blade is at his side, and the only symbol of station about him is the slender silver circlet upon his brow.
Unimportant to this recollection, but worth mentioning, is the sword and star of the Gunslinger upon his lapel.
The Warprince speaks first.
“Councilwoman Witner, I am deeply saddened by your accusations. Not because they were made, but because they were made by you. Councilwoman, where do you find for yourself the right to accuse us of anything concerning Horatria, when you yourself are a Representative of that system?
It is not the duty of House Stark to…to chain your people to their planet, Councilwoman. It is the duty of House Stark to act for the people of the Star Supremacy, and so we do. You will have noticed, I hope, the response made to every terrorist action that has occurred within our borders?
We have acted swiftly, always. We have dealt with these…individuals…who would use fear as a weapon to strike out at the people of this nation for reasons that are better left to far more learned men than myself.
Perhaps you are aware of the existence of my cousin, Kaelandar Stark? He is the fate that lays for any who would dare wield fear against my people.
It is not the duty of House Stark to police the borders of Horatria. That duty falls upon your shoulders, Councilwoman Witner. If you truly wish to see no more Revenians, and in that I include the Horatrians who have acted so foolishly, killed…then I say to you, Councilwoman, see to your people. I have, am, and will see to mine.”
Then it was the turn of the High Chancellor.
“The Lord Warprince has covered the original subject, I believe, but I would like to take this time to cover a few points myself. Perhaps only one, but it is an important point irregardless of its lack of companions.
That point is simply thus: you have all read the studies put out by the Directorate of Intelligence. You have all seen with your own eyes that most damning of sentences.
‘It is the opinion of this Directorate that there is no measure or method of security acceptable to the High Council of this Star Supremacy that would be sufficient to prevent terrorist attacks by elements of the citizenry of Horatria. It is the conclusion of our analysts that these attacks will continue until either drastic, military action is taken by the forces of the Star Supremacy, internal pressure is placed to check these attacks from within the Horatrian Citizenry itself, or Horatria is removed entirely from the Star Supremacy of Revenia.’
We will not act within Horatria, for that is not our place. That is the place for the civilian government of Horatria, who may call upon our aid should they so desire it. That is your place, Councilwoman Witner.
However, any terrorist activity within this Star Supremacy will be met with lethal force. Swift death is the best that those who would place fear into the citizens of our nation can hope for, and death is all that they will find here. Thus it has been, thus it shall be.”
It was simple truth that, should a group wish to commit terrorist activity, they could do so. However, it was also a simple truth that the choice to commit terrorist activity was a choice one made exactly once in one’s life. Because within the Star Supremacy, terrorists were greeted by Captain Kaelandar Stark and his Special Strike Unit.
As The Army of the People’s Liberation of Horatria from the Eternal Foe was about to find out.
Tuesday, 0300 hours
Camden Island Hospital
Camden Island, Nexus
Second day of hostage situation,
Arrival of SSU
It was dark as you could like, and the dark gray assault flyers that descended from the overhead cloudbanks were visible as nothing more than ominous shapes. The ramps lowered with a silence that was quite odd to anybody who’d witnessed other forms of Revenian landing craft…
The assault flyers were much smaller than assault shuttles, carrying no more than one tac team of five people and their equipment. There were a total of four flyers, each one that ominous, non-descript dark gray…and from those four flyers emerged men in dark gray armor.
They wore the Ascended Star in white on a black patch on their right shoulder, while the left displayed the SSU’s shield and scythe patch, with the Middle Ascended word “Asara” below it on a separate patch.
Asara. To Strike.
The Civil Patrol types who had already arrived at the site were largely Camden Island CP, however, one could spot where small detachments from other CP units had been sent over as reinforcements. Doctrine for this sort of thing was well established – the patrol dug in and held a perimeter while a negotiator did his work. As this was going on, the SSU was scrambled.
Attention naturally focused on the one SSU striker who wasn’t a faceless killer in gray body armor and helmeted with a mirrored visor. He wore a gray duster that fell down almost to his ankles over the same contoured dark gray armor that every Striker wore.
Yet he did not wear a helmet. He was, of course, Captain-Commissioner Kaelandar Stark. Kael looked a lot like his cousin, the Warprince. He was two inches shorter than Dysaryn’s six feet and three inches and his facial structure was slimmer than that of his illustrious cousin. Still, the appearance was uncanny.
Long fingers, cold, cold silver eyes…eyes that had seen far too much death than any living being should ever had to. Yet Captain-Commissioner Stark’s most distinctive feature was his hair. Not the fine almost-white silver hair that was common among House Stark, nor the more vibrant silver that was far-and-away the most common hair color amongst Ascended-blooded individuals, but red.
Red hair wasn’t terribly uncommon, of course, but then…that wasn’t –truly- red hair, really, now was it? Kaelandar Stark’s hair was the color of blood.
He conversed briefly with the patrol weenies on the scene, gathering information on the hospital interior…then he received the helmet handed to him by 2nd team’s Captain Jeremy Cartier.
He slid the helmet on and flipped down the visor. The link with his implants was quick and painless. It took a few moments before the whole unit was on the net, but the checks went rapidly from that point.
“We enter by teams, pick your own damn entrance. Stay aware. Designate hostages when you find ‘em, signal is blue. Say again. Signal for hostage is blue. This is just another damned pack of apes…so we kill ‘em, then we go home.”
It wasn’t particularly inspiring…to anybody who wasn’t a Striker. But for a Striker, going home was the most valuable prize in the world.
They broke off into four five man teams, selecting their choice of entry amongst themselves. Kael led his team right up to the front door, then crouched down behind the civil patrol blast shields placed there to shelter the two riflemen from the Nexus Planetary patrol. The planetary CP was good, because it was designed to provide assistance to the regional CP units at points of crisis. In this case, there were Nexus Planetary sharpshooters in buildings with their custom-fitted needle rifles, while the two riflemen up front and center were experts in the use of the heavy assault needlers they carried.
This was vital since the average civil patrolman carried a needle pistol and nothing else, while the crisis team might be equipped with light needle rifles…
Anyways, he got the “in position” checks from the other tac teams...then set the timer for a ten-count ending on a sound that every striker knew as the go signal.
When that signal sounded, Kael was rising and moving almost before his mind realized what had happened. As he moved, he pushed back his coat to clear his draw, then let his hand over his high-holstered heavy pistol.
A burst of fire from Sgt. Janine Olsen’s CR-17 carbine variant put paid to the plate glass front doors, and Kael led the way through.
There were three gunmen in the front lobby, and Kael’s gun had cleared holstered and was rising. His draw was incredibly fast, and his gun had moved so as to intercept a line that terminated in the neck of one of the gunmen.
He squeezed the sensitive trigger back smoothly and the powerful pistol sent its slug hurtling downrange. His pistol was already blurring to meet another shot, and another heavy slug was headed down range to blow a hole straight through the second gunman’s chest, slightly on the left…right through the heart.
In the time it had taken Kaelandar Stark to target and kill two gunmen, Lieutenant Andrew McCarthy had stepped inside with his carbine squeezed up tight and in, fired a precise burst that sounded like it had been a select-fire option but was in fact nothing more than a man who knew his weapon firing two rounds on automatic.
Kael had recovered from the slight jump he’d made to clear the Ape Gunmen’s sights and force them to re-aim and was drawing his second pistol from the drop-down holster on his left thigh.
Both of his weapons were marvels of the gunsmith’s art, custom-crafted for one individual and one individual only. The grips were perfectly contoured to his hands, the balance was perfect…for him.
His primary pistol, the heavy pistol he carried in his right hand, fired an 11mm slug at speeds ranging from subsonic to hypersonic from a ten round magazine. His secondary, the lighter pistol that he carried in his left hand, fired a nine millimeter slug at the same range of speeds from a fifteen round magazine.
Attracted by the gunfire, an Ape gunman had stepped out to check the situation out. He had emerged almost directly behind Corporal Sarah Lennings. His startled shout alerted Sarah, and she was already dropping and spinning…but he had plenty of time to fire anyways…
Or he would, had Captain-Commissioner Kaelandar Stark not raised his left hand and double-tapped the Ape in the face from across the lobby. It was an almost impossible shot with a pistol without plenty of aiming…but if there was a God of Pistols, Kael Stark was His Chosen.
The Army of the People’s Liberation of Horatria from the Eternal Foe was a cookie-cutter Horatrian terrorist group. They had somehow, unexplainably (!) managed to penetrate the security around Horatria, in place to hopefully prevent terrorists groups from making it out of the system…
Which might sound impressive to a foreigner, having perhaps sufficient knowledge to know of the general skill with which Revenians acted in seemingly every aspect of their lives, yet among Revenians, it was a simple fact of life.
The sun would rise tomorrow, the grass would grow, what goes up must come down, and Horatrian Terrorists would make it out-system. This was the sad truth.
Because this was Revenia, and because its people were Revenians, acceptance of that truth had been…inevitable. It was, perhaps, best summed up in a brief prepared by the Directorate for the Grand Council. However, that brief itself is not nearly as well known as the lines quoted by High Chancellor Sero in a speech to the Grand Council of Revenia in response to the allegations made by Councilwoman Rebekka Witner of Horatria concerning the failure of House Stark to deal with the Horatrian terrorists.
The stage is set as follows:
The place is the Grand Council Chamber, a great crystalline sphere on the planet of Nexus, half submerged beneath the water. Water fills exactly one half of the sphere, and seemingly floating atop the water, in the center of the sphere, is the platform wherepon the High Council, usually represented by the High Chancellor, may address the Grand Council.
Upon this platform stands High Chancellor Sero Relaren, wearing the white robes of the Administrator, the ornate tri-staff of the office of the Administrator-in-Chief in his right hand. Next to this figure of purity stands Dysaryn Stark, much loved Warprince of Revenia, quite in contrast to the High Chancellor in his subdued black slacks, shirt, and jacket. His blade is at his side, and the only symbol of station about him is the slender silver circlet upon his brow.
Unimportant to this recollection, but worth mentioning, is the sword and star of the Gunslinger upon his lapel.
The Warprince speaks first.
“Councilwoman Witner, I am deeply saddened by your accusations. Not because they were made, but because they were made by you. Councilwoman, where do you find for yourself the right to accuse us of anything concerning Horatria, when you yourself are a Representative of that system?
It is not the duty of House Stark to…to chain your people to their planet, Councilwoman. It is the duty of House Stark to act for the people of the Star Supremacy, and so we do. You will have noticed, I hope, the response made to every terrorist action that has occurred within our borders?
We have acted swiftly, always. We have dealt with these…individuals…who would use fear as a weapon to strike out at the people of this nation for reasons that are better left to far more learned men than myself.
Perhaps you are aware of the existence of my cousin, Kaelandar Stark? He is the fate that lays for any who would dare wield fear against my people.
It is not the duty of House Stark to police the borders of Horatria. That duty falls upon your shoulders, Councilwoman Witner. If you truly wish to see no more Revenians, and in that I include the Horatrians who have acted so foolishly, killed…then I say to you, Councilwoman, see to your people. I have, am, and will see to mine.”
Then it was the turn of the High Chancellor.
“The Lord Warprince has covered the original subject, I believe, but I would like to take this time to cover a few points myself. Perhaps only one, but it is an important point irregardless of its lack of companions.
That point is simply thus: you have all read the studies put out by the Directorate of Intelligence. You have all seen with your own eyes that most damning of sentences.
‘It is the opinion of this Directorate that there is no measure or method of security acceptable to the High Council of this Star Supremacy that would be sufficient to prevent terrorist attacks by elements of the citizenry of Horatria. It is the conclusion of our analysts that these attacks will continue until either drastic, military action is taken by the forces of the Star Supremacy, internal pressure is placed to check these attacks from within the Horatrian Citizenry itself, or Horatria is removed entirely from the Star Supremacy of Revenia.’
We will not act within Horatria, for that is not our place. That is the place for the civilian government of Horatria, who may call upon our aid should they so desire it. That is your place, Councilwoman Witner.
However, any terrorist activity within this Star Supremacy will be met with lethal force. Swift death is the best that those who would place fear into the citizens of our nation can hope for, and death is all that they will find here. Thus it has been, thus it shall be.”
It was simple truth that, should a group wish to commit terrorist activity, they could do so. However, it was also a simple truth that the choice to commit terrorist activity was a choice one made exactly once in one’s life. Because within the Star Supremacy, terrorists were greeted by Captain Kaelandar Stark and his Special Strike Unit.
As The Army of the People’s Liberation of Horatria from the Eternal Foe was about to find out.
Tuesday, 0300 hours
Camden Island Hospital
Camden Island, Nexus
Second day of hostage situation,
Arrival of SSU
It was dark as you could like, and the dark gray assault flyers that descended from the overhead cloudbanks were visible as nothing more than ominous shapes. The ramps lowered with a silence that was quite odd to anybody who’d witnessed other forms of Revenian landing craft…
The assault flyers were much smaller than assault shuttles, carrying no more than one tac team of five people and their equipment. There were a total of four flyers, each one that ominous, non-descript dark gray…and from those four flyers emerged men in dark gray armor.
They wore the Ascended Star in white on a black patch on their right shoulder, while the left displayed the SSU’s shield and scythe patch, with the Middle Ascended word “Asara” below it on a separate patch.
Asara. To Strike.
The Civil Patrol types who had already arrived at the site were largely Camden Island CP, however, one could spot where small detachments from other CP units had been sent over as reinforcements. Doctrine for this sort of thing was well established – the patrol dug in and held a perimeter while a negotiator did his work. As this was going on, the SSU was scrambled.
Attention naturally focused on the one SSU striker who wasn’t a faceless killer in gray body armor and helmeted with a mirrored visor. He wore a gray duster that fell down almost to his ankles over the same contoured dark gray armor that every Striker wore.
Yet he did not wear a helmet. He was, of course, Captain-Commissioner Kaelandar Stark. Kael looked a lot like his cousin, the Warprince. He was two inches shorter than Dysaryn’s six feet and three inches and his facial structure was slimmer than that of his illustrious cousin. Still, the appearance was uncanny.
Long fingers, cold, cold silver eyes…eyes that had seen far too much death than any living being should ever had to. Yet Captain-Commissioner Stark’s most distinctive feature was his hair. Not the fine almost-white silver hair that was common among House Stark, nor the more vibrant silver that was far-and-away the most common hair color amongst Ascended-blooded individuals, but red.
Red hair wasn’t terribly uncommon, of course, but then…that wasn’t –truly- red hair, really, now was it? Kaelandar Stark’s hair was the color of blood.
He conversed briefly with the patrol weenies on the scene, gathering information on the hospital interior…then he received the helmet handed to him by 2nd team’s Captain Jeremy Cartier.
He slid the helmet on and flipped down the visor. The link with his implants was quick and painless. It took a few moments before the whole unit was on the net, but the checks went rapidly from that point.
“We enter by teams, pick your own damn entrance. Stay aware. Designate hostages when you find ‘em, signal is blue. Say again. Signal for hostage is blue. This is just another damned pack of apes…so we kill ‘em, then we go home.”
It wasn’t particularly inspiring…to anybody who wasn’t a Striker. But for a Striker, going home was the most valuable prize in the world.
They broke off into four five man teams, selecting their choice of entry amongst themselves. Kael led his team right up to the front door, then crouched down behind the civil patrol blast shields placed there to shelter the two riflemen from the Nexus Planetary patrol. The planetary CP was good, because it was designed to provide assistance to the regional CP units at points of crisis. In this case, there were Nexus Planetary sharpshooters in buildings with their custom-fitted needle rifles, while the two riflemen up front and center were experts in the use of the heavy assault needlers they carried.
This was vital since the average civil patrolman carried a needle pistol and nothing else, while the crisis team might be equipped with light needle rifles…
Anyways, he got the “in position” checks from the other tac teams...then set the timer for a ten-count ending on a sound that every striker knew as the go signal.
When that signal sounded, Kael was rising and moving almost before his mind realized what had happened. As he moved, he pushed back his coat to clear his draw, then let his hand over his high-holstered heavy pistol.
A burst of fire from Sgt. Janine Olsen’s CR-17 carbine variant put paid to the plate glass front doors, and Kael led the way through.
There were three gunmen in the front lobby, and Kael’s gun had cleared holstered and was rising. His draw was incredibly fast, and his gun had moved so as to intercept a line that terminated in the neck of one of the gunmen.
He squeezed the sensitive trigger back smoothly and the powerful pistol sent its slug hurtling downrange. His pistol was already blurring to meet another shot, and another heavy slug was headed down range to blow a hole straight through the second gunman’s chest, slightly on the left…right through the heart.
In the time it had taken Kaelandar Stark to target and kill two gunmen, Lieutenant Andrew McCarthy had stepped inside with his carbine squeezed up tight and in, fired a precise burst that sounded like it had been a select-fire option but was in fact nothing more than a man who knew his weapon firing two rounds on automatic.
Kael had recovered from the slight jump he’d made to clear the Ape Gunmen’s sights and force them to re-aim and was drawing his second pistol from the drop-down holster on his left thigh.
Both of his weapons were marvels of the gunsmith’s art, custom-crafted for one individual and one individual only. The grips were perfectly contoured to his hands, the balance was perfect…for him.
His primary pistol, the heavy pistol he carried in his right hand, fired an 11mm slug at speeds ranging from subsonic to hypersonic from a ten round magazine. His secondary, the lighter pistol that he carried in his left hand, fired a nine millimeter slug at the same range of speeds from a fifteen round magazine.
Attracted by the gunfire, an Ape gunman had stepped out to check the situation out. He had emerged almost directly behind Corporal Sarah Lennings. His startled shout alerted Sarah, and she was already dropping and spinning…but he had plenty of time to fire anyways…
Or he would, had Captain-Commissioner Kaelandar Stark not raised his left hand and double-tapped the Ape in the face from across the lobby. It was an almost impossible shot with a pistol without plenty of aiming…but if there was a God of Pistols, Kael Stark was His Chosen.