NationStates Jolt Archive

Ok’Tarm System, Somewhere Near the Core

Within the star-filled blackness of space, lay a system, illuminated only by the light from the core - which it sat near, and the faint white hue of a star clinging to life only by fates thin strings. The light was obscured only by the large field of ore rich asteroids – that float haplessly all throughout the system, and a large gas giant, its azure hue overpowered by luminosity of a million burning stars of the violent and inhospitable core.

It was within this system – at a point no different than any other save for the number of asteroids in the area, that the universe was torn asunder. The very fibers of the universe were inexplicably destroyed at this very point: a flood of cobalt into the realities of this universe; and from it, emerged a monster.

As the energies cleared like the smoke from a smoldering fire, the beast revealed itself. Kilometer after kilometer of metallic obsidian crept slowly into the system, unnoticed by the rest of the universe. The CIS Genesis had arrived.

“We’ve arrived, albeit a little late.” Said Captain Akira, “Very good.” Said Admiral Atuk, “Prep the extractors, get the converter online, and alert the workers that it is time to do what they’re potentially being paid for.” He continued, relaxing back – arms outstretched, in his very large – and very well padded chair.

“Aye sir!” Akira barked quickly, running towards the comm terminal to carry out his orders. “I want everything done ASAP, and I shall have no tolerance for any tardiness today.” Atuk snapped, his long auburn hair flowing gently over his uniform a shade of Indigo with bands of silver hidden behind a blood-red overlay, and sterling bars that fell against the breast.

Hundreds of small spheres departed from the Genesis towards the gas giant, like leeches they would drain away the very essences of the planet encompassed in a swirl of blue miasma. This would be the much-needed fuel for the converter: the massive matter-annihilating vortex of energy that ran down the spine of the ship into the factory portions. The matter would be bled quickly from the many large asteroids once they entered the Genesis’ hungry, gaping jaws.

The first asteroid fell victim to the swirling energies of the converter within minutes of its activation, a massive rock no different than any other – except possibly in ore density, was ripped from the system, torn to shreds till all that remained was the precious ore they Genesis needed so badly. Workers in the many factories began processing the ores various parts needed for starship construction: nuts, bolts, and basic circuits. Each worker modeling the ore into the shape required by the display on their terminal. Thus the foundation had been laid.

The Genesis's gravitic sensors blipped.

Something massive, dark, and angular had slipped into the system like it had always been there. No spectacular flashes, no flood of hard radiation. The only traces of this beast's arrival were a faint gravitic ripple and its sudden, lurking presence.

snickt.

Yellow-white lights flickered, then blazed, illuminating vast, dented stretches of gunmetal-gray hull. IFF transmitters flickered into life, quietly whispering the ship's name into the void. For those who cared to read, the name was blazoned upon the hull in a shade of deep hemoglobic maroon.

AugShip Purifier.

SRC: Augship Purifier
DST: CIS Genesis
SBJ: 1 1 2 3 5
MSG:
I'd say it's nice working with you, but Fido's breathing down my back about even getting involved with the Order and your operation seems sadly... inefficient according to my schematics.

But whatever. Hello. It's nice working with you.

-Kara


*******

A field larger than skyscrapers curled itself around the nearest of the nickel-iron asteroids, then crushed it thoughtlessly. Even as smaller sheafs of fields scooped the debris into Purifier's maw, another asteroid shattered into fragments.

Hectotons of asteroid rock plummeted into the factory ship's gullet. Arcane fields and devices, guided by the deft touch of AI, melted, sorted, stamped and fused, processing in rates that could be measured as tons per second.

Less than five minutes after its arrival, Purifier disgorged its first load of metal. One-ton slabs of pure iron, pure nickel, purified chunks of other metals in much smaller quantities, twenty tons of slag: most of it was sucked back inside within seconds, vanishing into smaller bays for more obscure and delicate processings.

“Atuk we’ve received a message from the Purifier.” The comms officer announced. “Ryan, must I tell you to put the message on my display? Jesus it’s like commanding a bunch of lazy animals.” Admiral Atuk responded, digging his body deeper into the thick, wooly leather of his chair. Atuk read through the message a few times over; the laziness induced fatigue made it difficult for his eyes to process the words being displayed on his screen. “Inefficient? Well who’da guessed eh Akira?” Akira did nothing other then nod in agreement, somewhat frustrated at Atuk’s lazy and laid-back attitude during a mission of such importance.

“Well, we better send them some sorts response before they think we’re inefficient and rude.” Atuk said with a somewhat childish tone as he rose from his seat and made his way towards the communications console. “Oh bugger!” Atuk yelled. A spark of mischievous electricity jumped from the rusted red comm button into Atuk’s armoured finger. “Well that is just great!” he said with an irate tone, beating hard against the console not realizing he had opened channels to the other ship. “Why …- am it! Thi- …-ce of shi-…-I refuse to deal with thi-…-ery!” Atuk was now beyond irate, screaming all kinds of obscenities as he paced angrily about the bridge. Walking in out of the range of the comms before he finally started to beat the console with every bit of strength he had augmented by his frustration.

Akira and the others present did their best to calm him down, failing miserably in their efforts; Atuk was far to enraged to pay any attention to the shouting of his men or the wounds he was creating for himself in his assault on the rusted, old piece of scrap metal labeled ‘Comm…cation Con…e.’ “Atuk!” the sound of a fist making a powerful contact with a skull filled the bridge before all suddenly went silent. “Atuk I’m sorry, but your behavior is not very becoming of an officer!” Akira yelled as Atuk fought to regain his balance, stumbling about in front of the angry Akira.

“Damn Akira, what the hell man that hurt!” Atuk snapped, a stream of blood running down his cheek. “Atuk,” Akira responded in an angry whisper in Atuk’s face, “every bit of your outburst, from start to finished, has been broadcasted to the Purifier. Hell we’re still broadcasting at this very minute.” Atuk was shocked into silence, knowing full well the stupidity of his recent juvenile behavior.

“Why heeelllo there friends. Sorry about whatever it is that you heard and can only now hope that you do not think of us as inefficient and barbaric.” He paused, trying his hardest to sound as calm, apologetic, and sophisticated as possible, “I am Admiral Atuk of the CLF, and I must say I look forward to working with you; I just hope you feel the same way.” Atuk let his hand off the comm button, not realizing that the rust had jammed the button and thus kept the comms active. “Now that is why I’m an Admiral and you lot serve under me. Booyah!”

Akira could only muffle a large groan as Atuk slouched back into his chair with an incessant, childish grin of accomplishment gleaming from his well-sculpted face. “I cannot believe what I must put up with.” He moaned under his breath as he un-jammed the comm button and closed the channel.

The aged hulk of rust clad black moved silently along through space, engulfing any asteroid not fortunate enough to dodge her powerful gravitic flux fields. Millions of tons of raw materials had been processed into alloys themselves later fastened into parts and then fixed into bigger parts, until finally a ship moved down the fume filled assembly line. A single gunboat was the first vessel to be completed within Genesis’ massive facilities after her arrival to Ok’Tarm. Soon hundreds more would follow in its wake.

Hundreds of tiny robotic arms dart over a line of twenty magnetically suspended boxes, soldering, cutting and etching. Further down the assembly line, an electromagnetic shuttle delivers twenty optical-silica processors, still warm from the heat of their manufacturing furnaces. They are dutifully slotted into place.

Past that, things get faster and more complex. The black boxes are quickly welded to a high-speed autoloader, which in turn is fastened to a ceramic barrel, which in turn is wrapped in superconducting coils by another blindingly fast arm.

Just over a minute later, twenty anti-capital coilguns roll off the assembly line and are parked in place near the ceramic ribs of the rapidly assembling cruiser Politely Executed Genocide.

total elapsed construction time: 00:02:09:54 (d/h/m/s)

The engines follow soon after, rolling massively out of the heaviest assembly lines. They are immediately tractored into their waiting mounts and fastened there by quick-moving drones.

With ponderous care, the ship's distortion engine is slid into place, spastically crackling with unclear energy.

total elapsed construction time: 00:02:39:01 (d/h/m/s)

Hallways and conduits and the guts of the ship are snapped into place, then sheathed in alloy hull. The weapons, waiting in long lines, are finally attached.

The ship's heart flickers to life. Now all it needs is a crew.

total elapsed construction time: 00:16:52:07 (d/h/m/s)

“Akira…” Atuk called, “Akira! Where the fuck are ya?” he continued, searching through the wall ways for the missing captain. Akira was sitting quietly in the cramped confines of one of the many oblong storerooms about Genesis. Filtered starlight beamed through the room’s single rust encrusted view-port, glistening against the beads of water streaming down the walls. The room was filled with empty boxes now more mold than their former selves. A single decrepit light hung from the ceiling, swaying about eerily in the calm, rancid air. “Oh, God! Why now?” Akira thought aloud. Akira was huddled in the corner of this room, shivering between an unsightly agglomeration of rust and mold that had established a foothold on the metal wall, and one of the larger empty boxes.

The faint glow of yellow flame blazed forth from the cigarette Akira he held loosely in his quivering hands. “I just want to get away. I just want to be alone, but no, no Atuk has to pester me wherever I go.” Akira groaned, slamming his fist hard into the wall. “Ah, Akira!” obviously the reverberations of Akira’s fist into the wall caught Atuk’s keen ears. “Yes, Atuk. What do you need of me?” Akira asked, rising from the floor as Atuk entered the room. “We’re going to have a party!” he yelled jovially, “Just as soon as you explain to me what the hell you’re doing in here.” Atuk continued, looking at Akira deep in the eye.

Akira was rather dumbfounded at first, searching his mind for a good explanation. “Nothing, just ‘chilling’ sir.” He said in something resembling his normally apathetic tone. Atuk kept his gaze for a moment, though his expression was no longer one of serious inquiry but that of insipid emptiness, as if what Akira said had confused him. “Ah well, sweet. Come to the bridge now, we’re going to invite them guys on the Purifier over for a little get together.” Atuk said, shaking the confusion off his face and moving himself and Akira out of the room and through the hall towards the bridge.

“I thought we had work to do, why are we having a party?” Akira said, now digging his heels into the grating slightly, “Oh come now, don’t be a kill joy.” Atuk responded, pushing Akira on harder the more he resisted. “It’ll boost some morale around here to cut loose Akira, and besides, it’s been a while since we’ve had guests.” He continued with an incessant tone of childishness. “Don’t you mean, boost your morale after you cut loose some more?” Atuk paused, only staring at Akira, again with that empty stare. “You really do know me like a book don’t ya Akira?” a large smile cracked his face as he gave Akira one final shove into the bridge as he let out a disparaging groan.

Everyone else on the bridge seemed just as depressed as Akira. Not one averted their gazes from their stations, feigning work as Atuk walked down the grating that was deeply incised into the stained titanium floor to the newly repaired communications console. “Hello, this is Admiral Atuk aboard the Genesis. To get things started off properly, Akira and I would like to invite any able over for, a little get together of sorts.” Akira winced at the mention of his name; he did not want to be associated with the inevitable disaster that would be Atuk’s party. Everyone else appeared equally as uneasy, all to familiar with Atuk and his antics.

--

Thousands of workers aided in the production of over two hundred gunboats that had now rolled off Genesis’ worn assembly lines. Floating harmlessly in the cold blackness of space near their hulking mother, waiting to prove their worth. A link formed between Genesis and her first born. The bridge lights flickered for a moment, before the entire the room was ablaze with bright and blinding lights as the AI units activated. Slowly she coasted towards a rather imposing stellar boulder tumbling about its neighbors, arming her two anti-capital ship torpedoes, each a powerful thermonuclear warhead encased within an incredibly strong metal alloy.

The bright flames of her engines left a surreal trail of blue engine exhaust, telling of the eerie agility of such a large gunship as her deadly twins departed. They drifted along the currents of inertia for a few moments, quickly firing their powerful engines once their mother had moved far enough away. The heavily armed and armoured warheads spun on their axes as they closed the distance between them and their unwary target.

Then there was a flash. A bright flash, that for a moment outshone the systems very own star. The mighty rock was enveloped in this red flash of energy, never to be seen again. Scattered ashes glowing with the radiant energies of nuclear power were all that remained. The first of the Twilight’s trails were over, but still many more remained.

SRC: Augship Purifier
DST: CIS Genesis
SBJ: 8 13 21 34
MSG:
Sure we'd like to come over for a drink. Around here the best alcohol you can get is just distillate from the chem labs. The stuff's OK for rocket fuel, but it's undrinkable.
Me and Synch'll head over on our shuttle in a sec.
- Charlie Maddock


******

A few minutes later, a small insystem shuttle slipped out of one of Purifier's many bays and took off towards Genesis, puttering on a traditional fusion drive. It would arrive in a little more than an hour.

The shuttle clanked as it made contact with the Genesis's airlock. Its adaptive seal squeaked as it adjusted to the unfamiliar Electronian design.

Contact was made. The hatch opened. Out walked Soldier Second Class Charlie Maddock.

His six-foot-four, power-armoured bulk would have cut an imposing figure had it not been, for reasons unknown, painted white and decorated with a pattern of Day-Glo flowers. The man inside it-or what could be seen of him-had a long, flowing beard and ponytail. All in all, the effect was rather as if a Space Marine had decided to switch clothes with a hippie.

Charlie's armored gauntlets hung at his belt, and his helmet- painted with a large yellow smilie face on the forehead- was swung back off his shoulders. He offered a hand to the man waiting on the other side of the airlock, a wide grin on his face.

"Pleased ta meetcha. Mah friend'll be along in a bit," he said, glancing around.

******

As he spoke, the quiet, computerized systems of Purifier installed the final parts on a second cruiser.

"Whoa," Atuk said, "That's one freaky looking dude." Atuk was observing his guest from the Captain's Quarters view panel. His copper eyes scanned over the large silhouette of the individual. The odd colorations and design emblazoned with flowers garnered more than a few snickers and odd looks from Atuk.

"Atuk, please do not call him freaky when he arrives." Akira said, disgusted as always at his Admirals prattishness. He wiped the beads of sweat from his baldhead, worried that Atuk might put the new guests off so much they may both loose their jobs.

"Ah, Akira, no worries about that. We're fine." Atuk said, running his fingers through his ragged hair as he sipped from his almost empty wine glass. "We'll only have a problem if they decline some good liquor." he continued, finishing off the rest of his drink.

His flesh grew a shade red; Akira knew at this rate Atuk would be lucky if he were still able to stand by the time his guests had arrived.

"This way..." the young guide said, motioning Maddock onward through the rusted halls. "Atuk is... well he is excited. I'm sure you'll have a good time... he's going to have a good time..." he continued; twitching and ticking, his thoughts trailing and words fading.

The Twilight continued her tests. Annihilating several of the dummy missiles that had transfixed themselves upon her. The anti-missile rockets dashed from a plume of hellfire out of the gunboats spine into the incoming guided facade. Despite her best efforts several made contact, obliterating her had this all been real.

Still the test data revealed that her powerful shielding would have kept her safe from the missile strikes for a small while, even if her armor was relatively paper-thin. Her engines, however, were her true saving grace. Taking up half the mass of the ship, they propelled her to great speeds most craft of her size could only dream of. She could outrun about anything at sub-light speed, this at the expense of her armament of course. Only armed with two anti-capital-ship warheads and several gatling cannons when acting to augment Point Defense and shred lightly Armoured targets; she was meant to hit and run, a raider, nothing more.

Her stealth and her speed, her quick bite and slippery maneuverability, she would serve the Order well, and so would all of her sisters, new and old.

Charlie nodded to the young guide.

"Ah, don't ye worry. Ah haven't had me a good drop o' liquor in months. Me and t'captain should be gettin' along just fine."

Behind him, the airlock cycled again, empty.

******

Charlie's eyes went wide as he entered the captain's stateroom.

"Wine? Actual wine?"

In a few swift strides, he crossed the room and uncorked the bottle.

"May I?" he said, pouring himself a glass and refilling the captain's glass to boot, then taking a sip.

"Ah, yes... It's been too long." He offered his hand to the Captain. "Mah name's Charlie Maddock. Pleased to meetcha... and t'meet your wine." He winked.

******

Ammunition rattled off of secondary assembly lines and was flung, spinning, by electromagnetic fields into the waiting bays of the two assembled cruisers. As the missiles and shells were spirited away into the waiting magazines, a third cruiser's skeleton began to take shape.

Atuk’s eyes dilated and his speech slurred. He was far beyond buzzed when Maddock entered, led in by the ever twitching, ever-ticking young guide. “Su..rre.” he slurred, “Thatss only to kick us off man, we’ve got all kindss of drinks and shit for this splendifferouas occasion.” The Admirals attempt at sophistication obviously failed, mispronouncing and misusing words many times during the dry conversations with his new flower covered drinking buddy.

Akira did his best to stay calm. Panicking on the inside, Atuk, You fool! We’ll both be floating around the cold void of space if word ever gets out you’ve behaved in such a way in front of a delegate from another nation, especially an ally! He wanted to say it aloud, but new that would only make things worse once Atuk accused him of being a killjoy, and started acting as enraged as he did on the bridge when a miniscule spark jumped from a stuck button into his finger. “Atuk, please, slow down.” He pleaded.

Atuk turned to Akira, eyes glazed and without focus. “Aki, my friend, why…” there was a long silence as Atuk emptied a full cup of wine, “…should we?” Atuk turned away again, fumbling with his cup as the now wide-smiling Maddock attempted to refill it; spilling most of it on the worn and faded red of the Captain’s velvet floor.

“So friend Maddock… How do you like this rotting heeeap of a ship? Yer’s is all nice and new, but this baby is old as the day the seven Enclaves were formed. Hell, ya can seeee the name of the original Captain in that outline of rust over th… ere.” Atuk slumped further back into his chair, caressing the brim of his glass with a slender finger, paying no mind to the fretting Akira in the corner enshrouded by the smoke from a rapidly breathing smoker.

Idle conversation at least slows him down for a while. he thought, wiping more sweat from his bald head.

--

“To the lock… the lock, I like the lock. It reminds me of people. People, I like people people are fun. Where are all the people? They should be working I hate work…” He muttered to himself. The young guide, simply known as Gragi, paced through the narrow and now empty halls back towards the airlock. Turning in an instant down a hallway to nowhere only to double back midway through, muttering an amalgam of words and syllables uncomprehendable to mortal men. Occasionally spasming and screaming muffled screams that echoed through the dim corridors.

--

“Alright, she’s half-way done boys. Good job, but don’t think you can rest yet! We’ve still got a long way to go, and she’s not the last one we’ll be building either.” The factory Foreman Alex Gray, shouted over the clanging and hissing of mighty machines. “So get back to work you lazy bitches!”

Thousands of workers milled back to their many stations: welding parts, monitoring the temperature of the blast furnaces; shaping molten metals into mighty alloys fit only for warships.

One of the workers at a small monitoring station, a thick man clad in rags of tattered copper and bald save for some whiskers that clung tightly to his lower jaw. “Alex! Problem’s son, the conductivity is way to high for these rods here. They’d explode if the ship tried to go super-luminal.” The worker pointed to the dust caked display screen: conductivity, stress, heat resistance all represented with a menagerie of different colors.

“Shit. There is no way for us to fix this now.” Alex thought for a second, resting his chin in his hand. “Just send for another order of Alt-Rods and trash these.” He continued with a grimace.

“You sure son? It will delay the construction of our space boats here by about a week and cost the Ministry money.” He replied, looking at Alex with uncertain eyes.

“Yeah… yeah. Shame but it must be done. Besides, I’d think the Ministry would be more sore with us if all these ships exploded trying to get anywhere than if it took an extra week to get them all built, don’t you agree?” Alex replied with a smile on his face, walking slowly away from the worker who just nodded his head and returned to his post.

A siren blew. Indigo energy aggregated in the obsidian spheroids adjacent the junk rods, as they lay useless on the Recall floor incised into the faded gray industrial landscape. The rods assailed into the chemical choked and heat contorted sky atop a blue pedestal of energy over the elliptical form of a rusted blast furnace. Hanging in the air for a few brief seconds before the energies dissipated and the hatch to the furnace opened, falling helplessly into a burning pit of unfathomable heat and fire. Sparks crackled off the slowly drowning rods, a tint of red radiating off them while they sank. The hatch creaked as it closed, trapping the already hapless metal victims never to be seen again.

Maddock smiled, and made sure that Atuk's glass was full, sipping only lightly from his own wine.

"Well, the way ah figure it, this here ship is historical. And, y'know, history's somethin' we all should keep around... Fah example..."

The conversation degenerated into vague ramblings and alcohol. Plenty of alcohol.

******

Charlie set his glass down, carefully, and glanced over the gently slumbering and thoroughly drunken form of the captain.

"Right," he said, his voice suddenly unaccented. "Now we can have a nice talk without this drunkard interrupting things." He smiled - not as widely as before, but much more reasurringly - at Akira.

"Synch, you can come out now."

"Roger, Charlie," said one of the room's many corners. It distorted, as if seen through water, as Synch's active camoflauge systems faded from transparency into solidity.

******

The black genehack-dragon stretched, langorously, unfolding from the cramped corner to his full eleven-foot length. There wasn't room in the small space for his wings to unfold fully, but they brushed the walls on either side of him.

He refolded his wings and looked at the shocked aide. "So," he said, in an accent that, for some reason, was solidly British.

"So. The first run'll be done in a couple of days. We need to figure out what we're going to do afterwards. We can't run all our production off just these two ships. I hear Abu-Dhabi's sending a shipyard in, but that's not going to be too much help." He paused.

"And if y' could possibly manage it, I'd like to see your ship's assembly lines. Automation is good and all, but it's not really industrial, if you know what I mean."

Akira had buried his face in clenched fists over a half-full glass of wine resting on his desk, one of the few areas on the ship not completely caked in dust. Atuk's friends will save him no doubt, but me? I'm royally fucked after news of this debacle gets out onto the 'net. He thought, not even realizing the appearance of Maddock's friend or the fact the Admiral was a asleep in his seat.

"... Who in the..." He managed to say as he became of the events that had unfolded around him, his voice squeaking. It was brilliant; get the Admiral drunk out of his mind so some real work could be done. Though it took Akira a few moments to realize this. At first he wasn't sure the deception was not an act of malevolence; the aliens who were supposed to be his allies somehow poisoning the Admirals drink before moving onto him before beginning a full takeover of the ship. Countless centuries went by in those moments when a chill crept up his spine and fear threatened to overtake him, banished back into oblivion once sanity regained its foothold on Akira's mind.

No one with a sense of value would want such a rotting piece of shit. Even as scrap the Genesis was nothing compared to the vast amount of asteroids containing many raw ores not wrought by wear and decay. They'd also need to subdue a quarter of a million workers, unless they planned on paying them, which was just as unlikely. The cost of repairs so they could convert it to total automation would also be staggering. Then he noticed Atuk was not dead but instead asleep, his snoring a grating thunder clap invading Akira's ears. He finally got what was going on when the previously unseen guest asked for a tour; They just wanted to get some real work done without being bogged down in Atuk's puerile behavior. Brilliant.

"Of course." He said, rising from his seat. "If you'll come with me to the lift system we can take a tour of the factory and the refinery, which ever one you would like to see first." He quickly finished the rest of his drink before wiping the sweat off his brow with his coat sleeve. Nervous still, but slowly regaining his composure knowing Atuk would not longer be an embarrassment, at least for about thirty minutes anyway.

Akira led them down the hallway towards a lift access way, face going from a bright red to alabaster through the short journey. A simple keypad rested on the verdant wall of the narrow doorway. It was covered in dust in spider webs, but was in far better shape than most other electronic devices. "It may not look it out here, but the lift system is probably the only system on ship that is maintained to near perfection. You wont find any rust or mold anywhere."

The main shaft was tubular in shape, and ran along the ship's axis. Ancillary shafts branched off into different sections of the ship like the veins of a monster. Thousands of rectangular craft carrying tired workers and fresh suppliers; repair and security teams, could be seen powering through these shafts along the electrometric currents emanating from the railing lining the walls.

Fluorescent paneling showered the shafts in a dim shade of cobalt was the only source of light in the lift system.

"Ok then. To the factory or the refinery?" Akira asked, sliding behind the e-car's control system, a simple display screen outlining open rail routes and the e-car's current location. To the left of the screen was the i-spot that allowed the user to connect to the internal operating array through the users wrist implants.

***

"Ah, fuck." Alex said as he writhed about his tattered cot. "Man, if I ever drink that much again it will be the end of me." His feet knocked over various empty liquor bottles and beer cans as he stood up, some breaking and throwing sharp glass over the concrete floor. His comm-relay was going off, filling the dimly lit room with a metallic screeching sound.

"What!?" He screamed, activating the comm-relay.

"Sir. Your shift started two hours ago. Morian is getting pissed." a voice cracked back.

"God." Alex replied under his breath, rubbing his eyes hard. "I'll be right over." He sighed, shutting off the relay. "Now I need some good pants."

Alex shuffled about his room, three elliptical concrete walls with long protrusions jutting out from the surface, acting as shelves. The one closet and bathroom were both cut into the eastern wall, barely large enough to accommodate a standing man. The cot was made of a thin layer of fraying strands of nylon and polyester substitutes, hanging loosely from the ceiling over the middle of the floor. A simple flourostrip acted as the only source of light in the entire room, bolted into the ceiling.

Most rooms on the Genesis were made entirely of metal, from the floors, walls, and the furnishings. But the Foreman rooms were primarily concrete to keep heat in; the grunt rooms were damn cold. Though by now it really made no difference. There were enough cracks and holes in the concrete after so many centuries of battling decay that heat managed to escape nonetheless.

Alex finished dressing a few minutes later: hole-laden jeans and a faded auburn jacket over a heavily stained T-shirt; standard clothing for a foreman. Next, he fitted a corporate issued i-band around his head. Input devices extended from the band and fit into the inserts that lined his skull. After connecting the band constricted, fitting tightly. Soon Alex's vision was awash by twisting ribbons of turquoise and emerald, coalescing into semi-transparent icons and data-displays over a grid of rose.

He checked on the status of the new Alt-rods, rods that regulated the currents between the reactor and the FTL drive. "Fuck." He groaned. Construction of the new rods hadn't even started, adding another day that they were behind schedule.

HURRY THE FUCK UP ALEX

The words popped up across Alex's virtual vision just as he was walking down the hall towards the factory.

I AM GET OFF MY BACK

He replied, running now.

The Red Star Mining Co. Mega Freighter Point-of-Sale had been travelling for several weeks. Recieving jump coordinates sporadically and with no real warning. Sometimes the ship would jump to an empty system and stay there for several days before recieving orders, sometimes several minutes. All the crew really knew is that their employer was either retarded or didn't feel like having his shipment followed...of course, it wasn't in the slightest bit frustrating as they were being paid quite well.

Point-of-Sale had made its final jump, greeted by several shady looking military fleet tenders and a small group of Aumanii frigates, the crew realized that this sweet hitch was over.

A brief text message later and Point-of-Sale released its confidential payload...

1 x "Brief Affair" class, cruiser scale, shipyard.

With a nod and a dejected sigh, the Captain of the Point-of-Sale order the next jump, the first in a series, home.

A small group of pitch black ships accompanying several asteroids suddenly appeared in the system. While the asteroids were different from one another, their interiors were quite identical. Green flames came forth from the ships, which were devoid of life, but the asteroids seemed to be clean, as it were. From one of the asteroids came forth a transmission:

"The Empire has heeded the call. These shipyards, built within the asteroids you see, are what we shall bring here for crafting unified vessels."

While the ships were devoid of life, the asteroids were not, as their entire crews were indeed alive. The undead of Ermor had no desire of placing their allies under... Unnecessary danger, as it were, nor did they wish to flaunt their undeath.

"Refinery would be fine," said Charlie, peering interestedly over Akira's shoulder as the man set the controls. "We'd best start at the beginning, shouldn't we?"

******

[OOC: At this point I'm treating the tour at a seperate speed than the construction- seeing as how the tour is going rather slowly]

After the fifth cruiser pulled away from its monumentous assembly lines, the Purifier paused.

The last rounds of ammunition dropped silently into place. Quantum processors flickered through self-test routines. Every segment of the Purifier's manufacturing infrastructure checked itself.

The next job had to be perfect.

Then the frame began to take shape.

I awoke more tired than usual, must be all the extra work we've been doing since the alt-rods were sabotaged. I slept over the covers, dropping like a log onto the solid polyester cot in my room after another hard day. Hell, my boots are still on and I'm still connected to the Genesis's network through the ocular implant.

My legs rush into action; lifting my reluctant torso out of an abnormally tolerable bed, swaying lazily in the horribly cold and stale air. I try to look around, but everything is fuzzy. Even after twelve hours of being shut, my eyes are still trying to sleep. After about five minutes, everything comes into focus.

Cracks and fissures run along my walls, and the ceiling is starting to warp and dip down towards the dusty floor. My e-display is still broken; a large gash in the center of the screen from a thrown beer bottle ruined it. Cloths are scattered about, most so worn you couldn't use them as wash rags much less actual clothing.

I stop surveying, opting instead to get a fresh bottle of sauce from the quaking fridge. It tastes awful, but it puts a fire in my chest, and chases the lethargy away. I have to report to my station in about ten minutes: refinery spot. I pretty much just toil away inspecting material as it goes towards the factory, boring as hell but it pays well. Not much of a consolation though, I'm not in this for the cash. I'm already out the door in corporate issue jeans stained black by soot and the brown overcoat with more burn marks than material, when my array goes crazy.

Seventeen messages, all at once, all for me. It's from the DI, detailed reports on the Purifier's electronic and cyberinfluence abilities; things I don't for the life of me understand. What I do understand is that the Purifier's systems are tough, that much I can get. Everything else is just technobabble. I clear away most of the messages, all but the one that really matters:

QUERY: CHANCE OF SUCCESS LIKELY, PROCEED WITH MISSION WITHIN DESIGNATED PERAMETERS?

Course I replied:

YES

And deleted the message. It would be another hour before anything happened; the daily status report wasn't going to be transmitted to the Purifier till then. The DI would imbed itself into one of the log files, if everything went well, it would be completely hidden and go in undetected. From that point it'd see how far it could go within the Purifier's systems; the deeper the better.

By the time I had closed the array, I was at the check-in station. A steel facade towered over the entrance, supported by nigh-featureless metal columns of listless silver in their tinge. Workers were in two-tiered lines sometimes twenty men deep, waiting to have their retinas scanned at the red lens protruding out intrusively from each column. I was lucky; with all the seniority I had worked up I could forgo the scanners here and just check in with the foreman, to the dismay and sometimes disgust of my comrades. But I didn't give a shit, let them look at me however they want; I've got a real job to do that puts me above any of their petty bullshit.

"Holy shit Crave, you look like hell." Tech said, without so much as even lifting his gaze from the clipboard. Then again he didn't need to look up; I always looked like hell, this time more than usual. My short raven hair had more grease in it than one of the ore processors humming away in the background, and there was enough dirt and grime covering my pale skin that it was sometimes impossible for anyone to recognize me. Of course my looks paled in comparison to the smell I was letting off, though I've heard oil, smoke, and chemicals is a turn on for some women. Then again, they're probably not the kind of women I'd like to be seen with.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm here."

"Your in. Now get to work, fucker."

He always said that, and with such genuine distain. I think the attitude was just for me; never saw him speak like that to anyone else. I can't say I blame him though; everyone else is a team player, always doing what they're asked without question: taking it up the ass really. I wasn't like that. Sure I'd do my job and more, but I demand respect. I have yet to punch out any of my supervisors, but I’ll talk shit back if I get undeserved amounts of bullshit.

Some might think that'd keep down near the bottom of the corporate ladder, hell I did to at first, but demanding respect for 'good' work apparently gets you ahead aboard this shit-hole. Not that I don't think my work is good, I just wasn't aiming for a noticeable performance, but I guess some habits just die hard as they say.

I slid into my station nearest the testing area, where the parts heading to be assembled into something greater are inspected. It was about a hundred meters away from the giant refinement center. A great expanse of pipers, wires, and valves biting into the warping poly-titanium machine, glowing a faint red glow from the power-plant located inside, powering not only the refinery and the grav-pulley that drags the asteroids inside into the matter annihilation field.

They don't need people for this job; they could use machines. It's not that it'd be too expensive to upgrade, most people may believe that but I won’t for a second. They need a place for people like me: rapists, murderers, the disgustingly poor; the bane of a society striving for perfection in a reality far from it. We're stuck out here working with worthless foreigners because no one wants us around, and wont shed a tear if we all never come back either.

It's all right though; my mission keeps me going. I'd rather those pretentious bastards back home live their perfect lives as long as no damn xenos get into the mix. Even in the toughest of times, knowing I'm doing some good for all my people back home keeps me going, even if they don't appreciate it.

"Yo' Crave! What's up ya bastard?" I hear Or'ick yell from across the e-belt, ferrying massive parts across its pulsating currents.

"You do know we have fucking implants for communicating with each other?" I yell back through the hisses of steam pouring through the release valves overhead.

"Com' on man, that's just so... impersonal. I don't trust it, ya know?"

"Don't trust it? What are you, afraid it's going to eat your soul?" We've had this argument many times before; Or'ick never liked machines, even though he required them to do his job and they made things so much easier. He resisted me at every turn.

"It just might man, it just might. Anyway, what's on the agenda for today?" He had moved closer to me, standing on the high-rail above the center of the belt.

"Same old shit. Making up for time lost when the alt-rods were scrapped." I say, trying to keep my eye on the display outlining the integrity of each part as it passed under the scanners held over them by robotic arms, skittering from side to side; going over every last detail just as the eye of a fanatical reader carefully examines each and every paragraph, sentence, and word in their favorite written work.

"Ah, shit man. When do we get to do something that aint so damn boring? I tell ya what Crave: this job sucks. Alot. After a while I just need to do something else ya know?"

"Heh. If you'd put in for rotation maybe you wouldn't have this problem, you dumbass."

"Eh, that's just too much trouble. Besides, I could end up scraping mold off the side of the ship, out in space man. I can't just that, I just can't do it."

Sometimes I hate that man. Or'ick is the kind of guy who complains a lot, and does nothing to fix the problem, whatever it is. Yeah, I agree this job of ours is as dull as the space between the stars, but why complain? Nothing I can do about it, only he can do something about it. Yeah he could end up outside with the space-boys scrapping shit off the hull, but it'd be better than this, and he knows it; he just wants to complain.

"Well what do you want me to do about it? If you wont go in for a transfer, you'll be stuck here with me." That usually ended the conversation and sent him on his way; no use complaining when you're faced with reality.

"Whatever man. By the way, Captain Akira went through here last night with them aliens from the other ship. Also some more factories have come through, duno who they're from yet but they'll sure help with production out here."

The words were like ice water, sending a chill down my spine no harsh winter or even the empty expanse of space could match. Fucking xenos were here, where I work, on my ship where I sleep! And now there were more of them, just great, just fucking great! I was so deep in thought, and so angry I almost didn't notice the flashing display screen begging for my attention.

I slammed the reset button, hard. One of the s-arms was jammed, shuttered over the same spot, filling data-sinks with redundant information. It happens at least once a day, so it's not as if it really matters much; shitty technology does that kind of thing.

Really I was angry that I missed the message. Digging through the array, one of the messages I had received after getting up wasn’t from the DI, but the news center with the announcement. Yeah I feel fucking stupid now; carelessness at this stage was unforgivable.

"Yo', Crave, not so hard man. Gotta get control of that anger." He said with a smirk, waltzing off back to his station. He liked seeing me pissed. The one guy who will put up with his bullshit for more than five minutes is being ridiculed, just fucking typical.

Just when I was about to say something, my array went off.

RE: MISSION

VIRUS SENT

My gut sank down to my feet faster than water going over a cliff. Wasn't that I was worried, just nervous; the last job was easy, and something easily hidden. But this, this was serious. I could easily get caught if the DI isn't as thorough as it's suppossed to be, which is a possibility. Damn I'm starting to think like Or'ick.

I won't know till tomorrow if the virus did well or not; it'll transmit its status along with the data-burst the Purifier sends over on a daily basis, detailing the status of production and other shit our great Admiral Atuk probably doesn't give a damn about. Whatever, now all I can do is wait.

POSITION ESTABLISHED

COMPUTING ON 32-core KAHA QUANTUM hardware cpu x1

Prepared to

-> Fortify position (LOW)
-> Sieze additional processing power (DETECTION THREAT: MED)
-> Sieze control curcuits for KAHA MED. FABBER LINES 3-16 (CERTAIN)
-> Rip data from Augmented fleetnet (MED)
-> Sieze control curcuits for secondary AM drive (CERTAIN)
-> Install tracking device (LOW)
-> Deal maximum damage with available resources (FREE REIN - CERTAIN)
-> Do nothing (NONE)

Unprepared to

-> Corrupt current fabber project (NO FABBER CONTROL)
-> Sieze administrator status (INSUFFICIENT PROC. POWER)
-> Construct weapon systems (NO FABBER CONTROL, NO DESIGN DATA)
-> Sieze distortion engine control (INSUFFICIENT PROC. POWER, INSUFFICIENT DATA)
-> Sieze hyperdrive control (INSUFFICIENT PROC. POWER)
-> Sieze primary (gravitic) drive control (INSUFFICIENT PROC. POWER)
-> Enter cancerous mode (NO FABBER CONTROL)

Awaiting instructions...

Time has passed...

(Which is really just the impatient narrator's way of saying "OK, let's get on with it and do what we're actually supposed to be doing.")

The Purifier, and its newly created daughter ship, the Agressive Reconfiguration, have been industrious in the past few days. Just over three dozen Ordo Decimus cruisers have poured forth from their guts, individually outfitted to suit the tastes of the racial fleets that they are destined for.

Now, the cruiser production has stopped again. Plans have changed.

First on the build queue is a third factory ship, to be named the Atomizer. Following it, the Augmented factory ships will focus their might on building the Order's first fleet of true fleet combat ships.

Battlecruisers.

In the week that followed the refabrication of fresh and functional alt-rods, a new addition to the Genesis had been constructed. A smaller box shaped module built back on her left side. Its purpose was to construct primarily strike-craft, such as the Twilight class gunship, but it could also aide in the construction of more advanced ship parts if the primary facilities aboard the Genesis were taxing themselves with other duties.

Atuk had only brief memories of the party he held, not that he really cared; he went back to fooling around and left actual duties of importance to Akira, who was somewhat pleased but still embarrassed by Atuk's puerile antics. Though his distress was relaxing back into the deeper parts of his mind, still there of course, but contained under a blanket of confidence.

After all, the installation of the new construction module went off without a hitch; only a few workers were injured during the process and few of those were serious. What ships could be constructed also went well; three hundred more gunships plus some enhancements over the first batch: stronger shields and better agility. Though they were still relatively fragile.


Most of the other ships that had been construction since construction began had left, now just a few cruisers fresh from the Purifier and what gunships had been created remained. Being steadily reinforced, thankfully.

Production Cycle Report 3

Produced:

1x Factory Ship - Type A (Atomizer)
1x Battlecruiser - Type A (Crazy Ninja Skillz)
1x Battlecruiser - Type E (Mors)
1x Battlecruiser - Type M (The Postman)
1x Battlecruiser - Type N (Dawn Twilight)

Enqueued:

2x Battlecruiser - Type A (N/A)
14x Battlecruiser - Type * (N/A)

Queue Mode Interleaved

Production Continues

"And you see, we're definitely going to need them, and the sooner the better." Atuk overhears a voice say through the crackling comm station.

"Yeah, alright Alex. Go ahead with construction, and thanks for bringing this to my attention." Akira says as he notices Atuk enter the room, stretching and yawning a hung over yawn.

"So Akira, what's up? Was that Alex?" He says with a grin.

"Yeah that was Alex. He wanted authorization to build a few crew and miscellaneous personal rigs since we're running out of space and the plans kinda call for it." Akira replies, happily for once.

"Ah sweet. Good man for taking care of it while I was away seeing to other duties." Atuk replies almost sarcastically, "You know? We should get Alex up here some time and have a drink with that fucker; we haven't seen him in what, a year?"

Akira just stares in disbelief for a few moments before responding, "You had him over for a drink yesterday."

Atuk stands dumbfounded and almost embarrassed as everyone on the deck just glares at him. "Ok! So I had a bit much last night; big deal. Everyone get back to work or I'll have your ass out that air lock so fast you won't have time to piss yourselves." He says with anger that is not entirely serious.

Same old, same old. Akira thinks as he leaves the bridge, heading for the factory control tower.

--

After an hour the embarkation hatch on Genesis's slid open, shuttering and quaking as old gears strain and strain to drive through rust and mold along the hatch tracks. Out from the growing aperture a faint blue glowed, a mist dashing through space as far as it could before evaporating back into the black.

A new Everine class crew facility came out slowly, being pushed by disposable thrusters burning softly around the jagged edges. She was a great slab of metal, thick and wide. Rectangular in shape save for one corner on one side being cut half way down on of the facilities short sides.

Dark and foreboding - characteristics one would think uncommon for living quarters - she fell gently to her side. The main engines fire a brilliant red flame, pushing her away from Genesis at increasingly powerful speed, till the engine died and she simply coasted along the empty highway of space, thrusters adjusting her course now and then.

Several more of her kind would be constructed over the next few hours, just as dark on the inside as out, sparse and in some ways hostile. Narrow halls and narrow rooms connected to a the local cybernetwork, but limited in their capability. They clustered new the Purifier as she herself created more and more craft of war, all empty now but not for long.

[Consider this to be a long and wordy post about ten cruisers being built.

I'm tired and I want to eat dinner.]

With the first order to build ten cruisers having come in, the Ermorian stations had slowly began to go into full power, with new parts constructed by the minute, and hulls of Ordo Decimus cruisers were forming with great speed in the quickly built exterior shipyards, outside of the stations, since the ships were simply too large to be built indoors in such numbers.

While it would take some time for them to actually finish these ships, they were well under way, and of course, they would be finished as quickly as possible.

Greetings, our... Friends. I forthwith apologize to having to be the
bearer of grave news, but... Such are the times we live in.

As the situation worsens and the Order is drawing closer to its extinction
and the Dark Eldar attempting to hijack the fleet of the Order, the leadership
of the Empire have deemed it necessary to confiscate all factory units,
ready-built ships and related equipment before any other member of the
alliance attempts such a maneuver. Relocation of everything related to
this endeavor has already begun, and it is highly likely that it will not be
cancelled, unless the Order suddenly manages to repair itself, which the
Empire sees as highly unlikely.

Until such time that the Order can be restored, the Empire shall continue the
creation of the vessels of the Order, and use them as it sees fit.

That is all.

Signed,
Caractor, the Arch Censor of the Empire

And as it were, it was the truth. As the message was sent to all parties involved, the Ashen Empire had the area crawling with its ships, the star system's very Sun saturated with unholy energies of the Underworld... And those who would resist would be eliminated.

I'm sorry, Dave, but I'm afraid I can't let you do that.

Signed,
HAL... um, Fido.

Backups were always part of Augmented doctrine. Backup components, forces in reserve, redundant systems.

Backup plans.

Microseconds after the Ermorian message arrives, the massive distortion engines at the heart of the Purifier and the Agressive Reconfiguration go to full power. A few seconds later, the engines of every uncrewed battlecruiser and cruiser produced by the Augmented factory ships join in, surrounding the Augmented and Electronian installations and most of their daughter ships in a shell of warped space.

A few more seconds, and then the wormhole forms and collapses within the space of an instant, vanishing the ships within and emitting a quiet, gravitational rumble as it does so.

A rumble at a rate of one thousand, three hundred and thirty-seven Hz, as a matter of fact.

******

Across the status screens of the Augmented battlecruisers distributed to the rest of the Order (with the exception of the Electronian and Dark Eldar vessels - they have been... suitably inoculated):

GRAVITIC EVENT DETECTED - LONG RANGE DATALESS CARRIER WAVE

PROCESSING: FREQUENCY 1,337 Hz... COMMAND OVERRIDE

BLUEPRINT BANKS WIPED
SELF-REPAIR BANKS WIPED
DISTORTION CONTROL BANKS WIPED
FIRE CONTROL BANKS WIPED
COMMAND BANKS WIPED
SELF DESTRUCT IN 0 SECONDS

Then it all goes boom.

******

"Attention, all citizens of Gceilalok. For your own protection, a command lockdown is in place. Please do not attempt to leave your local compartment."

A second's pause, and then the blast doors slam shut. Turrets unfold from floors and ceilings. The surface defences come online and begin to scan the sky.

"Everything is all right. A command lockdown is in place. Please do not attempt to leave your local compartment. Please do not attempt to access any weapons locker or blast door control. This is for your own protection. I repeat, everything is all right. A command lockdown..."

An unknown Ermorian Censor stood upon the command deck of the leading vessel of the Ermorian fleet, watching the Augmented ships fly away, and he laughed out.

"With that, the fates of these vermin are sealed! The taint will work its way into the very cores of their machines, sooner or later, and do the dirty deed for us."

"Indeed, Lord Censor. They shall remember the day they began the process of undermining this alliance... If they survive," said a Dusk Elder who hovered beside him, with a tint of excitement in his voice.

"Yes, yes. Death to all those who would attempt to oppose the Order. And even if they never will... Activate, they will forever be a beacon for us."

The Censor went silent, turned his head slightly and watched the planet momentarily. Then he spoke out again.

"Our work here is done. The suns burn bright green."

"You speak the truth. We should start our journey back."

The Censor nodded silently, and soon started shrieking orders.

Soon after, the fleet disappeared from the system.

And the Ermorians still had all the blueprints to the Order's ships, tucked away in their own, already relocated shipyards. And they would indeed use this chance to create more. And more.

And more.

Secure Location

The fleet materializes.

This is the middle of nowhere, parked in the space between galactic arms. Even the interstellar dust is thin here. And here the fleet will stay until Fido is sure it is decontaminated. He's no fool. He knows what Ermor is capable of.

The fleet's computers are dedicated to finding a method of generating holiness. It's unscientific, to be sure. But logical. Fight fire with water, and vice versa. The tomes and rituals of a thousand religions are scanned and analyzed.

Sooner or later he'll find the answer. Hopefully for the fleet, the answer will be found sooner.