NationStates Jolt Archive

The dull thrum of flourescent lights buzzed boringly overhead as a low level scientist studied line upon line on the screen of his laptop. Light from the screen flickered on the lenses of his thick glasses. The black text, scrolling quickly, was backlit by the excessively white screen.

'Wait, what's this...' he said to himself as he scrolled back to a line of coded satellite information that just didn't seem right to him. He stared at the screen for a moment.

'Well, if that's not interesting, I don't know what is.'

---

'Some nerds found something?'

'Yes sir, some sort of...well, I can't remember what they called it, but in terms people like us can understand, it's a wormhole.'

'To where?' asked Overlord Rosiro, he tried, and failed, to read over some of the dataslates that were sent to him by the University of Concord. Captain Armaude, who was in dialogue with the U of C went on to say, 'The Sculptor Galaxy...it's some 285,000 light years away from Sol. The reason these guys are so interested is, apparently, this wormhole is only temporary. It's only going to last another year or so, they want to investigate it some more, thought we might be interested...probably want some funds too.'

'Well, it does sound interesting...even laymen like us can understand the opportunity here. How often do people travel to another Galaxy?' said the Overlord, not really wanting an answer to his question. 'Tell the Allaneans that we're interested in tagging along for the trip...with a few conditions...'

Concord University, Mars Orbit Department

“Profeeesoor Krrreeeeek-weeeeek?”

The penguinoid turned towards the Valaquine assistant who was talking to him, raising his beak questioningly towards the enormous being's face. “Yes, Sneers?”

“Itsssh Ssssneeeeeersssh, Profeeesoor. But you may want to sseee thisss... thisss is from the Aumanii.”

“Oh, vereee well.” -the Dohwar had an accent of their own, though slight and not as noticeable as that of the deeply alien Valaquine beings. He held the datapad in his flipperlike appendages for a few seconds, then lit up visibly.

“Great. Listen to this. These guys at Auman, they will be taking us to Sculptor Galaxy if we share the data. They'll be footing all expenses- which is much more then what the government gave us for discovering it. And after we get there, we can always claim rewards for discovering new planets and such.”

“Sssssoooo what dooo we dooo?”

“Well, talk to management, Sneeers. Make sure that they give us a Profit-class, and talk to the Navy. I want a small armed escort. And I'll talk to Aumanii and tell them we agree.”

Lyboc winced as his razor bit into his neck. 'Fuck!' he spat as blood started to well up. He finished up and sauntered from the washroom in his quarters, wearing only a pair of boxer shorts and a tank top. His dress uniform was laid out on his bed. The uniform was all black, the tunic, the cape, the pants, even the box that held his elaborate service medals, all black, sometimes trimmed in crisp white. He struggled in putting it on, especially with tucking in his immaculately shined jackboots. The most unfortunate part of being a high ranking member in Aumanii Fleet is that everytime he stepped onto the bridge, he was forced to wear this shitty, starchy, uniform...but, I guess it was worth it on account of the major shift in the payscale it afforded him, Lyboc grinned as he thought about it.

Lyboc checked himself once more in the mirror before he made his way to the bridge.

'How go the preparations?' said Lyboc in a commanding tone, straightening his tunic as he stormed onto the bridge, past a pair of Troopers. Lyboc had a look on his face like he'd just been told his mother died...ever since the attack on Gorgon, Lyboc had been more testy than usual, ever since all those fine people died for what was seemingly pointless. Gorgon was now...unavailable... he'd have to take Naga, Gorgon's sister as his flagship. Naga, for all its fine points, or lack there of, disappointed Lyboc. When in Conglomerate drydocks the government made the decision to replace the class' original main armament with the cheap, yet comparitively underpowered "C-Frac" style weapon system, which while effective, just didn't appeal to the Fleet General.

'The Fleet is nearly ready to make way, Fleet General.' said Lyboc's new Executive Officer, Teryl Hans.

'Very well, Mr.Hans. Make way when ready.' said Lyboc, disinterested. Throwing himself into his command throne, Lyboc waited, hands laying lazily on the arms of the seat. Captain Hans gave a series of orders and after awhile he could feel the ship start accelerate. When a considerable distance was reached between Mars and the fleet, the General finally asserted himself.

'Mr.Hans, please, prepare the fleet to jump to the Alpha site. I believe we've left our Allanean "friends" waiting for long enough.' Lyboc could barely conceal his prejudice towards the Allaneans...he grew up on all the stories, Allaneans were key to the final dissolution to the previous Empire to which the Aumanii belonged and many of the ethnics still bore resentment.

'Yes sir! Prepare the fleet for spacefold!' shouted Hans, shortly before strapping himself in to his own seat, which he carried out, practically in unison with the rest of the fleet.

Time stopped. Lyboc felt as though he was going to burst, no, turn inside out...no...well...he didn't know how he felt. It was the most awful feeling to Lyboc, and he's been shot before. Time and space returned to normal, but it still took a few seconds for Lyboc to get himself back together. Lyboc rubbed at his eyes and asked, softly...

'Status?'

'We're on target, sir. The Allanean fleet is waiting on station.' said some minor deckman.

'Excellent, let them know we're ready to get going.'

The Allaneans are not fans of big spacecraft. As such, the 'capital' of their exploratory armada was no more then 360 meters in width, and it was a saucerlike device armed with only comparatively light weapons and a bewildering array of towing equipment. Since it was the scientific modification of the Profit class, the Richard Phillips Feynman it also bristled with sensors of many kinds, many that an average spacegoer would never see a need or use for.

But the military ships were even smaller. The Allanean science vessel was surrounded by what seemed as a literal cloud of small, 30-meter long ships – Hughey Mk IIs, modified by their crews in a myriad ways. Some carried gigaton-scale missiles their own size, some carried radar equipment, and some carried missile pods – but most disturbingly, they were repainted in a variety of different colors and designs.

'West Virginia', this is 'Fluffy', do you read me, over?

'Fluffy', this hyar har is 'Western Virginia', readin' yo' loud an' clear, on over. 'Trekkie Christtmas', does yo' read me, on over?

'Trekkie Christmas' reading you clear, over and out.

The crackle and noise of dozens of craft radios invaded the ears of the Aumanii as the miniature craft approached, and the multiple colors, designs, wings, antlers, stickers (one of which read IF YOU CAN READ THIS, YOU ARE IN RANGE OF PLANETKILLERS) and so forth attacked their sense of sight.

Then, Professor Dreen Krreek-week's head and beak appeared on the broadcast screens.

Good day, my friends. I am Professor Dreen Krreek-week, Astronomy and Xenophychology, University of Concord, Allanean West Virginia. You may know my work, Psychological aspects of the Martian Muffin Experiment: Another Look that was published last year. I was a junior planner on the team that came up with the Martian Muffin. I discovered the wormhole, and was tasked with heading the Allanean part of the expedition. With me is Captain McCoy, commander of the USS West Virginia. Can I come aboard your ship to meet your command?

There is a certain mark of technological achievement that comes to signify the beginning of true technological mastery. It is the realization that after a certain point, technology ceases to exploit the universe's laws and begins to remake them.

Reality bends if you apply force properly. After that, anything is possible. Breaking the lightspeed law is small fry.

In a flash of actinic blue, AugShip Scar, a third-generation cruiser of the Augmented fleet, materialized from the void.

>Hello there.
>I heard about this little anomaly. Let's just say we're coming along for the ride.
>We'll pay for our passage. Me and my little friends'll help keep this fleet in one piece, and we have sensor capacity to spare.
>My friends'll be along in a minute. In the meantime, hello.
>-Skree
><endit>

It was just assumed the Allaneans would have the right to board Naga, so when they asked permission to do so, they were allowed to immediately. Lyboc met his counterpart "on the pad". Captain McCoy sauntered down the ramp of the transport and Lyboc went to meet him. The two men shook hands and exchanged a few words.

'Nice fleet, McCoy!' said Lyboc in a jovial lilt, 'Nice boots!' returned McCoy in his deep Allanean accent, as he gestured to Lyboc's shining jackboots. Lyboc handed McCoy a dataslate, which he hoped would be compatible with Allanean technology, loaded with military specifics, such as transponder channels, ID codes, etc. 'Oh, by the way, McCoy. We're being joined by the Augmented. I apologize if this somehow inconveniences your people...but the more ships we have on the line, the better.' said Lyboc. McCoy gave the Aumanii a dubious look, 'You're too paranoid, Lyboc. This is Sculptor galaxy...fresh start out there, no Yut or Arda to bother us. It's your call.' Lyboc said plainly 'That it is.'

'Sorry we can't chat longer, Captain, but we've got a job to do.' said Lyboc, shaking McCoy's hand again before sending him on his way. The Fleet General was already on his way back to the bridge when the transport took off, passing by several busy technicians, clad in their damage control gear. Lyboc gave the men a nod and kept on his way, walking at a brisk pace.

The bridge was silent, except for the slight, nearly inaudible, pitch of electronics. 'Prepare for combat.' said Lyboc in a commanding manner. The lights shifted and bathed the room in a red glow.

'Is the Expedition prepared?'

'Aye!' shouted the XO.

'Very well then. Take us through and let's get this thing over with.' ordered General Lyboc.

Slowly, the first of the Aumanii escorts entered the fold, which was invisible to the naked eye, but on the ship's scanners... it looked more like a snow storm. The "trip" felt instantaneous. It almost seemed as if they were passing through an open doorway and if they hadn't known any better, it sure as hell didn't seem like they were now 285,000 light years from home. The Aumanii members of the expedition weren't very enthusiastic about this mission, some were excited, but the general mood was apathy. Aumanii weren't explorers, they never trained to take rock samples and their ships lacked the equipment and their crews the interest in taking detailed scans of gas clouds...unless of course it could be used to some sort of tactical advantage, of course most of the boring scientific work was left to Gorgon's under rated AI, Skorpyun.

The Aumanii ships took point into Sculptor. The Fleet spread and immediately formed a perimeter, and almost immediately after, point defense guns shot down a few errant pieces of debris...The Allaneans followed after, doing their thing and finally, the USS West Virginia and her dedicated Aumanii fighter wing commanded by the Aumanii-Pilonese War Ace, Captain Tyrol Kluft.

Skree waited. After a short moment, the others arrived.

A point of pure white light appeared, spun, expanded into a actinic disk a kilometer wide.

The second-generation shield carrier ./Dev/Null slid out of the corsucating brilliance. On its heels came second-generation daggerships Excalibur and Katana.

The final ship, Beacon Machine, no larger than a fighter, was the last through the hole. The hyperspatial portal flickered and died behind her.


>Move out.
>-Skree
><endit>

The ships wheeled and dove through the hole, moving with suprising quickness. On the other side, they formed into tight formation and shot out past the Aumanii/Allanean fleet, rocketing into the unknown.

...Or so was the plan. In reality, the other side of the hole held no sign of Allanea, or Auman, or anything. A quick passive sensor check showed the nearest star as being three light-years away.

The ships hovered, dead in space.


>OK...
>Where the hell are we? Can we pick up comms? The wormhole? ANYTHING?
>-Skree
><endit>


>Um. No sign of the hole. No comms detectable with our apparatus.
>Beacon reports she can't see anything either.
>I guess we're alone. Damn strange.
>-Ilc
><endit>


>Guess we just have to explore then, eh?
>-Skree
><endit>

The five ships engaged low-key FTL and proceeded towards the nearest star at the cautious pace of one light year per hour.