NationStates Jolt Archive

"So that's where we seem to stand in terms of the Antaran Threat." Admiral Shaar looked at the assembled heads of the various government branches of the Herpetological Empire. "They've made no movements in some time; there've been no dimensional fluctuations from any of their entry points we've seen; and agent activity from their side has been null. I think it's safe to believe they're pulling back and re-assessing their plans for the indefinite future."

Bosska cleared his throat. "Thank you, First-Admiral. In relation to this, possibly, we've heard little from the Ur-Quan in the same frame of time. I can't say why, but i'm going to operate under the idea they've decided to become insular. All comm traffic and ship activity in the Sslaa system from them is nil, and we'll respect that from a diplomatic stand." He sits back and casts his eyes about, signaling his completion of his briefing.

General Gaarm stands next to Shaar. "Well, this seems good news. I'm going to de-mobilize Armor Cavalry units into reserve status and give them R&R time. TacSoft battalions will resume garrison status as needed, and of course, to keep some show of force about in the Known Systems. Director....?"

Thress lazily eyes the First-General. "Thank you." She leans forward slowly in her chair. "I've reformed the Skeen into a tight covert branch. Recruits from the immigrant population have been trained and test well so far. When their testing is complete, they'll be sent out to their peoples of origin to observe and report. Should something of concern arise, we should know as much as anyone else at the same time they do. I'm also sending a detachment out to oversee in-system security for Sslaa System. personally, i'm going to start probing some of our 'guests' to guage preparedness." A nod of her head signals her completion of her brief.

Gorrm has had his chin resting on his steepled hands during all this. His frame has grown some, both in mass and his air of royalty. "Good, good. Be sure to disseminate this briefing, however it is edited, to your subordinates on a need-to-know basis where it applies. Now can we PLEASE go back to the business of going on with our lives? All this subterfuge and sneaking about and tennsion has given us an imperial migrane. I'd like to get back to getting our house in order, so to speak." The air seems to lighten noticeably as Emperor Gorrm leans back in his seat with an audible sigh.

"I'd really like to see more exploration being done, both in the Void and among the peoples in the Known Systems. All the military build-up is tapping the treasury. I'm going to have the Book-Keepers allocate more towards education and trade from the run-off from the military stockpile. I hope you two see no problem with that?" His eyes land and Gaarm and Shaar standing side to side.

"None, my liege. It'll give me a reason to take holiday while your people do their thing. I'll inform my people about it." Gaarm seems to shudder slightly at the word 'holiday' until Shaar elbow-checks him in the ribs. "As will I, my liege. I've been active-duty for so long, my scales seem to be flaking from stress. It will be a welcome reprieve."

Gorrm stands and addresses the assemblage. "It will be done, then. Now dismissed, all, and let's get on with it." he exits the chamber, with the assembled heads filing out behind him, and then the chamber is thrown into darkness.

ooc: At thus point i'd welcome words of encouragement, bags of poop and assorted hate-mail for my governmental characters. Also party invitations and diplomatic offers would be nice. Much nicer than poo-bags.

The Dominion in the meanwhile had not been idle. A general feeling of ‘only the paranoid survive’ prevailed on the Nuova Toscana colony world of Sslaa II, and on account, plans for increased effort at reshaping the harsh desert planet had been put aside in favor of the more immediate need for both military and overall security preparations.

The last bit of work on the sixth fleet had been completed on time around the time Antaran problem had begun, and the seventh was nearly ready for deployment, just slightly ahead of schedule as the capabilities of the shipyards both here, and at Delgado were pushed to their full potential. In conjunction with this, the usual promotions and reassignments were made to spread out the more experienced personnel throughout the fleets, balancing as best as could be managed the new influx of relatively ‘green’ troops.

Security had always been a concern, but given the information and assistance from the Sakkrans, it had been redesigned and heightened. The last piece was it was hoped, was a request that was being put together for Zero-One, whose capabilities far outstripped their own, especially in regards to the realm of genetics and passive scanning. If such a thing were possible, it was hoped a properly-installed system would eliminate the possibility of infiltration by any unauthorized aliens. Or at best, any unauthorized sentients at all.

The immediate threat may seem to have quieted, but that was in their minds, no excuse for becoming lax again. Even so, there was equally no excuse not to take advantage of the relatively recent events that had seemed to unite the residents in a common effort.

To our Esteemed Friends and Neighbors of the Sslaa System:

It occurs to me that even though we all share a part in this gathering of planets – thanks to our most gracious hosts, the Sakkrans, that we have yet to all sit down together and explore common grounds, concerns, and possible benefits face to face. Perhaps this is something we could remedy at some point in the near future?

Should any be interested, we are more than willing to host a gathering to discuss possible options for a more amicable cohabitation of the Sslaa system between our varied peoples – not to suggest a hostile environment exists, of course. We have always felt it to be a good thing to get to know our neighbors better, and regardless of whether or not any agreements are made, believe it would be well worth the time to at least come away from the meeting with a better understanding of one another.

In hopes that this endeavor may bear some positive fruit,

--Governor Alessandra Bartolio, Nuova Toscana



[ooc: Message intended for any who have a vested interest in the Sslaa system – simply an invitation to get together and chat, mingle, and if so desired, work out some arrangements or other between whoever chooses to – if that works, anyway. Just sort of seemed appropriate, all things considered. ]

"I don't like it."

Director Thress had been in her personal study, looking over the most recent data from the Antaran entry point on her display. CommSatts linked up to SenSatts and DefSatts surrounding the point had shown no activity for some time. "Just because it looks dormant doesn't mean it is." Her other hand had been cycling through military preparations reports. Fleet construction had been proceeding, as well as a small surge in active status and re-enlistments in the Armor Cavalry. The costs in maintanence for these mobilizations could be borne for a time, but the Imperial Treasury couldn't maintain it forever now that Gorrm had shifted some funds away towards infrastructure as well as some exploratory fleets to sweep about for additional entry points.

Behind and to either side of her, a few body lengths back, were her personal attache. A pair of highly trained agents to act as her aides and personal guard. "Incoming communication from Nuova Toscana. Transferring to your display now."

Thress activated a new display for the message, read it, and massaged her neck. "A conference? Hrrrrmmmm....if anyone wakes up from their sleep and attends, they'll likely send diplomats and economists. More brain trusts that talk much and do little." Her eyes narrowed a bit as she continued reading. "I'd best attend to ensure matters of security."


Governor Alessandra Bartolio,

Good cycle. I have recieved your communication, and think an in-system conference would be a wise thing. From my reports, it seems some are all too content to remain insular and isolated from the rest. While normally I approve of this, in these times it could mean compromised security. To quote an old human phrase, 'let's light a fire under their asses'.

I'll be attended by my personal attache. ETA is two days from today.

Director Thress, Observation Point Delt

The Danaans had not been idle either. The new Constitution and the Sacker Government had landed an previously obscure Member of Parliament from Zutern, one Manfred Lautens, with the official title of His Most Esteemed High Majesty's Secretary of State for Paranormal Affairs. Usually, he was just called the Secretary for Paranormal Affairs.

Mr. Lautens' responsibilities consisted mostly of applying the Resurgent Dream's anti-racial discrimination and anti-abledness discrimination laws to the incredibly complex problems created by having a small community of non-human sentients, many of them with strengths and weaknesses well beyond what humans defined as normal. However, he also had a number of more security based tasks, one of which was working in concert with the Minister for Defence and other relevent officials to deal with the continued Antaran threat.

Lautens had dismissed the Lacau Government's desire to turn the Resurgent Dream into a fully space-tech nation as unrealistic and the Karamanlis Government's desire to distance the country from paranormal events as irresponsible. Instead, he had formulated a plan to draw on the Resurgent Dream's greatest strength, her diversity. While the country did not have any full-scale regular forces capable of waging an interstellar war (its small fleet of starships notwithstanding), it did have beings of nearly all types from all corners of the multiverse, including some essentially unknown places. It had a smattering of virtually every type of technology or more mystic craft and a few truly extraordinary beings, all as a result of simply being wide open to the multiverse. Because nothing had been decided with Lavenrunz and Knootoss, Lautens had decided to base his strategy on this, compiling a small but very elite squad to accompany the country's numerically small contribution in ships and regular troops to the front.

"Shift in plans."

The attache assigned to Thress seemed to blanche in some unseen way. Not their stance or expression, nor even a whiff of a scent of concern. Something in their psyche was taken aback. The manner in which the Director said this was with all the feeling and emotion of a tombstone.

They stood in silence, awaiting more information. A statement at this time seemed like a poor idea, and so the pair remained still as they were trained to do, expressions unchanging. Thress cycled through some daily reports, truncated for her purposes, detailing who was going where and why. The screens that remained in her display for the longest period were those involving the conference proposed by the Governess of Nuova Toscana.

Immigrant traffic heading there from the Dominion of the Dread Lady was something she had her people keep casual eyes on. Passenger manifests and the like. All seemed in order, but there began the nagging feeling that something was going on that wasn't apparent at the time. It made her dewlap flex slightly. "Everything is going far too smoothly for my taste." Her eyelids narrowed to minute slits.

After several more minutes of scanning, she turned in her chair and looked at both her attache. "We're going to allow some jaw-flappers there. Your orders...." The two members of her attache stood at full height under her eye. "....will be to find two human candidates to embed into their group as personal aides. They'll be given full INTEL symbiote kits and will act as if in deep cover. Not even the jaw-flappers will know who they are. Assign a cover story, hack some plausible backstory into the DiploCorps databases, and see that this goes smoothly."

The attache, a Sakkran and a Hrubban, saluted swiftly and ducked out of the room silently to begin their task while Thress returned to eyeballing the displays before her. I've got a strange feeling about this. If what's about to happen WILL happen, I better get a backup plan in order. She started cycling through various military branches, looking for names and histories of individuals without a real purpose in mind until a specific name popped up on her screen. Aaahhh, yesss. Better dogear this one. The rotating face of a Sakkran female with a notable scar under her right eye locked into place while the history of service was brought up.

In Transit

Colonel Saba Abedzadeh settled down into the command chair on the bridge of the Argos. It still amazed her how comfortably she was able to settle down into the leather seat. Prior to this assignment, she had done most of her space missions not on the superluminary Daedalus-class military cruisers but on the more traditional Chariot-class military shuttles. Artificial gravity still felt unnatural to her.

They weren't the only things that took getting used to aboard the vessel. The Argos was carrying one of the new special teams. It consisted primarily of Fae, once a large part of the Danaan population before the tragedy of the Shattering but never a large part of the population in the Principality of Kar, where Abedzadeh resided.

The colonel rose from her chair. "Activate FTL. Take us out there, Ensign."

He doesn't look at himself--not properly look, with a top-down inspection--in the mirror very often. He's the first to admit to all sorts of vices both real and imagined if one were to ask him even in passing, but vanity is not one of them. First poking lightly at his temples with the tip of his black plastic comb, he then brushes gently up front to get a better view of those roots. Why is it my body always has to put the lie to everything I try to get across? I can stop Helicobacter with modern medications but some bits of body chemistry I just can't stay on top of. Ah well. He smirks. Not like it's important anyway, neh?

Normally the death of the melanocytes responsible for mammalian hair color is predetermined by genetics but stress can play a role as well. While scientific evidence for it was lacking for the longest time, it turned out that some of the rarer neurotransmitters associated with fight-flight responses and nervous worry accumulate in the hair and those higher concentrations are actively toxic to melanocytes, with the concentration being directly proportional to cell loss. Put simply, a truly traumatic fear experience literally could turn someone's hair white with a massive melanocyte-killing acute dose while long periods of prolonged stress would kill off the melanocytes more slowly, essentially accelerating the process normally associated with aging and genetic cues. This explains why Major Timofeyev Mikhail Jeffreyovich Bondayehr, Scolopendran AeroSpace Directorate, is twenty-seven and going grey around the edges thanks to taking the duty of watching out for spoooooky ellllllderrrr raaaaces from ouuuuuuter spaaaaace seriously, despite (or, probably, because of) his sincere efforts to not let it look like it bothers him publicly.

When things actually do hit the fan, like they did in Sakkra and the Dominion and in SMISO and on Mars, he can deal with it. Professional and calm, as long as he has something to do and he's active. Waiting, though, waiting and its associated feeling of absolute helplessness before H-Hour has always bothered him, and that's all this latest duty is. Nervous masters-and-commanders are death to crew morale, and with how efficiently a Loki is designed and how tasks are commonly delegated it would be decidedly odd if an MaC decided to take on all sorts of additional duties beyond running the ship and taking care of the crew. Bondayehr did take a few extra duties, of course, but only enough to make it seem like he was only the helpful guy he generally was. Any more and he'd risk raising eyebrows, or so he thinks.

Or so I think. Damnit, I have Horatio Hornblower syndrome. This isn't news to him and he's already wasted enough time, so he puts down his comb, adjusts his PTs, and maneuvers out of the walk-in locker the shipbuilders labeled his quarters before doing his daily run. Up and down the DropShip's spine, every deck on the ship itself (fuselage and gull wings) plus every deck on whatever Mission Adaptable Mass pod may be slung underneath, in which he will run into, at some point, every single person awake at some point. Most of the reasons he does this are transparent and public; he can check up on everyone, keep morale high, and make sure Gypsy Rose Stiletto really is in the top-notch condition he demands out of her crew. It also helps keep him fit with a good six-kilometer run while being less boring than, say, a treadmill.

It also keeps him busy, distracted, and away from thinking about the future. No more than three meters down the passageway he passes Spaceman Kitori, an engineering technician.

"Good shift, sir." No salutes on the ship, although she does brace against the passageway wall. Timofeyev slows to quickmarch.

"Good shift, Spaceman. Everything well?"

"Si, barone!" Despite being this waifish scarecrow of a girl, Kitori does a good 'gruff southern Italian' accent justice. No one says 'yes, sir,' anymore. When you're on the fringe and in the front line, no one gives a damn how customs and courtesies go so long as they're more or less present enough to maintain discipline.

"Very good!" And the run continues.

<TgSec; Prc2ndTg>
<Ak. 2ndTgGo>
<MnTgSec; ObsCmdStfFlg>
<Ak.Prsg>

The city-ship that served as a mobile base of operations for a group of dissidents looking to overthrow Emperor Gorrm was under assault. For a normal military, the I.S.N. included, taking a target of this size would involve a full battlefleet. The results would be a significant loss of life and resources. Not because the target was particularly hardy, but more that they would be able to prepare in advance with numerous traps laid about.

For the Rangers, it involved six Corsaire-class cruisers. Before the insurgents could react, they found themselves boarded, explosive charges on weapon banks and power generators activated, and the majority of the command staff annihilated. The cruisers had approached under cloak and deployed several squads of Rangers, who breached the hull silently and entered the ship. The cruisers then returned to being at maximum firing range, waiting to drop their stealth measures and open fire on comm-arrays and weapons placements when the signal was given.

But this was all in the near-past as panicked grunts ran about, not knowing what to do since their commanders had, for the most part, been silenced permanently. Sporadic firefights broke out in places where grunts had some sense enough to pull their heads out of the sand and fortify their positions. Not like it helped much.

Deep Ones in heavy Ranger-issue armor sliced through the fortifications with vibro-claws of a considerable size, and rent the troops before them into small chunks with speed and ease. Grass-Walkers acting as support units dropped the heavy infantry with psychic attacks meant to disorient. Some would have to be kept alive for interrogation, after all. Whoever wasn't wretching into the walls and floor or in a catatonic state were diced up.

<PrsgFlgCmd. AdvzNetTctc>
<Ak.Mvg>

This was the means of communication between the Rangers to apprise each other of what they see, and the situation around them throughout the ship they're assaulting. The last comm, as seen above, is between Sub-commander Sshrrakaa and her second, Lt. Dart. The gist being that Sshrrakaa is in pursuit of the commander of the city-ship, who's attempting to flee to an escape pod, and has advised a flank-and-net tactic to her second.

It doesn't take long for her to catch up to her target, who spins and fires a beam-weapon at her as she turns a corner. A quick dive and roll gets her to the other side of the exposed space, where she hides for a brief second while her ranger armor kicks in its melano-sensory stealth measures. Magnetic pads in the fingers and knees of her armor allow her to scale up to the cieling of the passageway while her target frantically pushes buttons on a keypad to access the escape pod.

As the airlock hisses open and the commander coils to dive in, Sshrrakaa removes a glove on her armor, exposing her claws dripping with a viscuous, ozzing substance. A quick jab from her arm pokes her claws gently into the back of the commander's neck, breaking skin but not hitting anything vital. The airlock shuts, and the escape pod launches away from the city-ship.

Other members of her small squad drop their stealth measures as the sub-commander removes her helmet. She palms her earbud to address the Rangers.

"Wheeland, pick that one up. Pod leaving my vicinty bearing command staff. He's been pricked, so expect little resistance."

"On it, boss."

"The rest of you, let's mop up this shitheap. We'll have Terrapin tow-ships drag this crap back to Vubz for dismantling and examination. Take all prisoners to the command center. We'll slice it off and tow it home."

"Aye aye, boss-lady."

Her hand leaves her earbud, and a long sigh ecapes her nostrils. Taking a scrap of cloth from the utility compartments in her armor, she wipes the oozing substance off her claws, and gives it a sniff, grimacing in disgust.

"Damn, that crap's foul smelling. Get R&D to come up with something that smells nicer, already."

"Errr....Sub-Commander? You poked the target, right? That stuff isn't lethal, is it?"

"Hmmm? No, no. Just a heavy-duty paralyzing toxin. Wierd strain of botulism that R&D came up with. Fast-acting, non-lethal and difficult to resist against for even the hardiest of beings." The querying Ranger looks at her claws then. "No worries. It's been tailored so that it only works when in contact with a blood-stream. Now get to work. We got a big mess to mop up."

A quick salute, and her squad runs off, securing prisoners and searching the ship for hidden crew.

She palms her ear-bud again. "Wheeland, status."

"Enemy commander in custody and sedate. You have a message waiting as well."

"Aye. I'm Evacing at this point, so pick me up. Transponder signal is on ..... now."

"Got it. See you in five."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Onboard the Wheeland, Sshrrakaa gives her vocal report to record and send to the Ranger's Commander in Chief on Titan. After having completed her paperwork, she sighs a long sigh as she stretches out fully and disrobes. "Wheeland, i'm heading for my heat-chamber. No interruptions."

"Alright, but you want to hear the message? It's from Admiral Shaar."

Probably wants to harangue me to settle down and have hatchlings or some such nonsense. Feh. I've already stated my conditions to her. A dismissive wave of her hand followed with "Fine, fine. Play it while I get the humidity up in the chamber."

A few seconds pass while Sshrrakaa fiddles with the control pad of her heat chamber. The holo-image of her sirrah appears in the middle of the room, in casual dress. This is odd. Sirrah's always in her uniform. What gives?

Shaar's voice, passed down to Sshrrakaa, has a bit of an eastern-bloc bit of inflection to it. Almost like a bad imitation of Natasha Fatale. "Daughter of mine. As it stands, after dealing with the 'Antaran Incident', the Emperor has seen fit to allow me time for leave. I have decided to take him up on his offer, and have spoken with your Commander about this. He says you are working too hard for your mental good, and advises you to ... take a break." Shaar's eyelids close slowly as her dewlap flexes, the equivalent of being gently concerned as she keeps her hands clasped in front of her.

"It is my opinion, and I hope your own, that perhaps we should spend some time together, along with the good General. Top brass on holidays and all? So you know in advance, Gaarm has grown on me, and the feeling is apparently mutual. His hatchlings are in University, so he will have no-one to spend holiday with. I hope i'm not being inconsiderate in this? Regardless, we agree that some time spent in the Dominion of the Dread Lady would be best. If we take holiday in aither Sslaa or in our Earth territories, or even on Titan, all about us would be reminders of our duty. No good for 'getting away from it all' yes?"

Shaar has long since stopped fiddling with the control pad on the heat-chamber, and stares at the holographic image in wide-eyed wonder. Holy flying catshit! Sirrah almost seems ..... demure! I've never seen her this relaxed since I went to University myself.

"I have begun my preparations here, and Gaarm has returned to Hreer to inform his hatchlings and prepare himself. Your response will be awaited. In the meantime, I will make preparations under the assumption you will join us. Until then, прощайте."

Sshrrakaa continues staring at the place where the holographic message was displayed. At this point, steam venting out of the heatchamber began reaching dangerous levels as silent alarms went off. Getting her composure back a bit, she shuts off the heat-pod and vents out the excess heat. "Wheeland, play that back for me again." The message plays again with Sshrrakaa studying it carefully, trying to ascertain if it's a fraud or not.

I don't get it. What could cause such a change in personality? She's like a completely different being. Several more minutes of deep thought got her nowhere, and she shook her head. "Wheeland, send a confirmation back, along with a message that i'll join."

"Aye aye, boss-lady."

Her head pokes out of the heat-pod before sealing it shut. "And stop calling me that! Criminy!"

The Argos and eleven other Danaan ships arrived in the system after a few days travel, under the overall command of Brigadier General Jabin Oded. Upon arrival, they immediately notified all friendly vessels and governments of their presence. The Resurgent Dream was not attending the summit and thus they made no move in that direction. Instead, in the absence of current enemy activity, they settled in for a long stay, settling into defensive patterns and contacting local governments to make arrangements for occasional shore leaves for small parties.

For those desiring landing rights, requests are taken as they are made, and flight plans are laid out accordingly. Those less familiar have a bit of additional checking done before being granted clearance. In the meantime, Nuova Toscana keeps in contact with friendly and amenable fleets in system, hoping to keep ahead of any possible problems, should they choose to present themselves.

The main landing hangar itself is built into one of the low-standing rock formations that dot the sand-covered landscape, two sets of heavy composite doors shielding the interior from the harsh environment of the dusty planet. Just inside the first set of doors a scan is initiated for any ‘unusual’ readings – each ship having been advised of said scan before arrival. The inner doors remain closed while the others are open, and open once the primary set closes. Once the ships have safely navigated past each set of doors, they are able to land safely in their designated positions, all directed by the local tower control. Working in and around the area are the usual workers and technicians going about their business and making sure each ship is secure and that systems are operating smoothly. And of course there are the ever-present soldati doing what they usually do – keeping a quiet eye on things from a respectable yet watchful distance, fully-armed.

On hand to greet each party is a Dominion representative who’s been assigned to them for the duration of their stay to act as guide and liaison. Any requests are noted and passed on to be taken care of as soon as possible, and each party is directed through the single arch that leads to the main facility, where another passive scan is made without prior notification, searching for as best as they can tell, any out of the ordinary life readings. Typical Dominion paranoia and subtlety at work, in trying to detect any Antaran (or other, as the need arose) presence before it became … problematic. Whether it worked correctly was anyone’s guess, having no Antarans on hand to properly test it against. But still, the effort was made in the interest of safety.

The corridors of the facility are neat and functional, the overall design seeming to utilize the space available in the most efficient way, while trying not to lose Dominion aesthetics entirely. Rich carpets in tasteful colors accent the floors, the overall structure done in a warm antique white, all the better to show off the accents. Occasional greenery of sorts that could live well enough under the artificial lighting are placed in strategic areas, and occasional arches and curves soften the crisp lines of the basic architecture.

Rooms are comfortable, if not overly spacious, following along the same lines as the rest of the facility, with the ability to regulate the temperature and humidity levels within each as needed for the comfort of the occupants.

While every need could not possibly be provided for, every effort to do so had been made in anticipation of those they were aware of likely attending, having food and refreshments on hand according to varying tastes, as well as the more usual faire.

The main conference room is a large, circular affair, with a tall, domed ceiling with a clear view in the middle of it to the open sky, the secondary ring of thick plasteel being decorated in simple heavy leading in a vaguely nautiloid design. Warm interior lights are recessed all around on a ledge that circles the room, the tables themselves being four broken quarter-circles, curved both inside and out to allow for a large space in the center for speakers, or hologram presentations or the like, and to allow chairs to be set on both sides of each should the occasion call for it.

The burgundy and black leather chairs sitting at regular intervals are of Dominion design, but with a mind towards accommodating more varied lifeforms than simply ‘human’. A decent gap on one side of the gently-curved adjustable back allows for races having tails not to be forced to sit uncomfortably, without losing the support needed by necessity. In addition, the seats were not rigid, but adapted to a degree to the being sitting in them, flexing and spreading out more for those of larger girth, while still providing a comfortable cushion for the humans, and smaller-boned sentients. Armrests can be found on each side, fully adjustable, and able to be folded out of the way entirely at the user’s convenience.

Everything did indeed seem to be going smoothly. All things considered, Governor Bartolio wondered why it was that didn’t comfort her nearly as much as it should.




ooc: just wanted to set things up so we didn’t have to waste time on every little arrival and such. Having been invited, it makes sense that y’all would be welcomed, yes? If anything untoward is in the works that the usual security would twitch over, just get with me and we’ll work something out. Not opposed to things, just wanted to streamline and set the general ambiance of the setting for reference etc. Hope I’ve not overstepped with it.

A flash of brilliant white light and an associated ringing. It was a generally accepted combination of sensory inputs indicating fear, alarm, surprise. In this case, it was the shock of another workday for Lt. Col. Jorge Melanchez.

Melanchez looked tiredly in the mirror and silently counted to himself. Three, four, five. Fifty three days on this mission. Nothing but staring at an empty screen half of the time- and some volunteered for this gorram mission. It was all quiet on the Antaran front, and this meant monotony for the Tiburonese force. The force near KILO- still three Aerospace Forces strong- itself had constructed a temporary base (TempoBase wow!) for the combined force. Nothing much else. Ho hum.

"Liaisons Keenan and Diaz-Luna, Pakaa Branch, at your disposal." The human personal aides assigned to the officers in the Guaah DiploCorps announced themselves with a hand-over-chest salute. Everything about them looked like regulation DiploCorps standard, down to the translating symbiotids behind their ears and down to their throats. Liaison Keenan was a female of Irish descent, where Liaison Diaz-Luna's ruddy skin-color spoke of his Caribbean ancestry.

"Officers Saart and Bozzti, Guaah Offices. Pleased to make your acquaintance." The pair of male Sakkrans returned the salute. Saart had a blueish tinge to his scales, denoting his most recent positiong being that of Kastaa, while Bozzti's scales were more of a sand color. Most likely as a result of just being in the Zzouud Grasslands.

"Our shuttle to Nuova Toscana is ready to depart at your liesure. Liaison Diaz-Luna is assigned to aide Officer Saart, and i'm to be your assistant, Officer Bozzti." Keenan and Diaz-Luna approached, and hoisted up their datapads in front of them. "You'll find all our affairs in order here. Peruse at your liesure, and then your SigIdents will confirm our contract for the DiploCorps offices." Diaz-Luna's voice has a touch of a hispanic accent to it still, despite being a Sakkran immigrant resident for seven years.

The contracts are read, SIgIdented, and the file is shunted to the Guaah and Pakaa DiploCorps databases. A small piggy-back file, however, breaks off in transit and deposits itself into a small office on Sslaa V, where the Skeen Intelligence Branch has agents assigned to watching over developments on Nuova Toscana.

"Agents 10a5 and 86e7 are now active."

"Confirmed. Keep Silent Eyes on them until they reach target and apprise."

"Yes, Director."

The shuttle departs, making its way over to Nuova Toscana. The DiploCorps Officers are triple-checking their files and DIplomatic Packages, while thei liaisons relay messages and take notes, making sure the Officers aren't disturbed.

Brigadier General Oded was sitting quietly in his quarters, looking out the porthole at the unfamiliar system. He had been in the SDF much longer than had Colonel Abedzadeh. The naval terminology no longer bothered him. After all, most nations which operated to any significant in space had "Space Navies" modeled more on marine than aerial traditions. A little cultural osmosis was natural.

He'd gotten a friendly enough response from the Dominion colony and was still waiting on the others. He wasn't sure exactly what there was to coordinate at the moment besides a few petty details though. Waiting was the worst thing in any war and it looked like there was a lot of waiting ahead.

The Imperial Merchant Navy ship had been refitted to be a passenger pleasure craft, and it re-entered realspace just outside the Sol System. On board were Gaarm, Shaar and Sshrrakaa in their civilian duds. 850 other passengers and crew of varying races were also aboard, with their rather lively children, hatchlings and whatever else applied in tow.

One of the ship's servitors mocked being in a state of distress as a motley group of youngsters surrounded her. "You're under arrest, lady! Hand over the sweets and we'll let you go with a warning!" The small, blonde human leveled his finger-gun at the Hrubban waitress while she squealed "Oh help! Whatever shall I do? Surely this is the end!" The sound of giggling, hoorahs and 'bang bang' noises carried throughout the passenger area.

Shaar eyeballed Gaarm, who was watching the preoceedings with an amused glint in his eye. "You HAD to book passage on the noisiest craft in the Known Systems, didn't you?" She slumped down in her chair slightly, with a mock look of indignation on her. "This is my reward for decades of loyal service. Hmmmmph!" Sshrrakaa continued munching away on a half-boiled yucca root while she composed her message an a datapad.



Good Cycle, Dread Lady

I hope the message from my sirrah had reached you, and finds you well. The three of us are aboard a rather lively transport entering Sol space at this time, with a stop-over in Titan space where we'll transfer to a craft heading for Dominion Airspace. Our arrival time is scheduled for (X:XX) in two cycles. I know sirrah would like to play 'cath up' with you in regards to goings on with you and yours should time allow.

Things have been ... interesting ... on my end of things, but we can talk about that in a face to face manner. How've EMperor Devon and Tim been? I hope they haven't grayed your hair any. I'll box Tim's ears myself if that's the case.

At any rate, I hope to meet up with everyone soon. Gaarm keeps rolling on about sampling every glass of wine and every morsel of treat possible there. I think i'll go mad if these two keep up their pace.

May you walk on warm sands,
Sshrrakaa
**********************************************************

On Sslaa V, Coordinator Hseer had arranged for the town of Wyrmspine View to accomodate foreign military personnell as a restful retreat for those off-duty. The humidity levels here seemed to average out to 45% due to it being a coastal town on a small peninsula with an expansive gold-sand beach, as opposed to most populated areas being in the midst of the swamp-cover of the planet.

There boasted a shuttle-port, several small family-run inns, a variety of food establishments, scenic overlooks of both the ocean and the town, and a beach view of the Wyrmspine. This was an island a short distance off the coast which had a chain of seven active volcanoes, three of which were the largest and in the center of the island.

A booming fishing industry and artist community gave it the feel of a late 20th century New England port town, with nautical goods stores plying their wares casually and artists plying their trades in small, makeshift common markets. Several public houses would fill with fishermen at dusk, spinning tales of the ocean in boisterous tones while drinking the imported wines from the Dominion territories.

Wyrmspine View, Sslaa V

The small shuttle settled quietly down in the shuttle port. A large door in the side slid open to reveal one of the Special Teams, dressed, not in the Air Force uniforms of the Space Defense Force, but in dark spacesuits without military insignia of any kind. They were not officers or airmen but agents of the Bureau of Paranormal Affairs operating temporarily under the authority of the Ministry for Defense.

The first man off the shuttle was taller than the average Sakkran. One could easily imagine how he would tower over his human countrymen back on earth. His form was that of a man bulging with muscles. His skin was a dark shade of blue and two small horns grew from his forehead. After him came a woman of the same size, just as muscular but also with womanly curves. Her horns were smaller and her skin a lighter shade of blue. She was actually quite lovely not only by the standards of her own people but of most unbiased humans. Next to her walked a well formed Caucasian human male of about thirty years.

These first three Danaans approached an official looking local. He spoke in English with a severe sort of monotone that matched his expressionless facial features. “Greetings. We are Special Combat Team 31 assigned to the HMS Argos. We are here on your planet on authorized shore leave. My name is Special Agent in Charge Kadal Awair. The lady is Special Agent Dageid Pá and the gentleman is Special Agent Bruno Wabe. We are the senior agents on our team.”

Meanwhile, the rest of the team had climbed out of the shuttle. Among them there were one more male Troll, two seemingly ordinary human men, and a man who looked loosely human and yet had strangely piscine facial features. His legs, concealed by his suit, seemed oddly shaped. It seemed that Special Agent Pá was the only female on the shuttle.

The Sakkran assigned for meet-and-greet duties for the hour was wearing his waist-wrap and sash combination, with his brooch of office on the sash. Light-grey scales covered him all over, with a tinge of a turquoise to their edges and in his eyes. "Good cycle to you all. I trust your trip was uneventful? Good good. Looks like everyone has their appropriate limbs and such intact. Always a good sign."

Papers and data-chits were pulled out of pockets inside his sash until he seemed satisfied with a set. "At any rate, i'm Field Guide Zrrat from the Wyrmspine View Chamber of Commerce. I know you're not here strictly on a tourist basis if my brief from Vubz Station is correct." The low whine of passing mag-lev haulers sounds and stops; its crew unloading luggage from the cargo-holds of the shuttle and placing them in the hauler.

Zrrat holds out a handful of datachits. "On each of these you'll get general overviews of what's to see and do here. Same as you'd find in the rooms of most hotels and inns here. Security at the shuttle-port lobby will want to scan your belongings for listening devices and the like. Everyone's still got a touch of the jitters, what with the Antaran problem still hovering over our heads."

Wyrmspine View, Sslaa V


“The trip went smoothly, although we are still getting accustomed to travel in space. This is our first international, much less interstellar, mission.” Awair answered Zrrat. “And, right, we are not tourists. Although we are not military, we have been assigned to work with the military in aiding our allies, your people, against the Sakkran threat. Because the Resurgent Dream only compares technologically to Sakkra and other space-faring nations in a few special programs and does not have the sort of infrastructure designed to support any sort of large space-based military force, our Government has decided that, in addition to sending our small space fleet, we will utilize our diversity and openness to the rest of the multiverse by deploying the unique talents of some of the extraordinary beings who are currently citizens of the Resurgent Dream in Special Teams. We are one such Team. As there is no current front and as the lack of any Danaan settlement in this system frees us from any direct responsibility to the current conference, we have been granted shore leave.”

Pá took the date chits, looking at them with some interest. “We will require…”

“I have something, Dageid.” Wabe said. “Don’t worry about it.”

The Trolless nodded and tucked the chits away. “I am sure we will enjoy ourselves. I love the ocean. I grew up in a coastal town back home.”

“Well, I guess that’s the next best thing…” said the man with the piscine features.

“I do not believe I would be comfortable in your home, Abban.” the Trolless answered before turning back to the tour guide. “Thank you for your assistance and your hospitality. We were briefed on protocol but I would be interested to know if you have any more personal advice regarding the town.”

“The scans will not be a problem.” Awair said. “We have checked the bags and believe them to be clean but we would certainly not wish to inadvertently be of aid to our common enemy. Your people are welcome to double check.”

“I’d better get over to security.” Wabe said. “I do have some electronics and I want to make sure none of them give you a false positive on those scans.”

Zrrat placed a finger on the short leathery tendrils dropping on his chin. "Advice regarding the town. Advice .... advice...Well, every room in every inn, hotel and b&b has the normal tourism kit with commonly acclaimed sites of 'interest'. I'd avoid those like the plague if you don't want to get swept up in a tide of giddy tourists. Hrr hrrr..."

He beckons them away from the approach pads of the shuttle bay as a resin beetle swwops down and gently lands on Zrrat's shoulder. His tympanum below his ears seem to waver a bit as the beetle chirrups, scraping its wing-plates together. "Your bodies check out by security, and your goods will be awaiting us at the exit of the lobby." He hands the beetle a chunk of pumice, which the insect takes in its jaws and flies off with. "Seems to be their favorite snack around these parts."

A mottled brownish-yellow pillar stands at the exit of the lobby, and Zrrat palms the base with his hand. A screen seems to unfold from its upper-region, showing a display of a map with multi-colored indicators on it. "This red ones shows where we are. The blue ones show areas frequented heavily by tourists and the like. Hotels, inns, shops, artisan areas and the standard tourist trade stuff. Yellow indicators show areas of infrastructure such as the City Hall, registry office, House of Law and such. And these..." His claw traces along a turquoise colored indicator. "...are what are known as Scenic Points. A bit off the well-traveled road, but quite worth the trip if you like that stuff."

Off in the distance a brass bell sounds, and Zrrat looks in that direction. "Ah, the Wyrmspine Hunters are back."

Wyrmspine View, Sslaa V

The Danaans followed Zrrat’s guidance, moving with him away from the approach pads. Pá looked after the resin beetle as it flew off into the air. “Will we be able to handfeed these creatures as well or do they only respond to Sakkrans?” she asked hopefully.

Awair followed Zrrat’s gaze off towards the bell. “The Wyrmspine Hunters?” he inquired.

Wabe continued to walk towards the exit of the lobby, eager to be reunited with his electronic devices. He felt almost naked with just his body sometimes, especially around the towering Trolls who stood more than head and shoulders above him and the equally imposing Sakkran. “I wonder how long things will remain quiet. The Antarans must be planning something to have remained inactive so long.”

The message from Sshrrakaa was unexpected, but certainly not unwelcome. Nathicana had had Else finishing up on making certain arrangements for options to properly provide for guests had been taken care of as she perused the rest of the missive.

“And mind there’s plenty of the proper refreshments, oils, and rooms equipped for the right levels of humidity – with large baths!” she continued, not looking up from the message, eyes scanning, then re-reading, already working on a response.

“Yes, yes – we have hosted Sakkrans before after all,” Else answered with a knowing smile.


Buon Giorno, Sub-Commander,

It’s good to hear from you! Be assured, we’re prepared, and happy to host you during your stay here, and I hope that you all find it comfortable. Thank you for confirming your arrival time – I’ll be certain to be on hand to meet you, and for Control to be expecting your arrival.

I look forward to being able to visit and hear about your adventures. I hope that Dev can be on hand as well, but his duties make regular meetings a bit problematic at times. I would love to have Tim here as well, but his superiors have seen fit to alter his assignment, bless their black little hearts, so unless a temporary leave can be arranged, I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint in that regard as well, though perhaps I could convince Shorty to come at least for dinner.

If there have been any greys on account of either of them, I’ll never tell – but feel free to do any boxing you like once you catch up. If nothing else, the children have certainly kept me busy. Small wonder when they’ve had such teachers as Tim, Shorty, Shodey and myself one supposes … be prepared, they’ve both gotten frighteningly proficient at the leap and pounce business.

Assure Gaarm that we will endeavor to keep up with his expectations – as monumental a task as that may be! And no worries – if it all becomes too much, we’ve ample open space and places for a quiet moment to oneself as well as the usual entertainments.

It will be good to see you all.

Sincerely,

--Nathicana


----- ----- -----

At Nuova Toscana, the Saakran liaisons are met by Governor Alessandra Bartolio. If she’s curious as to having human aides accompany the Sakkrans, she doesn’t let it show. After all, the Dominion was perhaps a bit more rare in it’s all-human representation, being originally a rather mundane nation originally, amongst their more cosmopolitan allies. It would perhaps make some of the interaction go more smoothly, for those unused to dealing with their lizard-like allies on a face to face basis, and was likely a consideration in the decision to bring the humans with them, she figured. All was well.

“A pleasure to be able to host you and your party,” she says, introducing herself and extending a hand to the Sakkrans. “Is there anything I can do to help you all get settled in?”

Wyrmspine Isle

"I really wouldn't know about the Antaran problem. Usually when something is as active as they were, then silent, you can lay good odds that the silence is temporary." Zrrat points one finger upwards. Overhead are the resin beetles, some flying in formation, others landing briefly at certain locations, mostly around infrastructure buildings, then taking off again. "The beetles you'll see during the day are special-purpose ones directed by their Hive-Queen to perform various duties, so yes, those will only respond to whomever they are directed to, Sakkran or otherwise. At night are the general purpose drones. These are usually recent hatchings that will accept a hand-feeding from anyone. They give off light from their abdomens in exchange for treats of volcanic stones. The kiosks for those stones usually open at dusk."

Up ahead on the dirt road, a group of tourists of varying species gather. Peace Officials get to work keeping the assembly orderly. "Ah, the Wyrmspine Hunters are a group of Deep Ones who specialize in deep-sea hunting. Whatever they catch usually shows up on the menu at most of the eateries in the area. Apparently, the sea area around the Wyrmspine Isle is populated by some rather large and dangerous sea-life. When the bell sounds, it means they're returning after a successful hunt."

Nuova Toscana

The blue-ish Sakkran extends a clawed hand and gently clasps Alessandra's. "Good cycle, Governor Bartolio. I am DiploCorps Officer Saart. Accompanying are Officer Bozzti and liaisons Diaz-Luna and Keenan." Everyone bows slightly as their names are mentioned.

"Now that you mention it, I myself feel a touch parched from the trip. Transport shuttles never have the best drinks, after all."

Bozzti snorts a bit. "Best drinks, nothing. I'm surprised the water hasn't taken casualties yet."

A flick of the wrist and the end of the nicstick lights up to orange phosphorescence, swinging up in a retina-blurring arc as the practiced hand adjusts the tube between two fingers and plants the filter end into waiting lips. A quick habitual muscular motion later and the overpriced sig is relocated to the corner of a mouth too pretty-boy to be stereotypically hard-boiled but too hard to be any sort of femme. Just a habit--a dirty one, they said, but he couldn't see why. Hell, they forced him off proper cigarettes because looks are part of being a field reporter nowadays and they were afraid his teeth would get stained. Still an addict, though, and quite happily one, and thus the nicstick. Paper tube, the usual ingredients, but a nanite-heavy filter to break down all those nasty carcinogens into biologically inert molecules encased in buckyballs with a propensity for not sticking to things. Damn things cost ten times as much as normal cigs, like paying for overpriced Dominion stuff, but they kept the bosses happy and kept the body happy thanks to nothing getting in the way of absorbing sweet, sweet nicotine.

He takes another pull as he opens the streamlined and ribbed metal case with the Titan YutLink logo on it: block letters for TYL with the old traditional outline of Saturn cut out of the middle of them. Inside, packed in grey wavy foam--good old plastic foam--are three oblong devices with spheres embedded in them, something like bugeyed solitaire masks. The black plastic holohovercams, streamlined enough to not be embarrasing, have irised lenses inset into the spheres and the whole set comes with a small card controller, all wireless. He checks out of habit: pulls one of the cams out, taps the power button, hears it whirr until the internal whatevers that make it work slip into extremely ultrasonic silence--far far past dogwhistle--and lets it go, watching it over about happily as it focuses on him in short order, the dogbrain inside figuring he's the only thing worth looking at at the moment without user input. Out of habit he gingerly plucks it from the air, turning it off before its little gravywhatevers can whirr in annoyance and replacing it back in the case. Lid down and clasps locked, he finishes his nicstick with a final drag and then carefully places the filter into the ashtray next to his spaceport hotel bed. The refund on the filter recoups the cost only a little bit, but his momma didn't raise her boy to be foolish with money. The Hegemony isn't anything like the safety-net states across the border, after all.

Picking up the case in one hand and making sure he has his credentials with the other, he starts walking out. May as well hit the office.

Not two hours off the interstellar flight from Titan and already on the job. That's why YutLink sent him, of course. Practice makes foreign urban navigation pretty easy, even if the city does look like it was half made by the beetles flying around everywhere. Maps and information desks inevitably lead the way to the building where the summit and its attendant press conferences are going to be held. A flick of his credentials and their anti-duplication holos reveal him to be Thrust Horsepower of Titan YutLink, and all he wants to do is get a look at wherever he's going to have to cover so he can get close to first call on where he can set up his holocams. "Need to get a proper 3D theater-in-the-round positioning for the viewers back home."

Wyrmspine View, Sslaa V

The Danaans joined the tourists up ahead in greeting the return of the Wyrmspine Hunters. They kept silent for the most part, simply observing the local customs regarding this elite group. After things had cooled down a bit, they went to their hotel and checked in.

Later that day, the Danaans made their way down to the beach. They had changed into swimsuits except for Abban ap Lorelei, the man with the piscine features, who was nude. After he had disrobed, any onlookers could see that he had scaly legs resembling the skin of a fish and no external organs of the sort humans would have. Abban was the first to dive into the water and, as soon as he went under the water, his legs began to merge together into a fishtail. He swam rapidly under the waves, as swiftly as any creature of the sea. Most of the others entered the water more conventionally, although Pá stretched out in the sun.

When the sun went down, she rose and looked for the beetles, offering them some of the special stones she had purchased earlier. When one of the beetles finally arrived, she closed her eyes and concentrated on employing her Draocht, establishing a sympathetic link between her mind and that of the creature. She reached one muscled, blue hand up to stroke the beetle as she fed and communed with it.

Alessandra smiles – close-lipped as has become rather a habit among those dealing and nods in recognition as all are introduced. “Thank you again for attending. Let’s see what we can do to get you taken care of before getting down to business,” she says, then gestures slightly, indicating those present are free to come along.

“We’ve ample refreshments on hand, at least we hope so. I hope that drinks aside, your travel was pleasant enough?”

Of course all who arrive, including the press all things considered, are welcome, and eventually, either shown or told the way if needed to the conference room, where attendants busy themselves with making sure their guests are made as comfortable as possible.

Saart seems to tilt his head back a touch; an audible popping and cracking sound follows. "The trip was adequate for the purpose. A bit of stretching should work out any kinks and knots." Rotating his head a little bit seemed to satisfy him. "Better. Not as limber as I was in my neonate days." The small group follows the governess as she walks.

Bozzti chimes in while walking along Saart's flank. "Governess, how have you been fairing in relations with the other colonies thus far? I trust your supply crafts manage to make it here with little incident for the most part?"

The two human aides walk behind silently, once in a while seeming to brush up against each other.

“Not bad, not bad,” Alessandra begins. “Odd happenings what with the Trilarans going completely quiet, so our protectorate there has been … well, quiet also. Not that we had done anything really to interfere to begin with. It has been good to have such a ready and relatively close supply of water at least.”

She pauses thoughtfully, a shadow of doubt passing briefly over her face. “As for our supply craft, we have had only slight trouble with the usual occasional bouts of piracy closer to Sol more often than not. But to be truthful, what has concerned me more is the apparent slipping in maintaining clear shipping records and procurement list documentation. We’ve had more than a few irregularities, either in missing items, items that have shown up, but we can’t find record of having ordered them, not to mention when looked for later they’ve mysteriously vanished. I’m concerned about the possibility of some group or other setting up a black market of sorts out here – which would make sense for the more opportunistic. Still, we’ve yet to make a proper tracking of it, and haven’t been able to prove anything yet. Several dead ends in our investigations once we noticed it didn’t seem to be just random happenstance.”

Saart's crest lays flat on his neck. "I see. I'm not sure what to think on the Trilarian end of things. They've gone quite silent, and traffic from them has become nil. Much longer, and Vubz will probably launch an investigation. I wonder if some natural disaster or other calamity befell them? You'd think they'd have time to fire off a distress signal, but they're a strange people."

Saart continues deep in his ponderings, while his aides chime in. "Sir, in regards to the piracy, our records show that some bandit groups have come into possession of some crude FTL interdiction technology, from what ship's logs have shown. If a patrol group of sensor-sweepers is sent, they may pick up the areas that have been hit most frequently."

His eyes perk up a bit at that, as he rotates one to eyeball the aide. "Good thinking. Make a notation of a recommendation to Vubz on that end. I won't stand to have our supplies of wine being disrupted by naughty doings. But what of these shipping irregularities..... that is hardly my field of expertise."

Saart's crest raises full height, and a slight tinge of a cinnamon scent wafts off. "Blast it all. We can't hold and search every ship that comes in. Too much manpower and time would be used up. Standard detection and search measures concern mostly with dangerous chemical and radioactive elements. Too frustrating....I wonder of the Skeen have their eyes on this already?"

It’s a funny thing about expansion and advancement when it comes to mankind, and others. Even with the most noble of intentions, and the hope for betterment of oneselves, one’s environment, and one’s allies, the base elements of corruption, self-service, and greed always seem to follow after. It was no different with the Sslaa project.

While the majority of the inhabitants in the Nuova Toscana settlement were working together to one degree or other, be it maintenance, working towards cleaning the planet’s toxicity, the shipbuilding facilities, mining, or testing teraforming ideas, there were others who were taking advantage of distance, red tape, and the usual opportunities that shipping and re-supplying offered.

One could hardly argue that the Dominion overall was a bastion of truth, justice, and all things good and wholesome – the influence of La Cosa Nostra being so ingrained into society that sometimes it was hard to see where it either ended or began – but then, neither could it be said that such influences did not exist in other familiar nations where a healthy appetite for profit could be found in this corner or that. The current problems Governor Bartolio was discussing with the Sakkrans was an interesting deviation from what might be considered the norm in the Dominion, in that it was not limited in scope to local participants alone. For some time an international network of sorts had been carefully growing and expanding, along with the growth and expansion of both the Dominion’s holdings, and those of it’s allied nations.

And a profitable venture it had been thus far for all involved.

However, of late, given the good Governor’s efforts, certain things had run less than smoothly. Shipments had been confiscated, security had been tightened, and as such, a bit of a bottleneck had developed in regards to operations on Nuova Toscana – something the organization was not terribly pleased about. While it was understood that perhaps only so much could be done, the organization was likewise of the opinion that all that could be done, was not being done. Which of course would have to be remedied, and quickly.

To this end an agent had been sent out to have a little discussion with the main contact there at the colony – one Marko Tomba, chief of inventory – to see what might be done.

Supply Depot 12, Nuova Toscana

Marko checked off his list with a sidelong glance at the security detail currently shadowing his work. Today at least it was Dom and the boys, and they were on the take same as he was. This shipment at least would get to where it was intended with little or no fuss. He had already replaced the ‘good’ containers with other legitimate ones of the same sort he’d previously stashed elsewhere, to cover for any current miscounts. Bartolio had made an annoying habit of double-checking lists and tallies lately, due to both the increased security, and the slips that had finally been noticed.

Long, neat rows of tall shelves, stocked with various non-perishables, equipment, and other supplies filled the high-ceilinged room, along with tall locked cages and cabinets where things such as weapons, chemicals, or more expensive equipment was kept. Pools of light flooded down from the steel support beams where the industrial lamps hung, every third one on at the moment both to conserve energy, and make it more difficult to track all his movements while he worked.

There was no need for fancy dressing on walls, ceiling, or floor here. Given the centralized location of each of the supply depots that were scattered through the main complex, most of the power, oxygen, fuel, and water lines ran through them (and in some cases housed the main tanks), lining the walls for easy access and maintenance points to help preserve the aesthetics of the rest of the overall design of the inhabited areas of the colony. Still, all was painted in a lighter shade of grey from the epoxy-coated floors, each line or cabinet or tank labeled in neat black lettering next to the appropriate warning stickers in bright red. The only other coloring was the yellow lines on the floor denoting forklift lanes, and the bits on the occasional safety reminder posters that no work area was complete without.

Marko grumbled quietly as he worked. He’d complained that they were taking too many chances, being too free with the opportunities, but they hadn’t listened to him. And now he was left to try and clean up the mess.

“Bloody typical, that. Lean on the little guy. And what thanks to I get, I ask you?” he muttered under his breath, turning the corner around the large row of shelves, out of sight temporarily from the security detail, who were chatting amongst themselves unconcernedly.

“One would think one gets what one earns,” came the quiet, unexpected answer from one of the deeper shadows just ahead, accompanied at gunpoint from the hand that emerged from them to point directly at Marko.

To his credit, Marko was astute enough not to draw any undue attention, or make any sudden movements past the initial nearly jumping out of his skin reaction. Sweat began beading on his face even as he slowly held his hands away from his body, slightly to the side to indicate his willingness to cooperate.

“Good, Marko. Good. I’m here on … business,” came the voice again, this time with the person behind it stepping forward slightly, allowing him to see that it was in fact a woman, dressed in typical black maintenance coveralls and a cap. “Bosses aren’t pleased, Marko. Not pleased at all. Been sent to see what you can do to remedy this rather egregious oversight on your part. The one where the flow of goods has been somewhat … stymied. So ah, what’s your plan, eh? Preferably one that doesn’t require more funds, seeing how much money you’ve already cost us?”

“See, what you gotta understand about that is,” Marko began in an equally hushed voice, cracking with the strain of attempting to maintain calm.

“Not here for excuses, Marko. I’m here for answers, results.”

“Yes, but …” he stopped mid-sentence, glancing around nervously, taking note that this location was one of those convenient blind spots the surveilance cameras had been positioned for. And taking note as well that the closest heavy tools such as a nice crowbar or mining pick were several rows over.

“I just nee a bit of time to reshuffle, come up with some new strategies. Bosses gotta work on some o’ that too, mind. How we get stuff’s gotta be more smart, like these last shipments.”

“I’m sure they’ll take your chastisement well, Marko. Duly noted,” the woman replied wryly. “What’s the status of today’s shipment? Less than half?”

“I got the whole damn thing,” he snapped defensively, more loudly than he’d intended. “You’ll be getting your stuff on time, as scheduled – so long as you let me get back to my work, and—“ At which point Dom had decided he’d waited around long enough, and came ‘round the corner to tell Marko to get his ass in gear.

The rest happened too quickly for Marko to react.

At the sound of Dom’s voice, the woman swung her gun around to face the new threat, only seeing the security uniform, and the unknown man wearing it starting to bring his own weapon to bear. One of the hazards of subcontracting – not knowing all the players. Dom’s next shouts brought the others running, which presented the woman with the interesting dilemma of fight or flight. Prepared to do the latter, as obvious actions such as gunfire tended to draw unwanted attention, she shifted her weight to her rear foot, turning it slightly in the process in the direction she planned on running.

Only said plans were thwarted when one of the overzealous guards squeezed off a sloppy shot as he was still raising his gun to level – which in turn earned him the first shot from her gun, fired instinctively when personally threatened, even if the shot went wide, taking a chip out of the floor to her left. Her shot hit true, taking the guard in the shoulder, which while throwing him back from the impact also caused him to reflexively squeeze the trigger, sending several more bullets flying in the general direction of both the woman, and Marko, who was throwing himself to the ground, screaming for the lot of them to stop firing.

Seeing one of their own hit, the others opened fire, moving forward in pursuit of the woman who was fleeing towards a secondary access hatch that followed along the various lines that kept the colony lit and cooled and breathing. Being the one she’d entered through to begin with, it was open, as it shouldn’t be, so she had no worries in that regard. Of course, the devil is in the details, and the unexpected problems that tend to crop up. Like how reactionary an agent pure hydrogen is, say when a line is perforated by unintentionally delivered, continuous heavy gunfire.

The by now forgotten Marko was still scrambling towards the traditional exit, peering between the shelving, still yelling hoarsely for them to stop when the room erupted in a bloom of brilliant orange and blistering heat.

Back with the Sakkrans approaching the reception hall

“We have increased security, but given the traffic we have, and the various points of entry, both here planetside, and at the shipyards above,” Allesandra began, pausing as the lights flickered and a rumbling was felt more than heard, her communications headset activating almost immediately after.

Her face paled slightly as she listened to the report coming in, before hardening into a mask of controlled anger and determination. She speaks quickly and quietly in her native tongue, giving Saart a slow shake of her head to indicate that all was indeed not well, before giving them a brief answer to the questions likely being prepped.

“Gentlemen, Ladies, we’ve been hit.”

Saart shakes his head and clasps one side in his hands. "Is it always like this? We leave Sslaa V and something explodes?" Bozzti approaches and performs a quick visual scan on him, finding no wounds on his body. "Maybe we should stay in our homes more often." The human pair look in opposite directions, scanning about for suspicious activity while trying to maintain an amateurish appearance to it.

Saart picks himself out of his wonderings. "You've been hit, you say. By what, and has this happened previously?" The agents behind them seem to clasp hands, looking about.