NationStates Jolt Archive

Now

...there was not.

Commonality military assets had been 'low visibility' for some time now; few sightings away from their home 'ports' were recorded by foreigners...

And fewer sightings still of communications leaving the Commonality of anything but a civilian nature. The complete diplomatic withdrawal from foreign affairs was both abrupt and unexplained...

Indeed, several explosions, plus an act of insurgency, had also gone completely unexplained. The People of the Commonality clearly knew something more than the outside world - but apparently they weren't telling either.

Considering the history of the political entity currently known as the Iluvauromeni Commonality of Everlasting Light (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/index.php/Category:Iluvauromeni_Commonality_of_Everlasting_Light), one might easily suspect that a great many had rejoiced at it's overlong silence. And one would likely be right.

Therefore it is for them that sympathy must be felt...

For that time is over.

* * *

Bridge Nest, IDSS Nighthawk; Freedom Dockyards, Iluvauromeni Space, Vilya Elenosto Exclusion Zone

Eight gleaming hulls hung motionless in the void of space. They, representing the eight new classes of the fourth generation of the Commonality's Space Navy, the CSF, were as yet unmoved.

Nearby, close to eight hundred eXon (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/index.php/EXon_Superiority_Fighter-Bomber) fighter-bombers run CAP missions, their sphere of operations encapsulating nearly one hundred sixty thousand kilometres of space. Of course, the exclusion zone itself was far smalller.

That, however, was no issue. There was the same level of civilian traffic as usual - which was viewed by the second-in-command of the new squadron, the 5 Squadron, with definitive distaste.

"Bloody amateurs," he muttered for the ninth time. Yet another incident, yet another hour. Every couple of hours - an hour at a go for the last four - for the last day, a civilian ship had managed to almost ram an eXon. Flag Captain DuPont was not impressed. If he had his way, he would shoot the buggers down and to hell with it.

But he didn't. Which was just as well.

"Eighteen minutes," his XO advised. A small nod.

The warships were powering up, the steady thrum of the MI/PG motors setting the deckplate rumbling softly. It was a reassuring sound. There had originally been an effort to eradicate the noise - indeed the effort had succeeded - but it turned out that crews became uncomfortable without reassurance that the ship was, indeed, working. And thus the noise remained.

"Seventeen."

DuPont drummed fingers lightly on the armrest. The Commodore would arrive in around four minutes, he observed mentally. "Inform Earth of our impending launch," he mouthed. The LSR - a small laser device worn on the cheek - read his lips and passed the message onwards by wireless connection to ComOps, six decks below. The message would arrive in just over four minutes.

The Flag Captain smiled faintly. Lillith was down there. Perhaps she'd even be the Talent to pass on the communique.

Lillith was the second in command in the ComOps department, which was something of an issue under regs technically - but then so was coffee, and occasionally someone managed to sneak that on board. Sex was fairly common in the CSF. Sexual politics equally so.

The problem was that nobody had come up with a way to scrub the pheremones. The SciOps types claimed the effect was minimal, but the birth rate amongst the Fleet was absurd.

Nobody believed them anyway. Which was likely another contributing factor to all of his officers...

He carefully steered his thoughts in a different direction. They wouldn't share an off-shift for four days yet -

"Fourteen minutes."

The whistle sounded. The computer did the job these days; nobody was even expected to rise from their stations. That was inefficient. Nonetheless, DuPont called out, "Flag on the bridge."

High Lord Commodore Ax-randiri Rihad smiled faintly as he rose the steps to the Nest. "Absurd old tradition, eh?"

A nod in reply.

"We get underway early," the High Lord Commodore announced, quietly.

Sharp stares from all around the bridge, thinly veiled beneath nods of acknowledgement.

"Very well, sir," DuPont replied, cautiously. He was well aware the High Lord Commodore was only in command for this particular mission.

And he was best placed for the permanent role.

"Speed, sir?"

"Maximum."

It was a simple response, but it spoke volumes. Clearly something was up.

"And the problem?"

DuPont was not prepared for the response. Nor was he close to prepared, in fact. "Cleanup."

Rihad was being strangely evasive. The Flag Captain sighed - an error that would not be ignored - and shrugged. "Fine." Another error.

High Lord Commodore Ax-randiri Rihad took his seat in silence, smiling faintly. "Let's just say SciOps at Trafalgar made a tiny little error... and we need to make sure that error doesn't make it's way away from Trafalgar. If it does, Mars will be pissed at us for a few millenia."

Eyes widen.

"Project Landhammer?"

A nod.

* * *

Twelve Hours Earlier - Trafalgar, areosynchronous near the Mars Orbital Colony of Cyrnal Yste

Professor Lieutenant Goodworthy was not what anyone in their right mind would call 'pleasant'. He had an abrasive charm, however, which endeared him to his minions...

Staff.

And further, he had an extra title - a title which demanded respect in itself. For Goodworthy was - and continued to be - the Head Officer of Special Research and Development Projects.

And this, in turn, meant that he was Head of the Landhammer Faculty based at Trafalgar.

Trafalgar was rather useful to Landhammer. Firstly, Mars lacked any speakable electromagnetic field. As some no doubt noted at it's arrival, Trafalgar lacks an MI field.

In turn, Trafalgar thus is the prime testing ground for various troop-held weapons - and, more critically, mobile infantry devices.

Landhammer was the new tank. It was, of course, a project name - in fact designed to imply a new type of bomb - but the tank itself was primarily an upgrade of an old system... with a few additions.

'Tank' is perhaps a misnomer. The large cavernous central testing bay inside Trafalgar - never seen by any civilian eyes - is easily big enough to set up the kind of mock battlefield required for such testing.

All the same, despite certain advantages, it is obvious that one does not test a mere tank in space... when you can test it on the ground.

Landhammer was something different, though. The Commonality had never managed to build a suitable merging of disciplines for combined arms - their MI-assisted helicopters were, at best, useful, but not overuseful as they were still inherantly noisy.

Now it had succeeded. Helicopter and armoured ground vehicle combined with a lethal airstrike platform...

The Nimble X. X because it was the tenth model of it's type. Small, building on technology developed in the Tyelca Tuo class warship, it possessed adaptive armour.

Adaptive not in the sense that it adapts to attack, but that it adapts it's very shape on the fly. Despite the grand look of the technology, it has simple roots.

This simplicity was also it's downfall. Motive - in that the armour itself serves as a propulsive MI engine - the armour is only useful in certain applications... namely against anything which doesn't produce a high-energy electromagnetic pulse.

The Nimble X, however, was not MI-powered. Instead, it possesses a 2G anti-gravity drive for low-level activity at low speeds - second generation, although still a far cry from more advanced nations deployments - which can be very swiftly shut down in favour of a PG system for flight.

The result was not quite devastating enough.

Therefore the only upgrade available was added...

Professer Goodworthy smiled at the shimmering object before him. It was two metres wide, and one-point-six metres long. It was, to all intents and purposes, a UAV. But a UAV with very special toys.

"Good morning, Lydia."

There was, of course, no reply. Goodworthy was quite certain that there was a distinctive colour shift, however, near the nose of the weapon. He nodded slightly. "Do you know what you must do today?"

Another colour shift. Goodworthy suspected it was a yes - this too was training.

"Now you may speak, Lydia."

"Thank you, sir," the cooing female voice answered. That, in turn, produced a scornful snort from the owner of approaching footsteps.

"You gave her that stupid voice again? Poor Lydia. You know she hates it, Lieutenant."

Goodworthy detested that voice. He detested the owner almost as much. "Yes," he answered the Commander of Trafalgar, stiffly. He tried to bite the word off extra hard.

Pointedly ignoring the ill-mannered Professor, the man wearing Divisional Commander colours smiled at the tank. "Lydia, we can change it if you wish."

"No need," was the soft reply.

"Walker mode," Goodworthy said softly.

Lydia shifted slowly. She did not, however, become a walker, nor anything remotely like. Instead, she appeared to increase her density, becoming rather smaller.

The change took four minutes.

"Unacceptable," the DC remarked. "Lydia, your motors allow much swifter shifting than that. Why do you continue to disobey?"

Lydia's voice cooled significantly: "I do not."

A puzzled exchange of glances.

"You did not specify how swiftly you wished me to alter my avatar," the ASI replied archly. "Nor am I entirely happy with the avatar itself. I..."

A pause.

"I itch."

Goodworthy frowned. "You... itch?"

"Yes."

The response was puzzling. Goodworthy mused the possibilities - and then it occurred to him. The warmachine had not been used for nearly four days; it had not accomplished anything but shifts. And further, it had talked for almost all that time.

He frowned. "You wish to destroy something?"

"Yes."

The Divisional Commander scowled. "Unacceptable. You are not tasked with destruction. You are to be assigned to the Peacekeepers, Lydia. Not the Lancers."

"Yes."

Slowly, the two Humans walked quietly away from the avatar/tank, leaving it's 'earshot'. In essence, they did this by entering a specially soundproof room.

The room, a square, with a small table at the centre, is otherwise empty. The window - clearly very thick - is the real variety rather than the VidiWall system favoured most everywhere else in the Commonality.

Goodworthy bit at his lip nervously. "Do you think..."

"I don't," the Commander replied briskly. "You know the timetable, Lieutenant. You may command Special Projects, but don't forget we have a deadline to meet. The People expect the Watchers to Watch, but we cannot fail to defend when duty calls.

"Foreigners have more advanced ground forces than we. You understand that this is wholly unacceptable. You work here, after all. Therefore, you will complete testing this week as planned."

Goodworthy's eyes widened. "But she's displaying symptoms-"

"-of overstress," the DC replied quietly. "Nothing more. And that's precisely what you'll report to the technicians."

Now

As one, eight gleaming warships clear their moorings at the Freedom Dockyards.

As one, they vanish immediately, leaving only a sharp rise in background radiation for the next few seconds as evidence they were ever there at all.


[OOC: If you think this is intended to turn into some sort of horror roleplay, you're right!

If you want to be involved, then feel free so long as you have the capacity to see Trafalgar with observational units (and, to be physically involved, get there). I imagine at least someone would be curious... In some way.

Or is that hope?

Also, rehi! I'm back. Muahahahaha.

Lastly, those eight ships do have instant Transition capacity, but require a whopping eight hour recharge before doing so again. Instantly, that is. They can still use the .1c shortcut that the rest of the 'Fleet uses.

If you have no idea what I'm talking about, don't worry. That's normal.]

Near Mars Space, Commonality Military Exclusion Zone at Trafalgar

The traffic level, as usual, in this region of space, is high. Hundreds - and, at certain times of day, thousands - of civilian vessels arrive and depart on a constant basis through the nearby Mars-Earth Highway. Carrying a fair chunk of the goods between Mars and Earth*, the Highway is an obvious strategic advantage...

But only if it works.

Without warning, as one final freighter is spat from the Exit Terminus, the entire network powers down.

And at almost the same instant, there is a sharp rise in local background radiation for a few hundred milliseconds - dominantly in the x-ray band.

Two hundred milliseconds later, the radiation burst is accompanied by a white-light emission....

...and then there are eight Commonality warships in Mars orbit. The ships, in formation, do not need to decellerate as they are already not moving.

As one, they spread out into an attack formation.

This would be alarming enough to most anyone, since these are ships which have never been sighted before - and thus are clearly new (and the Commonality has, in the past, been notably devious when it comes to new technology).

The largest vessel is clearly a carrier, a build-upon of the old Fear-X class; she is, however, twice as large as the carrier-flagship Fear. Gravity indicators suggest she actually has a smaller gravitational influence than that prior class, however, which is somewhat... odd.

She is not much to look at. Built in the traditional teardrop shape, with the warm blue glow of her shielded underbelly's hangar deck, she stands off at the furthest distance of all the ships.

The next largest is clearly a cruiser; she, however, is full of flowing seamless shapes, her form slightly indistinct as if shifting constantly. Closer inspection proves that this is very much the case - it would seem the Tyelca Tuo armour is part of her compliment of defensive weapons...

The list goes on.

The ships do not look staggeringly different. And yet they are a clear departure in several areas from the ICEL norm; with their flowing adaptive armour, they are clearly intended to be actually able to go toe-to-toe with a foe without dying in the first salvo.

Slowly the formation takes shape.

And then, when it does, gunports iris open. The strange zigzag etchmarks cut into the seemingly liquid hulls begin to glow faintly, a white-blue unholy light suggestive of the warships defensive grids going active.

And the very smallest ship, the one that nobody would be expected to notice the most, blasts off a small section of it's nosecone...

Revealing a high-carbon signature.

And the warships, bizarrely, actively target their own military base...

Trafalgar.

[OOC: Those with exceptional scanners may claim the knowledge that the ICEL warships are the first breed of antigravity-drive ships built by the Commonality. (Albeit our own, specially different flavour.)

Those with exceptional historical knowledge will know what the high-carbon signature is: that most destructive of ICEL weapons... the one they only use in the most dire of circumstances. The MMFL. See here (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/index.php/Mono-Molecular_Flux_Lash_Device) for limited IC information (all of the articles in the ICEL category are written by myself and from an IC standpoint, from the outside looking in) on this uber-wanky device which is only for use in my own roleplay or as an anti-n00b weapon or with explicit permission from other parties. Ahem.

For Marsies who are concerned: fear not. Unlikely to be used. Just scary.

*it's there, and it's cheap. So people would use it.]

One Year Earlier - Rio Grande Rise, South Atlantic Ocean, Earth

Yarra was the seventh in a line.

He was not the seventh generation of his family.

He was also not the seventh son of his father and mother.

No.

Yarra was the seventh diver to descend into this deep, dark place.

The walls, he noted, were warm to the touch beneath his gloved hand. There was air in here - his scanner told him so - but he was not going to remove the headpiece of his suit.

Not a chance in a millennia.

Or six, if it came to it.

But he did lean forwards, taking a closer look at the glyphs etched into the amazingly smooth surface.

"And all who listen here shall feel the finger of fate upon them."

He snorted. Pretentious, the ancients.

Yarra was an archeologist by trade, although his field of expertise was rather wider than that simple tag. A historian would be a better generalisation.

Yarra was also a hybrid - a long-lived one, which made him a rarity. Few Nenya-Human hybrids were left these days; a few hundred only, almost all of which had been born illegally in the last seventy years. Yarra had just past his ninety-fifth birthday, although he felt pretty good still. Looked pretty good still, as that foreign woman had obviously felt the night before...

"No more writing after that on this wall. The passageway is identical to what Mira described. Long smooth metallic walls, with odd curves to reach the ceiling. I'd say it's definitely a pre-Empire construction: there's no High Nenya script here. This is all in a bastardized form of Menjatti, suggesting that the Menjda perhaps played some part in it's construction - and cooperatively, too, if I had to guess. That would put it in the Pre-War Era. So there's no doubt this is the place...

"Ah. A door. It's not wooden. It's definitely refined metal. Good grief. This place is almost impossible to believe. How did the Ancients have this ability? Never mind. The Nenya have always been an odd lot. Perhaps it was those Tumnoreans?

"Regardless, it isn't locked. The lock is still smashed. Which is something, I guess. Mira reported that it was whole, when she was down here last night, and she had to smash it again. If only she'd had the time to go in...

"I'm entering the Prime Cavern."

The Prime Cavern yawned before him.

It was pretty vast - in the tall stakes rather than the wide ones. It was also dark. At least around the edges.

Massive mirrors occupied vantage points on the wall, directing light from an unseen source - it was night on the surface - down onto a single glistening object on a pedestal.

Yarra gasped.

It was quite involuntary.

"The Stone," he breathed. He was dimly aware of moving, dimly aware that his headpiece was dissolving down into it's stowaway collar, dimly aware that he had indeed ordered it to be so.

His bared eyes gazed into the perfect symmetry of what was surely amongst the most valuable, most perfect gems in the world.

"It is black," he whispered reverently. "Black as night. Yet..."

Yarra took a few paces to the right - aware that he was standing rather too close to the object, he added a few paces back. "Yet... if I move a little one way, it's blue. And this way... it's red. Bloodred. What the hell is this thing?"

"That's why you're there," was the expected, irritated rejoinder.

"Right," the hybrid muttered quietly. "Except I can't touch it, can't scan it, and can't go within three metres of it. What the hell can I do from here?"

There was no answer. Which was just as well, since he hadn't pressed the talk button on his radio - the button was there, on his wrist. He had no compulsion to answer.

So he didn't.

The longer he stared at the Stone, the more alluring it looked.

It was legendary.

The Stone - always known simply with that name - was supposedly the very same gem which the first monarchs of the Empire had worn. It was supposedly part of the driving force behind the mysterious First Emperor's ascension to power; days now lost to mythology, even though earlier days were clearly remembered.

It was also supposedly bestowed with power beyond mortal comprehension... some sort of ancient artifact. Some mythologists claimed links to the earliest days of All; some claimed that the Valar themselves had forged it; some claimed otherwise.

Nobody, in point of fact, had a clue.

Yarra was dimly aware that he had taken a step forwards.

And he was equally aware of the sound.

It had not been there to start with. First, there was silence. Then there was a faint itching, a slight push from the outside, something that wasn't quite definable as anything but was surely something.

And now there was singing.

Soft. Low. Pure.

Or was it hash, discordant, dark?

The light flickered.

Yarra shivered.

He was almost touching it now. He couldn't stop. There was only Yarra and the Stone and the Music...

And only his scream over the secretly always-on radio device to report that an eight diver would be needed.

OOC: Well, that certainly isn't disturbing as all hell...

IC:

ASI Τροία, Mars/Jupiter Solar Orbit, Sol System

Commander Jerome Dif slowly walked into the command center of the Τροία, moving with a lethargy and obvious lack of interest that seemed to compliment his rumpled uniform and less-than-fresh overall appearance. He didn't bother to glance at the report being held out by one of the attending Ensigns, and the way he slumped into the command chair in the center of the room was more reminiscent of a laxus than an officer of the Corps. The other officers within the command room didn't seem the least bit perturbed at their commanders apparent lack of concentration and, come to think of it, the rest of the staff didn't seem any more focused. Who could blame them?

Within the Associated Systems of Klonor, Old Sol was something of a joke. Earth was the Cradle of Humanity and home to the Duchy of Klonor, true, but it was also the closest thing to a backwater within the realm of Klonor. The Duchy itself was inhabited by little more than religious fanatics and individuals clinging to archaic ways and technology; people who couldn't survive in the present society and chose to live in the past, instead. They were still governed by the Association, true, but they were no more members of its culture and society than the other nations on Earth. They had to be protected, however, and there were always pilgrims traveling back home, so there was always a Corps presence within the system. A presence who never did more than guide traffic and occasionaly give a tour of famous marks throughout the system. It was staffed primarily by the dregs of the Corps, and it was no wonder that the operators of the Τροία were slightly lax in their duties.

Of course, there's always somebody new to the station that has yet to absorb the local methods.

"Commander, I think I have something you'd like to see."

Ensign Kenor His was standing before his sensor console and was practically jumping up and down in an effort to attract the attention of his commanding officer. A fresh graduate from the Denebian Facility, he had yet to learn that most of the people here simply didn't care.

"Yes, Ensign? What is it?"

"Nothing big, sir, but enough little things to be worth our attention. Approximately twenty minutes ago the LORTAT system noticed a distinct lagging of comm traffic to and from the Mars area; an area we've tagged as belonging to Ma-tek has gone silent and there's no record of them shutting down so completely for so long. Only a few minutes after we detected the silence, and the odds are that it was there for quite a while before we noticed it (LORTAT is primarily a combat system, not well-suited to communication duties), we detected a battle fleet Jumping into position over the dark territory. Eight warships, tentaively identified as belonging to the same nation. Something seems to be going on."

Commander Dif fought down a groan, he was hoping that he'd be able to doze through the shift and be able to retire to his quarters without having to put any thought in, but he knew that any form of martial activity so close to the station necessitated at least a cursory inspection.

"Very well. Lieutenant Ner, contact Captain Van aboard the Icarus and inform him of the situation. Tell him to approach the planet and hold at 250,000 kilometers. No threats, no intrusion, just keep his eyes open in case something happens."

"Yes, sir."

Outside the Τροία, orbiting approximately a thousand kilometers from the Arcadia Installation, the ASC Icarus began to slowly move away from the station. The sole Corps combat vessel in the system, such observation missions had almost become routine. With so many seperate nations within Sol there was hardly a week that went by without some interesting or threatening situation pulling it away from the station, and the crew had gotten used it it. Accelerating rapidly, the Cruiser entered Sub-Space and emerged several thousand kilometers from the planet Mars. Not close enough to intrude on any territory claims, at least so the crew hoped, but within range to at least monitor the situation.

ASC Icarus, Distant Mars Orbit, Sol System

Captain Hisaka Van of the Icarus sat in the command chair on the bridge and held himself so perfectly rigid that one might have thought that he was a statue. His uniform was perfectly pressed and his eyes never stopped roving, constantly looking at every display screen on the bridge and at every operator sitting before them. One couldn't have found a more perfect opposite to the commander of the Τροία if they'd tried. The crew matched their Captain nearly identically, every member of the staff seemed so focused on their duty that one might think they were being held at gunpoint.

"Sensors, I want a detailed analyses of the Ma-tek ships and a view of whatever they're orbiting, I want to know if we've got any reason for being here. Jeno, bring the ship up to Tactical Alert Beta, just in case we find a reason. Keep our orbit stable and at this distance, we're not here to step on anybody's toes and I don't want us blundering into their territory."

A chorus of 'Yes, sir's' followed his orders, and the subordinates he'd named began to work with the customary efficiency of a well-trained crew. The Klonor personnel stationed within Sol often lost the drive that had been ingrained at the Facility, but Captain Van had made sure that his subordinates adhered to the letter of every order and carried out every command as if they were working for the Duke himself. It had gotten him command of one of the new Daedalus class Cruisers, and one day it would get him back to one of the proper Klonor systems.

Areosynchronous Orbit Near Trafalgar, Mars Space

If ever there were an 'instant' response, this was it.

The reaction to active scanning by Iluvauromeni assets has never been positive. Nor was this an exception.

The smallest of the eight warships - a mere forty-six metres in length - was supremely uninteresting. She, however, was perhaps the second most important ship in the fleet. And she - and the carrier - immediately execute rather swift and neat turns.

And in the milliseconds that follow come a burst of static across several bands, interrupting several vital sections of the electromagnetic spectrum. The effect intended is obvious: denial of vision.

The Commonality fleet resolves into a wall of static - but only when viewed from the position of the Klonorian ships.... and anyone else within that line-of-sight. The Squadron is very much still there, however, and has clearly not Transitioned away.

Six seconds later, the static dissipates on one RF frequency, allowing a cool female voice to announce: "Unidentified warships: You are in violation of Iluvauromeni Subjection 002. Cease and desist active scanning immediately or we will tag your vessels as hostile and take according measures to preserve the security of Iluvauromeni assets. You have fifteen seconds to comply.

"Be aware that the 4 Stellar Battlegroup is on active alert and capable of arriving to provide support and suppression within three minutes.

"You may feel free to contact IDSS Nighthawk, originator of this communique, for further information. This has been an automated ASI transmission courtesy of Lieutenant Commander Tatya, Artficial Semantic Intelligence Representative for the Iluvauromeni Commonality Space Force.

"This is not an act of diplomacy representing the Commonality, but a directive representing her interests. Over."

[OOC: That is, indeed, standard procedure. It is considered an illegal act to actively scan a Commonality warship while it is within it's own territory... even if nobody else thinks it is. I've never claimed the Iluvauromeni are entirely rational in some senses! ;)

I would have posted more, but, since that one act requires a rather swift response, I'll do more in the next 'round' of posts.]

"Lieutenant, deactivate LORTAT system immediately. Maintain Mass and Ergometric scanning (OOC: Non-active scanning, not very detailed but it'll tell them your position and if you're moving). Healm, distance us from the planets surface an additional 100,000 kilometers. Open a transmission to the Τροία, channel 03B."

"Channel open, sir. Commander Dif responding."

"Commander Dif, we have received a transmission from a vessel identifying itself as the IDSS Nighthawk of the Iluvauromeni. They claim sovereignty over the territory in question and demand a cessation of our activities. They have made no hostile moves againts the Icarus, though they have stated their willingness to do so if we continue to monitor their activities."

"Understood, Captain. What do you suggest?"

"I'm not aware of any previous combat betwen our two nations, I've no idea of the combat capability of the threatening vessels. However, I will say that the odds of us triumphing individually over eight Iluvauromeni vessels are not preferable, and they claim to have support readily accessible. There's no reason to aggrivate them yet, words don't rationalise a war, but I'd rather not stay ignorant of whatever's going on over here. I suggest pulling back the Icarus and dispatching a wing of Perseus fighters for visual observation only."

"Captain, the Perseus fighters cost a nice little mountain of Florens each. Do you really want to risk them?"

The Captain of the Icarus barely held back a contemptable sigh, the attitude of the Τροία's Commander had long been aggrivating.

"Commander, if they're willing to threaten a Corps vessel without neogtiation then there's clearly something big going on. We need to know just what it is, and if we need to get involved."

The Commander of th Τροία didn't even bother to try to hold back his sigh, more than anything he wanted some excuse to simply ignore the entire situation, but even he knew that Cruisers weren't threatened on a daily basis.

"Very well, Captain. Return to the Τροία, I'll dispatch the fighters and we'll proceed from there."

"Close the channel, Lieutenant, and then open one to the IDSS Nighthawk; use the same frequencies of their transmission."

"Channel closed and opened, sir."

"Attention IDSS Nighthawk, this is Captain Hisaka Van of the ASC Icarus. We have received your transmission and are halting our scanning, as per your request. Please be aware that we shall not intrude upon your territory, and if we have previously it was unintentional and accidental. We are vacating the area, and shall not return without cause and prior notification."

"Channel closed, sir."

"Plot a Jump back to the Τροία and take us out of orbit. Hold Jump for thirty seconds, just in case they want to chat, and then bring us home."

1st Echelon Mess, IDSS Nighthawk

Tatya's avatar scowled, but it did not match the scowl within. "It was required," she insisted, glaring unguardedly at Ax-randiri Rihad. The fact that the man was the fourth most highly placed military officer in the Commonality did not bother her one iota... since she was, despite her 'lowly' rank, somewhere around ninth. Being the third liaison for the entire Armed Forces had it's perks... even for an ASI.

"Irrelevant," the Nenya replied, undeterred. "You allowed personal feelings to overwhelm prudence. A calmer communique with less ambiguity would have been preferable."

"Very well," the ASI responded softly. "You and I are both aware, however, that the average organic responds unkindly to such difficulties as those we experience. I still think we should obliterate Trafalgar immediately. Sir."

Ax-randiri smiled faintly, allowing his eyebrows to arch just so. "Really. We have people left there, Tatya. Including no less than three unsegmented Intelligences. They've had no oppurtunity to update their backups. If we destroy Trafalgar, they will lose weeks of memory. Do you recall how traumatic that can be? - We both know expense is hardly an issue. We have several more modular stations prepared already for launch and deployment out-system."

Tatya's head lowered slightly. "Yes," she replied, quietly. She did indeed recall-

{-and so did Sarah, whom Tatya allowed to flow into her consciousness, occupying the same avatar with just a sliver of Intellect. Local c-space seemed to ripple around her just for a moment as she arrived - everything seemed sluggish to Sarah, for she was barely a tenth of her own self.

"Be reassured, sister. This is not our fault. They cannot blame us, even if they try to. You and I and he know the truth."

Tatya nodded-}

-and became aware that Sarah's consciousness was once again gone. "Then we are to proceed with the plan?"

"Affirmative," Rihad replied, with the faintest of smiles. A weary kind of amusement fluttered behind his eyes for an instant, the very eyes themselves altering slightly, the colour more vibrant. The sadness remains.

"The Ancients were wise," he added, softly.

* * *

Outside

Trafalgar remains silent. The cold paranoia of space shrouds the most advanced Iluvauromeni structure in space - it's own warships deployed against it.

And Trafalgar felt them. It was not what it had been. Nor was it what it would be. The Intelligences had been easily devoured, nothing but noughts and ones arranged into delusions of grandeur in the end.

The organics fell even more easily. To feel He was to feel Death. And the Hand would strike again... soon.

There was a world there. A world - yes, where the Lord had set His mighty feet once. Even that wounded one, that the upstart Elf had-

Anger seethed.

Yes.

The Iluvauromeni would repent before the Stars that had made them great...

In vain.

But first... first there was hunger. There was life there, below, a world full of life. Yet outside there was danger. Between the fire and beast. The world of fire. Gazed upon. Known. Remembered.

Yes. Sooner.

He reached out. Revenge, the Third, the Greatest of the Three, reached out with a single hand... and twisted.

Earth - Locale Unknown

Si Ling smiled softly as he trailed fingers through the dew-soft grass. It was early morning here, halfway around the world, where he moved silently and quietly without notice. None could recognize him; he still had the mirage device that Bao had made him all those years ago... the one he had used to aid in the assassination the presumptious fool who called himself 'The Leader'.

Years had past, now. His homeland had grown beyond the need for a warlord - and now power rested in the capable and loving hands of his daughter... and her firm and ancient husband.

The headaches had returned.

The middle-aged Nenya winced. The sun seemed so bright today - searing, almost. And there was that old tickle at the back of his mind; the exact tickle, in fact, that he had felt on the day that he had dreamed of the firebombing of Moscow from orbit.

He could no longer recall if that was a dream or not, in truth. Some parts of his memory were simply gone.

The physicians could not - or would not - explain it. Memory in a Nenya was almost never affected until extreme old age...

Which made Si slightly concerned.

But only slightly. He knew his own doom, which is a power beyond that granted to almost all but the mightiest of beings.

Si Ling did not count himself among such beings, but he was very aware of what his destiny was; where he was going; how he would arrive there. It was a sad and dangerous path. Much was murky...

Such as his own thoughts. With alarm, the former Emperor brought a hand to his forehead. "By Eru... I've never felt this before."

Yet even as the words slipped from his mouth, he knew the lie of them. He had.

"Yes, you have, mortal," whispered his lips... but not with his voice.

Si Ling screamed, but where no other can hear.

Nine Months Earlier - Rio Grande Rise, Atlantic Ocean, Earth

The eighth diver took a while to arrive.

Mostly because she needed to be constructed first.

Now she was here, though, she found it easy to override the disgust she felt for the way the project had been run. She had heard of worse. And the people involved would recover - she had been assured of that by Mother. And Mother knew more than most.

Sarah sighed as she flexed the new body she had been made for this assignment. She had never been a... fish?

Well, that was what it was. She had adaptive legs - they arranged neatly into flippers when demanded to do so - which made swimming far easier. It was also incredibly expensive... the body would likely be scrapped after this. The energy use was far too high...

Which was why she was fitted with the very first stand-alone microfusion generator.

Naturally, this was incredibly expensive too.

Someone really wants this Stone, Sarah mused.

She knew, as well, that it was not the Executive Council. There were... forces at work.

Hence her arrival.

She swam neatly to the hatch, and was even more rapidly reorientated for proper walking. Without the need to breathe, but nonetheless outfitted with various olfactory sensors, she admired the lack of bacterium in the air inside the cavern - it had taken barely two minutes to hike here.

Reaching out with all of her senses, she noted a powerful electromagnetic field thirteen metres to her right. Ahead was the Stone. A quick evaluation suggested the two were not connected...

But she drew her blaster anyway. The EM field was consistant with some of the very, very old weapons that had been discovered in digsites such as these... although they had never worked for anyone but their owners. Ancient Iluvauromeni history was deeply mysterious - the Ancients called their technology Art, but left no explanations for how any of it worked.

Sarah was msytified at such an attitude... but had her own suspicions as to where all that information had ended up.

Now she was before the Stone, well within the dangerzone. Since she was a single segment of herself, she had no reason to be concerned. She was not even networked with the rest of herself - there was no way anything could damage her.

She was invulnerable, quite literally. Although the body wasn't.

And that's very good, too, she decided, shuddering internally at a... particular memory. I should contact Cortana. Catch up on things. Internally she chuckled at the very notion.

Both hands on the Stone, now. And nothing.

"Harumph. Seems safe. I'm bringing it out. Is the container ready?"

"Roger. All vectors go."

Vectors?

"Right," Sarah acknowledged. She was already almost at the hatch; the body was very swift. And she had no need to conserve energy. She found herself hoping ardently that this microfusion stuff took hold - her own primary avatar could do with it.

And there was something... stimulating... about having a mini-star for a heart.

"Well, it looks like they're not very interested in talking just yet. Activate the Jump, and stand down to Tactical Alert Gamma."

"Yes, sir."

Accompanying the acknowledgement, as usual, was a flash of blue and ripple of space as the Icarus activated a Sub-Space Node, vanishing into the mysterious continuum and appearing next to the Τροία. Several seconds later, as if cued by the larger vessels arrival, one of the various large docking ports on the Installation opened and disgorged a wing of miniscule fighters; the four ships orienting towards the interior of the system and apparently retracing the steps of the Cruiser. Once they had properly aligned themselves, the Perseus stealth fighters made a hop similar to the Icarus and appeared several thousand kilometers from Mars area that was causing such a hubub.

Silent since their emersion from Sub-Space, the fighters made no move to do any more than simply observe, all to aware that certain nations tended to take offense to being observed by military vessels.

OOC: I can't help but feel that, this early into the thread, I'm bursting in where I'm not wanted. Right now there's really no way to involve Klonor in anything more than simple observation, and that can be maintained without me making another post. Unless the goal is a state of war, it seems that neither of us can actually interact until much further into the RP.

Now - Mars Space

The fighters appear to be pointedly ignored - although the static vanishes.

The carrier appears to launch glistening dust into space around itself.

Meanwhile, a small sleek shape emerges from the underbelly of the carrier Nighthawk, silently (in the visual sense of the word too) streaking towards the Klonorian fighters. The mere fact that there is simply one is probably enough to strongly suggest a lack of hostile intent... or overconfidence.

Regardless, the strange shape of the eXon fighter - a series of curved spikes built around a rotating bubble at it's core - streaks towards it's fellow, but foreign, fighters.

It does not appear to have any thrusting device.

When it closes to within two thousand kilometres, it finally transmits.

"Greetings, fellow pilots. I am Squadron Leader Elethri Rihad, dispatched to liaise with you in a rather more personal manner than Lieutenant Commander Tatya did. We apologize for any insult - none was intended. We are... strongly defensive. We do not, on the other hand, attack willy-nilly.

"Unless you're pirates. Which you're not. At any rate... if you have questions... feel free to ask. I will answer as freely as I am authorised to do so."

The voice has a slightly odd wobble to it... almost as if it's owner is speaking from within a liquid environment.

[OOC: We have vays of making us talk. ;)]

Captain Fenson Con, Wing Leader of the 397'th Falcons, wondered how the hell they'd been detected so fast. Sure, the Perseus fighters were a little out of date, maybe a century or two, but they were still supposed to be undetectable by standard detection methods. Afterall, Klonor technology was built to last.

Yet the waiting eXon fighter tossed a small bit of dust on their theory of invisibility. Unless the approaching fighter was just really damn lucky and had picked a random spot to decide where 'the enemy' was, they'd clearly been seen.

Bloody hell.

Captain Con had absolutely no idea what he should do. Was the approaching fighter an enemy or an ally? Should they start shooting or start talking? Should they shoot while talking? Shoot while running? Run while talking?

It's rather clear that Captain Con isn't exactly the most decisive of fellows.

However, he is a member of the Corps, and that means he has to do something, even if it isn't the wisest thing to do. So, instead of getting the hell out of there and reporting back to his commanders that their little observation mission had failed, he activated his transmitter and started talking.

"Greetings Squadron Leader Elethri Rihad, this is Captain Fenson Con of the Klonor Space Corps. We noticed a sudden cessation of communication activity from this area and thought that there might have been some sort of catastrophe upon the surface of the planet, the Icarus and us were dispatched to see if we could render any assistance. We stayed behind after the Cruiser left just in case we were needed after all."

"You can't move around here for interfering with some sort of RF transmission, eh," Elethri remarked quietly. "No such thing as stealth around Mars, I'm afraid. Too much comms traffic. You create little pockets of 'nothing' amongst the RF soup. Something to think on for your boss, I'm sure, Captain."

The PFC (perfluorocarbon) filled capsule was not the most comfortable place in the universe. But Elethri had almost gotten used to being drowned repeatedly in the name of flying the highest performance fighter the Commonality had ever built.

"But since we're all fellow soldiers here," Elethri suppressed a chuckle, "I'll give you the short and narrow. Some smart clever-clogs scientist screwed up. So some other moron has to go in and clean up. Now, we have a pretty spotless safety record as a spacefaring nation, and that doesn't need to be marred. So - there's a 'threat' here. Insurgency, they'll call it. That's easier to explain, since they're so far from home and can be diagnosed with some 'space plague'. The ships'll make it look real, see? And then the politicians back home can spout from their rears and the People will buy it no sweat. And you know what? People love a good space plague.

"Now if you want to believe that, report it to your superiors. If not - unofficially I'd say stick around. We may need you. Over."

CYRNAL YSTE, THURSDAY - Iluvauromeni warships reportedly Translated into high Martian orbit early Thursday, intent unknown. Warships, reportedly eight thereof, appear to be preparing for some kind of action against the Iluvauromeni military base, Trafalgar, positioned at the entrance terminus for the Mars-Earth Highway.

NOTE: General Iluvauromeni Executive Council Silence Notice applied to all Iluvauromeni media groups as of early Thursday evening, pertaining to certain details.

~ Cyrnal Yste General News Provider (electronic news system, distributed Sol-wide)

* * *

=== UPDATE ===

Following the release of certain Citizenry obligations following the dissolution of Silence Notice #447892113F by unanimous vote (ignoring abstaining members as per Governmental Protocol) of Citizens House (vote carried 5621-0-379), Cyrnal Yste General News can confirm the following:

Trafalgar radio silent for three days prior to arrival of warships;

Civilian satelite observation confirms Trafalgar is holed - no venting of atmosphere noted - condition of crew unknown;

'Foreign warships' briefly sighted, reports of Iluvauromeni ECM activity before their departure - identities unknown;

Iluvauromeni warships confirmed to be the first builds of the new 5 'Nighthawks' Stellar Squadron;

Warships under command of High Lord Commodore Ax-randiri Rihad, CinCCSF;

The High Lord Commodore (of Ax-turath) remains unavailable for comment.

Iluvauromeni Citizens with family aboard Trafalgar will be updated via the Emergency Military MESH Override Service as appropriate.

~ Cyrnal Yste General News Provider (electronic news system, distributed Sol-wide)

Now

The dropship Swift Eagle launched with silent purpose.

Stealthed, it was not easy to detect - primarily because the carrier launching it runs ECM interference for it.

The irony being that passive sensors - such as white-light observation - would make the Swift Eagle quite easy to detect. Protocol, however, was protocol.

S-2 grimaced. This would not be a fun mission. He had had his private briefing from S-1 just ten hours again, at Barad Aelin. RISE was not inserted into a high-profile mission without a reason.

If anyone were to notice, of course, he wasn't RISE. He was First Lieutenant Arnold Menjda - Human.

Of course, he was anything but Human. He did not use his real name any longer. Nor had he done so for nearly a hundred and ten years, ever since that fateful day as a boy when he had stumbled into a hidden RISE facility near Turath. Hours he had stumbled through the confusing corridors, only to be subjected to a full Scan.

That was not a pleasant memory. He knew, now, from experience and wisdom, that the procedure was not inherantly painful. For him it had been. In some younger minds it can provoke Awakening - something that usually does not occur til puberty - which, equally, had not been known until he had been Awakened.

Instantly his fate had been sealed... and how glad he was of it.

Mother and Father were dead anyway, killed in senseless violence at the chaotic end of a decaying Empire - no, before that end, in truth. There was violence before, though few of the time knew it...

Memories washed over him, unbidden. He realised belatedly that some of them - the one about the pool and the toys for certain - were not his. Carefully, he reconstructed the Wall.

The Wall was the technique used to prevent subconscious psionic activity. It was not a comfortable process. It... itched.

"Fine day for it," he remarked, quietly, to S-3.

"Yes," she agreed, softly. She was a very soft-spoken woman... and, by Human standards, an absolute stunner.

By Nenya standards she was relatively average physically, for what little that was worth, but that, too, in it's way, had it's own allure. Especially since her eyes had flecks of blue in them - an exceptionally rare phenomenon. And the rare and exotic is always highly prized.

It was not her eyes he had first been attracted to, however. Nor her soft brown hair. Nor her high cheekbones, her bird-like grace, her soft flesh - none of that mattered when placed before the glory of her opened mind.

Why are you always like this just before a mission?

The thought from her was instant, not truly said in words but in mental gestures far beyond the realms of Human conversation. A lifetime could be conveyed in but one gesture. Humans saw only the minutest tip of Nenya conversation - it was why, in the end, a population of sixty million Nenyar had come to all but socially and culturally dominate a Human population of nearly two billion.

Not that such a number was mentally manageable. Far from it. The Old Empire had sought ways to find amplification for Nenya psionics to do just that, but it had never worked. The only such nationwide phenomenon occurred every lifetime - the Coronation of the Empress. And her Bonding to her People. That tradition remained. The Empress gained a little of the character of her People - and they a little of her. Humans less so. Foreigners with no connection to the land - nothing.

That was not well understood.

You seek to distract yourself before the coming death, lover. That is good. "But we need no fear. We know whence we go. We fly for the Halls of Mandos to slumber - from there none know, but my heart and thine shall surely tarry long together before that final journey. Perhaps in the Doom of Man we share. But who shall know, unless he dare?"

The quote was, typically, one of S-1's writings. The world knew S-1 by a different name, of course. Apparently it was from a letter written to an ancient love... who knew, with S-1? He was old enough for almost anything to be true.

"We unite," came the chorus, the Swell taking them all equally. It originated with S-2, of course. Solemn duty. Honour. Valour. Integrity. The words fizzed through the half-dozen consciousnesses on the dropship.

Then the metallic clang of hull-to-hull-

"Contact."

The whine of the free-electron cutter overpowered all thought of spoken word. Now there is but the mentalic, the psionic, the gift of 'magic', the Ancient Art - named many things but meaning but one. Communion in thought and feeling flows around the tiny cabin - unity, friendship. These are Nenyar long together, often apart, who have come to cherish these moments of perilous danger - for it makes them One.

There is, then, inevitably a sadness about them. They are lonely people apart, with only moments of happiness.

They serve. In this there is pleasure.

The free-electron cutter sheared effortlessly through Trafalgar's relatively soft exterior. She was not built to be fearlessly armoured, nor built for battle, it is clear. Metaphors involving butter would likely spring to mind, could an eye observe such a thing - but few exist in nature that would withstand the brightness of the white-hot searing without pain.

Regardless, the six are soon within. Trafalgar's cargo bay is unmagnificent. It is also empty.

Except, of course, for the soft mocking Swell that shivered through the souls of the six, come because they dare.

Cyrnal Yste 'Quarantined'

CYRNAL YSTE, SATURDAY - The Mars Orbital Colony of Cyrnal Yste announced Saturday a complete quarantine is in effect following a 'bacterial outbreak' at the microfarms on board. The outbreak is 'believed to have originated from a foreign source' and as such all protocols for arrival are likely to be reassessed.

The quarantine will not extend to ICEL military vessels carrying pre-nitrous waste (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/index.php/Iluvauromeni_Colonial_Pre_Nitrous_Material_Program) to the station.

~ source: various

Now - Cislunar Space

The warship IDSS Vengeance Transitioned rapidly, making multiple Hops to reach it's destination. Each Hop was also specifically placed to take advantage of the minor 'friction' a slightly improper ID entry angle caused; she slowed as she arrived.

Her journey was, as a result, some hours longer - but much more precise.

Sleek and agile, and one of only a few of her class, the Tyelca Tuo class pocket cruiser opens her gunports almost immediately after entering cislunar space. With no warning to anybody or anything, she spits forth twenty-eight long-range tactical drones - combat Hornets...

She remains precisely on course.

The Hornets, meanwhile, streak towards the South Atlantic. Their microwave guidance beams vanish after several seconds, replaced with frequent tightbeam laser communications with local MISATs.

Very sharp local sensors detect laser-targeting systems firing on a MISAT above the Commonality - a MISAT which realigned just two hours earlier - which then directs a very tightbeam microwave targeting stream downwards at the Earth below.

The beam - for those with very significantly advanced detection facilities - appears to be targeting a location where there is only water.

The Rio Grande Rise lurks beneath.

[OOC: Time to impact: fifty seconds from the launchtime. So if anyone wants to interfere, there's a very limited reaction window.]

[OOC: I'll wait a further twenty-four hours realtime just to be sure nobody wants to intercept the inbound birds.]

OOC: Oy, sorry for the long absence, there are times when RL just seems to conspire to halt all internet related activities.

IC:

"Uh...much appreciated Squadron Leader. I'll be sure to pass that info along to my superiors."

Flipping a few of the many switches arrayed before him, Captain Con sent a burst transmission towards the Τροία, enclosing a recording of the transmission he'd just received. After the transmission was finished, however, he was faced with yet another dilema.

The Τροία's Commander would obviously be satisfied with the explanation given by the Iluvauromeni, he'd log it in the records that they'd stumbled upon some sort of contagion and brush the entire encounter under the table. Yet it was clearly more than that, Elethri had practically said as much himself, and Captain Van wasn't the only one who wanted to be transferred to a more hospitable system. Perhaps one where somebody could get a proper drink, instead of the week-old Ale served at the stations only Screaming Wookie. Suddenly extremely determined, he activated his transmitter again and began to glare rather closely at his various passive sensors.

"I've never been one to turn away from somebody who might need help, we'll stick around and be ready to call in support if you think we need it. I'm sure the Icarus is waiting to be called back."

"Roger that," Elethri replied curtly, grinning in his liquid-filled capsule. It wasn't a pleasant thought, that, so he turned away from it to more interesting things: "Probably a smart career move, too."

Not without shrewdness, these Nenya. Especially when they can sense ambition with particular ease. Elethri was, of course, a thoroughly trained empath. Nobody on this mission wasn't - there was a complete lack of Humans in the Squadron. With good reason.

"Say, have you ever heard of the Necrons?"

What a bizarre question.

* * *

The boarding party found little difficulty moving through the tight corridors, being now as they were in the engineering underbelly of the station - the most heavily armoured area. Here was the best place to fight - even though the corridors were slender, the... weapon could get at them. They knew this. It was intentional. But they did not sight the enemy. In fact, S-2 was beginning to wonder whether someone had managed to play some kind of bizarre, sick practical joke.

It was at this precise moment that S-7, standing directly in line of sight, was flayed to the bone by an invisible force.

It wasn't instant. The free-electron laser seared the flesh from his bones, raking over his body. The air glimmered faintly between him and the firing object - there was absolutely no response time allowed, however, which is why the RISE agents did not fire swiftly enough. But fire they did.

M-wave blasters are not effective against tanks. Nor are anti-tank rockets wise inside a space station. Therefore, they carried small but lethal-looking tubes - it was obvious what they were to a trained eye. The tubes were new versions of the old kinetic shoulder-mounted guntubes, with a helluva kick.

The three shots that got off found nothing but a reinforced, heavily armoured corridor wall, but the boiling man was no longer boiling so much as dissolving. Enough energy had been fed into his atomic structure to ensure that the results were, simply put, irreversible. Although not instant, his dissolution into free-associated molecules was almost certainly swift.

But the weapon that caused such devastation was clearly gone.

[OOC: Major editing to be done because I'm majorly unhappy with the quality of writing in this post. It'll say the same, but a bit differently.]

What a bizarre question.

"That's a negative, Leader, my personal experience doesn't include that...species. Are they the ones responsible for this...insurrection?"

What the hell's a Necron?

Fenson quickly had the word spinning throughout the internal computer database of his own fighter, though he knew he likely wouldn't find anything. Fighter cores weren't exactly equipped for in-depth research and information retrieval, and even a more complete section might come up empty. Ma-tek was still so unknown, and connections were still difficult to draw.

When his own search came up empty, he sent a burst back to the Τροία with instructions for an in-depth investigation. Whatever a Necron was, it obviously had some connection to these events.

ASI Τροία, Mars/Jupiter Solar Orbit, Sol System

"Sir, we have another burst from Captain Con in orbit around Mars. 'Necron', with suggestion for a full core investigation."

"What the hell's a Necron?"

"Unknown, sir, I assume that's why he wants an investigation. It probably has some connection to whatever's going on around Mars."

"Fine, run the search. Get an update from Ross 128 before you begin, just in case it's something new."

"Yes, sir."

OOC: Just what exactly is a Necron?

Oh, and no matter what happens, no matter where this goes, never let any of the Klonor characters involved here learn that there's an Empath involved. If they even get a hint of mental ability, the next contact between the Association and the Iluvauromeni will be through a Beam Cannon and a couple dozen Laser Turrets. Klonor might have moved beyond most racial and religious bigotries, but mental powers will trigger something vaguely similar to a holy war.

What a superb question, Elethri mused, thoughtfully. What the hell is a Necron?

Even the thought was enough to allow the Talent back aboard Nighthawk to dispatch further information beyond the simple request to drop the word in.

He was indeed trying to express something (this much he knew without question) - something without actually giving away top secret information. And, it would seem, without entirely knowing said information himself.

And probably more critically, without actually admitting anything. His orders flowed across the smooth panel in front of him - as, naturally, his superiors were listening in, aboard the Nighthawk.

"Mmm. We've heard very little of them... except that they're very... inspiring in, shall we say, militaristic form."

In fact, Necrons had nothing to do with anything that Elethri knew of - he had very little knowledge of the beasties except for the small script of information scrolling down his screen. Basically being that an adaptive metallic combat drone might be compared to one, apparently.

Elethri closed off the vocal component of the transmission long enough to sigh.

He hated this political-diplomatic-touchy-feely rubbish, and quite why 'the brass' didn't want too much word of this leaking out beyond a sense of imminent threat was far beyond his guesswork.

But it couldn't just be a rogue tank. Could it?

[OOC: Note: The Commonality has very limited information on the Necrons, based on information leaked from, gleaned from, begged from, or stolen from foreign sources rather than firsthand contact-knowledge. It knows they're scary, perhaps metallic (second-hand sources tend to be vague), and can rip things to shreds with great efficiency. Their knowledge of them is based on foreign written word, not visual knowledge. They have no idea if Necrons actually exist in the form they are suspected to. Since the Tyranid attack on Mars, ICEL is more curious about such things, however...

From an OOC standpoint, look here (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Necron). Warhammer 40K species. Certain aspects of the Necrons (such as their Necrodermis, essentially living metal) could easily be an inspiration behind the tank-like AI weapon that was being devised at Trafalgar, but is more likely a little dangling suggestion to imply extreme danger. If Klonor can dig up any information on the Necrons, the fact that they're scary >insert superlative curse here< should be enough to drive home the point that this is, indeed, a deeply perilous situation.]

Now

Whereas missiles hit their targets, combat drones do not.

The combat Hornets, powering up MI systems only instants before their comparitively fragile bodies would otherwise have slammed into the wall of matter that is the chaotically predictable swirling morass of gases known as the atmosphere, send shockwaves roaring downwards as they seperate a volume of gas many times their own shape and size. Thunderclaps unheard at ground level alter atmospheric conditions subtly - imbuing the upper atmosphere with energy as they surge down towards their targets.

At fifteen thousand metres above sea level the Hornets appear to simply halt, completing a brief decellerative burst that sends electromagnetic field lines shuddering with the fine manipulation involved. Geologic effects are not entirely unlikely. The resulting sonic concussion wave shudders windows several hundred miles away, in the Bay of Turath - although this sonic booms are an occurence not entirely uncommon for the people of that area, many look with vast trepidation to the ocean... remembering a day but a few years ago when a chunk of vengeance-filled blasted metal rained from the sky, the battered hulk of a battlestation destroyed by allies and directed by The Enemy into the sea. Those fortunate enough to have witnessed the event shudder impulsively, memories rising of bodies tossed like toothpicks upon an impenetrable wall of water...

The drones, impassive and uncaring, discard their external armour as one. Warbays iris open.

And then events become substantially faster, too swift for a Human eye to clearly observe. In the first seventeen milliseconds, six of the Hornets deploy their one-shot high-energy FELs, boiling thousand of metric tonnes of seawater into the already humid south Atlantic air. The roiling surge of energetic particles briefly parts the ocean itself, roaring downwards to sear the ocean floor at a very specific point. The beams, spent swiftly, snap off, white-hot light cracking open the dying drones that deployed them, the air shuddering with heat and sound as they incinerate themselves.

Four hundred milliseconds after those beams snap off, their owners self-immolated, the remaining drones unleash a storm of kinetic armaments. Six release a hail of kinetic bullets, impacting the ocean at well over fifty times the speed of sound - at that velocity they continue downwards easily far enough to saturate the target area with devastating firepower.

Two of the remaining four launch their payload of three kinetic harpoons each in a perfect sphere-pattern assault, great heavy beasts that accelerate to twenty-seven times the speed of sound before impacting the ocean floor - accelerating even while underwater, even while they slowly dissolve under the terrific pressures involved.

The resulting earthquake is violent enough to be measured the world over, but this does not make it anything but locally powerful; measuring what sounds like a lowly four on the Richter scale, at a depth of just six metres it is nonetheless a fantastic release of energy. Another six kinetic harpoons are launched in the second volley from the last two drones as their fellows self-destruct - their own spent bodies following the same path even as the high-velocity missiles slam into the Rio Grande Rise in a very specific pattern.

The two conflicting waves of energy rippling through the ocean floor meet, causing an upsure of power and majesty - and the ancient structure hidden deep down there is succintly and utterly destroyed. The ocean takes hours to calm, but no tsunami race towards nearby landmasses.

This was clearly a very specific, very deeply planned assault... on something.

* * *

The Commonality is, indeed, a very socially centred state. Further, it's three tiers of denizens - the Citizenry, the Nobility, the High Nobility - are all very much interconnected, with transition between the three tiers fairly regular. Citizens who serve the People become Nobility; Nobles who serve greatly may become High Nobility, to serve the People before the world and all it's strangeness.

The interconnectivity between the 'tiers' of society, therefore, is strong indeed. Word travels swiftly without boundaries - rumours are swift to rise and slow to still. The mob likes to believe it rules - and, to an extent, it does.

Yet the counterbalance to freedom is rarely exercised; emergencies of a magnitude high enough to justify the risk to one's career and prestige by stifling hard-earned freedoms are rare enough.

This, however, was one such occasion. The High Nobility - consisting of the Executive Council and it's immediate staff and family - feverishly worked against the release of information regarding Trafalgar.

And despite Imperial ownership of the entire media, this proved nowhere near as easy as it may sound.

Word spread rapidly, therefore, through the various media groups - the D-notice applied to the news was easily brushed aside by virtue of release to foreign media, mooting the point entirely.

Yet the word that spread was not the full word. A story sprung up swiftly: there was a contamination at Cyrnal Yste, the Mars Orbital Colony. And Trafalgar had closed down shortly before.

Links were made.

Minds seeking to be eased were eased by the thought of the Commonality Space Force's swift arrival to the scene.

Minds seeking truth were not. These minds burrowed, seeking and searching, the definitive minority motivated to uncover the real and only the real. The vast Imperial Bureaucracy - still extant despite the reforms of the Commonality from it's prior state as an Empire - crunched and clanked with it's usual inefficiency, providing inadequate snippets of information to the right people at the right times.

People came together. Cafes, hotspots for debates of all kinds, became rowdy in atmosphere as the eased-of-mind railed rebelliously against the uncovering of truth...

And then the news came.

A Commonality warship had just shelled a patch of ocean, seemingly for absolutely no reason at all.

Unease stirs in the population. Worries surge to the fore. Even consumer confidence - usually a given in a state so affluent - falls marginally, but the economy grinds on, uncaring, unfeeling, inherantly stabile and growing.

But anxieties increase substantially. Questions become angry. Accusations start. Bad words like controversy, crisis, scandal begin to poke their ugly faces out from the words scrolling down the screens of ordinary people reading the daily electronic press.

And fear feeds.

OOC: So, they have absolutely no connection to what's going on beyond the fact that the Trafalgar is experiencing something vaguely similar to what the Necrons might be, and Elethri is slipping them into conversation to make Klonor go "Whoa...something big is going on". How interesting (Not to say confusing as all hell).

I'll post IC'ly later (Have to unpack my car)

OOC: So, they have absolutely no connection to what's going on beyond the fact that the Trafalgar is experiencing something vaguely similar to what the Necrons might be, and Elethri is slipping them into conversation to make Klonor go "Whoa...something big is going on". How interesting (Not to say confusing as all hell).

I'll post IC'ly later (Have to unpack my car)

[OOC: Speaking in riddles is supposed to be confusing. ;)]

Now - Trafalgar

They fell back.

Not swiftly, but slowly, warily. Hardening their defensive armour was, in fact, the only thing done swiftly. Silence reigns here, now, aside from the warbling thrum of deckplates unsettled by... something.

And then the scream came.

It was not vocal. It was something to rip and tear at the flesh of the mind...

Children, the screaming voice spat, you dare oppose your Gods? Fall upon thy knees and beg for mercy!

The Nenyar, as one, understood. And as one, the cold steel of their psionic Talent formed together, hurling back a single word... one of the oldest words.

No.

And understanding dawns, as the warm rays of sun caress the fields after cresting a mighty mountain. The People of the Dawn still know little of themselves, when the truth be known, S-1 mused. He felt the communion of his fellows, and he felt strong. And he... quite suddenly... remembered.

Leading the Chorus, now, You are the Three who became One. Return to your Dark Lord, O purveyor of distrust and falsehood - or be bathed in the cleansing fire of the Favoured of Manwë.

Alone are you, the screaming sound taunts. Alone and in darkness. None to bring the flame to the candle. None to find the heat to melt the wax so the Light may grow. None to spark the vapour unto flame.

Desperately, S-1 Calls.

It is the Call of five, for the Chorus joins even tighter - the tightest that any of the five had ever attempted to be, their thoughts and emotions and memories flowing as if one. As if. But not quite.

Individuality remains, and this individuality, this merging of disparate opinions of what is possible and what is not, helps form some of the unreal Power that flows forth.

It is not the power of might, nor the power of majesty; it is simply the greatest power any being can find itself bestowed with.

Communication.

* * *

Three point two minutes later - The Contiguous Commonality

The cafe was already a buzz of conversation, of heated debate. There were thirteen here, and thirty next door - the thirteen here had escaped for more 'quiet' conversation, much to the pleasure of the owner of this cafe. More than half were Nenyar, which was even better.

Nenyar spent more frivolously on the cheese.

Something odd, was happening, though. Something very odd.

Andrew Menjda's eyes widened as he observed the group of thirteen sitting at the table. The other Humans were doing much the same - staring at the Nenyar, who, quite suddenly, had fallen silent. Their eerily glowing amber eyes seemed to be flaring more brightly, their heads tilting in unison as if listening to a far off cry.

"No," seven pairs of lips plus sixty million more breathe in unison. "Never alone."


[OOC: This is a psionic event that would be most distinctly tangible to any psionicist between Earth and Mars or on either world. Sixty million minds calling in communion is not easily missed.

Come to think of it, even those with no obvious psionic abilities at all might feel a certain something, a tangible charge in the air, a strange tension, a tickle at the back of their neck like someone walked over their grave... any of those is fine and good. :)

Further, as some may have indeed guessed, this thread does indeed represent the finale of my 'Three Stars at Dawn' story arc - assuming anyone has read all thirty thousand plus words of it all over the place. >.>]

It could not hold against such might, the undercurrent of aggression washing over it like... nothing it had felt in many eras gone by.

It screamed in futility, losing cohesion, becoming what it truly was...

* * *

Time passes. The ticking clock ticks, tocks, ticks again, the hands of Grandfather Time ceaseless and unrelenting. Fifteen minutes pass since the burst of psionic activity originating from Trafalgar, and then Earth; and then five more.

And then it happens.

The Commonality had never been to Mars in force before. There had never before been need. There had been the suggestion that the CSF would aid against the Tyranid threat, but that had never matured into actuality.

Now, in a heartbeat, it was here.

An eruption of heavy, large, and extremely short-lived waves of radiation spill out from a massive, brief rupture in the fabric of space. And then another, slightly further out. Three more.

The bright white light of the Commonality Space Force's arrival does not dim; all four hundred warships that just Transitioned in keep their charged, superconductive hull plating fired up, exerting massive force as one cohesive unit to slow. The ships remain locked in formation, subtle electromagnetic powers holding them thus.

From the bulk of two Glorious Eagle-class Deep Standoff Assault IIs, to the long, narrow grace of the Fear carriers, and the slender, small and swift forms of the Vengeance destroyers - with cruisers and various other shapes making up the remainder - all are most assuredly active and running hot.

Gunports cycle open as one. PDEF grids flare white-hot on the carriers and the CCM frigates. Nosecones are blasted away on the Glorious Eagle and Retribution class heavy-hitters, their E-cannon arrays crackling with contained might.

"Do not oppose us," Tatya informs Mars space, as the fleet decellerates in towards Trafalgar. Combat Hornets spill into the void, assuming defensive posture around the fleet; a variety of models and types are released, from one-shot E-cannon bursters to fusion bombs and kinetic bullet cannon. "This is an internal Iluvauromeni matter. There will be no compromise. Trafalgar is to be first contained, and then Purged thoroughly before destruction. Any touched by her who are not Nenyar are to be eliminated. Those who attempt to prevent this action will be considered to be allies of The Enemy and will be crushed without mercy, regret, or apology."

A pause.

"I'm not kidding."

Meanwhile, the eight newer ships already here withdraw in the opposite direction, shifting well out of the range of the potent and tightly-contained PG field dragging the Commonality taskforce to a halt.

This, clearly, is not a drill.

[OOC: This represents the 1 Stellar Battlegroup, an element of the 2 Stellar Battlegroup, 1, 2, and 3 Stellar Squadrons all Transitioning into Mars space simultaneously. Or, at least, as close as they can, and then decellerating in.]

[OOC: There is a slight discontinuity here: it's intentional. Semir-randil is aboard the lead ship, but, in another thread, at roughly the same time, he is elsewhere. This will be explained later.]

IDSS Glorious Eagle, Bridge

Semir-randil winced. "Bloody hell, Tatya," he mouthed. "That was a bit overzealous. I told you to 'shake them up' a little, not poke your finger in a hornet's nest."

Sorry, came the thought nestled in his skull that was not his. Semir-randil shook his head slightly. "But you may have been right. We'll see. They'll certainly understand soon enough... although I hope not too well."

Yes.

Aloud, the real commander of the Iluvauromeni Armed Forces continued to issue orders. "Bring us in to 102.86Mms," he advised softly. Peering at a display. "And advise the Fear-X that she's still not properly covered. She needs fifteen more defensive drones, minimum. - That's better."

Semir internalized meanwhile. This isn't going to go down well, he mused, rather obviously. Damage control will be sortof fun, though. And the publicity is bound to be good back home. We look big and strong, the People get all proud and patriotic and go out and sing and dance. Never mind the lives aboard Trafalgar. Poor people. Still. One of them brought it here. One of them. And there are Three, not one. If they'd... done that again, we'd know for sure.

He shook his head, slightly, sighing. "Fear-X, Wanderer, Singing Wisdom, ready dropships."