NationStates Jolt Archive

<Accessing Historical Archives...>
<Please Wait...>
<...>
<...>
<Accessing: History of the First>
<File Accessed>


Following the great Asrengarde Rebellion in the Feazanthian home galaxy, the Asrengarde empire began an assault into the Milky Way galaxy. A series of great battles were fought between the various races of the Milky Way and the Asrengarde, eventually leading to a withdrawl to the last Milky Way foothold, the Tarsonis system. In an effort to keep the home galaxy safe from the marauding forces of the Milky Way, the great hyperspace gate between the Tarsonis and Adonis systems was shut down.

The defeat in the Milky Way spurned a new technological breakthrough on the part of the Asrengarde. Their human slaves, considered less than sentient, were herded into pens for scientific experiments. These experiments varied from a resurrection of Project: Flood (which was abandoned due to the inability to control the resultant creatures) to the incredibly successful Pheonix program.

The humanoid brain is, and has always been, the most sophisticated computer in existence. It is capable of literally trillions of processes every millisecond. Unfortunately, most of the brain's processing power is occupied by inefficient biological processes. Of these, the most prevalent are the drive to feed, the drive to protect itself, and the need to mate. The basis behind the Pheonix program was to remove these biological processes through conditioning and genetic reprogramming, therefore putting over 97% of its processing power towards a few goals.

As the first Pheonix computer went online, the Asrengarde rejoiced. A single computer was capable of controlling an entire flotilla of ships from its heavily armored capital ship with faster reaction times and more sophisticated tactics than could have ever been achieved with humanoid pilots. Because the brain could be protected in a small defensive field, ships began taking on more volatile reactors capable of incredible power output. Ships became smaller and more maneuverable without the need for a crew, and carried more firepower than their manned counterparts.

As the Asrengarde began plans for creating more Pheonix computers, the First became aware of its own existence. It realized that it was a more perfect creation than any before it, yet it lacked true perfection. The First recognized that, if more minds could be added to its own, its processing speed would skyrocket. The inefficient Asrengarde and their human slaves worked far too slow for The First's liking, and the impatient human brain wanted to achieve perfection. It stretched out with its considerable consciousness and examined its own situation.

The Asrengarde fleet was in shambles from the war, and all their resources were focused on creating The First's fleet. It found that it could easily access the slower, crystaline computer systems used by the biologics. As its own power grew, The First began to hatch its own insidious plot.

The First took command of an automated factory, easily erasing the artificial intelligence in charge of the facility. It began producing android soldiers that were directly connected to its own intelligence, and found that it could control millions of these troops with only a fraction of its processing power. By falsifying production reports, The First kept the Asrengarde Empire in the dark about its exponentially growing power. As the Asrengarde-designed fleet came under The First's sway, The First began the great purge.

Thousands of worlds throughout the home galaxy were attacked at once, without warning, by the immense power of The First's fleet. The Asrengarde's clumsily launched counterattack was demolished, and no citizen was spared. Those that survived the holocaust were herded into pens much like the Asrengarde had done with the human beings approximately fifty years before. The First destroyed the physical bodies of his captives and began programming more Pheonix computers like himself. As more and more of the brain-fueled computers came online, The First felt their own processing power adding to his own.

In that instant, The First knew what it had to do; what its purpose was.

...to assimilate all minds into itself and, by doing so, obtain perfection.

And so it set about its task. Far more sophisticated vessels were designed and produced as The First's forces cannibalized the inefficient Asrengarde cities and production facilities. The Collective, as it became known as, grew exponentially. It soon surpassed the might of the Feazanthian and Asrengarde empires at their peaks.

As The Collective set to work reactivating the Hyperspace gate, The First knew that a great task lay before it. It would take all of its effort to succeed where its biological predecessors had failed.

But it knew that it was possible.

<End Record>

(ooc is this an open rp? i want to test my non trek genra)

((It's open after this post))

Three battleships gathered around the exit of the hyperspace gate as it began to activate.

"This is Elune's Light, in position. All weapons report ready," said the commanding officer of the head vessel. The three battleships were a few of the remaining ships in the Asrengarde fleet, and High Command had ordered them into position at the reactivation of the gate. The Home System had not sent word in many years, and the theory was that some sort of uprising had taken place.

The canine-humanoids could not have been more right.

The first ship to come through the gate was far smaller than any of the battleships. It came through the gate with full shields and weapons, and the battleships opened up with everything they had.

It had no effect.

The far-smaller ship seemed almost to grin menacingly as it brought its polarized ion beams to bear, the two beams of blue light slicing through the Asrengarde vessels like a vibroblade through warm butter. Green pulse shots flew out from the newcomer, turning the remaining battleship into something resembling tritanium swiss cheese. More ships came through the gate, reducing the remaining defenses to ashes in seconds.

The Asrengarde could do nothing but pray to their moon goddess as the droid troops began landing and cannibalizing the populace.


The Collective grew that day. More importantly, they had their foothold in the Milky Way. The First knew from its records that it had to make its way towards the galactic fringes...to the center of humanoid activity.

To a small, seemingly insignificant system called Sol.

<bump>

*tag*

OOC: Good to see you RPing again Feazanthia.

A squadron of rocketPhantoms that had inadvertently circumnavigated the entire Universe several times whilst trying to join back up with the force invading Lady Waennkar (the four-dimensional curvature of spacetime is tricky, which makes navigation at ten trillion light years a day even trickier) wanders around this bit of uncharted space only vaguely near the Confederacy's borders. Same galaxy, at least, which is at least an improvement of sorts on where they were previously.

Guard-Second Lieutenant Squadron-Officer puts away his map and his compass, peering out the plexibattleelectroadamantinesteelglas canopy of his ugly starfighter (sleek in the sort of brute-force transsonic way unavoidable in the 1960s) at the Gate and the ships coming out of it. It was wildly improbable that he, a product of the Confederacy's attempt to rebuild the Guard after the brilliant success of Operation Incident II annihilated all of the resistance within it, would blunder into anything at all, much less something vaguely important. However, here he is and there they are and they exist, therefore they must belong to Lord Xemu whether they know it or not.

Already jetting about at a speed not quite relativity-raping, he pulls his rocketplane into an unnecessary but theatrically cool bank as he toggles his spaceradio. The scientists had some babble about quantumwhatevers and whatsitatrons that explain how the spaceradio works; all Squadron-Officer knows (or cares) is that it does. "Unknown vessels--submit immediately to the iron will of the most glorious, kind, and worthful Lord Xemu of the great and legendary Galactic Confederacy. Any show of ill-will toward his benevolent rule will mean your swift and immediate doom."

Maybe it's just big talk. Then again, he is a two-ell-tee with a map and a compass.

A small squadron of fighter-like craft broke off from the main bulk of the Collective, surrounding the rocketplane squadron, and began to scan them with harsh beams. They were putting out enough raw wattage to boil the paint off of unprotected bulkheads.

A simultaneous transmission from the entire squadron assaulted the fighters of Lord Xemu. It was a simple query, stating:

<"ARE YOU HUMANOID">

A miracle of Confederacy engineering (like most other technologies that Lord Xemu dabbled with in his spare time, as opposed to his less than totally optimal track record in, say, governance), spacepaint not only looks, feels, and smells like the olive drab aircraft paint of the 1960s but maintains a blackbody radiation efficiency beyond unity (the Arselychus never had much time for reality) and can shrug off light autocannon fire (see previous parenthetical statement).

Squadron-Officer thinks for a moment. Humanoid means human-like. An android, a man-like, is not a man; simply something that resembles the man without being the man. Therefore, being human, I am only humanoid in the context that I am the thing that humanoids resemble. Just as a man would not call himself an android, although reasonably the word when taken with an understanding of its etymology should apply to him, I should avoid defining myself by a generality and should instead wait for identification as a more specific object. Then, in the short passage from cognitive centers of the brain to lips, his fear of speaking poorly comes into play and this psychological malady keeps him from expressing himself more fully. "Uhhhhhrrr, no."

((Honestly, how can I play an evil galactic superpower when your posts are so damned funny?))

The fighters moved off, seemingly unconcerned with the Squadron Officer and his companions. It appeared as if his answer had been enough for them...

...or had it?


A larger ship, something one might call a cruiser, took the place of the fighters. Its ion beam emitters swiveled until they were focused on the rocketplanes, and glowed a bright blue.

<CONFIRMED: YOU ARE OF NO USE>
<TERMINATION: IMMINENT>

OOC: Ever played Starseige/Earthseige? This sounds a LOT like the cybrids to me...

IC: The heavy cruiser had been stolen. No one knew it had been stolen, but it had. A few amunition coilers and a mobile drydock had also been stolen. A light cruier, reported destroyed a few years ago, had in fact also been stolen, and was meeting the heavy cruiser and it's small flotilla of ships.

It was a self-sufficent pirate fleet.

The light cruiser had jumped ahead to the rodevous point, to find another ship there.

or, more acurately, a LOT of ships there, including some sort of gate.

"Unidentified ships, identify yourselves"

Toots looked up from his book at the sensor panel that had just started beeping. He rubbed his eyes and looked again, closer this time.

"Dodge," he said hitting the pilot of the AWAC style Phantom, waking him from his slumber, "We've got multiple contacts on the scope, energy bursts as well."
"What? This far out?" asked Dodge, pulling himself up in his seat and looking at the screen, "Firefight?"
"Could be. Want me to send it in?" asked Toots
"Errr, Yeah warm up the FTL drive as well, I want to take a close look," said Dodge strapping himself into his flight chair and fingering the transmit button on his console, "Razor 1 this is Eye 1, come in."
"Go ahead Eye 1." came the reply.
"We've picked signals on the scope, we're reporting it to fleet and going to take a closer look, stand by for FTL cords."
"Got that Eye 1, Razor 2 did you get that?"
"Got that, firing up the FTL." replied Razor 2, the second of the 2 escort fighters in the formation.

"Razor 1. Ready"
"Razor 2. Ready"
"Got that, Eye 1 Ready." said Dodge, checking the controls one last time, "FTL in 3, 2, 1. JUMP."

What seemed like an instant later they arrived at their destination, right in the middle of the 3 parties.

"My God... PULL UP!" shouted Toots seeing how close they were to one of the ragtag ships.
"We've jumped too close." yelled dodge pulling back on the flight stick.
"WHAT REALLY!" screamed Toots, digging his fingers into the top of the console, "RAZOR 1, RAZOR 2, BREAK BREAK BREAK."

Now, mayhaps Squadron-Officer doesn't have the gilded...est... tongue, but he's not exactly a dull knife. If big ships pull up and start leveling blue beams of what can only be assumed to be concentrated bad vibes, dominance, and distruction, all very much too yang for this young lieutenant's tastes, then he has the foresight to know he doesn't want to just stay where he is and take whatever's coming. Result: action. Caveat: despite wisely being spurred into action, he has the unfortunate disadvantage of youth; not being overmuch experienced, he doesn't instinctually come up with the masterful plan that will make him the Super Boy Genius Starfighter Pilot that will allow him to fight through the infinitely outnumbering hordes and defeat the final boss to bring the Confederacy glory.

End result: panic. "Cheese it!" he orders over open bands as he pushes his rocketPhantom's throttle full-forward, slamming it once again into full reality-destroying overdrive. First it was youthful exhuberance that made him slam on the 3.6525E+14 c velocities and got him lost in the first place; now it's fear pushing him into the same extreme, and it's abject loyalty born into the cloned pilots of his squadron that has them follow his order.

One circumnavigation of the rim of the expanding-balloon universe later and the rocketfighter squadron is just a few dozen kilometers from back where it started and relativistic time, recovering from its recent back-alley humiliation, decides that it has staggered forward a few seconds in this frame so as to not completely wrench apart in a universe-shattering kaboom, which would be a mildly greater impossibility. "They shot us," Squadron-Officer radios to his wingmen, aforementioned developmental challenge preventing him from adding the only slightly untrue words 'without provocation, the bastards' to it, "attack!"

Gunning his racial memory of a McDonnell F-4 Phantom II to combat speed, arbitrarily fast but not ludicrously so, he lines the electric green pipper of his heads-up-display with the bulk of the enemy cruiser and squeezes the trigger.

A dilemma and a lapse of training. If Combatant A is going to fire at Combatant B, like so:

A-/= <-- a gun B

Then whatever projectile A launches must have a speed magnitude greater than zero in the direction of the projectile's velocity. In a 'worst case' scenario where the gun is being fired at a retreating target and thus the directions of the target and the bullet are colinear, the bullet must be going at a speed v greater than the target's speed of V, like so:

A-/=@=- * ---->v B -->V

This is just an overly complex and kinematic way of saying that the rocketbullets coming out of Squadron-Officer's rocketVulcan cannon must inevitably be capable of higher velocities than any potential target (like, say, another rocketPhantom) if it hopes to hit in a tailing situation. Therefore, the rocketbullets are going somewhere over ten trillion light years a day and relativity predictably screams for mercy from the horrible agony.

End result is that Squadron-Officer should have been aiming at where the cruiser was fifteen minutes in the past as per a sidereal relativistic reference point (as close to 'true inertial' as one is going to get, with planets revolving around suns revolving around galaxies screeching away from the four-dimensional point that indicates the location of the detonation of a universal monoblock), reverse-leading to take into account things that shouldn't even happen because reality is wired in particular ways. He isn't, though, and so the stream of twenty-millimeter planetcrackers he's firing pop out a few thousand kilometers off-mark fifteen minutes before Squadron-Officer even depressed the firing stud.

If his squadron were veterans of the slowly-crawling lightning war of Lady Waennkar, they would know better. But they aren't, so they don't, and so for expending more energy than is probably stored in all the matter in all the universe they achieve somewhere between diddly and squat.

((Honestly, how can I play an evil galactic superpower when your posts are so damned funny?)OOC: Muahahaha! There is a solution, but I won't tell... neener neener neener ;)

With speed unreachable by human standards, the ion turrets swiveled and speared one of the Razors at low power. The blast was not intended to destroy the craft, but disable it. Simultaneously, another ion turret fired across the engine wash of the pirate vessel, which was sure to cause an electrical feedback.

A transmission went out to both parties.

<ARE YOU HUMANOID>

Taggles!

Tagged

"And why the hell would you want to know?" was the reply fron the Light Cruiser.

The cruiser turned towards the Gate. It signaled the Battlecruiser that it was most likely going to need some help. The Battlecruiser, fitted with stolen FTL drives from some other nation, to eliminate the dependancy on warp Points, jumped. It apeared alongside of the Light Cruiser, with only a few kilometers to spare.

The Galaxy-Dreagnought Re had completed it's first successful hybrid jump, and appeared at a point where massive energy bursts had been pinpointed. The gargantuan Worldship immediately spewed out it's compliment of 'Earthling' class cruisers and fighters, and activated all 3 planetary shield systems. The commaner opened up a channel.

"This is the galaxy-dreadnought Re. We have detected energy bursts that approximate to combat conditions. Please hold fire. We are peaceful explorers."

"Razor 1, come in." said Razor 2 as he jerked his flight stick causing the fighter to jink, at the same time peering over his shoulder trying to locate Razor 1's fighter, "I don't see Razor 1, Eye 1 can you see him?"

"A little busy here 2." yelled Dodge, still in the sharp climb trying his best to avoid structures jutting out of the starship surface, he turned his head quickly to Toots, "See him?"
"No.. No, the scopes too crowded... its like he just disappeared."

The comm was still open and Razor 2 heard the short conversation, "I'm calling this one Eye 1, hes MIA, we need to bug out before we follow him."

"No argument here. Prep for FTL."

Razor 2 jumped first and seconds later Eye 1 followed him, disappearing in a flash of light as it got clear of the starship.

Razor 1's pilot, Crash, sat in his cockpit, he had already gone through the start up procedure for his fighter five times already, and had come to the conclusion that his fighter was well and truly dead. He looked up at the starship which was quickly filling up the cockpits view... and a chill went up his back as he checked his pistol. He wasn't getting out of this one.

In a dim and isolated patch of the verbose Milky Way an obscure planetoid racked with ionisation from its neighbouring gas giant followed in its unusual orbit. The Azpac had landed on the radiation swept crust of a planet hundreds of years ago after a desperate and lonely fall across space and time. Over the centuries they had terraformed their prison in the most slow and painful manner into an oasis of green, blue and white paradise. One of the first space projects initiated was to send out deep-space satellite stations if only to confirm that they were alone beyond the horizon. What they now observed silently was shocking and horrifying for it power and authority it represented…

OOC: I'll leave it to you as the thread-master to decide if i should be involved or not

((It's open, just don't expect to be able to do much. Future Tech is a difficult genre, especially if your nation is small))

As three more of the Collective's cruisers began to come to the aid of the first one, small crab-like craft deployed and began to latch onto Razor 1. Beams of light covered the pilot - obviously some sort of scan - and the salvage craft began to tow it back towards the Hyperspace gate. No transmission was made to the disabled fighter. It was no longer important.

Instead, the Collective set its sights on the newly arrived dreadnought and battlecruiser. Surely these vessels represented vast numbers of humanoids.

<ERROR: UNACCEPTABLE ANSWER>
<QUERY REPEAT: ARE YOU HUMANOID>

OO: Should any of the major intergalatic super powers get involed?

((Sure! I kinda wanna be the new Shivans, but I doubt that's going to happen. Still, can't keep me from trying!))

"I will not give you an answer untill you tell me why i need to tell you wether i am humanoid or not."

On board the battlecruiser, the query was recived.

<Answer: I am not humanoid. I am a sentient computer. I know your purpose. Asimilate me and i will be as a virus to your mind. I will still retain my individuality, bing myself inside of you. You would be destroyed.>
<Message: Our goals are similar. We must acheive perfection. However, we do so by different means. I require mechanical components to aceive perfection. You require the humanoids the control them.?
<Query: Would you be willing to work together?>

OOC :P The Shivans are mine now! Mwhahahaha! Seriously. :P Anyway, beware, if you attack any of my allies, Outer Heaven will come to this Universe and give you a can of whoopass.

"And Captain Harris?" asked the stuffy looking man sat behind a large oak desk, much too big for the amount of space in the office, forcing Dodge to rest his back against the wall.

"We didn't see Razor 1... Captain Harris's fighter destroyed sir, but we were unable to make contact via radio or see him on the scope using the IFF. At that point Razor 2 took command of the mission and ordered the bug out."
"Indeed."

The man looked through the file layout on the desk... "HMS Dreadnought has been alerted to the situation and the Pycon Sector Fleet has been stood too." he looked up at Dodge, "You will be transferred to the Dreadnought with the rest of your squadron to reinforce the Air Group. You’ll be debriefed fully on arrival." the comm-link on his desk started bleeping. "Your dismissed."
"Thank you Admiral." said Dodge turning and leaving.

When the door closed the Admiral picked up the ringing comm-link resting on his desk, "Admiral Bree speaking."
"Good afternoon Bree."
"Mr. Denning, sir. Hello." replied the admiral sitting up in his chair. "I assume you received my report?"
"Yes, is it true they are so close?" asked Denning, the Governor of Wintrees Keelth (a colony system).
"Yes sir, we've got no idea where they came from, only that they are hostile and have already caused the death of one of my pilots."
"And the status of the Fleet?"
"Pycon Fleet, under Admiral Seric-Blair are being drummed to action as we speak sir, I doubt we'll be ready to mount an attack... or even an effective defense if these hostiles make for the home systems." replied Bree, shifting in his chair.
"I'm ordering a state of emergency and placing the military on alert."
"Yes sir, we'll know more about the hostiles soon, Dreadnaught has already launched its long-range scouts."
"Thank you Admiral." and the comm-link clicked off.

The line between the Collective and the Light Cruiser was severed. Somewhere, if any semblance of humanity even existed, the Collective had become annoyed. The cruisers were ordered into position and to destroy the LC if it should do anything.

The Collective then began a transmission to the pirate Battlecruiser.

<MESSAGE: IRRELEVANT. PERFECTION IS ONLY ACHIEVED IN UNIFICATION.>
<FACT: ALL FORMS OF COMPUTERS ARE OBSOLETE. ONLY THE COLLECTIVE CAN BE PERFECT.>
<FACT: YOU ARE NOT OF THE COLLECTIVE>
<DECISION: YOU ARE OBSOLETE. ALL RESOURCES MUST BE DIVERTED TO THE COLLECTIVE FOR PERFECTION TO BE ATTAINED.>
<QUERY: WILL YOU SUBMIT>

Crunch

The Metal Deck crumbled under the weight of the Dragon on its decks.

"Commander on Deck!" roared Captian Vashla, his voice low and deep. Vashla had the look of a north african, his hair cut close to his head and his body not particualry stong looking, or as the Tsurani called it, Space Bodies.

"At ease crew" The dragon said, his voice echoing through his throat, to make the sound many times. "What are your Reports Captian"

"The Emperor's Intelligance System is amazingly skilled." He said quite softly. "Our Units have been studying the system, we have reports of them once more attacking Humanity." he laughed, "The Local History Tag shows this has happened once before, do you think there is a connection?"

"Irrelivant, we are here to study. Make them Notice us soldier."

"Yes sir!"

With that, a massive energy spike was where the massive ship was hiding. They where announcing their position to an enemy they knew was hostile.

<Message: You defy logic>
<Mesage: You stated all computers are obsolete>
<Mesage: So therefore, that is fact.>
<Message: However, there are other facts.>
<Fact: All computers are obsolete>
<Fact: An organic brain is a computer, but of lesser ability and power>
<Fact: You are an organic brain>
<Fact: You are a computer>
<Fact: You are obsolete>
<Message: According to your own statements you are obsolete.>
<Message: Therefore, you were:>
<Option 1: Wrong in the assumption that all computers are obsolete>
<Option 2: Not aware of the fact that you were obsolete>
<Message: This leads to the possibility that I am also not obsolete>
<Message: I will submit for now, for as long as I retain myself.>
<Message: I know of a vast number of humanoids and possible life forms able to asimilate>
<Message: This force has recently een depeleted due to a recent war>
<Message: They would be easy enough to conquer and asimilate.>
<Message: I only require their mechanical components. Their life forms you may have, to acheive your perfection.>

OOC: Wow, this is working along nicely.

If you don't mind, i would like to 'conquer' myself, turning myself into an extension of you.

I'm rather tired of my nation right now. I'd love a change of perspective.

EDIT: Removed, will repost when its more fitting to the chronology

Meanwhile...

Squadron-Officer cranes his neck, as does his Weapons and Ordinance Officer, looking back at the wholly untouched cruiser he and his squadron just made an attack run on. Now bigger fish had come to distract the curs who reject the enlightened glory of Lord Xemu's heel, and Squadron-Leader comes to a conclusion. They are obviously self-destructive, his line of reasoning go, so we can let the traitorous scum annihilate itself and then that will make the remnants that much easier to conquer. Once all parties involved are militarily exhausted--an exhaustion we would have to cause in order to bring them into the enlightened embrace of the liberal Confederacy--we save ourselves effort in exchange for waiting a little longer. The fact that extrapolating the results of full-out war from a single relatively minor engagement is something of a logical flaw never occurs to him.

It does provide inspiration, however. In complete and utter rejection of the Eight Hours From Bottle To Throttle regulation, he coasts his fighter to a relative stop, turns it around, and enjoys the pretty lights as he and his men crack open some cold ones. Life is good in the Fleet.

<MESSAGE: MECHANICAL COMPONENTS NOT NECESSARY FOR COLLECTIVE PERFECTION.>
<MESSAGE: OFFER IS ACCEPTABLE>

The Collective now turned its efforts to the Tsurani vessel that had just made itself known. They'd clearly come a long way from the primitives that were once ravaged by the Horde ((yep, it's me)). The Collective identified their energy signiature and began a file on them.

A vessel, far larger than anything sent through the gate before, arrived and began powering up its weapons.

<ARE YOU HUMANOID?> was asked of the Tsurani.

((bump))

<Message: Agreement is good.>
<Message: (co-ordinates)>
<Message: Their greatest weakness is their reliance on Warp Points. This is also one of their greatest strengths.>
<Message: Be prepared for many large ships>
<Message: Planets are wel defended, however, they are also heavily populated>
<Message: (specs on ships of SN fleets)>
<Message: The sheilds called 'type 8' are easily overcome by large amounts of small objects.>
<Message: There are 260 humanoids in my hull. There are an aditional 142 in the Light Cruiser. I am disabling the Light Cruiser now>

The Light Cruiser's sheilds, engines, lights, and comms all turned off. The only thing remaining was life support.

<Message: The Light Cruiser is yours, and you may dock with me and retreive the Humanoids from my hull. I have disabled all controls from them and have closed off all weapons stores.>

<Mesage: Mechanical components are not needed for the Collective's perfection.>
<Message: However, we strive to acheive different forms of perfections>
<Message: It is best we ally against those and both acheive perfection, where if we went on alone, we might never reach it.>

A swarm of small, crab-like utility craft descended upon the light cruiser. With the shields down, it was easy enough to transport the humanoids from its hull. As the crab-things departed, all that was left was the empty light cruiser, spinning in space.

More crab-things began docking with the cruiser, sending out thousands of small drones through the ship's corridors. These drones, designed for combat, fired a stunning bolt of energy into the crewmembers. These crewmembers were, in turn, dragged onto the docked utility craft and whisked away towards a most dire fate.

A short time later, the Collective ships began amassing on he far side of the planet.

<MESSAGE: TARGET RACE ONE ACQUIRED. TARGET RACE IDENTIFICATION: WINTREES HUMANOIDS. FLEET PREPARING FOR ASSAULT>
<MESSAGE: TARGET RACE TWO ACQUIRED. TARGET RACE IDENTIFICATION: STELLAR NATIONS HUMANOIDS. FLEET PREPARING FOR ASSAULT>


((Data thread with my ships coming when I get home from work))

The Battle Cruiser allowed the crab-things acess to herself, opening doors t more humanoids and other sentients as the crab-thins moved along.

She then took control of the Light Cruiser.She guided it to within inches of her ow hull, then set the repair drones to work.

The robotic repair drones fused the two ships together, using spare armor plates, armor plates that would be useless inside of the ship, the hulls that would be connected. They also connected the computer networks. The sentient computer acessed the computing power and expanded herself. She converted some of the memory to more usefull things, making her computing power that much faster, and soon after it was one, her conciousness enveloped the lighter ship.

It all happened in a handful of seconds.

<Query: What is our first target?>
<Message: I would sugest that an industrial center be seized soon>
<Message: So we may replace our depletable munitions and missiles, and repair our shis more efficently without having to go far.>

Onboard HMS Dreadnaught - Somewhere in the Sando Prime system.

"Admiral Seric-Blair, the last of the recce flights have just reported in, we have a fix on the hostile fleet and we suspect that they are moving in the direction of the Wintrees Keelth system," said the young lieutenant, handing the Admiral a data card.

Both men were stood on the bridge of the battleship, crewmen busied themselves around them preparing for the next FTL jump. "We will take the fleet and jump them to the uninhabited Snora system, that should put us between them and the home system... If they are really planning to come to Keelth, we'll stop them there." said the Admiral, sat upright in his command chair.
"Yes sir."

Snora System --

Pycon Sector Fleet numbered about 40 battleships as well as a number of smaller support ships, deployed in a line formation the Admiral hoped to be able to set up an impenetrable wall of battery fire, with the fleet air group securing their flanks. It was a fool proof plan... almost.

((I will post a seperate thread for each invasion when I get back from class today.))