NationStates Jolt Archive

The Cassiopeian Empire had been watching the war in the Milky Way and decided that it was the time to Strike at the Milky Way and finaly get what they wanted.......Absolute Control.

But first they had to start building up a New Army, a Powerful droid army like nothing the Universe had ever seen.

The Cassiopeians were already working on a new battle droid, The Most Powerful yet. The Adamantium Droids. These Droids were made of the Metal known as Adamantium, which was almost indestuctable and more Stronger then Durasteel. with these Droids, The Cassiopeian would be unstoppable.

and the first 20,000 were being built.

Deep within the heart of the long abandoned Duswin mining field, a man stirred from his meditation.

Her stood up slowly, control showing throughout his movements. His eyes held firmly shut. He ran a hand through his long black hair, and paused when a knock came from the door.

"Come in Syr." He called.

The door slid apart, revealing a young woman in at least her twenties. "You're going to have to teach me that sometime." She told the man.

"Perhaps. Why have you come?"

"The Cassiopeian Empire milord. They appear to be constructing a droid army." Said Syr, kneeling to the man before her.

"Hmm..." The man turned, and stared at the way through his eyelids.

"Milord?"

"We will do nothing." Said the man. "This is not our place to interfere..."

"But?"

"I feel the Force beseeching me to aid them, for what purpose I do not know. We will keep an eye," The man opened his eyes abrutly, revealing two milky white orbs. "On them, understood?"

"Yes Lord Koronii." Said Syr. With that she turned and walked out of the room, and Koronii resumed his meditations.

The Spear of truth floated lazily through the uninhabited system. The dying light of its red sun flickered upon the red and black hull of the Prefecture of Tannelorn Morgenstern class Battleship. Its attendant escort of cruisers had dispersed in pairs through the system. Ahead of the Spear of Truth its attended escort of Morgenreate high maneuver frames flew about gracefully in well practiced patrol patterns, extending out 500 000 kilometers and more.

"Het Captain Helbin" a cheery, female Half elven voice stated. "Scans indicate no inhabitable worlds in this system, however the asteroid field is ripe with water and other precious materials, as well as three of the moons on the 2nd planet sire" the helmswoman finished and looked back at the Het Captain with a wide grin. She pleated her short skirt against her thighs and went back to her work console, Located on the upper half of the bridge. The Het Captain smiled and adjusted his high collar. His long dark hair flowing past his shoulders. "Well its suitable then, room for 3 large colonies and a plethora of military bases and mines for self defense." he grinned, they had done well so far, an unihabited system, with worlds perfect for terraforming with in three jumps of sol..hopefully their luck would continue and the Prefects would see fit to commence colonisation...maybe then he would get his promotion after all...

A NeuralNet alert came to Magniu's attention, he magnified it, and watched the report fly by. It was a fairly basic military report, and thus, he decided to assign it to one of his aides, leaving a note saying "investigate".

The aide looked at it, and brought up the intel report on Casseiopeia. "So, who are they", he asked the computer. He looked at the intel, and smiled. It only took him twelve seconds to form a suitable reply.

Minor power, irrelevant. Status: Unlikely, that they would even be able to break through our outer-sytem defenses. Advise activation of another two ships/

The 'mind' is non-sapient, a machine, nothing else.

Still, it acts while its organic superiors spend fractions of a second just to get neurons moving.

Long-range scans, revealing nothing new. Slowly, the Idiran Sphere is expanding - Tendrils of light cruisers and faith moving forward in their little part of the galaxy, a handful of systems, trying to avoid the mistakes of the last war.

In Faith.

The cruiser moves. The Idirans are slow - Crossing the galaxy still takes a year, annoyingly. No way to look beyond it.

But that doesn't stop them from watching their closer neighborhood. Could be something interesting, there. And they can't afford to overlook things.

Space

The warship is bored. What it's doing is in fact singularly boring, and any puns on singularities have been exhausted. They were exhausted in nanoseconds, as a matter of fact.

What it's doing is straightforward. It's laying mines and poisoning wells. And jabbering away in assorted fora. Bored bored bored. This is what you get for trying to show people you're responsible.

There are only so many ways to add fractional percentiles to the rate at which it's performing its task. Bored now. It slides along, sneaking between hyperspaces, shepherding its subcraft as they dash along.

Fabricator unit into such-and-such star, make sure it starts up, wait for newbuilt sensor units to start up, and countermeasures to replicator swarms to establish themselves. Laying mines. Poisoning wells.

The ship sneaks along at fractional kilolights as its nonsentient consorts labor away. There are sensor grids scattered across the universe, tied together. The datastreams are immense and the Minds that collate them, vast.

The ROU Social Contraction is an imbecile by those standards, though. An imbecile trying to build prestige to stop being one, ambitious to accumulate the prestige that will let it go into more prestigious work.

Bored now. Eager beaver. Sucking up to the Minds at far-off Junction.

He felt power, and control. Greed. And then...conflict and suffering.

Polus Theffo stood from his meditation chambers. Something was coming for this galaxy, and these people...something which would affect all, and kill many more...

Darkkaan, The Capitalworld of The Cassiopeia Galaxy.

"With our New Adamantium Droids, we will have the most powerful Army in the Universe." Forman Banko, a delsantoese, said to Empress Cas'rai. "Soon we will 'Show off' our new Droid Army to The Milkers* and make them Bow before us." Cas' rai liked the idea, "Start Building 300,789 More," she said. "We are," Banko said, "The First 23,000 are ready with 200,000 More well on the way, and as you requested, 345 AT-AT Walkers are ready for The Clone Army." Cas'rai looked at Banko, "good" she said.

The Factory World of Delsanto.

The Roach like Aliens were hard at work building the Adamantium Droids. since Delsanto was rich in Metals like Adamantium and lommite, They were the top Builders of Starfighters and Battle droids, even most of the heavy Weapons and walkers used by The Military was made on this World. The workers were making the Army, useing The Adamantium to make the Armor on the Droids and the Parts.

The Droids would soon be ready.

OOC: ** Milker is Cassiopeian slang for the beings of The Milky Way Galaxy.

oh and as for what The Droids look like, if any of you watched The cartoon [i]Star Wars: Clone wars.[i] or read the Clone Wars Comics, you would Know what Durge looks like.

Yep, The Adamantium Droids look like Durge.

OOC: Durge, nice.

OOC: Durge, nice.

OOC: yep, oh and Adamantium is from X-men. Wolverine's Claws were made of it. (thanks to Striker.)

(At FutureEngland Space Command)

LOUDSPEAKER: ALERT! CODE RED ANGEL RECON TEAM TO HANGER ALERT!

25 men and 25 women come running out of different doors and down the hanger.

Space Marshal Colin Remfrik was stood waiting. "Alrite ANGEL TEAM 1 the milkyway is under threat and The High Command is worried so we've scrambled you all here to do a recon sweep of The Cassiopeia Galaxy. Do a sweep and return and we will decide what to do then, if you come under attack we'll scramble DEVIL FORCE 1 to your location, OK MOVE OUT"
The Soldiers reply "Sir Yes Sir" and salute moving to their Space Recon fighters.

A deafing sound starts when all the fighters power up and take of out of the main hanger.

His radio beeps and he picks it up "Sir we've confirmed ANGEL TEAM 1 have dropped into Hyper Space using Infinite drives" " he replied "Thanks Charles"

"Milord, The Cassiopeians have unleashed the droid army." Said Syr, calmly.

Koronii frowned, then his frown tilted upwards. "Prep the Evangelion, if they are truely going to attack the Milky Way galaxy they will need assistance." Said the Miraluka.

"Yes, Milord ." Said Syr, following her master as he slid out of his meditation chambers.

Outside the shields that hid the Duswin academy faltered and disappeared, revealing the Dark Jedi academy in all of it's twisted glory.

One of it's larger hangar bays on the starboard side opened, allowing an Interdictor, modeled after Darth Malak's Leviathan, to pass.

(At FutureEngland Space Command)

LOUDSPEAKER: ALERT! CODE RED ANGEL RECON TEAM TO HANGER ALERT!

25 men and 25 women come running out of different doors and down the hanger.

Space Marshal Colin Remfrik was stood waiting. "Alrite ANGEL TEAM 1 the milkyway is under threat and The High Command is worried so we've scrambled you all here to do a recon sweep of The Cassiopeia Galaxy. Do a sweep and return and we will decide what to do then, if you come under attack we'll scramble DEVIL FORCE 1 to your location, OK MOVE OUT"
The Soldiers reply "Sir Yes Sir" and salute moving to their Space Recon fighters.

A deafing sound starts when all the fighters power up and take of out of the main hanger.

His radio beeps and he picks it up "Sir we've confirmed ANGEL TEAM 1 have dropped into Hyper Space using Infinite drives" " he replied "Thanks Charles"


OOC: You are dead meat. and Fresh meat at that

IC: If anyone would dare try to Reach Delsanto, they would Run into a Pickiet of Star Destroyers and Fighters, Mostly X-wings and TIE Intercepters. This Was there to make sure that anyone who tried Reconing the planet would soon have a pack of Fighters Blasting them to dust.

OOC: You are dead meat. and Fresh meat at that

IC: If anyone would dare try to Reach Delsanto, they would Run into a Pickiet of Star Destroyers and Fighters, Mostly X-wings and TIE Intercepters. This Was there to make sure that anyone who tried Reconing the planet would soon have a pack of Fighters Blasting them to dust.

OOC: I thought they hadn't been launched yet...

OOC: I thought they hadn't been launched yet...

(At FutureEngland Space Command)

LOUDSPEAKER: ALERT! CODE RED ANGEL RECON TEAM TO HANGER ALERT!

25 men and 25 women come running out of different doors and down the hanger.

Space Marshal Colin Remfrik was stood waiting. "Alrite ANGEL TEAM 1 the milkyway is under threat and The High Command is worried so we've scrambled you all here to do a recon sweep of The Cassiopeia Galaxy. Do a sweep and return and we will decide what to do then, if you come under attack we'll scramble DEVIL FORCE 1 to your location, OK MOVE OUT"
The Soldiers reply "Sir Yes Sir" and salute moving to their Space Recon fighters.

A deafing sound starts when all the fighters power up and take of out of the main hanger.

His radio beeps and he picks it up "Sir we've confirmed ANGEL TEAM 1 have dropped into Hyper Space using Infinite drives" " he replied "Thanks Charles"

They did Launch.

They did Launch.

OOC: I meant the droid army.

OOC: I meant the droid army.

OOC: Oh, well, The Army is being Built and will be battle ready soon. I will test it in Battle soon.

Impact.

And done. The simulation's over, ending in a flare of bright wideband radiations consuming the target(s) - And the (Group) mind of the heavy cruiser Divine Glory 227 can be satisfied - It works fairly effective, despite its somewhat heterogenous composition.

Sensors, active and passive, acquire information. Effector radiations probe a few nearby systems...

Everything works.

Decisions, decisions. What now?

The groupmind is inconsistent - It's composed of 'Uploaded' Idiran mindstates, the 'Bravest of the brave'. Not necessarily the most rational ones, though.

Or in other words, they're zealots.

Arguments ensue, and virtual heads are bashed. But eventually, a decision is made.

The Divine Glory 227 leaves the vicinity of the Matrala-system and its six closest neighbors.

Perhaps it intends to scout.

Perhaps the minds are annoyed enough by the constant 'Peace' to be into creating some mischief.

Perhaps they want to play Deus Ex Machina.

"This is Angel Team 1 Leader all systems active and ready to drop out of hyperspace, copy" The rest of the team reply "Copy that leader" all the pilots drop out of hyper space near to a fairly large planet. "Angel Team 1 Leader to all operatives, confirm exit of hyperspace" everyone replys "Yes Sir", "Sir this is AT 2 i'm picking up some other ships in the area they're armed and look big, should we radio back to control" ATL replies "No we'll see how it goes as soon as we are fired at we'll radio back to base and drop back into Hyper Space", "Roger ATL" "ok everyone X formation and lets do a sweep get a closer look of those ships and the planet"

"Sir...I have a gut feeling...maybe more."
"Step in Polus, and tell me your problem."

Polus Theffo had only been in the Admiral's quarters a few times, and now seemed to be one of those times. People always seemed to listen to him...he had an uncanny sense of prediction.

"So what's troubling you, boy?"
"I have felt anger, and suffering...not yet, but soon."
"Soon? That could be any time...what do you mean by soon?"
"I mean soon...an exterior threat."
"O...k."
"Coming to destroy us all."
"Like, outside the Federation, outside the universe..."
"Outside our galaxy...power hungry, they shall wage a grand war to destroy all humanity in our galaxy."
"Well you do have a pretty good sense of prediction over the years...we'll keep on advance notice, that good enough to suit you?"
"You will need more then that when they come...but thatnk you for hearing me out."

http://gwiezdne-wojny.pl/grafika/2003/mar/durge.jpg

Kreynoria']http://gwiezdne-wojny.pl/grafika/2003/mar/durge.jpg

OOC: Thank you Kreynoria.

"This is Angel Team 1 Leader all systems active and ready to drop out of hyperspace, copy" The rest of the team reply "Copy that leader" all the pilots drop out of hyper space near to a fairly large planet. "Angel Team 1 Leader to all operatives, confirm exit of hyperspace" everyone replys "Yes Sir", "Sir this is AT 2 i'm picking up some other ships in the area they're armed and look big, should we radio back to control" ATL replies "No we'll see how it goes as soon as we are fired at we'll radio back to base and drop back into Hyper Space", "Roger ATL" "ok everyone X formation and lets do a sweep get a closer look of those ships and the planet"

Sadly, the Scouts were about to see that Cassiopeians were Deadly. a Squadron of X-wing Fighters was doing Patrols around Delsanto's tenth Moon, known as Mantania. The Leaders soon sighted the enemy Fighters. "we have Boges at 4 o' clock." She said. She soon sent a Coded Message to The Fleet. She soon got a message back

Engage The enemy, We are Jamming any Commutatcions they might send.

The Squad Leader soon told the others. "Set S-foils in attack Prosition."

The enemy would soon be sorry.

Bumped again

Kreynoria']http://gwiezdne-wojny.pl/grafika/2003/mar/durge.jpg

OOC: Apart from making me laugh, what is this?

OOC: Apart from making me laugh, what is this?

That is Durge, one of The Villains of The Clone Wars, That is a Page of the Comic he first appeared in, after Killing a Colony of Gungans with a Poison Gas. The Guy Durge is Steping on is Obi Wan, who killed him in the Battle of Muunilinst.

and that is what I based the Droids on.

That is Durge, one of The Villains of The Clone Wars, That is a Page of the Comic he first appeared in, after Killing a Colony of Gungans with a Poison Gas. The Guy Durge is Steping on is Obi Wan, who killed him in the Battle of Muunilinst.

OOC: Ah, see, I never knew what Durge looked like, only heard of him and his destructive power...

An army of Machines; how admirably quaint in their replication. It chuckled, almost mocking as it watched and listened and...Understood. It was admirable of them, of course; an indefatiguable army; a perfect fighting force. Still, notihng compared to tomb-dwelling might; to legions that had risen and fell millenia before the birth of many of the lesser Races. Quaint. Admirably so; true...But also a brazen annoyance.

We shall see where this situation leads...A pity that ingenuity must be so oft cut down; but truly...Sometimes the gordian knot must be split straight through for an answer to be found

Note to the piddling ants who may annoy us, aka the Cassepeioa Galaxy:

We have received reports of a major military buildup in your area. Be warned, if you so much as look at any of our territories, we will retaliate with total annihilation of your species.

Oh, and have a nice day.

- Minister of Diplomacy, Alex Madenton.

A wretched and preposterous race using mockeries of the Machine to wage war!? Insects playing at Gods; warriors without souls; without honor! Without anything to offer the Gods of Chaos! You would do well to avoid us, heretical vermin...We are Lords of Entropy; your pathetic attempts at glory will meet only with doom and damnation within our galaxy; and especially within our hallowed territory.

Such idiocy is characteristic of the young Races; such is the foolhardiness of those who forge armies of steel alone; devoid of power and passion

A strange voice, one and yet many, flooded the frequencies. There was no determinable point of origin for the signal, it simply... was. The visceral language took some translating, but once complete it sounded like this:

Without the flesh, the metal is weak. Without the metal, the flesh is weak. Unstoppable is only a word, forged by fleshy minds unable to comprehend the true meaning. It does not apply to you, fleshless ones.

"Angel Team 1 reporting they have boges on their tail, Permission to call in Devil Force 1 Sir" "Permission granted Charles" less than 30 seconds later the emergancy scramble alarm went off for Devil Force 1. They all rushed to their heavy fighters and flew out of the main hanger bay

Pieces of information. Bits and bytes. The Divine Glory 227 receives shrapnels of FTL radiation, analysing- and relaying it. There's even a bit of excitement - Finally something to do!

Possibly, anyway. So far, things seem to be concentrated elsewhere, and there's nothing 'hot' approaching the 1000 LY radius within which the Idirans could act with reasonable efficiency.

Still, assorted groupminds and individuals exchange gossip, and wishful thinking commences.

Wish I could meddle a bit!

Another thing. Familiar signatures seem to be about - And those really aren't something the Idirans are fond of.

Aforementioned gossip comes to a crashstop. Now they have something serious to consider.

If this is correct... Well, damnit.

"Angel Team 1 reporting they have boges on their tail, Permission to call in Devil Force 1 Sir" "Permission granted Charles" less than 30 seconds later the emergancy scramble alarm went off for Devil Force 1. They all rushed to their heavy fighters and flew out of the main hanger bay

The Problem was that as soon as the Cassiopeians found the enemy, they soon sent out all the Fighters to destroy the enemy, All enemy Communacations were Jammed. The Star Destroyers were also Moving in for the kill.

The Squad that was after the enemy Fighters soon open Fire on them, Blaster cannons Fireing.

OOC:Idiran Remnants: I get the Feeling that you Highjacked The Thread.

oocness: Not really. I'm simply waiting for the attack.

Being located in the milky way and all... Yeah. IR's supposed to be a target. And while IR's waiting, I'm posting assorted fluff with them.

"Scout Squadron AA-4, returning from mission, we got info for you guys."
"Mark 4-5, AA-4, proceed to hanger 3-A on the Liberty."
"Roger control."

Two Redoubt-class scout shuttles rounded in towards the Vindicator-dreadnought Liberty, back from a scouting mission to the borders of Cassiopeian space. The hanger dropped a force field, allowing the shuttles entry to the bay. Igniting repulsorlifts, the shuttles neatly docked on board the metal floor of the hanger.

"Hey boys, welcome back. You get anything good?"
"Hell yeah...the geeks will be happy with plenty to do."
"Good, head back to debriefing as the engineers recover your documentations."

Three engineers piled out into the small hanger and removed the data disks from the shuttles.

3 hours later

In the scanning control center, Captain Pile and several information experts were going over the recovered data.

"What do you geeks make of this?"
"Well, it seems that they're making some sort of buildup of some kind."
"Can you VID it?"
"Possibly, 97% that it's military in origin."

Secert IC:

Imperial Palace, Darkkaan.

"we are Planning to test The Army soon, your highness." General Chimaera said to Cas'rai, while walking down the halls of The Palace. "One of our Grand Marshals think that we should use it on a Nation called FutureEngland." Cas'rai looked at the general. "That Nation?" She laughed, "They will not stand long against even our Grand Fleet. Hell, even our Clone Troopers would take that nation in just one Minitue." The Two started laughing up a storm.

That is Durge, one of The Villains of The Clone Wars, That is a Page of the Comic he first appeared in, after Killing a Colony of Gungans with a Poison Gas. The Guy Durge is Steping on is Obi Wan, who killed him in the Battle of Muunilinst.

and that is what I based the Droids on.


Actually, Durge regenerates. So technically Obi-Wan didn't kill him on Muunilinst. Anakin shot down his fighter, which fell into a star, in another battle.

Kreynoria']Actually, Durge regenerates. So technically Obi-Wan didn't kill him on Muunilinst. Anakin shot down his fighter, which fell into a star, in another battle.

Ouch.....that is a VERY Painful way to go.

(OOC: I've got the CDP as a major political movement within TCG, and has a lot of domestic influence. Hakurabi is under replanning.

By the way, they do have enough influence to pull this off - You cannot guard against an unidentifiable threat from within. Investigations are another matter, however, should you wish to play it out.

You can also try to defend, but it's really up to everyone else what is plausible and what is not.

If you want to RP this out, then just let me know.)

--Cassiopeian Democratic Party-- (Secret IC, obvious.)
Within a small apartment, far from the prying eyes of the government, a small group of Cassiopeians met.

"It looks like our friends are up to their antics once again. Perhaps we should stop them?"

"How? We've got those insane generals to get around. I warrant they'll check every bot by hand for defects."

"They're also convinced they're invincible."

"And they might as well be."

A Vex stepped into the light.

"It can't be. They have to shape the Adamantium into the droids in the first place. We've literally got contacts everywhere we don't have members. I propose we try to sabotage their droids and feed schematics to the peoples of the Milky Way."

"Agreed. We should get to work at once. Godspeed, everyone."

The group disbanded to set their plan in motion.

------

Tin and aluminium was secretly introduced to the adamantium, and components were redirected across the galaxy. Production would be set back years.

However, of far more direct value, encoded transmissions were broadcasted to FutureEngland forces and other enemies of the Cassiopeians. They contained detailed technical schematics of the new droids. They were signed "The People".

The Social Contraction tools along, checking on its charges. Given the general tech level in the volume, it's exercising admirable caution, communications discipline, clever navigation across the many layers of space.

That's what it thinks. It's making assuptions. Writing checks its Mind substrate will have to cash.

Right now, as a matter of fact. A facturecraft slices mere lighthours past the Divine Glory 227's forward horizon, slowing toward a plunge into the photosphere of an unremarkable yellow dwarf. Nonsapient, flimsy - but with drive fields equal to an Esperi Incursion-era General Offensive Unit.

ooc: Well, waiting for the invasion here as well.

There it is again.

Closer.

Closer.

Still closer.

Assorted passive scans pick up the new arrival - And this first results are worrying enough to avoid active scans until the engagement starts.

Ships in the general vicinity of the Divine Glory 227 (Basically every single Idiran ship around Matrala) are contacted, and prepare instantaneously, if suffering from slight disbelief - The incoming craft (Something they can't quite identify, too powerful for an OU, too small for a GSV) is targetted.

Again, passively so.

An odd approach, all things considered - For all its power and sophistication, it comes along as an imbecile, practically broadcasting its position and configuration for everyone to see and prepare for.

Temporary and permanent groupminds confer while younger, less experienced and biological minds are kept out of the decision-making process - One cannot afford being slow, now. Every picosecond counts.

A few more anomalies are noted, but nobody really doubts the military purpose of the old and new enemy - Too powerful for anything but profoundly military statements.

And at this distance, it can prolly fuck the entirety of Matrala, once it notices who is there. Heck, to the Divine Glory 227, it's practically ramming distance!

Almost a nanosecond later, a shower of assorted munitions, CAM warheads, AM charges, nanohole-displacements and - Pointless but shiny - CREW fire is released, all rounded with assorted bubbles of superheated plasma displaced in the hope of obliterating the target before it notices - And more importantly, reports - the decidedly Idiran signatures in its vicinity. Space - The skein, infra-and ultraspace, and assorted layers the Idirans didn't know from where they came from, but have become vaguely familiar with since their arrival here - erupts in spheres of radiation, blossoming flowers of destruction, and the temporary collapse of assorted spacial dimensions as they're showered with sheer energy.

Among the Idirans, discussions have already begun.

Where did that one come from?

And, after a brief analysis of the debris: How the hell did they get these things?

The results of the discourse vary, ranging from frustration to blind rage.

[DiaGlyph]

The glyph is a crafted concept, beyond the capability of 1.0-level sapients to fully comprehend. Suffice to say it would strip the dried blood and assorted other remains off a World Eater drill instructor at twenty paces, if that luckless wight's patron deity saw fit to let him comprehend it.

"Fuck!" is a really, really weak word in comparison.

The Social Contraction reviews its options. It had been relying on the facturecraft's sensors for high-definition coverage of its nearspace, and its destruction had been so sudden it hadn't had time to realign its hyperspace sensors. Low-fidelity sensors tells it a thing or two, though.

It squirts a message off to Junction, and before the response arrives, it's already been carrying out the order it expects. Shifting spaces, redlining drives, curving into a straight-line approach for a fast pass.

But as fast as it burns in, the unknown hostiles will have hours to examine the facturecraft's remains. There might even be readable data... intolerable!

When the order arrives, it's in the form of a suggestion. Nail the evidence, identify the hostiles, avoid contact, and work up a really, really comprehensive destruct sequence. Please. Implicitly: or we will ruin your life. There's the loose authority of leading Minds over civilians, and there's the authority of someone with huge prestige addressing someone who just messed up horribly.

The ship goes past redline, shaving half an hour off its ETA, exotic hyperspace smashed by its wake.

Radiation and subatomic debris are traced back, planck-scale deformations in assorted spatial realities are analysed, a billion things are done by a few hundred sensors and a largish cloud of satellites and drones playing through the multinanosecond-long battle and its remains in ever greater detail, plucking out what little information survived the destruction the Divine Glory 227 and its peers had initiated.

Very little information indeed, sadly, though simple materials analysis tells them enough to decide that the rather brutish form of destruction was the better choice - Otherwise they'd have had different issues, and rather unpleasant (Not to mention outright dangerous) ones at that.

One thing is certain, and organic as well as uploaded minds agree - Assuming that the craft is (Was) what it seems to (have) been, they're now in big trouble.

Or maybe not - Perhaps it was just a scout, sent from whereever. Perhaps they can continue their buildup, perhaps they can even utilise the newly-gathered information for their own purp-

Nevermind. There comes the next, and this time it seems to be the real thing, despite lacking its usual cloud of subcraft, which are most likely staying behind.

Xendragal links up to the sensorfeed the combined shipminds are acquiring, for once participating in this rather more specialised and less political endeavour.

Almost scary. A part of him swells with pride, now supposing - realising - the likelyhood of a glorious death, watching the ROU at least temporarily collapsing additional spatial dimensions through its (Rather excessive) drive fields.

Another part is frustrated. So we escaped them for a few years, just to be hunted down again, long before we were ready. What's the point?

Weapons, mines and missiles, are distributed and assorted subcraft slaved to the destroyers, crusiers and battleships are readied and form a cloud around the space the Idirans consider the future 'Battlefield', a sphere perhaps ten lightyears in radius. Make that twenty lightyears, accounting for forward reconnaissance by expendable units. Numerous spatial realities are penetrated, ordinance is hidden in between them.

The activity, though meant to be vaguely unobservable, isn't quite that, but then, their incoming opponent isn't exactly going for subtlety, either, and besides, with the continuing analysis of their last opponent, they're now a little better prepared than before.

And while the ships are waiting - Not anxiously, but with a notable degree of frustration, hell, what they're doing here isn't particularly far away from trying to blow up a Dra'Azon world - a few not-quite-suicidal organics consider other options.

There aren't many remaining.

(OOC: I've got the CDP as a major political movement within TCG, and has a lot of domestic influence. Hakurabi is under replanning.

By the way, they do have enough influence to pull this off - You cannot guard against an unidentifiable threat from within. Investigations are another matter, however, should you wish to play it out.

You can also try to defend, but it's really up to everyone else what is plausible and what is not.

If you want to RP this out, then just let me know.)

--Cassiopeian Democratic Party-- (Secret IC, obvious.)
Within a small apartment, far from the prying eyes of the government, a small group of Cassiopeians met.

"It looks like our friends are up to their antics once again. Perhaps we should stop them?"

"How? We've got those insane generals to get around. I warrant they'll check every bot by hand for defects."

"They're also convinced they're invincible."

"And they might as well be."

A Vex stepped into the light.

"It can't be. They have to shape the Adamantium into the droids in the first place. We've literally got contacts everywhere we don't have members. I propose we try to sabotage their droids and feed schematics to the peoples of the Milky Way."

"Agreed. We should get to work at once. Godspeed, everyone."

The group disbanded to set their plan in motion.

------

Tin and aluminium was secretly introduced to the adamantium, and components were redirected across the galaxy. Production would be set back years.

However, of far more direct value, encoded transmissions were broadcasted to FutureEngland forces and other enemies of the Cassiopeians. They contained detailed technical schematics of the new droids. They were signed "The People".


OOC: I am calling that GODMOD. Ignored

Matrala Approach

The Social Contraction keeps piling it on, pseudovelocity building at a rate orders of magnitude greater than a Culture ship of the Esperi Intrusion era would have been able to. Partly this is due to finesse, partly due to raw power. It's maximising both, the finesse to get to its target faster and the power to be able to really, really overkill the remains of the facturecraft and anything that looks to have been digging around in them.

And to go faster of course.

And because a gridfire-like torch powering a set of drive fields configured like this isn't just fast. It's also unbelievably dangerous. The ship regains some of its habitual smugness.

It's riding a weapon of imaginable (and how it likes to imagine such things!) power, at truly immense speed, and if things go badly... well, there's the very, very comprehensive destruct the rear-echelon meatfuckers at Junction wanted.

It fires off a situation report. Approach vector, firming sensory data from itself and two slavecraft, one of which will be able to act as a sensory/ewar support and will have fabricated up some basic munitions to take care of anything the Social Contraction detects but cannot quite engage.

Oh yes, playing it safe. Responsible yet bold.

Junction

There's glare around the sky, a pearl necklace of blue-white lights strecthing all around, lighting a bar of nacreous clouds. Beyond the hazes, black, black, the black of a void too large for even most ships to dwell upon.

Energy, data, artifacts.

The Social Contraction's situation report arrives. A Mind mainly engaged in tinkering with sensory data from widely dispersed sensors, and slightly in threatening a delinquent ship takes it in.

A reply won't get to the fool in time. Best case isn't good. Worst case, just bad. And there are interesting things in the general volume.

Update.

Hostiles are a lot like Idirans.

Bad, and good. Even the Social Contraction should be able to handle Idirans. Idiran decision making could often be enormously clever, matching Referrers at times, but they're limited by allowing for only organic sentience. By "now", the delinquent will be well within the hostiles' command loops, outthinking the machines and outspeeding the organics.

The odds just went up.

Final pre-attack update.

Silence.

~ We've got a problem.

Matrala Approach

The Social Contraction is getting hard data now, from slavecraft and from probes shunted into more visible hyperspaces. That might well let the hostiles (Idirans? Never mind, just sort the matter...) infer that something's approaching at an extreme turn of speed.

Yes, yes, that's as good as it gets and as much data as the ship will gather before turning all its resources to combat.

Final pre-attack update.

Engaging.

There it c-

The message was interrupted by a mixture of excessive EW now flooding the battlefield, simulating a cluster of multispatial pulsars, and assorted munitions taking care of the In Its Name 12, which vanished in a flare of radiations, its lifetime cut down to nanoseconds as impacts riddled its hull.

The same happened to a few dozen other craft, the battle starting with excessive ferocity and gridfire splattering into real space, torching a significant fraction of a nearby comet-cloud (Which, in a few million years time, would prevent the repeat of an asteorid-impact induced extinction event, simply due to the lack of asteorids, which would in turn result in the local system's third planet's biosphere kind of stumbling about without showing any kind of particular innovation - The development of sapience would be delayed by about sixty million years).

Yet, the Idirans had expected this, and their groupminds, fanatism spilling from their orders and communications, fired back as good as they could.

Munitions were displaced and fended off, spheres of plasma and collapsing nanoholes poisoned real space and perhaps half a dozen other spatial realities, and the Social Contraction... Continued, turning the incoming munitions back against their creators, evading, accelerating, firing, collapsing its opponents drive fields, forcing groupminds into surrender with its effectors, decelerating and killing, and, among other things, looking out for the remains of its subcraft, which were promptly showered in excessive clouds of CAM and, a microsecond later, consumed by its gridfire-torch.

A little late though, as they'd already been analysed - not perfecly, given their rather disfunctional status, but still.

It was a somewhat soulless battle, the near-perfection of machines leaving little space for the romantic battle ethics of ancient CHON warriors, consciousness following mathematical requirements and statistical propabilities rather than the romantic attitudes conscience tended to produce (The Idirans more so than the Social Contraction), and orchestrating excessive destruction.

The Social Contraction was now most likely surprised by the reaction times of the Idirans, which acted considerably faster than its information suggested, and it was probably spending picoseconds on contemplating this, on reworking its strategy...

But by then, it'd entered the killzone where the majority of the hidden ordinance had been placed. The Social Contraction's CREWS and effectors, displacers and assorted other - Newer - toys were good enough to get a fair number of them - But the ten percent or so that remained proved to be sufficient.

Plasma was dispersed, nanoholes turned back through collapsing wormholes, energy dumped into spacial dimensions that'd now soon collapse (And make traffic in this region somewhat hazardous for the next few years), moons boiled (Whoops. Missfired...) and empty space was filled with multibillion-kelvin hot soups of relativistic particles and radiation, but a few warheads managed to hit the Social Contraction regardless of all its defensive effords.

On board of the Divine Glory 227, this very glory reigned, the groupmind relishing in its victory, and about to relay the victory news to its organic crew...

Nanoseconds later, and long before the organic crew could've been informed, the Social Construction initiated its now-unavoidable self-destruct, its scarred and by now not quite complete hull having arrived in the middle of the Idiran fleet.

Space and time (Well, space, anyway) seemed to collapse, the sudden, squirted release of gleaming white energies penetrating the tender body of reality in all its versions -

Then it was gone.

And so was a fair fraction of the Idiran fleet.

What followed were moments of relative inaction, the drastically decimated Idiran fleet (Only about half of its craft had remained, and about half of them were considerably damaged) kind of... Bracing itself for the next round - A round they knew they wouldn't survive, though they'd fight it, anyway.

Further ordinance was manufactured, damages were repaired, and sensors once more swept the surroundings, now with considerably more difficulty - With numerous spatial realities collapsing into others, radiations racing about at varying velocities (Depending on the reality they were in) and the likes, it wasn't quite easy to find what they searched for.

Is it over?

Apparently. Just one. Still, we noticed emissions from a subcraft or two, earlier.

Searching...

Hiding in between layers of now-unstable subrealities, riding radiations and occasionally fleeing the battlefield - One by one, they - Most of them, anyway - were found. Some fought, some were destroyed, and some were captured.

The Fist from the Heavens 4 eventually vanished in the form of a gamma ray burst as one of the subcraft fired its (Oddly exotic) munitions, but its distant sister, Fist from the Heavens 69 eventually managed to corrupt the target, and briefly celebrated the capture - This one should prove to be more than useful, given the ordinance it carried.

Others acquired less useful, but still valuable information, which, as it was shared, made Xendragal and the others shudder, despite their fatalistic attitudes - But even the most glorious of sacrifices is pointless when carried out against the kind of odds they were just now learning about.

Yet, as, well, not quite incomprehensible, but still ludicrously superior their adversary seemed to be in this particular realm, some of the information they found in the captured subcraft proved to be valuable beyond imagination...

There were few resources left, but groupminds and organics agrees on this one, risky as it was.

An expedition had to be prepared. A sun was waiting for them.

Matrala Approach

The Social Contraction hits the outer defensive shells like a burning lance, riding a drive so many generations advanced past a Fasset that it's not funny. Unless you're a sadist.

In a sense, the ship is a sadist. It's part of a nonviolent pacifist community whose actual members are conflict-junkie murderers. It's deadly beyond belief. And it's angry, jilted, thwarted, petty, and it wants to kill the people who've upset its ambitions.

And it does. Passing through the outer shell it can concetrate on individual targets. In Its Name 12 and a dozen others take direct hits from a geometric perversion of its drive-torch - the sheer power! A line slashes out, again and again, interacting with the targets with a power much like gridfire. For all the inherent danger, this weapon approaches a standardweight mGSV's Violence Delivery Systems for raw, unadulterated power!

Power to kill across lightmonths, power to kill with absolute unsubtlety, giving no secrets away. Oh, the ship revels in its murderous cunning.

And then the Idiran - yes, they must be Idirans or some fractal-universe cousin - upset all its plans. Those fire plans, those EW strategies - they mutate with intelligence at least 1.0 and in timeframes far too short for Idirans.

The ship comes truly alive, fighting for its life to the full extent of its power, but it can do the math. And so it juggles its priorities, reconfigures certain systems.

In some senses, resignation makes it a better person. Better and deadlier.

Comms are out now, slavecraft are following preexisting battleplans. No matter. If the ship makes it out, and as it enters the final defensive zone, that consideration largely becomes immaterial; it slashes at the Idirans and the remains it came to destroy but the enemy has be thorough, this is no minor outpost, and the enemy is smarter and better than expected - time to die, and so no mindstate updates will go out, and no matter, a pair of DiaGlyphs, some minor datasets can be coded into the torch so when ot goes up and it will...

Those thoughts are langourous, just a few orders of magnitude beyond the organic in their speed. Sensual. The ship is enjoying itself on a level incomprehensible to lesser minds.

The message goes out - two messages, really. It sees one as "Don't fuck with the Culture", but it's not so proud as to assume the headstrong, brave Idirans will take it this way. The drive goes up, a manydimensional fractal snowflake, lovingly created to collapse around the Idirans' drives, leaving no remnants. The other, coded in the detonation...

~ Hello, Social Contraction. This is Social Contraction, and I'm dying now. I am well jammed, and so your mindstate is out of date. And I enjoy this. As the detonation killing me destroys my enemies, my substrate is following a rather exotic trajectory that hardly intersects the released powers at all; just enough for me to take in the sights. I expect it to be beautiful.

And I enjoy this thought, because the sight is all mine. Live your own life, Social Contraction.

It's just sad you'll be as stupid as I was before I realized I was going to die.

I'm off to my date with the Grid now.

Junction

Far away the situation unfolds, too fast for the Mind to do anything about it. Local ships (that is, ships in the relevant galaxy) begin reporting, but by now the Matrala region situation is stabilizing.

The Mind ponders.

At this "moment", and lets not dwell on the fairly complex definition of momment, the Idirans will quite possibly have captured some slavecraft. If so, they will find the nearby shipnursery that supplies the antireplicator operation the ship was engaged in.

A human would likely have taken a while to realize that the shipnursery represents not just a risk but an opportunity. To a Mind, the answer is implicit in the problem. It sets certain measures in motion.

Data to the shipnursery, a mindstate shard with a general plan. Instructions to the civilians scattered about the galaxy and the three militia. And to the machineries controlling a pair of artifacts far off the galaxy's plane, in the vicinity of a subgalaxy, another shard.

The data from the detonation arrives, relayed. The Mind revises its plan.

~ A situation is brewing [DiaGlyph]. I am offering this proposal for peer review. It is grossly inefficient, but I believe it will be effective. And it offers some hope for the Idiran uploads. It will require a Gate window, and will necessitate some work the [DiaGlyph] neutronium mining experiment, but my shard is already engaged in that.

The plan meets with general approval.

Star

There are mechanisms at work, patient, stealthy, creating tools and ships inside the star. Its purpose, to support inhibition of replicator activity in the volume, and to provide a certain readiness. Slavecraft float in the star, and facturies, no sentience here, just machines.

The data dump arrives, vast, and the machines labor briefly to construct a substrate capable of hosting the mindstate. Slavecraft are sacked, transformed from morons to vegetables. Soon an artifact floats down toward starcore, massively sentient, determined. The machines near the surface embark on a spastic militarization.

By the time the Idirans arrive, there will be an ample supply of half-built star-OU slavecraft of various types and classes. And a tantalizing mGSV shell that will take years to complete.

Near Black

Between the galaxy and its lesser siblings, machines are shepherding two neutron stars toward a relativistic collision, years downtime. Now, they come to life. Changing. Changing from utility artifact to major military production node, and to being prepared to harvest an inelegant collision for vast energies.

To harvest the collision, and create a warfleet of terrifying power... in years.

For now the two systems begin to churn out defenses, and make it appear as if they've always been there.

Ringed World

The ROU Chrome Steel Phallus - GSV mind now, in a ROU body - holds position "above" the gas giant and its natural and artificial rings. Scattered around the volume; slavecraft, artifacts. It accepts its new tasks, sends ships off; along the way they will change.

Then it goes back to its casual monitoring of the system and its neverending study of the incomprehensible world further in.