NationStates Jolt Archive

From the depths of space, three encrypted transmissions were sent to the nations of the Federal Union, Mini Miehm, and Tigerlan. Each transmission bore the same code: a date and time, a set of coordinates, and a short-band, arcane radio frequency. It also told all three nations to travel in a small, no-larger-than-a-Correllian-Corvette-sized ship to the designated coordinates. It also said that the nations could bring a single squad of elite troops as an entourage, but only that.

OOC: You realize MM has been inactive for..20 days now, right?

OOC: You realize MM has been inactive for..20 days now, right?

((No, I wasn't aware of that. Thanks for bringing it up, though.))

Not only has he been inactive for twenty days, he laughs at you at every opportunity, foolish child.

That being said...

IC:

The Conferate Congress debated for all of 5 minutes before deciding to send a ship. It was slightly larger than a Corvette, by several hundred meters, but they were assholes, powerful and heavily armed assholes. They could get away with such affronts. They also sent an entire Regiment of Armored Combat Suits, the 47th New Carolina, instead of the squad they were supposed to send. But once again, they were powerful assholes. If anyone argued, that was on them. They had asked for the Terrans help, and they would accept the Terrans actions if they wanted the might of the Solarin Confederacy behind them.

Not only has he been inactive for twenty days, he laughs at you at every opportunity, foolish child.

((If you don't want to have any involvement ICly, just post your nation's disinterest in the invitation.))

((If you don't want to have any involvement ICly, just post your nation's disinterest in the invitation.))

See previous.

Not only has he been inactive for twenty days, he laughs at you at every opportunity, foolish child.

That being said...



OOC: :XX H4xxed. Where have you been for a month?

The Terrans would feel right at home with the Copen. They, too, were assholes. They were polite assholes (which seems kinda like an oxymoron), but they were assholes none the less. Anywho, the Terrans would enter the area marked in the message to see a war vessel. It was a Macross-class SDF. Figures, as that was the trademark ship of the Copen Navy. The SDF, code named the Blue Demon, would hail them, and a voice with somewhat of a Russian accent would greet them.

To the Terran ship entering the area, this is Captain Henry Gloval of the Copen Protectorate Navy. My superior officer Supreme Commander Feronen Selinorasi wishes for you to send your envoy to our ship so that he may speak with him or her about the plan he has laid out. Whilst you probably wish to do so over a communications link, we can not allow this due to the high probability of someone intercepting the transmission and selling us out. We have already prepared our portside landing strip to receive your shuttle, and we will lower you into the hull. The Commander also said that you may bring one squad of troops onboard our ship, but only that much.

General Edward Longstreet paused part way through the message. "High probability of intercepting the message? Just how primitive are these kids?" His thick New Virginia accent made it sound more like "Hagh probability of intuhception? Just haow primitive ahr these kids?" Confederate ships relied primarily on whisker lasers for encrypted transmissions, due to the nigh impossibility of interception.

"Oh well, ahm not gonna let theih incompetence intuhfere with mah responsibility. But, ah can already tell what my recommendation is leanin towards. Captain, may I ask, where is Bravo Company of the Invincibles?"

The thickly built captain of the three and a half kilometer long Dreadnought paused for a moment to consult his tutorial implant, before replying. "On their way to the boat bay now sir. I presume that you'll desire for them to be your escort across?" His lighter New Carolina accent was much less pronounced than that of his superior officer, but it had its own sense of depth and melodic drawl.

"Indeed captain, if you'd be so kind as to get them intuh ahmor, I'll take them across, and leave 2nd and 3rd platoons in the transpoht, while 1st stays outside, and 3rd squad comes with me to the negotiations themselves. Anyone so blatantly inept as ahl this obviously needs some impression of exactly what a real military looks like. Kids playing at war... Bad business I can tell." The Admiral was only in his middle 50s, and looked significantly younger with the rejuvenation treatments available to the Confederacy, appearing even younger than some of the ratings and ensigns manning the ship on which he was a guest.

""Yessuh, it surely is at that. I'll be sure they go in with all their medals on."

"Thank you captain. Ahl get myself suited up naow, and be ready to depaht in no mohre than five minutes. Just tell them I'm on my way, and try not to laugh too hard at theih expense."

The young-looking general donned his own suit of powered armor, much like those men chosen to escort him had done, but in his case, he carried only his sidearm, and put the outer display to "Dress Uniform", so it would at least allow him some distinction from his subordinates. The fact that he left off the concealing solid helmet helped too, leaving his face visible to the world. Moments later the transport left the Alabama's boat bay, and began the short journey across. Any objections to the number of men on board would be met with irrefutable fact. Only one platoon would leave the ship, and only a single squad would leave the boat bay. Let them complain, a generals security mattered more than primitives ego's.

OOC: :XX H4xxed. Where have you been for a month?

Busy. VERY busy. Anything for which I might have been needed?

As the transport landed upon the port-side landing strip of the Blue Demon, several docking clamps made of a very flexible, yet highly stable material would latch onto the ship, and would rest gently upon the deck with merely a slight budge. Almost immediately after it touched the main deck, it would be brought below, into the confines of the ship's "left arm." Slowly, but surely, the would be brought to the main interior bay, where hundreds of variable fighters and Destroid battlewalkers were docked. There were being maintained by numerous species, from Tau, to Terrans, to Covenant races, and there were even the giant Zentradi, which resembled the terrans only in physical features, sans the height difference. Zentradi were fifty feet tall, afterall.

Upon the ship's final landing point within the SDF, only a squad from each race would the show of formal force. There were squad of Terrans, adorned in a steel-like body armour reminiscient of Chancellor Sopot's Elite Guard, a squad of anthro's adorned in their basic war amour, which varried between each individual sub-species of anthro, a squad of Tau Firewarriors, a squad of Sangheili in basic blue armour with two red armoured Sangheili leading them, a pair of Lekgolo flanking the Sangheili, a squad of Eldar Guardians, and a pair of Zentradi warriors in their full battle armour.

The three main figures that were there to actually greet the Terrans boarding the ship were Feronen, Hamarande of the Yautja, and Captain Gloval.

Feronen was dressed in plain, business casual clothing, which was a tan pair of slacks, a cream-coloured suede button up, and a pair of black dress shoes. His hair was cut to an average length, and he kinda looked like Robert Redford with it cut in this manner. His synthetic Yautja-metal arm was hidden by a synthetic layer of skin, which couldn't be differentiated between his normal pale skin. Another interesting feature was the oddly displaced pair of thin, black leather riding gloves.

Then there was Hamarande, current leading Elder of the Yautja (Yautja are Predators, for those who are uneducated). He was adorned in the basic Yautja war armour, which was less ornate than his council armour. It covered the majority of his body, but allowed for a lot of flexibility. Its silver sheen made it look pristine, but it was obviously just a fresh polish, as there were many scrapes, gouges, and other battle marks upon it from previous battles and hunts. It may have looked uncomfortable and cumbersome to the average Terran, but it fit Hamarande like a glove, even at his massive height of eight feet five inches (which is an odd height for male Yautja).

Finally, Captain Henry Gloval was the actual captain of the Blue Demon, and it showed in his best ceremonial attire. Feronen had told him not to wear the outfit, but it was standard military procedure hammered into him. He looked rather good, though, as this picture (http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/thumb/0/07/Nadia-Nemo002.png/240px-Nadia-Nemo002.png) will show.

All three men waited patiently for the Terran representative(s) to debark from his(their) ship.

At his regular height, General Edward Longstreet stood slightly over 6 feet in height, making him a fairly imposing man. In full ACS, he stood just over 8 feet in height, dwarfing everyone in the bay but the massive Yautja. Much like his slightly taller counterpart, the armor of the General bore scars. Unlike the armor of the Yautja, it was entirely utilitarian, it's solid seals and heavy plates a stark contrast to the angles of the Yautja plate. It's power enhancement and similar systems also made a notable difference, making the nearly half ton suit of armor move as silently as a man in his bare feet on open sand. The holographic systems of the armor provided enough ostentation that any actually visual effects of the armor itself were unnecessary. A fifteen man squad of ACS Troopers followed him down the ramp, each standing somewhere in the region of 8 feet, handpicked for the sheer imposing presence they presented, as well as their exemplary history and combat records.

The General swept a glance over the assembled ranks, and knew his men were doing the same. 200 ACS Troopers viewed the assembled ranks with more scorn than admiration. So much diversity. So much foreign equipment. A logistical nightmare. Total amateurs, no better than the first Rebels, nearly a hundred years ago. The few other races that had been incorporated into the Confederacy, Mardukans and Protoss most notably, were a minority, and all were trained to use the same equipment as the more numerous Terrans, barring necessary modifications for sheer size discrepancy. Primitive, divided, sectarian. These were looking like poorer and poorer options for allies, and more and more like annoyances.

"Good day Gentlemen. General Edward Longstreet Solarin Confederacy, permission to come aboard?" He was still standing politely at the very end of his down ramp, awaiting the traditional permission to board a vessel, while his escort stood behind him, still taking in every detail.

((I think the only race you didn't count in there is the Zentradi. Doesn't matter, really. They're a rather large minority. I also forgot to add my Protoss as well...))

Feronen stepped forth to show that he was the man in charge. He was dwarfed by the General in his powered armour, but size rarely mattered to him for multiple reasons, of which none need mentioning at this point.

"Permission granted, General Longstreet," Feronen replied. "I am Supreme Commander Feronen Selinorasi, current elected leader and continuing head of military directorate of our Protectorate. It is an honour to have the presence of such a well respected member of your nation's military grace us with their presence and attention. One moment please..."

Feronen turned and addressed his soldiers. "Soldiers!"

The diverse ranks of his troops came to immediate attention, and their response was in perfect unison. "Haow!"

"Dismissed!" Feronen then turned back to his honoured guests as his troops filed out, moving to other portions of the massive ship to continue with whatever duties they had been assigned to before they had been brought to the docking bay. "I am sure you have many questions as to why I invited you here, and I can assure you they will be answer in due time." He smiled warmly and motioned politely for the General and his men to accompany him and his two seconds. "Let us go to the main conference room, or would you prefer to remain in the docking bay in view of the majority of your troops?"

"We can continue to youh conference room. It's not like I have anything to be fraid of, naow is it?" So long as third squad remained with him, his troops would have 15 different perspectives for viewing the ship. 16, assuming they looked at things through the Generals eyes. But that was immaterial, and something that didn't need to be bandied about. Anyone who was paying attention would notice that as soon as the general stepped down from the ramp, the unsettling silence of his steps ceased, changing to a sharp click, precisely calculated to echo, much like booted feet on steel. It was practical as much as audible effect, though that too would likely go unnoticed, since there seemed to be nothing similar to the ACS in their arsenal, and who thought to use SONAR to sound out alternate paths out of an ostensibly peaceful location before any trouble had even started? A paranoid one, obviously.

"Youh lack of uniformity unsettles me Commander," the omission of supreme before his title was a calculated insult, but one he believed would pass over the head of his counterpart. "Such diversity in equipment must surely be a logistical nightmahre. I must applaud youh quartermasters if they manage to keep everything well enough supplied with the proper equipment." He spoke quietly, so that only the three around him could hear, and his Troopers through the pickup in his armor. At this point he was simply fishing for enlightenment as to his ostensible allies abilities, and not actively looking for new ways to show himself they were inept. Yet. His recommendation had been sliding steadily downhill for their cause, and only the fact that they obviously could field some sort of effective force had kept him from immediately laughing in their faces and walking away.

OOC: I have an entire order of magnitude on the post count of the beast. Bitches.

Feronen nodded to the general's wish to go to the conference room, and then turned on one heelm motioning again for the General to follow him. He noted all the minor little details per his usual 'people-watching' skills, and also caught on to the General's little insult. It was time to show the Terrans the Copen sense of sarcastic humour.

"I'm terribly sorry," he replied in a hushed voice. "I forgot to have my uniform dropped off at the dry cleaners back home. If you know any good places around this portion of the universe, go ahead and make note of them now so that I may make that my ship's next stop.

"And I thank you for the compliment on our quartermasters' abilities," he continued audibly. "We have separate quartermasters that appeal to the specific armaments of each species within our military, except for the Yautja, who are expected to maintain their own hunting and war equipment once they have come of age."

"It's a cultural routine," stated Hamarande, whose voice came out in perfect Basic. The Copen may look informal, but they had a universal translator with every known language in the universe programmed into it, and each race hears its own language when any others speak, including those of other races.

Feronen snapped his his fingers on his left hand, and almost instantaneously, an six-meter-in-diameter platform dropped from the ceiling and landed without a noise on the floor. Both Captain Gloval and Hamarande stepped onto the platform, and Feronen stepped up to its edge, again motioning for the General and his men to step onto the platform. "This way, gentlemen."

"Indeed, perhaps they might even brighten youh wit as they brighten your garments. Ah must admit that Ah am quickly reahcing the conclusion that you and youh nation are going to be little mohre than aggravations to mah superiors. You had best impress me with youh presentation Commander, I would be very disappointed if mah time heah was wasted." The sheer negative wit contained in the Commanders response was a near insult in and of itself. Incompetently delivered, lacking in uniformity, no cohesion... Could they do anything with any degree of competence? Or were they simply a mass of divisive children, each unwilling to give up its own toys for the sake of efficiency?

The General stepped onto the platform as he considered the myriad visible flaws of these beings who seemed to desire his assistance with something they thought was important. Had they been Terran, Solari, or any of nearly a dozen other polities or races they would have been at least militarily uniform, no matter the...rough and ready state of politics in the Confederacy. He consulted his tutorial implant. There was no telling what such an immature gathering of peoples would do. Reinforcements were already en route to help Alabama if it turned out to be necessary. Hopefully they could avoid that particular difficulty though.

Once every individual was on the platform, it slowly ascended into the air, compensating for the balance factor of each individual on the platform. Not a single person on the platform would feel the momentum of the machine moving them as it holstered them to itself with its own gravity generator. After rising into the air for about nine meters, the platform slowly began its trip to the conference room, which was some three hundred meters from the main docking bay.

"Then I guess I had best get to the point," Feronen replied, his voice turning to a more serious tone. He turned his head to face the General. "I assume you are familiar with the Extra Solar Union of Systems?"

"I am aware. I am also aware of theih current wah with the Galactic Federation. We've made it clear to both sides that we won't get involved on the behalf of either party. I'm not sure what you have planned Commander, but I'm already sure that I'm not going to like it, without some very good mitigating factors on your part. You best keep talkin real quick like." His face hardened as soon as he heard the ESUS. He had no love for them, but his superiors had already decided to stay out, and he was not going to get involved where he didn't have to.

OOC: Get on MSN

((Can't right now. At work. Will you be on after 6:00pm USPST?))

"Oh, do I have a story to tell you," Feronen continued. "The Imperium of Chronosia, as you obviously know, are members of the ESUS. Some time ago, our nation was in the midst of a civil war, and our numbers were beaten thin by the tyrant of the time, the Solar Dragon Emperor Sarkaran. He waged war upon even the most docile of peoples, and practically annihalated many of the planets that were necessary for agricultural developement, and had planned on slaughtering over eighty percent of the population of our galaxy. At the time, we had no knowledge of the Chronosian's involvement in our affair, and were completely flabberghasted when, half-way through our civil war, we learned that Chronosia was supplying the Empire of Sarkaran with economic and minor militaristic aid. However, there wasn't much we could do at the time about it, and the universal community was too embroiled in its own affairs to do much else."

The platform soon landed, and the three Copen officers stepped off, walking through a pair of doors into a small conference chamber. Feronen motioned for the Terran officer to take a seat, and they soon sat down as well.

"Nevertheless, we fought on, and slowly, but surely, we managed to gain ground as Chronosian involvement dwindled due to their war against the GFFA. Eventually, through a few decades worth of fighting, we managed to oust the self-proclaimed Emperor from his throne, and I personally handled him in the final battle of Copen Prime. At the end of the war, it was estimated that nearly two trillion soldiers from both side had died, and civilian casualties across the galaxy numbered in the tens of trillions.

"Now, we want Remiel's head, and the only way we're going to get it is by going through the ESUS first," he said, a hint of malice edging out, even as he squelched the flood of emotions trying to force themselves out into the open. His eye visibly twitched, and he rubbed it with one hand to try and get it to stop. He succeeded, and then looked at General Longstreet once more.

"The reason why I called for Terran help is because, even with the allies I have assembled currently, the man power that I can field is not enough to even make a dent in their defenses." He sighed in exasperation. "We are prepared to pay your government in any way we can for their direct military support, and when I say in any way, I mean in any way short of becoming your government's serfs."

"I'm fairly unimpressed. What is more sir, that is an affront to the honor of the soldier of the Confederacy, her Government, myself, and the men you see here. We are not for sale at any price, especially not as youh military lapdogs, to die because you are too incompetent or cowardly to truly fight." The Generals cold fury was visible on his vace, but never once did he raise his voice. "I need to confer with my superiors, y'all just wait real quiet like now." From his side, he lifted the helmet which he had not worn prior to this moment. He placed it on his head, and waited fr a moment for the biotic underlayer to clear an area for his face, before beginning to speak on a secure circuit to the Troopers behind him, and the Dreadnought.

"Well boys, all they want is foh us to be theih mercenaries. I can't say as I'm right tickled by that thought, but I'm goin to let the President decide what I can do. But I tell you personally that no matter his decision, I will demand satisfaction. Y'all can join me, or not. Mr. Davis and Marse Robert wouldn't fault you none for saying either way."

Just seconds later he had his answer. The Confederacy wasn't for sale. Its military wasn't for sale, and its General had carte blanche to redeem the slight to their honor that even the formation of the question had posed. The entire conversation would be undetectable, shielded from prying minds by Terran Psionic Dampeners, and from prying electronic ears by the so far secure AID/TOOT Network. "AID, suit speakers on." The Generals voice had taken on a harsh tone rarely heard, but his suit AI complied immediately, broadcasting his next words to the entire compartment. "Your offer is rejected. You have shown yourselves to be beyond unfit to bear the title gentlemen. You have insulted the honor of my men, and myself, and by extension my country. I demand satisfaction." He paused and stood up, now towering over the still seated trio of Copen diplomats. The seal on the left gauntlet of his armor released, and it dropped into his waiting right hand. Before he had used the anti-gravity systems of his suit to reduce the impact of the half ton suit on the surroundings, he now canceled it out entirely. He raised his right hand, and tossed the weighty gauntlet onto the table hard enough to shatter the top.

Back in the boat bay, the remainder of the 200 man company prepared to deploy. Banshee III shuttles were designed for hot drops, and at the moment, the seats were rotating down and outwards, leaving the troopers suspended invisible beneath their vessel, until the time came for them to drop free and retrieve the General.

"I demand satisfaction on your person. And it will be had in one manner or another. Pick up the gauntlet, if you are not too craven and weak. Any attempt to call for marines, or any attempt to do anything OTHER than pick up the gauntlet or speak in an apologetic manner will result in a terminal case of Uranium poisoning boys. We're not for sale, and you have made a very grievous error. I suggest you make any necessary reconciliation with your deity."

Not too far away, a second Terran Dreadnought and a trio of Battleships, as well as a number of light cruisers and destroyers readied itself to rendezvous with the Alabama. When a General calls for help, the Navy answers, and in style. Commodore Stuart's taskforce would insure that things stayed as polite as possible on both sides, while the General took care of his impugned honor and exited the ship.

OOC: Quadruple 6s BITCHES!

((I will make a post later tonight. I'm sorry for putting it off so long. I'm trying not to fail my French class, and it's taking precedence at this point.))

Feronen looked to the gauntlet that had been slammed into the table. It had left quite the indentation, and he mentally slammed his head into the proverbial wall. To think that the situation had gone like this...and before he knew it, Hamarande had already picked up the gauntlet from across the table. He stared at his second in shock, too confounded for words to escape his mouth.

"On behalf of my own people," began the Yautja, "I accept your challenge. What my superior officer has said does not reflect my own actions, but to calously throw myself and my people is a challenge of honour." The Elder stared down at his commanding officer. "Whilst I am bound to serve you loyally, Feronen, I am not fighting in your name on this. If he so chooses to challenge you in specific, then he shall do so." The Yautja sighed heavily. "How you became the commander of these forces and the elected leader of the Protectorate is as good of a guess as anyones."

Feronen shot up from his seat. "How dare you!" His body was shivering and seething with anger at such an insult. "Do not forget that it was I who pleaded to the government of the time to spare your peoples' lives, Hamarande! I'll have you court-!" What Feronen hadn't seen coming was the strong backhand from the old warrior, and he was thrown across the room and slammed into the wall, knocked cold almost instantaneously.

"Charge me with whatever you wish," whispered Hamarande, and then he looked upon the Terran General. "I call your challenge on behalf of the Yautja, and for my honour as a hunter and an Elder!"

The byplay lasted scarce seconds. Before the thing was over, 15 guns were up and tracking. By the time Feronen slid to the floor, 5 of them were firing at him, 5 were very carefully pointed at the Yautja, who was theoretically not a target since he had accepted Longstreet's challenge, and five more had unleashed their fury against the defenseless and rather unlucky civilian.

"Check Fahre! Check Fahre!" The command from the General would come too late to save either the disabled leader or the civilian, with an unfathomable number of rounds having been pumped into their bodies in the span of a similarly small number of seconds. Assuming the Yautja stayed VERY still and accepted that he was for some reason not being fired upon, he would be saved. Temporarily. The firing ceased in spurts, until all ten had stopped firing at their targets, and the five that had never fired had slightly lowered their rifles.

"That was...extremely regrettable, howevuh, the warning was given to do nothing but the things I had stated. You ah very lucky that they didn't simply kill you as well. Though youh luck may be somewhat at debate now, since you have still accepted my challenge. Based on the actions of my soldiers, howevuh, I am willing to allow you to rescind your acceptance, and consider our joint honor equally impugned by the associations we share. That is to say, the man that insulted us is dead, and your nations dishonorable statements may be excused, if you will excuse the dishonor wrought by my men in the doing."

Hamarande took careful count of how many men there were in the room, but decided to stop counting at six. He knew he stood no chance, but, at this point, it didn't matter too much to him. He lifted the gauntlet that he had picked up and handed it politely to the General.

"You and your men have been forgiven your trespasses," he replied. "Your men have also gained a little respect in their actions. In any other circumstance, I would've done exactly what they did, and their rapid response to the situation is comendable.

"I don't believe there is much else that can be done about this situation," continued the Elder. "You may leave, if you wish. I would escort you myself, but I have a mess to clean up, as you can see." He brought the attention to the blood-stained conference room and the two crumpled bodies with gaping holes in them and a few dangling body parts. "Just inform the deck crews that I have given the go-ahead on your departure." With that, Hamarande thumped his own gauntlet-encased fist against his chest in a salute, and then silently turned his attention to the mess at hand.

General Longstreet accepted the return of his gauntlet, turned, and walked out, followed in silence by his guards. The troops on the transport slowly stood down from their near assault, and awaited their exodus. The blood spattered troopers surely invited some comment, but if anyone was willing to contest their passage, it was not apparent. The General and his men returned to their shuttle, departed the ship, landed aboard the Dreadnought, and mere minutes later they were gone. As the massive vessel disappeared, the General idly wondered how long it would take them to remove the saber from the floor, as his empty sheath slapped against his armored thigh.

OOC: It's fairly firmly planted. You'd probably have to cut a circle of the floor out to remove it.