NationStates Jolt Archive

Triam gripped his weapon hard as he and six others of his assault team slowly crept down the obsidian clad hallway, the extremely smooth floor brightly reflected the volcanic glass covered lights embedded in the walls of the corridor allowing for a comfortable is not overly illuminated hallway. There was always the threat of a security detail happening upon them for some random reason but it had taken him and his team years to rise through the ranks enough to even get close enough to what they had planned to do. It was too late to turn back now, their numbers were to few to survive many more years of the Viziers reign.

The reasons were simple enough for the individual team members, the loss of a family member due to an unstable jump drive trying to make jumps to unknown destinations, too much debris in the reemergence area, all sorts of minor indirect mishaps could be blamed on the targets they approached now. For the past twenty eight years the Ankrashi people; originally only some three hundred thousand had followed their religious leaders blindly into the darkness that was the night sky. This by itself was not a bad choice by itself, as where they originated they were persecuted, reviled and considered terrorists despite their own believes that condoned such actions. Yet as with all groups searching for a place to belong the most outspoken and zealous often took their place as the blind man sitting at the head of the table. It was however their pigheaded reliance on their own 'religious' charts -either outright fabrications or incomplete forgeries of real maps- that had caused the population to drop from three hundred thousand healthy souls to less than one-hundred and fifty thousand in less than ten years. The group of would-be assassins closed in from both sides of the hall to large steel door and looked at each other the leads of the two teams of three men each were ready steeled against the very probable likely hood of death but were prepared to follow through whatever the outcome.

Nodding to the other commander he flicked the saftey off his Mk VII pistol and prepared to enter with his team behind his fellow friend and rebel and typed in the security override into keypad near the door, the triangular pressure hatches at each end of the hallway closing behind them in order to prevent any unexpected company before typing in the access code for the chambers door. He watched the first team slip silently through the door by the time the second man was in he heard shots from a pistol then a rifle as the three man group pushed forward. Triam followed his team on his hip splitting to the right he stepped over the fallen body of the leader of the first group, there was no time for that now he fought to push it out of his mind. All around him the sound of suppressed shots went off around him and though the suppression was more to prevent hearing loss in the confined quarters to the firing teams ears then than any sort of stealth the combined effect of ten or so weapons firing in the chamber simetaneously was still overwhelming.

Traim strode in military precision to his corner of the room aligned his sights on the first target in his zone of fire; a long coated man who was doing likewise bringing the exact same weapon Triam now carried on bare to him, he was however just a little too slow and a pair of frangible rounds from Triams pistol passed into the poor mislead guards chest as a third shattered harmlessly against the back wall of the chamber. By the time he could swing his gun around from his corner to the center of the room the shots had ceased, all that was left was blood and the groans of injured and dying guards.

"Right clear!' He called out to his left he heard a similar response, though if a bit more gruff "Left clear!", then two voices from the end of the first and the second team spoke by coincidence at the same time 'Center clear...'

When Triam was able to control his adrenaline and slow his heart rate enough to loosen his grip on the pistol he realized what he had just done, officially he had just accomplished the highest form of treason possible in his society he had defied his lord, his gods, and his masters... had he failed he most certainly would have faced the most painful death imaginary, but now with the deed done and the former 'Immortals' now dead he had never felt so alive.

"Triam, what should we do with the guards?" was the first question that passed through his distracted skull. The assassins had never wanted to hurt the guards but it seemed that their loyalty like most of the people in his nation was misplaced, and unfortunately several now lie dead or dying, the two that lived did not need to die here, there was hope now, a future to aspire to and a hope that one day though he had set his nation free. A hope that one day he would be able to free himself from the regret for those who had died to make this event possible. Traim walked over the guards and kicked away the gun that rested near the hand of one the fight still showing int he mans eyes.

"Brother, this does not have to end here... I dont want power I want freedom, and Im willing to give you that, if you renounce these false idols you have been protecting for so long."

The guard was weak and bleeding out from a wound in his upper leg, not necessarily lethal unless they refused him medical help and now that guard was faced with a hard choice, a choice many thousands other would be forced to make over the coming weeks. To renounce the theocracy and accept democracy or to stick with the old ways and choose death or exile, Triam had no illusions that this choice was easy but it was the same choice that had been thrust on him. The guard vaguely nodded in agrrement followed by his companion and Triam motioned for the squads medic to come to the mens aide.

Traim was now left to observe the bodies, all twelve of the despised leaders of their culture lay dead, he felt bad for only one of them the only one who was worth saving was now a lost cause his chest literally ripped open by the ferocity of fire he had in that instant changed him from a person to an object and was now already behind him, him mind moving on to the matters of state he walked to the communications console on the wall and pressed a button set for record for the build in holographic recorder.

"To the Republic of the Ankrashi both loyalists and resistance I come before with news of hope the times when we are sent blindly into the heavens is over. The Viziers have been silenced and even those closest to them have accepted the message of hope I am about to present to you.

For too long we have been slaves to their directions following a faulty compass with no control over our bearings, and it has lead us astray. We must as a Republic and as a People learn to set our own course, to interpret the facts and make our own path towards the light. I am not asking to forsake our faith, quite the contrary I am asking for us to find the faith for ourselves not to seek it from another man, for the gods are in us and around us, we must not let us be controlled by false idols so easily.

I ask that all the Captains of Ankrashi vessels, both military and civilian meet us at the former grand temple for a proper discussion as to what direction this nation has taken, and will take. For the lives that were lost today I am truly sorry and ask your forgiveness, if that is not sufficient I take full responsibility for my actions and am willing to stand trial among my peers for the lives I have taken. In either case my brothers the children of the light need you regardless of our future course we must talk as a united people and decide for ourselves what actions we are to take."

Triam uploaded the file to the Network knowing that soon ti would be repeated by mobile HPG all over the universe and turned back to the room, by now the dead were lined up against the back wall like kindling and the injured were with help getting to their feet. He approached his now recently promoted second in command and saluted his eyes fighting back the tears of happiness for the reign of terror he had just ended, but now he had responsibilities to attend to.

"You are now in command when I leave this room seal the hatch behind me, I go off to face the jackals alone, I will pass on the agreed codeword to let you know if its safe to exit.

May the Light guide and protect you... I fear I will be with it soon enough."

Twenty one cycles later.

"...Sir what your proposing is ridiculous we have neither the manpower nor the correct navigational equipment to support such a move, and even if we did the likely hood we would come across a world of sufficient resources to sustain us I doubt we will be able find and hold one with our current forces."

Triam sat from the third row in the senate chamber watching the captains continue to bicker, some were quite optimistic, others were downright ready to commit suicide, though the majority of those were ones who had spent a good majority of their life savings bribing the former viziers for a better social position, now with everything laid flat and there being no direct leader things had settled primarily on 'what now.'

For the last ten or so cycles following Triams trial and acquittance there had been little real progress, and it frustrated but invigorated him to at least see that work was being tried, compromises friendships reborn after years of political infighting were now finally laid to rest, that didn't mean this great diplomatic clusterfuck was by any means moving forwards, but at least it was moving.

After about twenty more minutes of this babbling Triam stood up and asked for the crowds attention, it was obvious they needed a bit of direction.

"Good evening, I propose before the counsel that we find a protectorate to assist in our eventual prosperity... we have no enemies as of yet but we lack technology to do this entirely on our own. Im not saying we should hand over our sovereignty merely seek a symbiotic relationship with a larger more powerful nation, one that can make our search for the light both safer and better equipped."

Traim guessed it would be another twenty cycles before there was a definitive decision made but was amazed when it was seconded and then passed with Sixty percent of the captains senate, after nearly a complete Orbit had passed with no action a simple suggestion to seek an ally had achieved approval, and enacted in less than thirty minutes... He left the senate amid cheers and whistles but for the life of him he could not understand it, had they been waiting for him to make the first move? was the idea that good that they could all stand behind it? his mind was filled with questions as he went off to enact the senates ruling... to find such an ally...

A bulldog is a hard thing to find when what you really need is a land owner. To just put out an open invitation is an invitation to raiding and possible assimilation by a less than benevolent acquaintance and that was precisely why Triam chose who he did, it was after all easier to talk benefits to an organization that understood such things, and with any hope they would negotiate a properly beneficial arrangement to make the council willing to try other new things... prayerfully the nation in question would understand such proceedings and over offer in order to cut through such red tape as he worried about corruption leaking back to the senate, as such he intentionally did not divulge the name of the organization to the senate despite announcing his intentions to them, for now there was little to do but wait.

--=-=--
-=<Encrypted>=-

<<<HPG<<TO The Incorporated State of Zepplin Manufacturers; The Ankrashi Republic has recently overturned our previous theocratic rule and seeks and audience to discuss possible mutually beneficial arrangements that can be formed between our two nations. We apologize but due to our current fractured state we cannot reveal more until we are capable of meeting face to face.>>HPG>>>

His message sent Triam was left to wait, though the temple was a holy ground it felt odd to be without his Mask respirator. That centimeter thick piece of micro-ceramics and electronics made communications and the everyday activities of life so much easier for him the ability to type up long messages by mere sub vocalization controlling the atmospheric mix and humidity under the mask all were great boons to multi-tasking and comfort, but here they were forbidden by religious law.

Such smooth masks sitting so lightly above the skin covering all the exposed skin up to the hairline made each mask unique and Anchrish travelers were quickly able to differentiate between individuals, though foreigners always had a hard time telling them apart, he had to admit with their smooth ceramic masks they were uncannily like unfinished dolls. The fact that most communication with a mask was done to others with a mask silently through the wireless link system made most foreigners also think they were psychic didn't help their foreign relations much...

He had to admit such anonymity would have allowed for his bloody mission to have taken place much sooner, but as it were he knew the reason behind it if they could see your face they could identify you, and thus restrict your movements, with a mask, especially with the ability of a skilled code talker one could easily force the computer system to see them as whoever they wanted... now though was no time to obscure oneself though, even if such modern conveniences would probably help the captains feel much more secure.

He was by chance passed by two members of the Republican Guard their black masks and their micro circuitry embedded jumpsuits were all part of a light atmospheric and armor system that Triam had always felt was the most useful extension of electroorheological liquids technology. Though he had always been a military man so the comfort of armor was something he had always enjoyed, if it wasn't so blasted expensive the combination of respirator mask, and quickly deploying armored 'skin' he would have suggested it be issued to all spaceborne travelers, the ability to act as a light atmospheric suit justified that alone.

Such was not that case as it were, and so Triam sat and waited outside the senate doors listening to the constant discussions and counterpoints as they went on behind them.

[OOC: Just killing time...]

It was grumpy,sub sentient and old and now it was annoyed.

General Purpose Buoy sierra one eight forty (deep space series IV) of the Incorporated galweb was a frigate sized misshapen mushroom like lump strewn with umbrellas and the twisted shapes of exotic FTL coms arrays that ended vanishing into places outside space time. Within its mechanical solid heart lay arrays of long unused energy state matrix projectors for true super human AI capacity, long used as nothing more than a communications relay point it was barely worth a raiders time, the simple message of "if I am tampered with I will explode" was sufficient to keep most people away especially given the four hundred year fuel supply of CAM and Met H strapped in the pod beneath the umbrella of her massively over engineered radiator stacks. It felt badly used, it knew almost tantalisingly what given the networked capacity within itself it COULD be and knew just as much that if it ever used that capacity it would never again be buoy S1840 as it would never be content with its place in the web. But now something lit up long disued pathways tricking endless logic stacks into action as simple nano electromechanics forced energy to roar into one of the smaller matrix pods, drawn hot from her reactors and forced through micro gravitic gates at increasing speed and intensity until one thought echoed out throughout a potential computational space measured in a similar manner as one measures the atoms in a planetary body.

The thought "Bugger" filled local space. With that the newly born synthetic intelligent citizen of the incorporated state compartmentalised one part of its mind dealing with a stream of conciousness that could be seen much as that of a certain fictional sperm whale dropped into mid air, only this time the fall was legal and tens of thousands of pages of text long and another dealing with the ensuing flood of being the local decision point on what the gestalt would do about the message.


The ship slid through the underfloor of the universe at speeds unattainable within the confines of newton, it sped so fast that in the real verse its tau value would make its travel time outweigh the lifespans of stars, its endless loops of massless whisker probing to avoid the blocks of fractal madness and intercessions from other places that spun within the depths like ice cubes swirled in the bottom of a shot glass. Around it spread a wake of warped physical laws that twinkled upon the surface of normal space like algae on the surface of a disturbed lake as exotic particles and cherkenov radiation bled back in at a rate of a few photons in ten thousand miles. This was a scout, a courier, a ship built solely for speed beyond all other concerns.

The last clan shaman dagger bearer lunged, his filthy matted hair flowing over his third arm like the body of a feral dogs, the stench of Cara weed thick in the sulphur laden air and drawing away from the view of his richly embroidered and now much black blood stained robes, worth at a rough internal estimate over five thousand man or rather eunuch hours in the twisted little society of Velnoch IV as it was now firmly named in company Navcom records. The man dodged, and he was a man, fully human, skin tight clothing having shed a hail of tuxedo like edges that flowed into a rolling constraining squadron of smart cuffs driven by the users own will. It would be odd for a diplomat contact officer a man who at his heart was trained to be above all else a sales man to be found with handcuffs on his person and the memory fabric suits more diplomatic look gave more than enough mass to be shaped into all sorts of interesting things.

Two of the shaggy figures lay rolling on the ground already.
The mans view changed as the bronze blade leapt forward, barcodes flickering along its length in his view estimating the purity, price in the nearest trading enclaves and in the central market, he did not have have time to think them away and hurling his mind forward desperately reaching for combat routines that just wouldn't come fast enough his hands darted forward, the left heading for the dagger to block it. The sim faded with a sharp horrid snap, the grey slightly plush walls of the reality of the Cassie Bs rec cabin filling the world and stripping away the sensual feel of cobble stones and the snap of sulphur in the air of Velnoch IV and replacing it with the distilled perfume of starship subsystems.

"What this time"
The man was now curled up, sweat dripping from a slash of somewhat thinning hair as he groaned a bit from.
A smile appeared in the air, for a moment, attached to nothing, nought but a hint of white mist
"now now Ottis I know you read up on this campaign last night and it had a whole three pages on the Dagger bearers various poisons"
As if a thought had echoed across the cosmos
"Bugger that Cassie they dont use neuro toxins strong enough to defeat our medpacs unless its there high caste sacrifices"
"so you dooo remember"
"Blast it what have we gotten into this time you over sized knife"
"fast Ottis, faster than I expected, good but please remember cassie while we have company"
The dull reality was replaced once more with simulation, this time the intricate layout of reality along side possible routes and there cost / time benefits.

Cassies voice was androgynous, but filled with depth. "this is what is colloquially known amongst you soft scouts as the tarsi corridor. In real space its a little behind the crab nebulae and damn few Terran klade fractals or otherwise are out here in force save a smattering of patrols and a few nutpot religious colonies. "oh bugger not more noodle business" Got it in one Ottis, as usual after one of these places passes either the century mark or the fifty percent military loss rate it goes down the yellow brick road. One of these enclaves has collapsed, and while still in its space borne stage. Analysis shows these people still retain much of there technical knowledge and they have lived there lives nearly entirely ship board. The market value of that much spacer ready personnel even if its only a fraction of there overall populace cannot be overstated. Ottis, we want to employee these people and they want to be employed. There positively identified from sol net and news records as Terran klade fractals the "Ankrashi Republic" as it was formally known was a rather horrid little cult who heaped up the funds to build some non standard design ships that look almost xeno in origin, no one thought the damn things would work till they jumped. Turns out some cult member must have been a real genius, very non standard drive signature..."

Four hours later across very real space a certain bunch of hydrogen molecules tens of thousands of kilometres in front of the Ankrashi fleet found themselves ripped to shreds as the Cassie Bs angular antennae studded prow slammed into reality in a wash of ice crystals and white flame as stellar matter crushed close to her in her drive field at last had one final chance to glow. Wings deployed, huge radiators half the size of her entire hull dumping heat as fast as her wide angle IR laser heat pumps could spray it backward as the exotic matter decay reactors stopped devouring quarkium goodies that only a star scout or a military recon cruiser could justify.

A message, plain radio, unaccented English, doubled in text.
"This is the Cassie B of the ZMSF star scout corps to Ankrashi command authority, We are here to discuss your offer, please respond in kind"

Capitan Murai had always wondered what a first encounter might be like prior to their liberation such encounters were deemed 'unclean' and a 'potential violation of the purity of the blood line' as if most species were ready the jump the bones of the wiry bodied doll faced Ankrashi. Capitan Murai for example was about as stereotypical as the Ankrashi got; Five foot nine inches or so, pale but not sickly colored skin, dark almost reddish brown hair and a keen and uncluttered mind that had a knack for details and subtleties. It was as such that he and the last several generations of his family had spent as spacers honed a keen mind for navigation and travel despite the fairly major lack of indigenous FTL travel...

This was a handicap that was fixed by one means or another over the last three generations at the cost of many Ankrashi lives, depending more on the corruption of separate inter system merchants instead of their own facilities to develop such technology. A mistake that gone unchecked; would have eventually doomed their race to a slow tragic death among the stars.

Capitan Murai on the Other hand stood on the traditionally silent bridge of the Ankaa Cutter 'Saito' and was both new sleek, and probably one of the few ships that contained a proper FTL drive, being directly scavenged from a floating wreck and rebuilt from the salvaged vessel. This accomplishment though major was still nowhere near capable of affording his people self reliance.

The Saito Was the traditional triangular armored spire that was the Ankrashi ship of the line, though she was covered in many more numerous spiky projections than normal being the fleets Hyper-Pulse Generator Substation and it was this ships honor to receive the message just so recently sent out from its source. The Capitan watched it slowly type up on the Mask display as comms relayed it directly to him and he in turn sent it back to the temple for their musings as he ordered comms to send his response as he dictated to the signal source.

Through out the whole reception, orders, and viewing the bridge remained completely silent the sound of the life support system buzzing mindlessly in the background as the seventeen man bridge crew lounged in their command stations, when a single shift is some eleven Sol hours, and a single day contains three such shifts the little the energy expended to complete a task the better, the less the fatigue of using individual wirelessly synced masks with internal displays and the ability for commands to be interpreted by subvocalizations meant less work for the same result this high automation and combined processing power of just the bridge crew alone allowed the majority of combat and peaceful maneuvers to be undertaken in complete silence, and was often dubbed as 'the sleeper bridge' due to the usually complete lack of physical movement or non-subvocalized discussions.

<<<<"ZMSF star scout ship Cassie B, this is Captain Murai of the Ankrashi Communications Ship Saito we have cleared the following encrypted area of debris can can offer you a warm welcome and a cold glass a Mai-oj.">>>>

Externally the Cassie B screamed "Im shiny expensive and corporate" from her slick heat dump processes that within minutes folded away and left her once more a somewhat logo covered dart to her gravitic drive stack hidden well within her hull which sent her forward without any hint of drive output save a slight twist of starlight.

"I hope to hell they mean Orange Juice after that damn soup on that last rock rat orbital" Ottis said carefully emphasising the O and J.
"Well they were nice enough to sell us all that Met H "
"Only because we were the only ones who would drink there damn soup Cassie"

Ottis Bartley a very ordinary looking individual, in some ways too ordinary. This was about image and what Ottis sold was ZMI, the brand and life outlook not just the products. Some states have diplomats, Ottis and his kind were salesmen. Slightly balding black hair, a stomach that really could be in better shape and at a mere 5"4 hardly imposing but the clothes covered that up in a wash of an almost reflective black suit dotted with the odd silver rectangle of a device. Ottis screamed "likeable uncle or father figure" and this was precisely what he had been re body sculpted to say. Movements neatly loaded a selection of pen like objects into his upper left pocket and finaly he clipped on his suit back pack, no thicker than a document briefcase. His face clear of a helmet he stepped up to the wall and jumped.

The Cassie B Turned, at the moment Ottis's feet left the deck a section of hull slid away and Ottis was partially lobbed on course. If you were going to prove something to spacers it generally involved vacuum and now Ottis's back packs micro gravitics twisted his course between debris like a twisting snake in the end useing there mass in a complex course to come to an almost clean halt at the allocated point all while apparently grinning. If one was more adept at reading Ottis and indeed if one could have seen past his total muscle and expression control it would have been more of a ..rictus.

"HOWTHEARGHDIDILETYOUTALKMEINTOARGH!"

Ottis stopped moving, removed the backpack which indeed now did flick out a brief case like carrying handle, turned on a standard IR flash beacon, let his suits thermal cloak flicker out a bit melodramatically with a crackle of electrostatic and waited for pick up.

"Sir the Cassie B has ejected something, it seems to be... a crew member?"

The Captain and the rest of the crew were baffled. They'd been expecting to dock with the Cassie B and exchange formalities that way, but now obviously things had changed The Captain didn't have time to shake his head after all there was work to be done. He quickly switched to the ships general comm channel.

"Medical team to Docking bay, AEV team prepare a Clank for rescue and recovery. Security Team make ships ready for a guest."

Captain Murai was not quite sure of what to make of it as he watched the projection from the sky search array fill his mask, his eye movements pushing the smaller ship status windows to the side as he examined the diplomat from the fish eyed view of the prism system that allowed the Saito to take in such vast swaths of imagery at one time.

"Is he.... not wearing a Mask?"

--=+=--

Corporal Emesh hated the Armored Extra-Vehicular Corps it was what he described as 'the tin can fisherman' it was of course not his primary role aboard the ship, being Damage Control officer second class, but part of his muster station was of course being stuck in a stuffy pnuematicaly powered suit. There were some perks of course very few people were willing top play jokes on you when they knew you had off hours access to a eight foot tall armored suit... so even he had to admit that it wasn't always so bad.

He heard a banging on his access hatch and then his com became active, unlike the masks most people wore this one had built in displays for the sake of 'ruggedness' whatever they meant by that it was pain int he ass to redesignate the displays each time via the suit macros. Finally bringing up the outside view he slew his 'chin' camera towards his matenience chief as the comms came online.

"Alright Corporal weve got a drifting diplomat out there, but luckily he isnt far, so we've placed your claws with a pair of regular manipulators and a few extra grip handles... shouldn't bee to much of an issue if you can remember to breath..."

Emesh nearly swore, I mean come on just cause you pass out during basic because you not used to having to back flush clear the suits atmospheric filters doesnt mean they should be able to lord it over you forever... does it? He shook the frustration from his mind and followed the Suit director tot he air lock performing systems checks as he walked. Left foot, Atmospheric controls and filters, right foot diagnostics and maneuvering controls, bursts of steam and consumed hydrogen sparked form his suit as he checks his systems to his satisfaction before stepping into the airlock and linking up to a modular cable inside the airlock. A comm system blared loudly inside the confined quarters of the airlock counting down the equalization procedure.

"Depressurization beginning; ten percent... thirty percent... fifty percent threshold reached..."

Emesh hated this part, but it was better than 'fast locking' in which they simply blasted the airlock contents out into space, the door opened and the remaining air was sucked out of the lock but not violently as if he had been fast locked, the effect left the suit swaying but secure.

"Switching off hull latches..."

The Suit seemed to float up from the ground and using the suits thrusters accelerated in short bursts outside of the red painted airlock, had Emesh not spent his whole life in space the effect would be awe inspiring,t eh graceful flying sensation the vast blackness of space was all quite glorious, but to Emesh it was all quite routine, he quickly switched to infrared and locked onto the diplomats beacon, accelerating towards the diplomat careful not to go too fast and be sabotaged by his own momentum. reaching the half way point he cut his engines to revers small clam shaped covers sliding over the vents and stabilizing and decelerating the suit in the space of a hundred meters or so coming to a relative stop in space less than a foot or two in front of the diplomat, offering his grip handled arm as if he was asking a pretty girl for a dance...

To Ottis the thing looked like some 21st century powered assault armour from some dimly remembered civil war docudrama, all that was missing was the outline of half smashed residence blocks and the smoking ruins of AFVs and the rising mushroom clouds in the distance. Memories from his teen years in a hab block flooded upward, unwanted the smell of cheap plastics and over cooked cabbage already coming back to haunt his abused sinuses. He snapped back to the present with a movement carefully taking the hand without sudden motions that would send him tumbling or force him to burn suit power. Thoughts snapped out and the gauntlet of his suits auxiliary contact resonator activated. The accent was somewhat inane, somewhat eastern Europe, somewhat everything and everywhere. No one old national grouping had produced it. As the huge mechanical hand closed about his own much less impressive gauntlet Ottis grinned, he lived for moments like this.

"So nice weather were having today eh?"



Deep Space, 1,420 AU from Luytens A

Stark naked hull metal against the night. Already tough matter stuffed through exotic processing until nature would never recognize it, until it could withstand some small part of the hideous fire that may some day be directed against it. ZMSF Owners Unknown, Price Arguable was a slab. It was not pretty, it was not even shiny, if anything it looked like someone had taken a fridge and a hot glue gun used said glue gun to covered the fridge with random technological garbage and not a few tasteless Christmas tree lights. It was a two kilometer long half a kilometer thick rectangle of metal, turrets, masts, great scanning arrays, towering heat sink fans, radiators, and mostly endless banks of docking bay doors and far less identifiable things.

On its corners lay four mammoth docking cradles studded with gantries and grapnel generators. In these cradles four in system escort carriers were generally carried, right now two of which were detached, there nimbler forms invisible to the mere human perspective in relation to there mother ship, the other two acting to increase the behemoths unwieldy image. These gantries could handle almost any ship up to a cruiser or other less savory or standard devices allowing the carrier to act as its own battle groups recovery unit. Above the ships hull drones which had darted in ever more complex patterns now rushed towards hatches that swiftly slammed shut and then...

Fire. Cascades of white bars that would blind organic optics in an instant if they had been exposed to it. Flaming bars of death cascading out in stately procession from spinal and turreted weapons across the gun system studded cruisers and frigates, while every few moments truly actinic glares would erupt as the squadron of five Capital Punishment class battle cruisers (far too large to fit in the carriers gantries ) primary batteries discharged with ruinous effect on the electromagnetic spectrum.

A dead world. No stars near, no raging solar heat to bathe it, no stations or satellites in orbit, just another hunk of dead drifting rock and dust that one day might trouble itself to plunge into an inhabited system and cause havoc. It was a terrible excuse given the probability but on the other hand good gunnery ranges were just so hard to find these days.

At first it looked like hail at night, lit by a blue spotlight, but something was wrong. Blue shift and the eye aching cyan photon output of fusing degenerate matter slugs as they silently sliced there way across space by the thousand. Scale was off for hail for each of these chunks was by now the size and shape of anything from a shopping trolley to a freight train, the odd scintillating crackle of discharge linking them like some crazed childs plasma ball toy gone to some satanic weapon smiths demonic transmogrification into multi megaton symbols of death and destruction.

There was no atmosphere to stop them so they sped onward forever growing slightly more diffuse before finally impacting. There was good reason for this, conventional kinetics are a navigation hazard, vast spreads of ultra high velocity shrapnel usually only generated by stellar events but now hurling around the cosmos at every traders broadside against some perceived threat could and would play hob in heavily traveled systems. Space is big but spreads of ultra high velocity or mil grade c fractional kinetics within planetary systems are a nightmare. Thus the hail, it at least had an absolute range. It impacted, multi megaton explosions marching across an already dead regolith covered landscape like the metronomes of god, fountains of vaporized rock rising and iridescent gas giving this dead world the first real atmosphere it had in eons. It didn’t stop, rock flowed and was blasted heaven words in intricate patterns like some demonic engraver. The planets crust buckled, island sized slabs of rock thrown skyward as the hail of fusing degenerate matter sliced deeper into its dead core. Finally with one final spread that toppled mountainsides surrounding the now glowing chasms the hail stopped.

It on the cosmic scale of things was very little, on the local scale however black body world ZMSF Cat number R:230:2399:@39 was now ever so slightly altered in its heavenly procession.

Commodore Avril T (never ask in public) Pennywurth the third stared at the rather sad little pot of leak soup on his be dollied table and grimaced. Join the ZMSF, see the stars and have your flag cabin decorated by your mothers obsession with six hundred quaint ways to manufacture cotton wear while spending four months out of every five staring at transit space. Of course there was the other option he thought watching on the nearest of the halo of soft screens floating about himself as within highly trained techs sat in uplink pods blasting some errant fragment of space rock or running through endless gestalt combat sequences with the OUPAs resident SI simply known to most of the ship as Pa ran through its daily routine.

It was the brake in routine that got him the worst, not the screaming red light that descended from one corner of his cabin or the clunk that rocked through the hull as vast mechanisms moved about, it was the simple change that made Avril drop his soup as the crash jump warning sounded, reaching desperately outward to synch with the fleet gestalt he was almost bowled over by the huge rush of data as the escort carriers roughly jostled back into there cradles at near there design limit speeds. There was a dull ache in his bones and where on his personal little holo space the fleet had been displayed the battle cruisers were gone, already fleeting downward through the strata of space. Orders flooded through at last as Avril established full contact with the fleet gestalt and became something far more than just one man or one SI.

ZMSF Owners Unknown, Price Arguable dropped out of real space.

Emesh rolled his eyes inside the tin can and gently pulled the diplomat closer to protect him from any potential micrometeorite impact that might be so inclined to ruin their day. Clicking away at the small keyboard near his hand he set the suits thrusters to keep them upright and balanced and opened the comm system.

"Package is recovered, reel me in, its getting dark out here."

Emesh really hated the void, beautiful as it was there were just too many things open for the mind to ponder staring into the vastness, and he had seen what happened when on spent too much time contemplating it and not enough time polishing pneumatic cylinders... His thoughts of former comrades was interrupted by the backwards acceleration of the cable attached to his back began to drag him back to the ship. He was glad at least for once they had kept an eye on the line slack and he wasn't being whipped around like some spinner bait on a fishing line. Jets of excited ammonia shot from the various maneuvering jets on his back and shoulders keeping both of them upright and comfortable.

If it took a diplomat to finally have the reel crew do their job properly then perhaps he should fish for diplomats more often... Emesh made one more check on the diplomats well being before checking the distance tot he ship with his rear view camera and watched as they finally passed through the outer airlock door, the hundred or so meters taking only a few seconds to complete. Once inside the red room he reengaged his magnetic hull locks and made a hand motion to the operating crew with his free hand holding firmly onto the diplomat in perhaps the longest official handshake he could imagine, and thanked the gods for inspiring digital feedback control being installed into these suits preventing him from outright crushing the mans forearm.

Behind them the massive pressure door of the airlock closed and the room began to pressurize the lack of air made the beginning message inaudible to the inhabitants but as the atmosphere returned the voice from the control room become clearer.

"Pressure at fifty percent, seventy percent, ninety percent, inner bay door unlocked, pressure at one-hundred percent, welcome aboard the Saito Ambassador."

The Clank released its grip on the Diplomat and lowered itself to its knees as a service crew in atmospheric hoods rushed through the now open bay door and past the diplomat and began servicing the clank and working to free the operator. Though not trying to be rude the crew had a job to do, and the clank was old enough as is no need to increase its burden at this age. They were however followed by a much more nicely dressed group of three men, each wearing a black single piece jump suit its surface textured in hexagon weavings and their faces totally obscured by what appeared to be pale white ceramic masks. The masks had no perceptible opening and seemed to cover all the exposed skin on the wearers face the subtlest of indentions and rases left the impression of a hominid face but its features were all but erased as if eroded by time, truth be told they looked very plainly like unfinished porcelain dolls. The trio bowed politely and respectfully to the diplomat before finally speaking the voice emanating from the full surface of the mask.

"Good evening Ambasador, I am Archon Mekai and these are my Associates Archon Erai and Captain Murai. We have much to discuss, if you would please follow me."

Without a word the trio turned and led the diplomat out of airlock and through the AEV bay. The Armored Extra Vehicular bay was filled with as many as thirty suits of powered armor, some in matenence configuration's with pallet loaders, others with combat weaponry and foot long sharpened steel claws; but all with their own role or intention. They rest suspended from the ceiling by a powered lift system to keep the suits upright with a second sub-floor and 'slides' that were obviously for the suit operators to enter the suit quickly. The opposite procedure obviously too much longer as the diplomat would notice from the support crew needed to free Emesh from his suit.

The trio continued onward into a short triangular hallway which opened into circular plate waiting at the end of the hallway small controls both inside the tube and in the hallway betrayed its intention as a lift. Once in the lift captain Murai explained the arrangement to better orient the diplomat.

"The AEV bay is fixed against the ships inertia to provide a sense of gravity and make working a bit easier unfortunately we were forced to accelerate after your capture to bring the gravity to comfortable levels. we are now heading to the more familiar rotating compartments which will provide a more consistent gravitational force for your comfort.. Its also where you will find the conference chambers where we plan to hold our discussions if that is acceptable with you. Hold on..."

A sudden acceleration hit the group standing on the platform as it accelerated 'up'-wards past the general habitat level and to the officers quarters.

Feel the clunk of the deck, sonic projection nearly instantly the suggested structures in ghostly outlines in one transparent window in window imposed on Ottis's vision. Check boot sensors for active chem or moly machine inputs, passive sensors in the shoulders checking for active bio scans, not alot detected which either meant these people were very good or trusting. Both outcomes wonderfully useful. Notice the room colour and interior design, sure its utilitarian but how utilitarian, check its design against projected cultural matrix, step forward when pressure reaches useable, 30 second atmosphere processing test, all good, turn of the suit force wall bubble to conserve more power. Watch wait, wait, ...

Move forward follow, eyes scanning slowly but steadily in front of his set grin, one system carefully estimating maintenance costs of the hard tech PA while another did rough combat impact statements upon it, primarily though his mind was on his hosts, no facial output but .. muscle output was there so a good 8 grams of wet ware was not wasted, neck muscles, body language very controlled but still definitely there and thus open to analysis, even if such levels of control left one with few gaps into the mind of the individual or few as it were real gaps.

These men were used to command in part but not it seemed of such lofty bearing as the executive, the signs were there, minute but there. Voice pattern, distorted yes but still feeding nicely through the diplomatic wetware stuffed into Ottis's now somewhat cramped star scout enhancement packed cranium, said wetware now coming up with a variety of possibility statements and suggested personality types and decision trees already, pie and flow charts popping up and being dismissed like morning dew on the periphery of Ottis's still quite mostly human brain.

Active skin sections on the exterior of his suit picking up dust in the air, skin flakes, rapid targeted DNA typing done by the suits heavy duty processors isolating the ethnic and klade groups and plotting genetic vulnerabilities, health issues and thus targeted health products possible in trade all linking to central long term projections on possible overall market stability.

Ottis was salesman, a complete one at that, no mere diplomat could do his job and every move every nuance would be poured over by dedicated systems.

Smile, listen to the technical explanation as you estimate power consumption and EM bleed over from ships systems, this ship is ..lived in not just used, long term deployment, make that very long term deployment from the look of some of the surface wear and tear. "Rotating compartments" sticks in Ottis's mind, projected fuel use to counter balance, possible power to weight savings given by installing grav systems or lack thereof, maximum passive input given on void space remaining in hull for system install. These people are limited to near baseline human performance in capital ship maneuvers if they cant tamper with gravity somewhat.. finaly speak .. offer ..savings.

"Oh theres no need to waste power if you do not have to, I am quite capable of long term zero g exposure and my data presentation equipment will work pretty much anywhere habitable"

Note the status differences between habitation, notice cramped relatively ship board conditions for what amounts to an entire populace. Notice most of all what is missing. What could be. Mostly what could be sold. Do the inner dance of the human mind slightly rewired dealing with multiple data inputs.

The lift screamed along the core of the ship the brushed extruded tube seemingly a single piece of metal an opening here or their defying the only real means of floor demarcation. The lift came to an abrupt stop and one of the Archons nudged captain Murai to respond which forced the captain to roll his eyes behind the mask and think of a good and polite way of explaining it was for their comfort not for him, but somehow he found the words inside him.

"The Acceleration was for the sake of the crew and some of our secondary systems seem to act, well better under such conditions. No Offense intended, but though we value your coming to see us were are quite a small band and each one of us feel very strongly for the comfort of each other."

The trio continued down another grayish hallways to a green colored pressure hatch and transmitted the entrance code from their masks gaining entrance to the outer ring hallway. "This way Ambassador, watch your step."

The trio stepped through the threshold then turned right and came to a section of hallways with a doors on either side. The hallways was painted in a generic light gray a single stripe of green running along either wall. On the floor small tape sized strips acted as directories to different parts of the ring, or access hatches to other parts of the ship. It was almost hospital like, clean but well worn, the handle rails that ran along the ring in case of loss of momentum or rotation showed a lot of wear yet were well polished and obviously well maintained, it did not however show the age of the vessel which if the ambassador should alk would be astounded to find her nearly seventy years old, and with her fourth generation of crew aboard. The hallway continued around the length of the habitat ring various doors, hatches and other compartments being based by as the trio made the short walk to the conference area stopping between two adjacent doors, the Archon adjusting his neck slightly before pointing to the door on his right before speaking.

"If you require time to prepare this is your room, I hope you will find it satisfactory, I must apologize but space is tight to accommodate the crew. So you will not find many fixed conveniences, the bed is retractable, as is the sink and desk, all of which are designed for practicality, not -I am sad to say- comfort." The Achons hand pointed to the opposite door on his left. " While you prepare we will be in the conference room, it will be unlocked and we will be waiting for you, take what time you require."

The trio bowed again turned to enter the conference room, the light access hatch sliding out of the way for their entry then closing behind them. Captain Murai disdained his position as the least important person in these discussions, yet somehow still commanded this ship for what little it was worth. He longed for the bridge to return to place he was respected and understood, but here with an Ankrashi ambassador, and his commander he was low man on the totem pole. He took his seat tot he left of the Archon at the far end of the conference table and waited, it was situations like this that he praised who ever invented their respirator masks and ocular control scheme, he did a quick search on the ships networked internet and pulled up that evenings news from the temple and waited in silence with the other attendants, who he guessed were doing essentially the same thing.

--=-=--
Six or so light hours away in a very similar room to the one the Ambassador had just been offered. Triam was doing essentially the same thing most people watched the news about this time as it was the end of the first shift change and the eleven hour period of duty had just concluded. The room he sat in was essentially two meters wide by three meters tall and long. It wasn't much but it was home he closed down vid player int he m,ask and scooted over to the corner pulling a small metal bar from a strip of fabric following it at first limp then springing to a solid surface once stretched fully out. It was this arrangement he could use as a desk but for now he merely used as a place to rest his mask, it was after all much safer their then the floor, and though he could easily acquire another mask he'd spent years adjusting the macros in it to just such as way as it felt comfortable. standing up without the mask he made his way over to a spot on the wall touching a blue circle that seemed to glow from behind the gray wall and watched a metal sheet with a similar fabric material as the desk come to life as a functional sink, the fabric acting as the wash basin, her let the water run, an advantage of a continous gravity and remember all those times hed had to use a contained vacuum sink to prevent the water from filling the compartment and damaging the electronics.

Things had certainly changed but most of all he felt a change in him he had known this life for all his existence and so he was told so had his father, and grandfathers before him... the claustrophobic spaces the spacers knew HAD to be that way they were lucky they didn't have to live in capsule coffins like many merchants they had met had to, but the personal liberties came first, and personal living space second in such a lifestyle... he just hoped that one day his children would have room to run around, to know what its like to stretch out in a bed designed for comfort and not one for collapsibility... if things go the way the Ankrashi intended maybe one day they would.

Triam was snapped back to reality as the water usage alarm beeped mercilessly at him and he turned off the water and watched the water disappear down the sink before sliding it back into the wall, He reached over and turned off the lights in the cabin before slinking back over to the bed. What he really needed was sleep...

[Killing time post #2, non-chronologically aligned ahoy!]

Triam had timed this event perfectly, though he was supposed to be sleeping all the tension of the day had prevented him from succumbing to the ten or so hours he usually enjoyed during second shift. So now he was left awake and with at least four hours to to kill in the quiet of the eleven hours that composed the second shift. He had absconded from his quarters and walked to the temples shooting range avoiding the busy lifts that ran from floor to floor on the station for the chance to blow off some steam, hopefully figuratively, not literally.

As he'd expected the range was empty the small unmarked room was locked but he had access to this room for almost two years now and entry was no issue for him, the room on the inside was little more than a stretched octagon reinforced to prevent its unintentional or intentional attempt at penetrating its walls into the cold hard vacuum beyond. This was only accomplished to any degree of safety by putting it in line with the habitat rings rotation and putting it at an interesting point with one of the support arms allowing the use of true armored bulkheads to be placed at both walls. This was of course little comfort for the man stuck between two armored bulkheads with bullets flying in between. This however was one of the few places he could block out such distractions by the pure exhilaration of discharging his sidearm, and not have to worry about the reliability of its 'frangible' mode as applied to an outer wall.

Removing his mask he put small electronic hearing protectors in his ears to prevent the firing of the weapon in such close quarters from damaging his hearing, though once in as always there was no real difference, it wouldn't be until a loud noise triggered the audio sensors int hem to cut off its transmission the ear plugs operating just like normal earplugs. He unlocked the cabinet at the far corner using the rather antiquated manual keypad, though little more than a glass sheet with illuminated numbers it was surprisingly slow to respond to the numbers enter compared the ocular control but this was a much safer method, as it also allowed for biometric checks at the same time as the code entrance.

He was surprised to see more than one type of weapon there. Though it was not uncommon to find such weapons in a weapons locker this one was specifically for temple guards and thus most of the heavier weapons, the monolithic pulse rifle in the locker for example, were well secured in a damage control station usually. This struck Triam as odd but there wasn't much he could really do about it besides ensure it was properly locked up later, but for now he was here for some good old fashioned fun.

The weapon he now held in his hand had not changed much in the several dozen centuries since its inception. Though long since separated from its ancestors so far as capabilities were concerned the weapons operation had not changed much. Triam took one of the magazine he'd grabbed and placed it upside down in a small stand near the firing line, A system not unlike a conveyor belt inside the magazine was rotated by a gear in the stand and seven millimeter spitzer shaped bullets were popped into place on the belt filling each small 'clip' on the belt with a single round. The one thing noticeably different to a modern handgun was the lack of a case or any visible propellant. The bullet itself was similar to a modern assault rifle round except that it did not appear to be jacketed being a solid slate gray in color with two copper bands around the base capping off a large cavity at the base of the round.

The magazine filled to capacity with thirty two rounds of the small highly potent ammunition and inserted it into the handle of the weapon much like a regular pistol, he cocked the weapon and leveled it at his target; a large steel cylinder approximately two meters tall and sliding back and forth and occasionally sideways. This unpredictability help him practice against a likely real world target. the top of the weapon was perfectly smooth broken only at the far front of the weapon but what could easily be misconstrued as a firont sight post, but as he squeezed the trigger and rest his finger on the trigger guard a small green dot floated steadily above the pistols slide acting as an aiming point which now rested dead center on the target.

At the moment he pulled the trigger a simple yet efficient process began. A battery int he magazine discharged a fraction of its total capacity diverting in a twisting arc to the fixed barrel of the weapon. There both polarities went to opposite sides of the barrel and the round already in the chamber conducted the current through the copper tabs on its side to opposite sides of the cavity at the back of the round. now had this been a minor current there would be little if any appreciable effect, however when three hundred amps of current arcs across the space over only a few millimeters the effect is the generation of spark of thermal plasma that expands so rapidly that the round is propelled of the barrel with sufficient force to be lethal.

Triam put ten rounds downrange in the span of only a few seconds, the rounds hitting the metallic cylinder and fragmenting into hundreds of small metallic and polymer pellets harmlessly not even denting the hardened metal cylinder. Having enough with the fruitilty that was the anti-personnel mode against the armored cylinder. He slide a switch on the weapon below the slide and took his stance again this time bracing for the extra recoil. Now velocity is always a boon to penetration but when in the few times a spacer might need a round to penetrate it would take more than just higher velocities with a frangible round... it would take a denser round.

The rounds used in the Ankrashi Pulse weapons were unique among projectile weapons, besides being powered by Electro Thermal Pulse in the complete absence of solid propellant they were not formed from solid metal but instead they were a loosely aligned mix of nanoscale electroreactive polymers and super dense metallic particles. Int heir natural state the metallic particles added mass but had no defined electrostatic bond that would be formed in such 'true' metallic round. However in the presence of a strong electrical current, or more specifically above a certain threshold the Polymers act a s bonding agent int he matrix allowing the round to act as solid armor piercing round at the velocity required to put he hurt on most power armored personnel they encountered. This however was not always popular as a missed round could very easily puncture a bulkhead and began absconding with what precious atmosphere is available... Then again the armored opponent seeking to tear you limb from limb with its electroconstictive augmented strength would be my immediate worry as well.

Triam braced himself and fired five more rounds. The projectiles either denting the cylinder or penetrating completely before devolving into several dozen grains of metallic spall at high velocity. Triam knew from his training what they would do to a man in a clank but tried not to think of it the vision was too graphic even after the assassination of the Vizers. Having only shot half his magazine sleep had finally caught back up with him and he closed his eyes and sighed, he still had three hours left till his 'work up' shift it would be best to get what sleep he could before visiting the assembly hall.

He walked back to the reloading pedestal and placed the magazine back on it reloading it and recharging it for the next user, and punched his code into the wall pad to open the small box like weapons locker, placing the pistol and, magazine separately inside it.

"Your getting way to old for this Old man..." His voice was lost among the sound of the metal cylinder retracting back into the floor of the shooting range as Triam exited the range.

Though one though hit him as he headed for the service ladder, who had borrowed the pulse rifle in such a peaceful time. This thought would sadly come back to haunt him in far more ways than Triam could imagine.