NationStates Jolt Archive

[OOC: If anyone wants to take part in this as sort of a first contact RP, please TG me. I pretty much want to limit to exploration/first contact/that sort of thing.]

"Are you sure Space Command wants this?"

"You bet."

"I'm still not sure."

"We've still got our orders."

Captain Noah Blakeney grimaced as he pushed the button to turn the communications device off. Admiral Mark Blakeney, Noah's father, was clear with his orders. The captain and the RSV Republic would undergo its first mission of space exploration.

On such a large planet with so few people, resources were plentiful. However, technology was fairly limited. Engineers tested a faster-than-light propulsion system, but it only passed the computer simulations. It had yet to be tested live. The Republic would be the first ship to test the drive.

Chief Engineer Lt. Commander Sandra Taylor knew the risks. Her brother Chris Ephraim built the drive as part of the FTL Project, but she wasn't sure if the logarithms were going to work. However, she was nothing if not adventurous. If the ship was going to blow up, she'd go down in history. She eyed the engine which was purring along normally. The simulations worked just fine, but this was no longer a simulation.

"All hands, prepare takeoff protocols," Captain Blakeney said over the ship's intercom system. Those at their stations fastened their safety harnesses while others grabbed onto railings. The G-forces required to launch the ship from its ground position into orbit would be enormous. Once the ship reached a position 100 kilometers into the air, the artificial gravity would set in.

"Captain, the crew's signaling ready," Lieutenant Michael Hawk said. He was the communications and tactical officer for the Republic. He was an eager 26-year-old looking for adventure. However, he was uncertain about the ship's armament. It had no energy shielding, but it was equipped with a basic armor scheme that allowed its hull to harden considerably when facing attack. As far as weapons are concerned, the ship was armed with three laser cannons firing a particle beam. It also came with short-range nuclear missiles and long-range tungsten missiles for kinetic energy penetration. The ship hadn't yet encountered other races, so the crew had no idea if the Republic could stand up to a potential enemy. But Hawk was certainly willing to try if necessary.

"Acknowledged, lieutenant. Bridge to engineering."

"Taylor here."

"Start your engines."

"Aye, sir."

The time to test was over. Now was the time to get the Republic underway. The ship fired its rockets and slowly ascended into the late morning sky. Before long, the ship reached the 100 kilometer plateau and increased speed until it reached standard orbit above Rymeria.

Blakeley took in a deep breath and exhaled. So far, the engines performed according to expectation, but he hadn't tested the FTL drive yet. At least the artificial gravity was also working according to plan.

"Helm, lay in a course bearing 061 mark 12. Engage the FTL drive."

"Aye sir." Ensign Carey Watson was nervous, but excited. To be among the first Rymerians to explore space and travel faster than light was one of the biggest thrills. He couldn't wait to tell his friends back home.

He and the rest of the bridge crew looked up at the view screen as the engine began its hum. The stars moved slowly past them until they started gaining speed, then flashed in that telltale sign that a ship was traveling at light speed.

"We've done it! We've broken the light barrier!"

The Republic increased thrust until it reached a speed of 1.5 times the speed of light. After a half hour at the ship's stated maximum speed of five times the speed of light, the Republic turned around and headed back for Rymeria. Three hours after the ship began its brief journey to the stars, its crew had returned to the surface ready to tell the world and the National Assembly about its brief trip to the future.

"Planet's in sight, sir."

"Acknowledged. Initiate landing protocols."

"Aye, sir."

After testing the Republic's FTL drive and finding it passed with flying colors, the ship was now cruising down from orbit after its brief flight through space. The skylines of Rymeria weren't visible yet, but landmasses could easily be seen from the position at the edge of space.

Within an hour, Republic approached its landing strip and slowly unveiled its landing gear. After the vessel came to a stop, the crew disembarked. Captain Blakeney looked up at the vessel, marveling at what he and his crew had done.

The ship would definitely go on another mission. Admiral Blakeney brought that news from Space Command. However, for the Republic to go on its mission to explore what was out there, it would have to change empty rooms into crew and officer quarters. Plus, a medical team would have to get in there. Not only that, but the galley would have to have at least two cooks.

All of that would be later on. Right now, Noah Blakeney and Mark Blakeney were heading for Space Command headquarters to debrief on the mission, as short as it was. They would get their new orders, plus the upgrade to their FTL drive that could potentially allow the vessel to travel as fast as 20 times the speed of light.

Mark Blakeney looked his son over with a wry smile.

"You space dog you!" "I'm proud of you, son."

"Thanks, Dad."

Noah Blakeney sat at rapt attention. He felt his father's eyes upon him as the two men waited for the members of the National Assembly's subcommittee on space exploration to arrive in the briefing room. Sitting with the Republic's captail were Ephraim and Commander Taylor.

A man with gray hair along the sides of his well worn face walked in slowly, as if he needed a cane. He then sat down at the center chair while other committee members filed in. That center chair had a higher back than the others, making it clear to anyone in the room that the person who sat there was the chairman of the subcommittee.

The man sitting in that seat then pushed a button and two screens blinked on. One screen was directly behind the committee members, while the other was over the door in the back of the room. Both were fairly large, making it easy for both committee members and those testifying to refer to the chart of numbers. Noah Blakeney looked down and saw the same information on a smaller screen on the table.

"Captain Blakeney, I've read your report of your first space mission," said the committee chairman. His nameplate identified him as Rep. Chris Evans of Capital District. Evans smiled.

"It seems the RSV Republic passed with flying colors," Evans said.

"It did, sir," Blakeney said. "As of yet, we have not made first contact with any species, but I believe a longer deployment would likely result in first contacts made." Blakeney looked at the committee members and saw several nod their heads, as if in agreement. He felt a little better about the opportunity to explore.

"As you know, the Republic was initially equipped only for its brief mission," Evans said. "For us to authorize a full expedition, the vessel will have to carry food, medical supplies, clothes and other items necessary to support your mission. Our committee also has to ponder authorizing other ships of its class and explore possible upgrades. Such matters are not cheap.

"Are you prepared to appear before the full Assembly to propose our increasing the space program to accomodate not just the Republic, but also other ships as well?"

Mark Blakeney stood up.

"With all due respect, sir, I am the admiral in charge of Space Command," he said. "I fully support Captain Blakeney's mission and I would be more than willing to take the case to the National Assembly."

Evans paused for a moment, looking up over his glasses at Mark and Noah.

"I see," he said. "Well, I believe I could get authorization for the Republic and possibly three other vessels of the same class. I'll introduce the legislation after this sub-committee adjourns." Evans then grabbed the gavel and banged it twice.

"Committee meeting is adjourned."

The Blakeneys then looked at each other with even expressions. Within two months, Noah Blakeney would be back in space with a larger crew aboard the Republic.

HMS Leonard Alba, a Whippet-class destroyer, was on a routine patrol mission out on the largely unpopulated Spinward Fringe of the Imperial Federated Systems. It was normal as routine got, and nothing unusual was really expected.

Her commanding officer, Commander Sébastienne Bastien, recently promoted and with a healthy reputation as an up-and-coming officer, was decidedly bored. This was not why a healthy, energetic young noblewoman (she was Baroness Brittany in civilian life) enlisted in the Navy. She joined to make a name for herself, a reputation, and how could one get a reputation commanding fringe duty in such a calm region of Imperial space? She wondered if her grandmother, the famous Elene Bastien, had commanded such dull patrols before the anti-piracy campaigns that had resulted in her becoming the first non-human in the Imperial Admiralty and elevated her family to its current place in the aristocracy. She supposed she must have.

It was still a boring job though, necessity be damned. If only she’d been posted elsewhere in the Empire, maybe close to that new upstart nation, the Initiative. That sounded as if an intense conflict could be brewing, a perfect chance to win fame and glory. Out here, glory kept conspicuously absent.

“Well, no use complaining if you can’t do anything about it,” she muttered quietly, sitting in her commander’s chair, located centrally on the ship’s bridge.

“Captain, we have a ghost on long-range sensors; possible contact.”

Bastien looked at the enlisted crewman manning the sensors console. He was staring hard into the displays on his console, one hand on the headset that he wore as though he feared it might fall apart if he didn’t hold it. She smiled. He was new to his post.

“Petty Officer, can you get me a probability check on that?” she inquired calmly.

“Aye, Ma’am,” he said. Moments later, he spoke again. “I show 76% probability that this is a hyperspace contact. It looks like somebody’s making a jump.”

“Is it within this mission’s AOR?” Bastien asked, leaning forward.

“Yes, Ma’am, barely,” the crewman replied.

“Very well,” she said, before touching a button on her armrest pad.

“Bridge to Tactical Officer’s quarters,” she said.

“This is Lieutenant Pierson. What can I do for you, Captain?”

“I need you to get me a list, of every pirate cartel and potentially hostile faction operating in this region of space. We have an unknown on sensors, right now, and we need to figure it out. We’ll be moving in the ghost’s general direction shortly.”

“Aye, Captain. I’ll get right on it. When do you need the list?”

“The next time you’re on the bridge,” Bastien said. “Bridge, out.”

“New course orders, Captain?” The female Neko rating on helm duty appeared set, hands hovering in place above her console as she glanced back at her Captain.

“Helm,” Bastien said with a nod to her fellow Neko. “Set an intercept course to the ghost. Let’s just see if we can’t find what this contact is. We’ll also need to give Fleet a message informing them of this course deviation. I’ll speak to Communications about that.”

In accordance with her commander’s orders, the Imperial starship altered course, heading in the direction of the ghost contact.

KSA Executive Tower
Juarez District
Planet Reusch

"Call coming in for you."

Damn. He'd almost made it. "Uh, tell them I've just left the office, Dira."

A pause. "It's Dan Weaver. He says it's important."

He sighed. "Okay, patch me through." The lovely administrative assistant nodded ascent as he somewhat sheepishly closed the door, his quick and quiet exit plan already not going so smoothly.

"Dan," he said, walking down the hall. Two mid-level execs passed by; he tried to avoid eye contact and succeeded thanks to the phone.

"John boy. How's the view from the 92nd floor, corner suite?"

"Lovely," he replied. Waiting on the elevator, trying not to look anxious to leave.

"I don't think so," Weaver laughed. "Some people might think you're just about shitting your pants right now. Not me. I think you have an exit plan."

He paused. "I'm not quite sure what you're talking about, Dan."

But Weaver just laughed again, that irritating, know-it-all laugh of his. "Sure, sure. You have years to go. Decades, maybe."

"George Temple ran his company til he was a hundred and twelve. I can too."

"That's a lie. Hypothetically, that is," and now the bastard was being slick, or thought he was. At last the elevator opened, and at least no one was in it. Straight down, then.

"Hypothetically, you're wearing a fruit-basket and a jar of mayonnaise. What's your point?"

"Well, hypothetically you're about to do something you might later come to regret. And, if that were to be the case, as a friend I might urge you to take a less drastic approach."

"A friend?"

"...a concerned associate, then. If you're going to go take on your whole board, you're just going to make a fool of yourself and enemies of those who are currently merely antagonistic."

"Well, if I was going to do that, I'm sure I would take your concerns into my consideration."

Halfway down. Dan Weaver sighed melodramatically. "You've always got to be difficult."

"It's a difficult world."

"Just remember this, though. You can make it a lot more difficult. I can make it easier. My offer stands."

"Yeah. Listen, I'll call you back Dan, I have a meeting to attend to."

Another sigh. "Very well. But don't expect miracles... from anyone."

I never do. "Thanks."

He passed through the great glass doors of the lobby onto the street proper. Quiet, but still drearily inefficient hydrogen vehicles of various sorts puttered their way through traffic. He hailed a taxi.

Dan thought he was going to do something stupid. That much was true. But in Dan's imagination, the extent of John's stupidity would be angrily ranting at the Board of Directors, full of bluster and futility.

What else, after all, could he do? In 24 hours he'd be sacked. There was a nice retirement fund and six houses awaiting him. It wouldn't be so bad.

But John had other plans.

"Where to, sir?"

"Taye Spaceport. Second Level. And if you could hurry it along, I'd be appreciative - I have a plane to catch."

The blackness of space shuddered and a huge ship burst through into Sub-Light speed. It was immense, as befitting a Yamato-II Super-Dreadnought. It slowly crawled to a halt in space

Bridge Of The PFS Behemoth...

A man clad in red and black power armour walked through to the bridge. His heavy footfalls echoed on the metal flooring. The door to the bridge opened with a hiss, and he stepped into the room filled with red robed scribes and aides. He strode to the observation window and looked out. He could see the RSV Republic, and the HMS Leonard Alba. The Behemoth made them look tiny in comparison, simply sitting in the blackness. The man in the power armour simply looked at the two ships, and said nothing.

Noah Blakeney was enjoying a quiet morning and reading the newspaper. The National Assembly approved funding for the space program and for upgrades to the RSV Republic were well underway.

The ship was originally outfitted with limited equipment since its first mission was simply a short run around the block, but now that the National Assembly approved its mission, the ship would get outfitted for a longer cruise. It would also get personnel quarters upgraded to allow them to host crew and officers.

The mission was one Blakeney embraced. He always had a sense of adventure and looked up longingly at the night sky on many occasions, hoping to be among those who explored space. But the Rymerians who were selected for the cryogenic transport to this planet weren't engineers or space explorers, save for a couple of older men who taught eager youngsters what they needed to know. The technology required to build the Republic was beyond the Rymerians until just recently.

Blakeney looked out toward the city. The skyline was beginning to become a bore to him. He wanted to get out into space again. He knew the upgrades would probably take another couple of days. Plus there was the matter of getting a full crew aboard.

All of a sudden, the phone rang. Blakeney raised an eyebrow. He wasn't expecting anyone to call, especially that particular telephone. Hesitatingly, he answered.

"Captain Blakeney."

"Captain, you're going to have to pack your bags and get down to the dock ASAP."

"Admiral?" It was Admiral Blakeney, Noah's father, but under these circumstances, with the tone of voice his father spoke in, Noah knew it wasn't a social call.

"Seems you were detected on your little sojurn into FTL travel," Mark Blakeney said. "There's a ship that's identifying itself as the HMS Leonard Alba that's sending communications looking for the captain of the ship that made the brief flight from this planet. They'll probably arrive within two days. You're ordered to meet them in the Republic.

"But sir, the upgrades?"

"They've been fast-tracked. The ship's going to have to be ready to fly within six hours. Sorry, son. I gave you notice as soon as I could. Admiral Blakeney out."

Captain Blakeney held the telephone for a while and stared at the wall. He was eager to explore space, to meet people from different planets, but so soon? Before the Republic was really ready for long-term exploration? About 30 seconds later, he finally hung the phone up and briskly walked back to his bedroom to change into his uniform. He'd then pack enough clothes for several days and other essentials.

Within four hours, he was back on the bridge of the Republic. He stared ahead as his new chief medical officer walked toward the command chair in the center.

"Captain, are you sure you're ready for this?"

"The ship's ready, Doc. We have our orders. Who am I to hold up progress?"

The doctor shrugged.

"If you say so."

"Engineering to bridge."

"Bridge, Blakeney."

"All systems report ready to go."

"Helm, prepare the launch sequence."

"Aye, sir."

Blakeney looked back at the doctor with a surprisingly even expression in spite of the nerves he was feeling.

"Ready or not, here we go."

"Launch sequence complete."

"Take us up."

"Aye, sir."

The Republic slowly lifted off from the planet-bound space dock and soon hurtled through the sky toward space. Once it reached 100 kilometers above the surface, the artificial gravity kicked in and the ship soon climbed into orbit.

"Captain, I'm reading the Leonard Alba on an intercept course approximately 30 minutes away," Hawk said.

"Very well. Helm, engage sublight engines."

"Aye, captain," Watson said.

"Mr. Hawk, open a channel to the Leonard Alba."

"Channel open, sir."

"This is Captain Noah Blakeney of the RSV Republic, a Rymerian Space Command vessel. We were on our first mission when you spotted us. We are on a peaceful mission of exploration. Do you copy, over?"

Blakeney leaned back slightly in his chair, hoping that his message was friendly enough for the strangers who were hurtling through space toward his ship.

"Excuse me, this area is off- oh, pardon me, sir, I didn't see it was you."

"Not a problem." John smiled in his characteristically easygoing manner, though he felt anything but. "Yeah, I just thought I'd take another look around."

"Of course," answered the supervisor. "I, uh, should have you go through the security booth and register..."

"Come on," he said. "I don't really have to go through all that, do I? I'll just be a few minutes. I have a meeting in thirty so I'm cutting it kind of close already."

"Well... okay. Just register here."

He sighed. This could raise a few flags. "To be honest, Bill," he said, whining just a bit on purpose, "If I do that, some of the other execs will know, and then they'll think there's something wrong down here."

"When really you just like to sit in the lounge, listen to the gravity generator hum?" the man laughed heartily. "I know, it's alright, I do it too," he confided. "Okay, just go on in."

"Thanks, Bill." And he continued through the double doors, down along the translucent cylindrical umbilical cord, linking the craft with the KSA-managed dock.

You could get far on raw luck and a quick smile, he mused. Not too far, though. Not far enough.

The northern continents of Reusch were as unpleasant in the winter as on so many other worlds. A murky atmosphere of omnipresent gray cloud cover and a thickening evening fog surrounded the spaceport. It was dark, but you had no idea where the sun was.

He wasn't armed or anything foolish. The security wouldn't have been a problem: time wasted would. He really was pressed for time, he hadn't been lying about that.

All of this had been sort of planned. Contingencies for contingencies rarely got the same level of thought he gave to mere contingencies. He usually banked on success, and he'd usually been good with that. But desperate times called for desperate measures.

There were security guards protecting the docks - outside. They had waved him through. And there were cams all about the docks, even the umbilical chord. But none inside. As it should be.

That gave him some time. Once inside, he ran through the main corridor to the main control room and started a main systems power-up. Checked the various fuel gauges and rate. Then he went into the engineering room, and powered-up the gravity-wave generator. This took some time... so he had himself a cup of coffee while he waited.

The craft had been designed to run with a mission crew of five - but it could be run by two (presuming the coffee supply held out), and in a pinch, one.

"I'm certainly in a pinch," he muttered. A green light on the console signaled that the reactor was now burning deuterium and helium-3 at a steady rate, and that the electrical power from this reaction had now successfully created a stable micro-black hole - more of a string and series of knots than a hole, however. Below the deck, nodes were now ready to create artificial gravity - which he didn't quite need yet - and throughout the hull, to counteract the force of acceleration.

Acceleration.

"KSA-X12, we are detecting a power spike, do you copy? Come in, KSA-X12..."

He ignored the message. It was coming down to minutes and seconds. Now the nodes - more commonly known as 'the engine' - in the rear of the craft became active. He closed and secured all hatches, including the cargo bay doors.

He plotted the course, overrode two safety protocols, and then initiated it.

KSA-X12, the most successful of the newest GWG-equipped starships, was also the smallest. The efficiency of its systems had broken expectations and stunned the company. Soon, they could stun the world. But the military wanted it - which he was certainly willing to do, for the right price - and they wanted to use it for a weapon. Something that, although the tech guys had warned could theoretically be done, hadn't been. Along with the best (and one of the only) gravity-drive craft, KSA had inadvertently produced a weapon which made the fusion torch or the laser instantly obsolete, and made a joke of all known armor material.

And someone was willing to go to great lengths to get it. Absurd lengths. This whole forced-resignation had been a setup, but when he learned the motive he realized it was about a lot more than just himself. That they would do this, instead of even considering negotiating... instead of even bothering to make an offer, just eliminate him...

Well. If they wanted it that way, they couldn't be trusted with the X12.

Initiating the course instantly made the craft launch upward, ripping away from the umbilical chord. It did so quietly, anticlimactically. From inside, it was as if the thing was standing still. Even as the X12 rocketed upward and then skimming through the atmosphere, pulling dozens of gees, he felt nothing. Not even the mild jolt of an elevator. Marvelous.

The question he hadn't quite had time to answer was - now what? Who could be trusted with it? He had to make it known, spread the technology around, so the government couldn't simply lean on one corporation - or one CEO - and have it to themselves. He could simply transmit the data from this ship openly to several key companies and let them sort it out. But then he would have nothing, no bargaining chip other than the actual craft.

And there was no profit in giving anything away free. Negotiations had to be made. He even considered Dan Weaver... briefly. No, your arch-nemesis, not a good idea.

But all that took time. The increasingly alarmed transmissions from spacedock had already ceased - he was far away. But now a new one came in.

"Civilian Craft Designation KSA 12, you are ordered by the Wulfhelm Space Navy to land and prepare to be boarded at..."

Damn. They got here fast.

Of course, they were already here, and everywhere. The current administration (and, for all intents and purposes, The Administration from now on) was nothing if not militaristic. In Reusch no less so than any major colony, apparently.

The display informed him that it was difficult to say exactly where the transmission was coming from... that was no good. It was top-of-the-line, and that meant he was being jammed. Probably couldn't get out a transmission in the open if I tried, he thought.

It also meant they probably had him. Bases on the ground, bases in orbit too, and the torch ships everywhere.

Contingencies for contingencies for contingencies. He plotted a new course, designed to take him straight past it all, upward and onward, and trying not to hit anything the sensors could detect. Also not wanting to hit things the sensors couldn't detect, but you couldn't have it all.

The X12 leaped away from the planet like it was shot from it. The sensors stopped being confused after 90 seconds of this. There were several warships in orbit, but they were hopelessly slow - he couldn't even tell if they were turning in their gargantuan, stately orbits to pursue him before they dropped off the active sensors. It was their lasers that posed the actual threat, but he would be out of range within a few minutes at this acceleration.

A warning that there was a target lock came almost too late. He activated the shield generator and hoped it wouldn't be necessary. He'd programmed a few jinks into the course, and that should create more uncertainty than the gunners could cope with. Hopefully.

He only needed to get to a safe jump point. From there he could jump from system to system, avoid and eventually evade the military. There was only so much resolution to hyperspace sensing. He'd lose them... but they would not stop hunting him. Already an arrest warrant would be going out on him. His life was effectively ruined.

Yeah... you could get far on luck and a quick smile. But sometimes it might help to have a plan too.

“Captain, we have incoming transmission,” said the man on the Communications console located amongst the stations on the bridge’s port side along with Engineering and Central Information Access, the station linked to the main computers.

Bastien nodded as she watched the approaching vessel on the prime view screen mounted in a dominating central position at the front of the bridge. The view was being piped in by links to cameras located on the ship’s prow. Imperial ship designers had long ago decided it made no sense for a warship’s bridge to be on top like a glorified crest.

“Patch it through,” she ordered. She listened as the signal was cleared up.

“Is that…English?” asked the man on Damage Control before his fellow at Engineering’s hushed voice silenced him.

“It sounds pretty close to what we speak,” said Bastien. “Well, don’t look so shocked. All kinds of space faring nations out there have some relation to Earth colonies. English has a lot of speakers really. This just simplifies the job here. Translation shouldn’t be an issue.”

Nods around the bridge greeted this statement.

“Open a channel,” Bastien ordered next. It was time to speak to these people.

“RSV Republic,” she began. “This is Her Majesty’s Ship Leonard Alba. We are not as yet intimately aware of any Rymerian Space Command. Given the lack of other ships here, it looks like you’re new on the block. I am Commander Sébastienne Bastien, and, on behalf of the Imperial Federated Systems of Romandeos, I welcome you to the wide world of space faring states.”

Bastien paused for a moment before continuing.

“Ah, Captain Blakeney, you wouldn’t happen to have a visuals display, would you? It does help with first contact situations if you can actually see who you are meeting.”

OOC:

FYI, Rymeria, Bastien is a Neko, human with some feline bodily features. Such individuals do not often rise to high rank in the armed forces because most are not interested in military careers, but some do.

Blakeney looked at Hawk quizzically, as if to admonish the young officer for not putting on the visual display.

"Put it up, Lieutenant."

Hawk looked at the captain for a second, then quickly averted his eyes down to his panel.

"Aye, sir."

The screen, which had shown stars flying past then reverted to a strange looking bridge with a humanoid figure who had some feline features. Blakeney fought an urge to raise an eyebrow. After all, he figured he should expect some things he'd never seen before.

"My apologies, Commander Bastien. We're still rather new at this."

Blakeney studied Bastien's face before standing up slowly from his command chair.

"We're the first ship from the Rymerian Space Command to undergo a space mission. We thank you for your gracious welcome and wonder if you would allow us to return the favor.

"Would you care to dine with us aboard the Republic as guests of the Confederacy?"

Blakeney waited for Bastien's answer.

Rymerian Star System

He made a total of 32 jumps after leaving Reusch. That included a good number wasted going to, and trying to escape, a starbase in orbit of Ash III. The Navy had set him a trap there, and that made getting away difficult. But he'd been betrayed by a good friend there, sold out. The memory was going to be a bitter taste in his mind for a long time to come.

But on the 33rd jump, some damn thing or the other went wrong with a power conduit, and the hyperspace system overloaded, and emergency powered-down, citing need for repairs but not specifying anything more. Not a good sign.

He'd hoped he escaped the Navy at least four and perhaps eight jumps ago, so he was probably safe here for the moment. Uncharted system; the best kind, since they didn't have claim beacons or anything else that could alert the Navy to his presence. Usually. Sometimes they did, though - the WSN, he now realized, had a tendency to litter space with outposts and what amounted to small colonies in places it officially had never even been. What would they do with his precious KS-X12? And assorted trademarked, patented products.

They would not be stopped with patents and legal muster. Let's face it, they've ruled the place for - oh, what's this?

Thermal imaging in the long range showed two ships near a planet, which also looked to be heavily colonized, and emitted the radio waves to prove it. Other sensor data confirmed that none of this was recognizably of Wulfhelm at all. He listened to some of the radio noise - recognizably English-speaking.

At least it's not aliens. Well, maybe I can set down somewhere.

So the gravitic craft accelerated toward, well, right about there. Not too close, not too far, something akin to an orbit if the craft had obeyed classical orbital mechanics. He knew from experience that it was better to let them contact you first, rather than get into contact with some random agency communications officer and then later have to deal with, oh, the bloody WSN. Best to get bad news over with first. So he made no moves to avoid detection - not that it was in any way stealthy. The small ship was brick-like, chunky, and needless to say, neither difficult to detect nor aerodynamic.

Although it didn't have any drive plume, and it moved at impossible angles and changes in velocity. These seeming conjuncture of agility with ass-ugliness was, the market analysts felt, a good way to convey the craft's commitment to practicality rather than style. The more, he realized now, to appeal to the government's conceits.

There was barely a blink in the emptiness of space as the small destroyer entered the system. The probe controller 'Sightless' was built as small as possible, as it was primarily a reconnaissance vessel though one might have mistaken it for a cargo hauler due to the large rectangular drone bay protruding from the craft's middle. The vessel sped towards it's prize an unobtrusive asteroid on the edge of the system. The vessel was totally unarmed, it's shield grid wasn't even made to ram into other vessels like it's other heavier counterparts.

Aboard the recon vessel a male rabbit poured over what looked to be a full map of the entire system in reference to it's neghboring stars. The symbol of Romandeos listed over some of the stars, the federal union over others, he turned to a female rabbit with a slight embarrassed cough.

"You were right ma'am. This system is not Romandosean..."

She simply grinned, shifting in the large command chair. The male continued,

"Though one of their vessels are here, in system. They don't seem to have noticed us yet. There's also an even more primitive vessel just outside the planet's gravity well. Judging by our readings they seem to own the planet."

The lady sighed adjusting a cramp in her neck

"Good. Then we're finally done looking for the border. Lets get in position to launch. I don't want to be here any longer than I have to."

"Yes ma'am. Plotting course."

The sensor operator held up a finger pointing at a spot on his map, making the vessel's view screen display what he was seeing.

"Ma'am I'm reading something else on the planet..."

The female seemed to perk up at the news.

"Are these primitives more advanced than we thought?"

"No ma'am. It's one of our probes... It's... A nexus class and it's still transmitting."

A female panda sitting on the other side of the room was stunned at this as was everyone on the bridge.

"A nexus probe? How is that possible? they were decommissioned after the first expansion... Half of them didn't work out of the dock and the other half blew up when they went into hyperspace. Are you sure you're not just reading sensor ghosts?"

"I'm sure it's not a ghost but I have no idea how it got there. Now it's trying to send us it's archives but its signal's pretty weak. It must be underground."

The male slowly shook his head at the flurry of new information.

"If I'm reading the information from the probe right it's been operational for over seven hundred years."

The captain nodded with a deep sigh.

"Then the natives must have found it and slowly used it to get where they are now. Like the ancient fairy tale about ferals finding a monolith. Though I wonder how much they've actually learned from us..."

The female rubbed the bridge of her nose.

"Nothing can ever be simple..."

She muttered turning to the male.

"Alyn did the probe record any of the events before it crashed? Anything at all?"

He shook his head.

"I see.... I see about twenty years of entries... All of them show nothing but the probe literally floating through space.

He scratched his chin then added.

"From what I've seen I think I can salvage it's memory core if I had the actual probe."

The captain leaned back in her chair with a deep sigh.

"So we actually have to go and get it... Very well. Lets get what we came for first just in-case the amateur's think we're a threat even though we're unarmed. Though broadcast to all vessels in the system, see if everyone speaks Romandosean first then broadcast in all known languages."

The transmission would be as follows.

#Attention everyone in the area. This is the genetic purification initiative vessel 'Sightless'. We are unarmed and have no boarding equipment nor complement. We are completing a survey mission of the various stars and planets in systems neighboring our own. Does anyone hear and understand us? please reply.#

HMS Exemplar, High Orbit, Halden’s World, Ventish Peripheral Territories

“And so she said “but that’s my favourite cocktail dress!”

The line brought a chuckle of appreciative laughter from the collection of men sitting around the table, all dressed in some form of uniform. Of the nine men around the table six were in the blue uniforms of the warfare officers of the Ventish navy, one in the white of the military scientific corps, one in the black of the medical corps, and the last in the plain blue uniform of the naval ratings. The man at the head of the table leaned back in his chair, sherry glass in his left hand, and addressed the rating.

“Wattings, how do you find the gundeck? Run efficiently? Any problems?”

“Well...sir...tey’re fine...sir...nuthin to complain...sir...”

The senior officers nodded, smiling faintly at their captain’s eccentric custom of selecting a random crewmember to dine with them on certain evenings. The captain, seated at the head of the table, inwardly groaned at the quiet and quite clearly unintelligent individual selected for his table this evening, at the same time feeling some degree of sympathy for the poor man – he expected he would have had a similar deer in the headlights look if he, as a newly appoint lieutenant, had been put onto a table with the Lord Admiral of the Fleets. There was a polite knock at the door and one of his midshipmen stepped in, saluted, and handed the captain a datasheet.

“Sir. Message from the Governor.”

“Thank you, Fielding.”

Apparently a point in space not too far from this system (relatively speaking) had been receiving rather a lot of superluminal travel. A point in space too close to this system, according to the governor of the colony at least, to be allowed to continue uninvestigated.

“Wattings. Dismissed.”

“Aye-aye Sir, thank you sir, right away sir”

Relief on the rating’s face was palpable as he rose hurriedly and all but ran from the cabin as the captain passed the sheet to his second in command.

“Ensign. The governor’s ‘request’ reads remarkably like an order.”

“I couldn’t comment sir.”

“Apparently the governor –“ this from the narrow-featured commander currently reading the datasheet, “-wants to be the first to encounter a new nation and claim the glory for himself. Not to mention practically ordering His Majesty’s ship about like his yacht. Look at this! He’s coming aboard in half an hour without so much as a courtesy request.”

The next from the Navigator, shorter and broader across the shoulders than the others, “Well what do you expect from him? The man has a chip on his shoulder the size of the Irrepressible! He’s so keen to show up the ‘aristocratic’ Kingdom Navy that he doesn’t pause to think of his actions.”

The captain again. “Agreed. If the man had asked politely he may have been allowed to tag along. Ensign, send back the following:
“Governor Abenn, greetings and salutations from His Majesty’s Destroyer Exemplar. Regrettably can only accede to half of your request, investigation is required by our duty but your presence aboard is quite impossible as we are heading into a potentially dangerous situation and your survival is vital for the future of Haldon’s World, whereas we humble servants of the King’s Navy are expected to risk our lives. We shall inform you of any encounters.”
Right. James, send an ethergram to Venmouth to keep them informed. Jhe’dhel, sort out the jump. Gentlemen, I fear that dinner shall have to wait.”

As he rose so did the rest of those around the table and moved quickly but with dignity to their stations.

Unknown Space
The Laudation class of destroyer, five hundred metres of Ventish military and scientific technology, appeared in a fold of space in the general vicinity of those ships already present. The Ventish destroyer is tiny by the standards of some nations but is far cheaper and much more flexible and thus rather more efficient to stand guard over one of the smaller colonies in the Ventish Empire. The design is somewhat peculiar with portions of the ship held separate from the hull and connected by a complex substructure holding hull and elevations together.

“Captain. The area is looking a little bit...busy. No trading traffic as we might have expected, and nothing indicative of pirate activity, but a lot of different technology.”

“Very good. Master of the Watch, all hands to stations. Master of Arms, maintain shields but keep weaponry inactive.”

“Aye-aye Sir! Mister Crane! All hands to stations, hands OFF triggers, pilots ready to launch!”
“Aye-ay Sir!”

“Aye-aye Sir! Mister Wentworth! Shields maintained until I tell you otherwise. Mister Grant! I want the armaments ready to load at a press of a button but not one of those buttons gets pressed without my say-so!”
“Aye-aye Sir!”

“Commander Savile, introduce us.”

“Aye-aye Sir.”

...Greetings and salutations. This is the Ventish warship Exemplar of the fleet of Victor IV by the grace of God, King of the United Worlds, Jeshinesh of Ophelia-Kadrin, and Emperor of the Ventish territories across the stars. Command of the ship is granted to Captain Alexander Lancing,...



[[OOC: Merry Christmas everyone!]]

Hawk processed the additional communications readings from the other ships and looked back at Blakeney with his eyes widening. He stood up and walked over to a position within a few centimeters of the center chair where Blakeney stood. He leaned in slightly.

"Captain," he whispered, so as not to appear rude to the Leonard Alba, "we've got company ... and lots of it."

Blakeney's eyes quickly divered to the young lieutenant. He also whispered.

"What do you mean we've got lots of company?"

"Sir, I show four ships nearby. So far, none of them appear hostile, but one of them seems to have some kind of energy readings I haven't been able to figure out yet.

"That ship's hailing us."

"I, uh, am a little preoccupied over here. Inform them who we are and extend our greetings on behalf of the Confederacy. And inform them we were on our first space mission."

Blakeney looked back up, almost apologetically, at Bastien.

"My apologies, Commander," he said. "Seems we've got a lot of company after our first space mission."

Commander Bastien nodded slightly as the two image systems linked, and she got a good look at Captain Noah Blakeney and his command crew. He looked Human, just like those in the IFSR really, as did those around him on the bridge of his ship. Well, the instructors in the Naval Academy on Brittany had said Humans, and humanoids, were commonplace in the galaxy. Just like them speaking English, it only simplified first contact.

Her eyes took note of a very brief, almost unnoticeable pause in Blakeney as he looked at her, and she had to suppress a laugh, settling on a subdued smile. These people obviously had no Nekojin abhuman population. Perhaps they had no abhuman population at all.

“Your graciousness is appreciated, Captain,” she said, reaching up with one hand to brush her sandy blonde hair back as she stood up. “As to dining with you, I see no problem with it. I assume you’ll want to do an information exchange on diet requirements?”

“Captain?” That was a hushed whisper, from the man on Sensors. “We’re showing ghosts in the immediate surroundings, at least four, and…”

“And what?” asked Bastien. “I’m busy here.”

“One of them looks like a GPI contact.”

“…Well, shit,” was all Bastien could say. Then she looked to Blakeney.

“I should say so, Captain,” she said. “Unfortunately, we know one of these nations which is making its presence known to you. We and they are at war, presently. We are willing at least to make a temporary ceasefire with them, within this system’s area.”

Blakeney looked back at his command chair for a second and slowly lowered himself to a seated position.

Figures, he thought. We make first contact and we're already worried about a war. Shit indeed.

"Understood, Commander," Blakeney said. "And yes, I'd love it if we could exchange diet requirements. Chef definitely does not want to disappoint prospective guests. We'll see you at 1800 hours our time. That's three hours from now. Republic out."

As the view screen returned to the space in front of the ship, Hawk went back to his console to scan the ships that were approaching. The ship that announced its presence as unarmed was the obvious choice for closer investigation. Blakeney stood up and walked over to Hawk's station.

"Report, Mr. Hawk?"

"Based on the information we're getting, the ship is unarmed. And yes, Romandeos and GPI are at war."

"What about the other contacts?"

"According to the database, there's a ship from Wulfhelm. No word on whether they're friendly or not, but they don't seem to be doing anything aggressive. The Exemplar seems to have some kind of energy shielding on, but their weapons appear to be inactive. They're hailing us."

Blakeney glanced at Hawk, then quickly looked back at the view screen. Hawk's eyes widened slightly, then he turned back to his scanner.

"Open a channel to the Exemplar."

"Aye, sir."

"Captain Lancing, this is Captain Noah Blakeney of the RSV Republic. We were on our first space exploration mission when we obviously got detected. We represent the Confederacy of Rymeria."

Meanwhile, Hawk was studying the fourth contact. It was clear the ship was large. Much larger than the Republic. And scans were showing the ship was much more heavily armed.

Blakeney walked over to Hawk's station and studied the information that appeared. The Behemoth was enormous and Blakeney was getting a glimpse at how powerful the ship might be.

He knew the Republic was being sent in the hopes of initiating first contact. He just didn't expect there to be so many first contacts in just the span of a few hours in space.

John Nathan listened to the transmissions, getting a handle on the situation. Momentous events were unfolding before him. At least four starfaring civilizations - in addition to the owners of the planet below. Rymeria, he heard it referred to.

It could be safe haven at last. Or it could prove a nest of vipers. He wanted to just land the bloody thing, switch everything off, get to [attempting] repairs, and then leave. Maybe find some helium-3 and deuterium to make sure the craft would have enough power.

But they might just shoot him down. And who knew about the other ships? One of them was enormous. And then there were those guys from the "Genetic Purification Initiative."

That did not sound pleasant.

So he was loathe to send a transmission out, or indeed to do anything at all but wait and observe.

“Central,” Bastien said, turning to the man on the CIA Console. “Compile a list of dietary requirements to send to Captain Blakeney and his people to use.”

“Aye, Captain.”

“Now,” said Bastien. “While that’s being done, let’s see about some of these ships that’re hanging around here. Who shall we talk to first?”

“Maybe that chunky little bastard there,” said a voice. Bastien turned around.

“Joshua,” she said, greeting her XO, Lieutenant Joshua Blake. Blake nodded in turn.

“Ma’am,” he said. “I was talking about that ship there. He’s just sitting there, watching us like he’s waiting for something, though what I can’t say.”

Bastien rested her chin in her hands and pondered before making a decision.

“Well, he’s been very patient,” she said. “It’d be rude not to give him a turn. Comms, hail him, if you please.”

“Aye, Sir,” said the Comms rating, as he went to work.

“Attention, unidentified vessel at my five o’clock, this is HMS Leonard Alba. Request you identify yourself, and state your purpose in this system.”

“Well, that’s done,” said Bastien, leaning back in her command seat. “Now, we hope he’s in a talkative mood.”

OOC:

Before anybody asks, Wulfhelm, the chunky little bastard in question is Mr. Nathan's ship.

Meanwhile, down at Space Command

Admiral Mark Blakeney monitored communications feeds from his son's ship. Space Command was eager, but also nervous, about initiating contact with another species. However, Admiral Blakeney wasn't prepared for first contact with so many species in such a short time.

He looked around at the crew assembled to compile the information Hawk was sending back to headquarters. They looked incredibly busy. In fact, there was so much activity going on that they had everyone on full alert to compile the streams of data into a database.

A youthful looking gentleman strode deliberately into the complex. He wore a uniform not unlike Admiral Blakeney's. And for good reason. The uniform served as the standard uniform of the Rymerian Space Command. The dark grey colour of both the shirt and slacks were offset slightly by a blue and green logo just above the heart. That logo was a depiction of Rymeria itself. On both collars of the gentleman's uniform shirt, a gold rectangle surrounded a gold button, classifying him as a commodore in the Rymerian Space Command.

He walked up to Admiral Blakeney.

"Do you have the report ready for Rep. Evans, sir?"

"I'm afraid we're still compiling information Commodore," Admiral Blakeney said.

"How much information are we getting from one first contact mission, sir?"

Admiral Blakeney's eyes widened somewhat and his eyebrows arched higher. His mouth opened slightly and he turned back to the commodore.

"You'd be surprised," he said. "Captain Blakeney has initiated no fewer than four first contacts since he took off.

"Four?! He's only been in space for about six hours!"

"Apparently, our FTL jump garnered quite a bit of attention. Oh, and two of the spacefaring nations we've been in contact with are at war."

The commodore bolted straight up.

"You're kidding!"

"Unfortunately, I'm not. Looks like we'll have to prepare quite an upgrade to the Republic if she lands in one piece."

"What kind of upgrade?"

"Well, for starters, the Republic was given minimal weaponry. All the ships they've made contact with can outgun the ship without having a single shield emitter of theirs so much as scorched. It's certainly going to need better point defense, improved shielding..."

"None of which are in the budget for this mission," the commodore said. "Permission to speak candidly, sir?"

Admiral Blakeney motioned the commodore over to the inside of his office and shut the door.

"Make it quick, Jim."

"Mark, we only intended the Republic to launch a brief space flight, get our feet wet, then assess from there whether Rymerians should be in space. We didn't sign up for this to embroil ourselves in a war. There's no way the Assembly's going to OK this."

"Jim, I believe I'm more familiar with the inner workings of the Assembly than you are. I've been down at the Capitol Building more than you have. They want to see what's out there. They want us to be viable in space. Besides, we've come all this way to launch our first mission. Now isn't the time to tuck our tails between our legs and run home to Mommy."

"Admiral," the commodore said with protest sending the tone of his voice higher. "The Assembly did not intend for the Republic to get into a dogfight."

"Jim," Blakeney replied. "The Republic doesn't have to get into any kind of fight. If it has to defend itself, I'm sure Noah will find a way to do so. But we've committed a lot of credits and resources to this project. Now isn't the time to cut and run."

The two men were interrupted by the door chime. Blakeney tapped a button on the wall.

"Come in."

"Admiral, we've compiled all the information," a lieutenant said, brandishing a silver object that looked like a mini-cigar in her right hand. Using her left hand, she slowly pushed her auburn hair out of her eyes, then handed the object to Blakeney. Blakeney looked it over, then thanked the lieutenant.

"Dismissed." Blakeney then tugged at the object and plugged it into a console on his desk. After a few whirs and beeps, he pulled out a notebook-sized object about one inch thick.

"Here's the report, plus my recommendations for upgrades to the Republic," Blakeney said. "I've also transmitted the report to Rep. Evans. If you'd like a copy for the rest of Space Command, here you go." He underhanded the object to the commodore, who bobbled it slightly before finally catching it.

"Caldwell, you've got to work on your hand-eye coordination!" Blakeney said in a half joking admonishment. He looked at the commodore, who barely reacted.

"Jim, you've got to learn to take a joke." Seeing no reaction again from Caldwell, he said, "dismissed." Caldwell saluted, then turned and left the office. Admiral Blakeney looked at the report on his monitor screen and his eyes widened.

Geez, he thought. Evans is going to have a shit fit when he sees this. He then turned away from the screen after hitting a button to pause the heavy volume of information. He stared out at the door to his office. For some reason, he felt a feeling he'd never attached to this mission before. A feeling he'd briefly let escape in words he found himself saying out loud.

"Please make it home safe, Noah."

No sooner had he decided not to do anything but wait quietly, a transmission was directed at him.

Attention, unidentified vessel at my five o’clock, this is HMS Leonard Alba. Request you identify yourself, and state your purpose in this system.

After a moment's quick thought, and some cursing he pressed the audio transmit button on his comm panel. "Acknowledged, Leaonard Alba. This is KSA-X12 and I'm its captain, John Nathan. We're here on a trade delegation on behalf of my company."

He added, "May I ask where you're from and why you're here? Over."

He especially appreciated the term "trade delegation." Very loosely speaking, that wasn't a lie. And it sounded quite official.

"Are you sure that's what these ... people? eat?"

"Yes, Chef, according to the data the Leonard Alba sent over, that's what their diet consists of."

"And you want us to prepare this meal by 1800 hours, correct?"

"Correct."

The chef, a graying man with a normally jovial countenance sighed, staring off at the wall for a second before returning his gaze to Blakeney. "Very well, sir. It will be done."

"Thank you, Chef."

"You owe me for this, Captain."

Blakeney allowed the door's hiss closed to be his response as he returned to the bridge. As for the menu, the chef's eyes continued to widen as he looked at the ingredients he would have to use. Or use the matter resequencers to create.

As for Commander Lou Anne Spencer, she spent the better part of the day evaluating the information she got from Blakeney about the species and ship types they met this day. She studied every thing possible, including the possibilities of transferring power from the engines to the defensive systems if necessary. She tapped a button on the wall.

"Spencer to Captain Blakeney."

"Blakeney here."

"I've examined everything these ships can do compared to what we can do," she said. "Frankly, if there's a shooting match, we're in deep doo doo."

"I'm aware of that," Blakeney said.

"You don't know to what extent," she said.

"Understood. We'll have to address that before long after we land."

"That's a big if we land," Spencer said. "Reports indicate that the war between Romandeos and GPI is a brutal one. "We're going to have to hope that both sides respect our neutrality."

"The GPI ship is unarmed," Blakeney said. "We scanned them and the database provided by the Romandeosians. Hopefully, the Leonard Alba won't be in a mood to shoot at the GPI ship. Now what can you tell me about the other ships?"

"Well, one of them just received a hail from the Leonard Alba. He seems to be a small ship interested in trading. Beyond that, I don't have a whole lot of intel on him. Then there's a gigantic ship nearby that we have yet to make sense of.

"Identification?"

"We haven't gotten a hit yet in the database. Suffice to say that ship dwarfs ours by a large margin."

"I see. What can you tell me about it?"

"According to the information we have been able to uncover, it is a Yamato-II Super-Dreadnought, the PFS Behemoth. Besides that, we have limited to no information about it. We have yet to even hear from them since they arrived."

"Acknowledged. Blakeney out."

Blakeney walked over to Hawk's station and scanned the information that was available about the Behemoth. If only the Leonard Alba were there, he might have been down in the galley giving Chef a hand, but more likely would have just been in the way. He thought longingly about the shower in his quarters and thought he'd want to don the dress uniform provided him by Space Command. But right now, he had a number of contacts to make. And, he felt, light years to go before he slept.

"Mr. Hawk, open a channel to the Behemoth."

"Aye, sir."

"Attention Behemoth. This is Captain Noah Blakeney of the RSV Republic, representing the Confederacy of Rymeria. We were on our first space exploration mission when you detected us. We mean you no harm. Please respond, over."

Blakeney walked back to his command chair and sat down. So many contacts, so little time to go before he was set to play host to one of them.

“Do we know anything about these ships?”

“Very little sir, but initial scans suggest matches to articles in the merchant astrine archive. The information, sir.”

Lancing took the thin sheaf of datasheets and scanned them.

“Very well. We shall wait for them to acknowledge our hail before we butt in on their comms again.”

“Sir. Channel opening with the primitive ship. Scans suggest it is of the local population. Voice only.”

"Captain Lancing, this is Captain Noah Blakeney of the RSV Republic. We were on our first space exploration mission when we obviously got detected. We represent the Confederacy of Rymeria."

...A pleasure and an honour, Captain Blakeney. Welcome to the stars, they are not usually so crowded. As our hail suggested, we represent the Ventish Empire, ruled by His Majesty Victor the fourth and governed by his ministers. Are your systems able to support visual communication? I would suggest a meeting in person. My officers’ dinner is waiting to be eaten if you have yet to dine and we would be honoured by the presence of yourself and any of your...guests...

His finger rested for a moment on a section of his control panel, muting outgoing messages from the Exemplar.

“Mister Leiss, this system is distressingly crowded by that monstrous creation.”

A nod to the Behemoth’s presence on the system holo-projection.

“Ethergram to Raithwaite as follows: Cpt. Lancing of Exemplar to Lords of the Admiralty. Encountered primitive culture new to spacefaring, civil so far. Other starcrossers present, modern nations. Will continue correspondence, in event of cessation be aware of probable engagement and loss of all hands but result unlikely. Diplomatic result of one form or another probable. Message ends.”

“Aye-aye Sir!”

The captain sighed deeply mulling over the situation as they came closer to their original objective. The captain closed her eyes and breathed mustering all the courage that she could for what she was about to say. Something else had to be done, there was no other way that they would survive without this. The rabbit waited until they were right on the probe lodged in an asteroid when she barked.

"Helm. Execute a ninety degree turn to port... now."

The young lynx looked at his superior officer with some concern along with everyone else on the bridge. The male clearing his throat as he went to the controls pretending that he didn't hear that.

"Do it. Trust me..."

the ship lurched into a hard left turn smashing the vessel's long range communications antennae though leaving the probe relatively intact.

"Now... All of you listen to me and listen close. We have a chance to change things here. A chance to end a war that's strangling each and every one of us little by little. Command wants us to simply probe the enemy country and leave, but that destroyer over there..."

She pointed to the Leonard Alba.

"Is faster, stronger and all around better than us. Following orders would be suicide. She probably has orders to shoot down any vessels exactly like ours on her patrol route."

Alyn cleared his throat forcefully since military discipline had now been thrown out the window.

"but ma'am... if command finds out what we just did... They might kill us all anyway."

"True Alyn... True, but here's what all of you don't know. Realm legate Cassandra Vi'al has discontinued all resupply operations until further notice... No explanation given."

"W...What?"

The male said going a little pale, though all the bridge crew were a little pale now. The captain went on standing in the middle of the bridge.

"Entire battalions are running out of ammunition in the field, ships are becoming harder and harder to repair, all offensive operations have been postponed indefinitely until more supplies come in. If we continue this war as the selfish bitch in office wants it to be fought we'll be forced to withdraw from this galaxy in seven months or less. If we simply follow our orders we might as well go down to the primitives planet and grab a rock or two because that's all we'll have to use against the imperials by then."

She sat back down with a soft sigh.

"Plus. If we do this right, we'll even get our probe back without firing a shot. Open a channel to the primitive vessel. Lets explain ourselves."

the transmission would read

#Greetings, welcome to space. We are glad you have reached the last free place in the universe as we call it. We are eager to meet you and perhaps open a dialog with your people. We assure you we speak for the entire initiative when we say we are happy to see you and welcome.#

"Now open a channel to the alba. Lets see how trigger happy the captain is."

#Romaderos vessel this is Ensign Una of the exploration vessel 'Sightless'. We are on a peaceful mission and as our previous transmission stated we are unarmed. We hope to proceed in our mission without malice since I think we both can agree that there's been more than enough killing between us.#

"We're on a peace mission... Now. We were just about to complete our espionage mission just three minutes ago."

The male rabbit sighed leaning back shaking his head.

"But now we're truly following our ideals, we're working towards a common goal. Peace, for now. Until we resupply and rearm."

Now Blakeney felt the full weight of how busy his first contact schedule had gotten all of a sudden. Now he had to deal with two more first contacts.

One at a time, he thought. He figured he'd delay any chance of getting involved with the Romandeosian war against GPI as long as possible.

"Mr. Hawk, get me visual contact with the Ventish ship."

"Sir? What about the GPI vessel?"

"In due time, Mr. Hawk. Right now, I'd like to communicate with Captain Lancing."

Hawk's eyes widened for a brief moment, then he set to work at his console.

"Aye, sir. Patching through now." The image of Captain Lancing appeared on the Republic bridge's main view screen. Blakeney looked up at the captain.

"We appreciate your offer, Captain," Blakeney said. "We've actually invited the delegation from Romandeos over to the Republic for a meal in two and a half hours. I would definitely enjoy dining with you perhaps some other time. Unless, of course, you'd like to transmit your diet requirements and dine with us aboard the Republic."

Blakeney could almost hear Chef's protest in his head. Ya mind giving me a little notice before you invite a whole flock of aliens to dine in my galley? He figured having the opportunity to make first contact with as many aliens as he had was one that rarely came along. Of course, he had no way of knowing if meeting four alien species on what amounted to his first mission in space was typical of first contacts.

Blakeney remained standing and waited for Lancing's response.

Lancing appears human with features that would be called delicate if they were not held in an expression that looks vaguely like the sort of natural superiority that many confuse with snobbery and arrogance. A glance at those other members of the crew suggest that it is not an expression, but rather a cast of features common amongst the Ventish. The captain is wearing an old fashioned uniform similar to those in use by western powers during the Napoleonic era in a striking royal blue and pale cream, although with trousers rather than breeches and stockings. Two gold epaulettes adorn his shoulders. His hair is black and eyes a pale grey.

Two members of the bridge crew look markedly different from their counterparts, still human but with visible signs of augmentation, tattoos down the left side of their faces and a notably different frame – stocky and broad-shouldered rather than tall and slender. One is clearly another senior member of the crew although his buttons are silver rather than gold, the other is apparently of lesser rank and in a different area of the bridge.

“I should be delighted to dine with you and the gentlemen from Romandeos. We are essentially human, with the requisite dietary requirements.”

Captain Lancing inclined his head to Blakeney and pulled a fob watch from his pocket. Click. He thumbed a small metal dimple of the side and glanced down at the watch before snapping it shut.

“Two and a half hours would be ideal. How many officers shall I bring for your table, Captain?”

Commander Callan, CO of the WSS Aurora City (a Colcord-class (http://i549.photobucket.com/albums/ii375/wulfhelm/auroracity.jpg) cruiser), frowned as he watched the sensor officer's display. Ensign Link stood to the side while the captain hunched over the console. Then he slowly smiled.

"This is less than 50 hours old," he said, pointing with his pinky at the sensor readings. "You can tell because of the dispersal pattern and the overall field strength."

He stood up. "Thank you, Ensign. As you were."

"Aye sir." Link beamed. He'd been afraid that he was wrong, and that it wasn't even a hyperspace jump reading. Commander Callan wouldn't have punished him for it, but the internal critic in his head would, and that was bad enough.

The captain went to his seat and moved the small, but powerful command console toward his body. After a few minutes uploading the sensor data and analyzing the star maps, he concluded that the jump had been toward one of three nearby star systems.

A jump meant a ship. A ship out here, so far from Wulfhelm, was either a military ship - it wasn't - or it was the target.

The Aurora City would visit all three star systems.

Just yesterday, they received a communique ordering them to be on the look out for, and capture if possible, a stolen starship; some prototype gravitic craft by KSA with a skeleton crew. Callan was patrolling this sector and wasn't to stray from it. But if some pirate scum was hiding out here, that made it his responsibility. And he intended to hunt it down and take care of it.

Pirates. Ugh, he kept thinking.

"Thank you, Captain. Feel free to invite whomever you would like to come aboard. I look forward to the visit. Republic out.

Blakeney then sent a message to Chef, who was beginning to prepare food for the Romandeos contingent. He was preparing a couple of different dishes for the Rymerians, so adding more food to that order was not going to be a problem.

Meanwhile, the galley staff was hard at work setting the table with formal ware, candles and the like. The ship would be in top shape for its otherworldly guests. Chef would see to that.

On the bridge, Blakeney eyed the transmission from the GPI vessel. He looked out at the visual display of the ship, then tapped a button on the armrest of his command chair.

"All senior officers, report to the situation room."

Blakeney then walked briskly to the small room behind the bridge while officers assembled around the small table.

"Here's the situation," Blakeney said, not waiting for the last officer to take his spot before talking. "We know the GPI and Romandeos are at war. The GPI ship says it's unarmed. We've got two sets of guests arriving.

"Are you worried there'll be a fight between the GPI ship and the Leonard Alba?" Spencer asked. "This ship is on its first exploratory mission. We're neutrals."

"That doesn't mean they'll respect it, either side," Hawk said. "For all I know, we could find ourselves in a fight."

"A fight we'll lose in two seconds," Taylor warned. "Even if we diverted all our power to the weapons systems, there's no guarantee we'll even dent their shields."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves here," Spencer said. "The GPI ship is unarmed, according to our scans."

"But what if our scans are inaccurate. What if they deliberately altered the information sent to our scanners?"

"Enough," Blakeney said. "Right now, we're just dealing in speculation. The facts are that ship has not done anything hostile to us yet. It hasn't done anything hostile to the Leonard Alba."

"Let's hope the Leonard Alba doesn't do anything hostile to them," the doctor said.

"Meanwhile, let's contact the Sightless and thank them for their gracious welcome."

"Do you want to invite them over for a meal, too?" the doctor asked.

"I don't want to give Chef a heart attack," Blakeney said. "Two delegations should be enough." But I would like to answer the GPI vessel.

"Thank you all. Dismissed."

The officers left and returned to their stations while Blakeney stood and allowed himself to get lost in thought for a brief moment before he walked back to the bridge and sat in the command chair.

Bastien took control of communication with Nathan at this point.

“Captain Nathan, we are an Imperial Romandeosian warship, here on a routine patrol. We have stumbled into a first contact along the way, as you can see. Now, just what company is it you represent, and what are you trading?”

Meanwhile, a separate line was opened with the GPI scout vessel.

“GPI ship, this is HMS Leonard Alba. Whether we leave you alone is up to you. We have informed the locals we intend to honor this space as neutral, so long as you do likewise as is only appropriate given they are not involved in the conflict between our two peoples. It is now up to you whether or not this peace holds.”

The transmission was swift. "I'm with KSA - Karlsson, Smith and Associates, Leonard Alba. I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to divulge information regarding this deal to third parties, however."

John thought a moment, and then added: "But, while we're waiting, do you happen to have any spare parts for a standard Class V hyperspace drive? Over."

Blakeney returned and sat down in the command chair. He looked at the GPI ship as it stayed in position. He moved his right hand over his mouth in thought.

"Mr. Hawk, have we contacted the Sightless yet?"

"No, sir."

Blakeney grimaced. He stood up and walked over to Hawk's station. He bent down and moved his mouth to within inches of Hawk's right ear. He then whispered.

"I thought I told you to contact the Sightless and extend greetings on behalf of the Confederacy."

"Sir," Hawk whispered. "The nature of the war between GPI and Romandeos is one that requires more than a simple 'thanks for the welcome' response in my opinion."

Blakeney looked up, then back down. Then he looked at Hawk.

"You're right, of course. Very well. Open a channel with the Sightless. And give me a visual."

"Aye, sir."

"GPI vessel, this is Captain Noah Blakeney of the RSV Republic. We thank you for the welcome to space, and we would enjoy an opportunity to meet with you at some point. I'm afraid our social calendar is quite busy with dinner aboard the Republic in approximately two hours. However, I would enjoy having an opportunity to meet with you at your earliest convenience."

Keep an open mind, Blakeney, he thought as he sent his transmission to the Sightless.

Hawk also listened in on the conversation between the Leonard Alba and Nathan's ship. He exchanged looks with Blakeney, who simply pointed to the display of the vessel.

"Attention, this is Captain Noah Blakeney of the RSV Republic. We were on our first space mission when you detected us. We extend greetings on behalf of the Confederacy of Rymeria."

Blakeney then turned, walked back to his command chair and sat down. He knew being the captain of a space vessel involved many challenges. He didn't expect being a social planner would be one of them.

OOC: We now have an OOC thread (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=577808) for this RP. If you have any questions, comments, concerns, etc., they go there.

Space Command, Rymeria City

Commodore Caldwell was in the minority. He knew it, everyone in the room knew it. He was opposed to the idea of Rymerians being in space with all the dangers present out there.

He also knew one other thing. For the Republic to be viable, the ship would have to be more heavily armed. He proposed increasing the armament with 12 additional laser cannons, increased outlay of missiles and 12 eight inch rail guns.

"We need to have the Republic be a warship if it's going to find itself embroiled in wars in space," Caldwell said. He sat back smugly, figuring his extreme argument would work as sort of reverse psychology. If he couldn't keep the ship from being in space, he figured he'd try passing it off as embroiling Rymeria in war.

It didn't have the intended effect. Granted, the armaments were considered too heavy by most of the senior officers in Space Command. However, they agreed the Republic needed to be more heavily armed. Most of the officers agreed with Admiral Blakeney's proposal.

They decided when the Republic returned, they'd add nine additional laser cannons, four each port and starboard and one more aft. They would also quadruple the power generated by the laser cannons. Engineers developed longer range engines for the short-range nuclear missiles. They also increased the yield for the nuclear warheads, so they wouldn't need the tungsten rods. That would also simplify logistics rather than carry two different types of projectiles.

Admiral Blakeney knew there were still some Rymerians who were worried about what it'd mean to have their planet open to space exploration. He also knew the die had already been cast. It was go time.

Pierre Marceau grumbled as he and his sous chefs were hard at work trying to meet Romandeosian dietary requirements. Fortunately for him and his crew, the Ventish requirements were essentially the same as human requirements. However, he wasn't expecting to burn through so much of the ship's fresh food stores so quickly.

"I've got a bone to pick with Captain Blakeney," he said out loud, not caring if the captain overheard him. He didn't, but he thought he'd snap at him if he were there. It didn't matter. This was Blakeney's ship and what the captain said went. At least until the aliens left and then it was payback time.

He looked over the part of the meal he was preparing personally and turned off the oven. Grabbing a pair of oven mitts, he put them on, then reached into the oven and pulled out the dish. He reached over for the spices and began to apply them.

The sous chefs were also busy with their parts of the meal, while other staff were finishing up the table setting. They also went to their kitchen locker rooms to grab their aprons, freshly washed and pressed for action. Meanwhile, the second shift bridge crew was sitting in the bridge officer stations while Blakeney and the other senior officers were in their quarters. They were shaving, showering and putting on dress uniforms. Blakeney's had a navy blue coat with four silver pips adorning the right side of the collar. Above each shoulder was an old fashioned epaulette. Spencer's had three silver pips adorning the right side of her collar, while her uniform shirt had a single epaulette over the right shoulder. Taylor's had two silver pips with a silver ring next to it on the right collar and the epaulette on the left.

Even though everyone was a little different, their routines for checking the mirrors in their quarters were roughly the same and took roughly as long. When he was finished with his routine, he tapped a button directly above the head rest for his bed.

"Blakeney to the hangar."

"Hangar, Lieutenant Bryson."

"Mr. Bryson, prepare each shuttle pod for launch. We're going to go get our guests and bring them aboard the Republic."

"Aye sir." Blakeney smiled slightly, then hit the intercom button again.

"Blakeney to Lieutenant Hawk."

"Hawk here."

"Notify the Ventish and the Romandeosians that we'll be sending shuttle pods to pick up their delegations. Inform them our matter transport technology is a bit ... uncertain."

"Sir, Space Command cleared the matter transporters for human transport."

"I'm well aware of that," Blakeney said. "However, I don't think I'm ready to have anyone's atoms scattered all over the place without running a few more tests on the technology."

"With all due respect, captain, the technology has been tested. It's been declared safe."

"You heard the order, lieutenant."

"Aye, sir. Hawk out."

Blakeney sighed then smacked the wall next to the intercom with the palm of his right hand. He then turned around and walked to the door of his quarters, pushed a button next to it, then heard the woosh of the door. He walked through, then headed toward Deck 4.

Ready or not, the Rymerians were going to receive their guests. He hoped they would be ready.

The Metal Man was surprised. The cloaking device was working. None of the ships nearby had broken it.

Pete, his constant companion and the AI that ran his ship, was not surprised. In fact, the AI was downright ecstatic, if such a thing was possible. "Time's up," he said. "That's two more hours of basking in the sunlight that you owe me. I think I'll pop out the solar panels now, just to make sure you live up to the deal."

At only 100 meters in length, Brain Jar was one of the tiniest ships in the congregation--and, with only five deck guns and a missile launcher, the flying saucer was only weakly armed. Yet, her onboard information technology and combination of drive systems made her able to fly circles around most of the competition--she could calculate and execute a jump before most ships could lock weapons, or come up with a firing solution.

And that was why Marionetonia had chosen the tiny ship for the mission that she was on. She had been hunting pirates that were starting to harass the local shipping lines. He'd tracked them to a nearby point in space when the sensors had caught a frenzy of hyperspace activity. Naturally, he'd cloaked and warped in to investigate.

And, with just his luck, he'd chanced upon a race making their first contact--right in the middle of an interstellar war.

Still...

"You're right, Pete. This is getting us nowhere. Decloak. Spread your wings a little."

"At long last," came the reply.

And, with that, and a short rumble, the ship became visible, flying where she was a few thousand kilometers off of the asteroid that the GPI had recently serviced.

the crew of the sightless worked frantically to keep the ship from sending any emergency distress signals out when the ship actually detected the saucer de-cloaking. A half supplied, half armed, half assed, trigger happy task force is the absolute last thing they needed right now. The vessel began a slow, drifting approach towards the planet, Ensign Una sighed nodding her head to herself once and then ordering the following transmission to be sent to the confederate vessel.

#Perhaps we should meet on your planet while exchanging technology for supplies, food stuffs in particular.#

They resumed keeping that message from getting out since it would go against everything Una was now fighting to create.

Not now!

Lieutenant Hawk grimaced as he saw the saucer decloak. He thought about calling for battle stations and ordering the Republic to activate its electromagnetic current to make the hull several times harder. He thought about asking the armory to arm the laser cannons and the long range missiles. However, he knew he had to contact Blakeney first. He tapped the intercom button on his station.

"Bridge to Captain Blakeney."

For his part, Blakeney was looking around in the officers' mess hall where the guests and the Republic's senior officers would assemble to dine. He smiled as he saw everything put in place properly.

Chef comes through again, he thought with a smile.

All of a sudden, his reverie was broken.

"Bridge to Captain Blakeney."

Blakeney rolled his eyes but resisted the urge to snap "What?!" after hitting the intercom button.

"Blakeney here."

"Sir, a ship just materialized out of nowhere."

"What do you mean materialized?"

"Our scanners weren't detecting anything, then all of a sudden, a ship appeared. It's pretty small, but what do you want me to do?"

"Is it showing hostile intent?"

"Our scanners aren't detecting any weapons charging."

"Open a channel with them. See what they're up to."

"Captain, one other thing."

Blakeney sighed. This was really getting annoying.

"Yes?"

"The Sightless just sent another communication."

"Let's have it."

#Perhaps we should meet on your planet while exchanging technology for supplies, food stuffs in particular.#

"Acknowledge the signal. Inform him we can discuss the particulars after dinner, at roughly 2200 hours."

"Aye, sir."

Blakeney walked over to a small monitor which served as a view screen sitting at the head of the table where he usually sat. He pushed it and saw the saucer ship appearing on the screen.

No need to get in a panic, he thought. Still, he realized the potential for risk was there. So much for a routine first mission, he thought before chuckling slightly.

Gheryn Jhe’dhel turned his head slightly as he regarded his solid features in the mirror, one hand on his chin confirmed that it was smooth as dictated in regulations. As always he frowned slightly when his eyes fell upon the faint scarring on the left edge of his face, partially hidden by ritual tattoos. The hereditary disease had spread a tiny fraction farther toward his eye. He opened a small black case marked with the sign of the Military Medical Corps that rested upon his washstand and removed the syringe inside, carefully inserting the just above and to the right of the mastoid nerve. He closed his eyes as the substance entered his system, dulling the pain of his sickness. He sighed and murmured to himself.

“Weak, Gheryn.”

“Not weak, old friend. How many other ‘dhel Skandi have become Navigators of His Majesty’s Navy?”

The broad-shouldered officer spun in surprise, one hand reaching for his cut-throat razor. Half-way through the turn he recognised the voice.

“Sandy. I thought you Ventish gentlemen knocked?”

The captain smiled faintly at his friend’s comment on gentility, an old joke between them. He finished it with what had become a ritual between navigator and captain aboard theExemplar.

“Gentlemen are judged on how they treat those that cannot be of use to them. You don’t count. Now, finish getting dressed would you? You’re keeping the good doctor waiting.”

The navigator gave a snort of laughter and pulled on his dress coat over shirt and waistcoat. It was longer than his contemporaries but of a broadly similar design in blue and pale cream. A pattern of three stars interlocked was embroidered in silver thread upon his collar and the buttons of his coat were silver rather than the gold of warfare officers.

The two of them walked through the pale grey corridors of the ship, working their way toward the for’ard starboard hangar which was hidden by part of the ship’s superstructure. The captain touched his ear.

“Lieutenant Leiss, when our hosts approach be so good as to send a beacon to let them in. Lieutenant Blakely, clear the for’ard starboard hangar. Lieutenant-Commander Crick, speak with the Ophelians, get them to open a gap in the outer shield for that shuttle.”

A series of “ay-aye, Sir”s came back as the two of them reached the hangar and the third of their number intending to go aboard the Republic. Generally he resembled those of the captain and of most of the other crewmen aboard. Quite slender harsh featured, blue or pale grey eyes and dark hair. His uniform, however, was markedly different. It was a solid back save for the gold crossed sabre and Aesculapian staff on his collar, the symbol of the Military Medical Corps, and gold piping. The tunic had gold buttons buttons and was fashioned in a style with the fastenings on the side rather than front. It is quite clearly intended to appear more as a practical garment than a dress uniform, although the functional version had a series of pouches attached to it and lacked the gold detailing.

The captain himself was the very image of a Ventish officer and gentleman. Tall and slender, with piercing grey eyes and neatly brushed black hair, his severe features carefully composed in front of the naval ratings and astrines*. His uniform consisted of cream shirt, black necktie (Napoleonic-era style, going directly against the neck rather than a modern business style), cream waistcoat and trousers, a blue and cream coat detailed with gold buttons and epaulettes (think Napoleonic-era British navy), and black knee-high boots. A dress sabre hung from his belt (and, incidentally, from the navigator’s) and a forearm-length baton upon its opposite side that was apparently a symbol of rank, similar in style to a Field Marshall’s baton but much simpler. Not one hair is out of place and there was not a speck of dust to be seen upon him.

Now they had but to wait for their hosts for the evening to arrive in the hangar.






* Astrines are Ventish naval combat personnel, specialising in discreet insertion, shipboard action, and colony control (read “keeping the native population in line”). While on duty they wear lightweight power armour normally coloured in blue and white with red detailing, this colouring is obviously changed for planetside engagements requiring discretion. Astrine power armour is unusual in that it is only designed to protect against primitive weaponry (and laser technology, but that is a side-effect of Ophelian micro-shielding technology and is common only upon Astrine contingents aboard larger warships such as the Irrepressible class. Officers and NCOs are the only ones who would be likely to use the upgraded armour aboard a Destroyer’s complement). The armour is intended to enhance physical characteristics (speed, strength, accuracy etc.) and as a locator rather than to protect its user (not to mention that building something strong enough to withstand rail and plasma fire is very, very expensive and the results tend to be very clumsy and unsuited to missions requiring sneaking around).


[[Response to decloak later.]]

"Do you have a coding on their language yet, Pete?"

"Yes. Are you ready for this? Standard English."

"Hmmf. Well. Makes our job easier. Any luck getting ID's on the ships from the comm signals we've been monitoring?"

"Well...the GPI ship is the Sightless, the gravitic ship is the KSA-X12, the Romandeosian ship is the Leonard Alba,--."

"Romandeosian? Aren't they and the GPI at war?"

"Yes, but they've agreed not to fire on each other in neutral territory. Anyway, the rest of the ships are...

OOC: boring details omitted for sake of brevity.

IC:

...and our host in the region is the Republic."

"Well, we might as well announce ourselves. General broadcast, please."


To all neighboring vessels:

This is The Metal Man, commanding Brain Jar. We are Police
Contractors in service of the Marionetonian Space Patrol. We were
on a mission to track down and apprehend pirates when we detected
what was obviously the Republic's maiden FTL voyage. We have
investigated the situation and changed our mission to one of
diplomatic contact, as we are empowered to do. Our intent is
peaceful, repeat, peaceful. We recognize that we have no police
powers within the confines of Rymerian space, and will respect
Rymerian territorial boundaries.

Though I am certain that you are all busy with your diplomatic
affairs, I would appreciate the opportunity to meet with all and
sundry and...introduce ourselves.


"Well, what do you think?"

"A little nerdy, but it'll do."

"Eh. Who asked you?"

"You did."

"The Brain Jar? What the hell?"

"Unknown, sir," Spencer said as she walked onto the bridge. Hawk stood up and left the bridge to head to the hangar bay to pilot Shuttlepod 2. Watson went to pilot Shuttlepod 1 and Taylor came up from Engineering to take over the helm.

Blakeney was busy punching some commands into the computer. When he finished, his senior officers could focus on getting ready to greet their guests. But for right now, he had to override the computer coding that prohibited non-officers from operating bridge stations.

"Processing," the computer voice said. "Override complete."

"While I'm gone, hail the Brain Jar and inform them we're in the process of bringing over invited guests to dinner aboard the Republic. We'll be glad to meet with them once we've finished our first round of first contacts," Blakeney told Taylor.


A couple of master chief petty officers walked onto the bridge and assumed the stations, then Spencer left with Blakeney to head to the hangar deck to formally greet their guests. Taylor stood near the command chair, but chose not to sit down. She was formally in command on the bridge, but she wouldn't sit in Blakeney's chair.

"Aye, sir," Taylor said. As the door to the lift shut, she turned to the enlisted man at Hawk's station and said, "you heard the captain."

"Aye, sir," was his response.

"Metal Man, this is Lieutenant Commander Sandra Taylor of the RSV Republic. Obviously, you knew it was our first space mission. We are in the process of inviting over guests from Romandeos and Ventuus to have dinner aboard ships. Once we've done so, we'll be more than happy to meet with you at some point.

"Let us know the best time for you. Perhaps 0900 hours our time?"

Blakeney and Spencer, plus the doctor appeared in the control room of the hangar and watched as the two shuttlepods lifted off one after the other. The first one set its course for the Leonard Alba while the second steered toward the Ventish ship.

"Now remember," Blakeney said. "Everybody must be on their best behavior."

Spencer shot Blakeney an annoyed glance, then said, "we know, Captain."

HMS Exemplar exterior

A single fighter craft moved smoothly out of the hangar and emerged from behind the elevated panels that kept the ship’s entry points hidden and protected. It turned toward the approaching shuttle and moved through a hole opened in the shield.

...Rymerian shuttle this is Scimitar flight from Exemplar, I am to guide you in. Be aware of substructure and missile points as you come in. I will take up point and show you the gap. Follow me exactly please...


HMS Exemplar, Operations Room

“Commander Savile Sir! Ship de-cloaking five point Port-by-G-North-North-West, twelve points elevation. Message incoming.”

“On screen. Let’s hear this message.”

“Mister Leiss, send this response.”

...Greetings and salutations. This is the Ventish warship Exemplar of the fleet of Victor IV by the grace of God, King of the United Worlds, Jeshinesh of Ophelia-Kadrin, and Emperor of the Ventish territories across the stars. Command of the ship is granted to Commander James Savile under Captain Alexander Lancing.
Greetings Metal Man of the Brain Jar. When Captain Lancing returns to station after his diplomatic duties I am certain that he will wish to speak to you. The Exemplar can play host to your party for such a meeting should you desire it...


HMS Exemplar, For’ard Starboard Hangar

A row of armoured astrines stood to either side of the door with a young midshipman at the end of each row. The two officers are young, not more than fifteen but carry themselves with authority. As the door opens they salute the men stepping into the hangar and turn to the sergeants standing beside them. Both said the same words to the blank visors facing them.

“Captain departing, sergeant. Carry on.”

A power-armoured hand saluted smartly. At the opposite of each row a single astrine was unarmoured and had a drum hanging from their belt. The drumroll began as the armoured soldiers brought their rifles up to their shoulders in salute.

The captain stepped through and stood with his hands behind his back as the ritual finished.

“At ease. Astrines, dismissed. Well gentlemen, now we wait for the shuttle.”

There was a cough from behind the three as the captain’s steward proffered a silver tray with three cups of tea.

“Ah, thank you Gaskell.”

“M’pleasure sir. This’un’s yours, Earl Grey, lemon, Navigator that’n’s yours, half-and-half Assam and Keemun, drop of milk, one sugar, Navigator, Darjeeling dash of milk fer you.”

The three officers took their tea and sipped as Gaskell produced a clothes brush from somewhere and hunted over the Captain’s coat for any stray hairs or specks of dust.

The lady rabbit scoffed a little at the transmission from the Jar

"Police vessel. Hmph... What does it police? A defense frigate could knock it out without even trying."

She sighed in her command chair, another transmission suddenly filled the view-screen.

#Vessel 'Sightless' this is Ensign Lutron, leader of task force 'Fire' to Ensign Una of Plantroe. *E.E.O.*(Enlightened Eyes Only)#

# I detect that you are operational and relatively unharmed aside your primary communications array. We have also detected massive power surges by your position and thus have requested and gained permission from Governor Kireas to join with task forces 'Wind', 'Steel', 'Iron' and 'Divination' to aid you if these surges are what we fear, weapon systems powering up. By the time this message reaches you we will be five minutes away from your position.

Our orders are to recover you or the data you hold in case our scans on your status are incorrect and to eliminate all vessels in the area. We cannot allow you Ensign Una or any of your crew to be compromised nor even your presence to be widely known. The governor herself eagerly awaits a status update on your mission as it's the first real insight into imperial territory.

I hope that this is an unnessicary measure and we find you and your crew in good health and spirits. Who knows this move might even turn this war around in our favor if the planet is as fertile as our scans say it is. See you soon...#

Una turned white as the message faded into normal space.

"The governor is sending... Two non com... No. One non com since 'fire' is a combat name and one planetary assault force."

Seaman Alyn noted counting on his fingers as he switched his console to see what the long range scanners saw. Una paled a bit more at that announcement she knew the 'fire', 'steel', and 'iron' task forces might have seven to nine ships each, and the 'wind' might have three combat vessels and some support ships. They think this is a rescue operation after all.

Seeing as how the governor herself asked for her reports the initiative would put forth all the effort it could to get the data she was supposed to acquire. So nine, times three plus three equalled...

"Thirty..."

"If what just came up on our view screen is true then the governor is sending a third of the fleet after us... Thirty combat ships. And who knows, maybe even another flagship. A planet killer."

This was bad... This was bad indeed.

"Our communications array is... gone. All the antennae have been smashed beyond use. Maybe we could bounce a transmission off of one of the probes. But we'd need the communications array partially working to actually reach the task force before they get here."

Captain Una closed her eyes, trying to push the sounds of rifles cocking, of her and her bridge crew lined up against some wall. The squad leader giving an order to fire with each moment. Though she couldn't shake the feeling that what she was about to do was 'high' treason. Compared to the simple 'dereliction' of duty she alone was guilty of.

"Launch it in the middle of the visiting ships! We might need two of them to make this work. Also put this on broadcast..."

The right side of the vessel's seemingly useless middle cargo bay opened up and a small circular object came out flying towards the planet, then to where it could be near most of the vessels in the system. The Sightless followed it purposefully.

# To all space fairing vessels in this system. We have experienced an unexpected failure of our communication's array and our empire has seen fit to dispatch a rescue operation. This rescue operation is quite large, and they have been ordered to address all non-initiative vessels as hostile. They will arrive in less than five minutes.

To prevent the nightmare that would result from this we require two vessels to come within ten meters of the probe we are launching... Just trust us. We have no hostile intentions towards anyone, if we did, why would you be receiving this message?#

"Oh great," Taylor said out loud as she heard the Sightless's transmission. She turned around and hit a button on the command chair.

"Bridge to Captain Blakeney."

"Blakeney here."

"Captain, we just received a transmission that a large fleet from GPI could be on the way. The Sightless's communications array is offline. The fleet is on a rescue mission and has been instructed to consider all non-GPI ships as hostile."

"What do you suggest?"

"Captain, the Sightless just launched a probe and two ships have been asked to maneuver to within 10 meters of its position. Then, they can try sending a message to the fleet to call off the dogs."

"Do you trust them?"

"Captain, we've been taking some large leaps of faith just undergoing this mission. I think this calls for another one, especially if we want to live to send the Republic on more missions."

"Good point, Commander. Move us to within position and ask one of our newfound friends to do the same."

"But sir, do we contact the Leonard Alba? They are at war with GPI, after all."

"I'm aware of that, Commander. What I suggest is contacting the Ventish ship and one of the other ships. Or perhaps we could make things work with one of our shuttlepods once it's disembarked our passengers."

"I don't know. The shuttlepod's communications array is really limited."

"Well, we'll have to hope the Exemplar or the Brain Jar can join in on the fun. Blakeney out."

Taylor didn't hesitate. She turned to the petty officer at the tactical station.

"Contact the Exemplar. Notify them we're changing position to within 10 meters of the probe once we've landed the two shuttlepods. Then ask if they can maneuver to within 10 meters of that probe. Perhaps by doing so, we'll save all our lives."

"Aye, sir."

"Helm, lay in a course to within 10 meters of that probe. Engage rockets at one-third."

"Aye, sir."

The Republic fired its rockets and slowly moved to a position within 10 meters of the probe, hoping the Exemplar would do the same.

HMS Exemplar, Operations Room

“Commander? Message from the Sightless.”

Savile listened to the communication and did a reasonable job of keeping his face impassive.

“Relay to the captain.”

“Sir? Another from the Republic. I’m sending it down.”

”Savile, what do you think?”

“Captain, I don’t think we have much choice but to notify the Admiralty and to follow Blakeney’s suggestion.”

”My thoughts exactly Commander. Bring the Exemplar about, easy as she goes. Ten metres either side of that probe is far less room than I am comfortable with. Mister Crick, notify shield control that we are going to pull the shields down but them ready to go up again at the first sign of treachery. Mister Blakely, inform Scimitar flight to bring the shuttle into the hangar, we don’t want them getting squashed and I’ll be damned if I let aliens interrupt my dinner plans twice in one evening!”

“Sir. What about Raithwaite?”

“Sightless said five minutes? We’ve already lost a couple of those. Send an alert to Admiralty House requesting assistance in exactly six minutes if possible and unless we contact them to cancel the request. Word it as you see fit, include the words confidence and ignorant in the transmission. Reference 2274.”

“Very good sir. Mister Leiss, ethergram to Raithwaite as follows: Cmdr Savile under Cpt. Lancing of Exemplar to Admiralty House 2274. Possible hostile encounter, ignorant as to numbers. Request assistance in six minutes precisely if manageable. If situation diffuses will contact. Every confidence in support.”

”Commander, send a message to Sightless as follows: We are approaching probe. Be advised if hostiles engage us we will open fire to defend ourselves and others. Engaging a ship of His Majesty’s navy will be considered grounds for punitive strikes. Tread carefully and Godspeed. Message ends.”

“Captain? Response from Admiralty House, Feithin ships have engaged shipping across Frost’s System. The response fleets are engaged. The best Raithwaite can manage are two squadrons in seven minutes from this time – two Irrepressible class and their attendants.”

“Two main line ships and a couple of destroyers? Any word on follow ups?”

“Dependent upon what happens over Artemis for rapid response. Looking like it will just be an extraction mission to pull us out. Admiralty’s response suggested heavier response in twenty to thirty minutes if we need it.”

“Damn. Well, we’ll have to do our best. Nil desperandum and all that. Oh yes, clear for action.”


HMS Exemplar, Exterior

The ship manoeuvred itself surprisingly delicately and very, very carefully toward the probe as its layers of shielding, normally extending some distance from the hull, winked out. In space warships are normally accustomed to shifting courses based on thousands of kilometres of space...ten metres is unheard of except when docking and normally takes a bit more time than ‘less than five minutes’.

At such close range rather a lot of detail of the ship could be seen, from the protruding bulges of railgun cradles across the exterior to glimpses of threatening missile tubes hidden in the ship’s substructure to the solemn faces of crewmen looking back at the Republic and the massive angel figurehead upon the prow with her wings hiding some of the ship’s forward armaments.

Spencer noted the course change mandated by the Exemplar change in position by punching in a few commands in the control panel of the shuttlepod. The small craft responded quickly to the course change and followed the Scimitar.

"Exemplar hangar, this is Ensign Carey Watson, helmsman of the RSV Republic in Shuttlepod 2. Request permission to land, over."

Meanwhile, Lieutenant Hawk watched the stars seemingly fly by as he piloted Shuttlepod 1 toward the Leonard Alba. Rymerian shuttlepods were powered with rockets that only provided limited sublight speed. They were fine for landing on a planet's surface or for transporting between ships in space, but they weren't designed for long distance space travel. The Republic had similar rockets but the ship firing its rockets at full speed could outrun the shuttlepod if it had to because it had more resources available for the task.

Meanwhile, the shuttlepod designers made it clear that the Republic was lucky they had atmosphere and artificial gravity.

"Leonard Alba this is Lieutenant Michael Hawk of the RSV Republic. Requesting the coordinates for your ship's hangar deck, over."

Once he received those coordinates, he'd punch them into the pilot's keypad and then maneuver the craft into the landing area. Then, he'd deliver the Romandeosians to the Republic.

Meanwhile, Blakeney began to pace as he suddenly worried about the fate of his ship's two shuttlepods. We really should have more of them, he thought. Plus, he thought of a million different things he wished they had built into the craft.

As for Taylor, she walked over to the tactical station and eyed space for any signs of the GPI fleet that the Sightless warned could be on its way.

A damn first contact mission, Taylor thought bitterly. I hope we don't end up space dust on a damn first contact mission.

"Metal Man, this is Lieutenant Commander Sandra Taylor of the RSV Republic. Obviously, you knew it was our first space mission. We are in the process of inviting over guests from Romandeos and Ventuus to have dinner aboard ships. Once we've done so, we'll be more than happy to meet with you at some point.

"Let us know the best time for you. Perhaps 0900 hours our time?"


"Roger that, Commander Taylor. Will be happy to oblige."

"New message, Boss."

"Let's hear it, Pete."

...Greetings and salutations. This is the Ventish warship Exemplar of the fleet of Victor IV by the grace of God, King of the United Worlds, Jeshinesh of Ophelia-Kadrin, and Emperor of the Ventish territories across the stars. Command of the ship is granted to Commander James Savile under Captain Alexander Lancing.
Greetings Metal Man of the Brain Jar. When Captain Lancing returns to station after his diplomatic duties I am certain that he will wish to speak to you. The Exemplar can play host to your party for such a meeting should you desire it...


"Ship to ship, Pete.

"Thank you for your expedient reply, Commander Savile. I would be delighted to arrange a meeting."

"Boss?"

"Yes, Pete."

"I'm getting a funny signal from the planet. If I didn't know better, I'd say it was a class-4 probe...but it's extremely faint."

"Unusual for a society with that level of technology to be testing..."

"I don't think it's theirs, boss. The communication protocols look like GPI."

"Get me an analysis of its sig--."

"Boss! Message from deep space! You gotta hear this!"

"Patch us in."

"...to join with task forces 'Wind', 'Steel', 'Iron' and 'Divination' to aid you if these surges are what we fear, weapon systems powering up. By the time this message reaches you we will be five minutes away from your position.

Our orders are to recover you or the data you hold in case our scans on your status are incorrect and to eliminate all vessels in the area. We cannot allow you Ensign Una or any of your crew to be compromised nor even your presence to be widely known. The governor herself eagerly awaits a status update on your mission as it's the first real insight into imperial territory.

I hope that this is an unnecessary measure and we find you and your crew in good health and spirits. Who knows, this move might even turn this war around in our favor if the planet is as fertile as our scans say it is. See you soon..."

"Oh, joy. Decoded 'em, didn't you?"

"Well, you said I should analyze their transmissions."

"So...do YOU want to raise shields or do you want ME to do it for you?"

"Shouldn't we contact Marionetonia?"

"Are you kidding? They'd use something like this as an excuse to send in a battle plate. When the shooting stopped, that planet would be little more than a footnote in our database."

"So you want us to--wait a minute. New transmission."

To all space fairing vessels in this system. We have experienced an unexpected failure of our communication's array and our empire has seen fit to dispatch a rescue operation. This rescue operation is quite large, and they have been ordered to address all non-initiative vessels as hostile. They will arrive in less than five minutes.

To prevent the nightmare that would result from this we require two vessels to come within ten meters of the probe we are launching... Just trust us. We have no hostile intentions towards anyone, if we did, why would you be receiving this message?

"Well, Pete...it seems we have an insubordinate crew on our hands. The odds of our survival just went up."

"So what do we do?"

"Scan the object that they're gathering around."

"OK...scanning...looks like a pretty standard space-bound probe. Communications array's busted, though?"

"What's the communications set-up on that thing?"

"Nothing unusual. Standard quantum ripple array."

"Then we can match its output?"

"And then some."

"Hail the Sightless. Let me know when they're ready."

"Communications established."

"Ship to ship."


Sightless, this is Brain Jar.

Have been monitoring your situation. Can act as replacement
communications array if need be. Would you prefer this option?

OOC: I know we have an OOC thread for this roleplay but... I wanted to make sure everyone saw. I will make my next sentence as plain as I can. We do 'not' use anything as easily translatable as a 'quantum ripple array' any idiot with an galactic CB could easily hear what you were saying if you were in their area. Plus it's rather rude to be 'told' what's the best of the best in your own technology.

What's next? Thousands of years of genetic conditioning, sorting, purification, and exclusion being boiled down to 'that's nice?'? -sigh- The last paragraph really boils down to a god modding argument which I will say. Yes I feel I did god mod the 'fleet emergency' in but for a reason. What is an alliance without trail? What would unify them? Their mutual 'niceness?' Their mutual respect and if so born from what?

And I really didn't even 'god mod' it in seeing as how they've got a delay and the sightless damaged it's own communications array to keep the fact that they were really seeking an audience with their enemies 'quiet' though in doing so they 'brought' the attention of their superiors hence they go to their last known position. Perfectly logical.

Let me go back even further and apologize to Rymeria for putting an object on your planet but without it why would they call you anything more than a planet that needs a good 'purification'? This way they have something to say 'hold it they might have learned from us!' 'Oh ok! disengage the rape gun!' though I realize this was in poor taste and I'm sorry. I'm sorry about all this but it's really annoying to have a coded transmission, in latin no less since that's the initiative's native language picked out of the air as though they're some half assed radio jockey transmitting farts across space.

With all that said, I'm sorry I flew into a rant but I just feel that's really disrespectful and dangerous since if the initiative finds out what the Brain jar is doing no matter what it'll be an instant conflict seeing as how it's espionage at it's base level.

IC: The rabbit sighed happily in her command chair as they stopped about twenty meters from the probe's position.

"Good. Very good... At least we're the only trigger happy nation around."

The woman pracitcally jumped when this transmission came.

Sightless, this is Brain Jar.

Have been monitoring your situation. Can act as replacement
communications array if need be. Would you prefer this option?

The message would come back.

#No no and no. thank you for your offer though, we are quite sure we will repair our array after this incident.#

Una breathed a relieved sigh, relived that she'd gotten everyone's attention so rapidly instead of turning to fire on her like she half expected. Another transmission came from the sightless to both vessels near the probe.

#No no and no. thank you for your offer though, we are quite sure we will repair our array after this incident.#

#Thank you both for responding so quickly. Now. We need both of you to take your communication's equipment off-line. Just the arrays not the consoles, we need somewhere for our transmission to be coded and processed. Your communications stations will not be altered, probed, or even disturbed during this process.#

after the transmission the panda sighed growling low.

"Though they'll both be able to hear what we're saying... We can't secure the transmission. Captain this is the definition of treason!"

"A unique method of saving our asses? I think the ship's archives word the definition quite differently..."

Una growled back in a condescending, mock, sing song tone.

"The joint task force isn't going to destroy 'us' ensign. Who knows... Maybe the primitives have the supplies we need to continue."

The rabbit leaned back in her chair as the panda spoke. The other seamen were looking around contemplating his logic, the planet was rather green, in terms of fertility that is and rather large in reference to supplies. Still she could not afford a mutiny within a mutiny.

"Seaman pau you are out of line..."

"Maybe I 'should' be out of line. Maybe this whole thing has been a mistake. Maybe we 'could' get away if we just launched our probes and got the hell out of here like we should have."

"That will be all seaman..."

"It just might be if we keep this up."

"That will be all and you are relieved from duty until further notice."

"For what being right?"

She pressed a button on her chair with one hand, the other going to her sidearm. She didn't want to kill any of her crew, she hoped she could get through this change of plans without doing so but the mission was all consuming it seemed.

"Security to the bridge. Seaman Pau is to be removed from the bridge and detained in his own quarters for the duration of this operation. If he resists detention further diciplinary action is authorized..."

The male simply got up from his seat with an irritated grunt.

"No need ma'am. Though for the record you are making a tremendous mistake."

The small talk ceased as they saw the small male leave the bridge silently cursing as he went.

"If anyone else wants to leave! go! We don't have time for this! We are 'this' close to either being exterminated here or being saved and at any rate, all of you are blameless. I assume full responsibility for everything that happens."

The bridge was still silent as the rabbit sighed again.

"Right. Let's see if this works..."

Once the vessels did as the sightless asked a seemingly furious stream of what could only be seen as half static filled garbage would fill their communication's consoles or their viewscreens. Then the garbage would turn into an endless stream of latin characters streaming from right to left blending into an empty command line...

(Unknown com array 1 detected,) If any one could actually read what it was saying finally flashed over the screen.

(Unknown com array 2 detected, Acc bit detected, Com bit detected, please select com-dest...)

(De: GPIV 'fire' for, com, handshake request, send)

(GPIV 'fire' for, com, com array detected, in range, handshake requested. . . . . . . . . . . .)

[OOC: GPI, I'm not bothered in the least about the probe. That gives our nations a jumping off point for actually having contact beyond the Republic's first FTL trip.

For the record, I don't mind OOC information included in the IC thread as long as there's IC content. What I have a problem with is SOLELY OOC content in the IC thread, especially when a player decides to post solely OOC content in the IC thread even after being advised not to. And yes, that's happened to me in the past.

As for the other element, that's why I created the OOC thread. If you wanted to create an alternative to GPI's communications method, that would have been a better place to suggest it than to write something in character.]

The senior chief petty officer sitting at Hawk's station looked back at Taylor.

"You heard her," Taylor said simply. "Take the communications arrays offline. Once the shuttlepods get in range, we'll use our hand communicators to contact the shuttles."

"But commander," he said in protest.

"You heard the order," Taylor said. "The shuttlepods will have to wait until this business is taken care of. Besides, if this doesn't work, there won't be a Republic to come back to."

"Aye, sir," the chief said as he pushed a few buttons to bring the communications array offline.

Taylor looked up at the view screen and saw the Sightless. The chief then looked back at Taylor.

"Commander, I'm detecting a fleet on approach. Communications signatures match up with GPI ships. Should we power up our weapons?"

"Negative. Not before contacting Captain Blakeney," Taylor said. She hit a button on the command chair.

"Bridge to Captain Blakeney."

"Blakeney here."

"Sir, I'm detecting a large GPI fleet on approach. According to the Sightless, their communications array is non-functional and the fleet has been ordered to consider all non-GPI ships hostile. Should I go to battle stations?"

"Negative," Blakeney said. "Go to yellow alert. Be prepared to deploy the hull plating."

"Aye, sir."

"Blakeney out." After closing the communications with the bridge, Blakeney shook his head.

"Damn it," he whispered. "On a first contact mission."

HMS Exemplar, For’ard Starboard Hangar

...We have you, Scimitar flight, welcome back. Check fuel and arm yourself, we have cleared for action...

...Ensign Watson you are cleared to land in sector three of the hangar, follow the beacon and directions of deck crew. Welcome aboard...

The pilot gave a faint grunt of surprise between carefully manoeuvring his fighter into its accustomed position in the hangar alongside the other nine fighters of Scimitar Wing. As the shuttle landed deck crew were already scanning the small craft’s fuel cells and loading sinister-looking missiles to the craft, which had been disarmed for diplomatic duty. Meanwhile the doctor and the captain had come to a hasty conclusion and the black-uniformed man turned and returned to the bowels of the ship. A captain could give his ship to a commander, valuable learning experience, but the ship’s surgeon could not leave under such circumstances.

“Control, this is Lancing. Initiate short-range pulse communication systems and pull down main arrays as requested by the aliens. Lieutenant-Commander Westbrooke, we are running out of time and no signs that the approaching fleet has turned aside. We don’t know what we’re up against so alternate the main guns with a range of ammunition. Lieutenant Leiss, I want all scanning information on the Sightless to Commander Savile, it’s all we know about their technology. Commander, bring the ship to engagement readiness except shields.”

”Aye-aye, sir.”
“Aye-aye, sir.”

A moment later lights across the ship’s interior flashed twice, remained on for ten seconds, then flashed twice again as Master at Arms spoke over the shipboard comms.

“All personnel, the Exemplar is now under engagement protocols. Listen to your officers and senior ratings. That is all.”

The Captain (assuming the shuttlepod has opened its doors) climbined inside along with the Navigator, ready to depart.

HMS Exemplar, Operations Room

“Lieutenant Leiss. Transmission to the Brain Jar:
“We shall contact you once the Captain has returned from his diplomatic duties, I look forward to meeting your representatives. Message ends.
“Lord Westbrooke, main guns load in sequence one of each primary ammunition type, one in ten guns to be loaded with experimental loads. Missile payloads to be armed on mark word Daedalus.
“Mister Leiss, you heard the captain’s orders, deactivate primary array. Maintain local pulse and Etherlink to Raithwaite.”

Shortly afterward the communication screens began to fill up with characters.

"Mister Leiss! I want all of that recorded."

HMS Exemplar

Across the ship disciplined men slid ammunition into railguns, handling rounds ranging from massive explosive artillery shells to diamond-sealed Ophelian shieldbreaker rounds with the greatest of care. Screens beside the weapons showed the ships present in the space around the warship and those that could reasonably be targeting alongside relevant data such as time lags.

Missile officers stood by their battery control networks waiting for orders to arm warheads containing various compositions of very unpleasant materials from thermonuclear devices to miniscule quantities of antimatter locked within a web of magnetic containment fields.

In one of the central compartments of the Exemplar stood fifty armoured astrines, rail rifles traded in for gauss carbines, plasma arquebi and flame weapons. Above them hummed the energies of the ship’s matter translation equipment ready to jump them to another point in space if shielding and ship structure permitted. At strategic points throughout the ship were other astrines, also armoured and bearing carbines and arquebi, waiting to repel borders.

In a complex network of narrow, gas-filled ducts drifted the ethereal Ophelian crewmembers responsible for the ship’s shielding systems. Their tendrils drifted over control panels as they communicated orders through their peculiar own chain of command.

Someone, somewhere inside the ship, began singing a recent version of a song far older than the United Worlds.

Across the stars and beyond the sun,
Beyond Heart, Ophel-ya and Feinan,
Raithwaite commands and we obey
Beyond the stars and far away.

The sensors would be quiet for a few more moments then five groups of six contacts would appear, slowly inching towards each other. Then the contacts would merge into two central contacts larger than most of the vessels here but not nearly as large as the behemoth that appeared first in the system with eight smaller signatures, only slightly smaller than the central contacts surrounded by twenty of the smallest contacts only slightly larger than the Leonard alba.

Meanwhile the computer screens would display.

(Handshake confirmed. . . . . . .Transmitting.)

(Vi-Acc trans bit not recognized. . . . Vi disabled. . .)

(Override Vi-Acc bit Auth-sit code #4225212)

(Verifying. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .)

(Override confirmed Vi-acc bit = true. . . . Vi-Rec bit = true)

(Stand by for standard view.)

The view would then split fading into a view of the standing rabbit on the bridge breathing a heavy sigh of relief and then another 'alien', as the Exemplar would put it, a cheetah woman and crew in the midst of a darkened bridge. The rabbit sighed deeply backing away from the screen slightly as it looked like she saw what was going on.

("Thank mother... It worked. This is the 'Sightless' to the 'fire' are you reading this?")

The cheetah nodded at least what one could see of her in the darkness of the bridge.

("Loud and clear Una... What is going on what happened to your communications array?")

("It was damaged though we are fine... We are fine, we are perfectly fine. Please abort rescue operations. Stop the attack. Stop the attack.")

The contacts would soon come out of hyperspace though not in the system actually just outside of it, holding position.

("Operation aborted though why have you not completed your main objective? As I said in my previous transmission we 'need' that data.")

The screen faded out into a view of the planet, a line would point to a location on the world and then to several other points.

("It's a nexus probe commodore. Seven hundred years of history right there, and these creatures identifying themselves as Rymerians have constructed their first space vessel and were conducting their first exploration mission. We don't know if they've learned from the probe but they 'could' they've proven themselves capable of understanding complex concepts like artificial gravity... Just scan their vessel, and the enemy is right next to us.")

The view-screen would fade into a shot of the Leonard alba

("She's bigger than us, faster, and out-guns us. If we 'completed' our mission you'd be speaking to debris.")

The screen would focus back on the two initiative captains. The cheetah nodded with a soft sigh leaning her hand into her chin cracking her neck slightly, the other bridge becoming lighter as the vessel came down from 'red alert'.

("So. How should we proceed Ensign? We need that data.")

("We've negotiated a temporary cease fire with her. We hoped to inform the governor and perhaps begin a dialog to end the war between us for the moment.")

The cheetah was a bit disbelieving of her fellow officer but simply shrugged. Most of the attack group breaking off aside three of the smaller contacts.

("Those amateurs will probably start shooting once you mention the word 'peace'. We will leave a few destroyers just in case the power of their ineptitude overwhelms their trigger fingers.")

("Fair enough Lutron. If you do not hear from us again in two days please repeat your attack, with a vengeance.")

the communication ended, with everything filling up with garbage before cutting off completely.

"Sir," the chief said as he saw the displays on the scanner screen.

By now, Taylor had sunk down into the command chair, resisting the urge to grasp tightly at the armrests. She turned around.

"Yes, Chief?"

"Most of the GPI ships have broken off. Looks like whatever the Sightless has done has called off the dogs."

Taylor allowed herself to exhale slightly. She turned back to look at the viewscreen.

*****************************

Watson looked up at the small viewscreen in the shuttlepod, then down at his control panel after hearing the signal from the Exemplar.

"Acknowledged. Coming in for a landing." He pushed a couple of buttons and the shuttlepod slowly coasted to a landing in the Exemplar hangar deck. He waited as the doors to the hangar deck shut and the atmosphere returned to the hangar. He pushed a button to open the shuttlepod's door. He slowly stepped out of the shuttlepod.

"This is Ensign Watson of the RSV Republic. We're your ride back to the Republic."

Watson took a quick opportunity to look around at his surroundings. Clearly, the technology he was seeing was far more advanced than his ship's own.

*********************

Hawk slowly brought Shuttlepod 2 to a landing in the Leonard Alba's hangar deck. He pushed the buttons that would open the door to the shuttlepod, not waiting for the hangar doors to shut completely. He pushed button two, three times.

No response.

Until the sixth time, when the hangar door had closed and atmosphere had been restored. Watson looked up at the display above the hangar door, which was beginning to fade.

"UNABLE TO OPEN DOOR IN SPACE VACUUM."

Watson forgot about the safety feature implemented in the shuttlepod. It prevented the door from opening in a situation where the vacuum of space existed, such as in a hangar when the door was open to space. Watson would have had to enter commands that would force the door open.

Sheepishly, he stood up and slowly walked out of the shuttlepod, looking around for his Romandeosian passengers. He also noted the technology was more advanced than Republic's.

As for Blakeney, he and Spencer waited anxiously for their guests to arrive.

HMS Exemplar, Operations Room

“Rather interesting?”

“Yes, midshipman, it is. Now keep quiet and let us watch this unfold.”

“Right, we’ve ‘only’ got a few destroyers to worry about. Hull gunners maintain status, main gun decks stand down. Falchion, Kukhri and Scimitar wings stand down, all other pilots to remain on alert. Even missile teams stand down, odd teams remain on station. Assault units Peregrine, Goshawk and Kestrel stand down, all others remain ready for deployment.”

There was an “aye-aye, sir” from both the Master of Arms and Master of the Watch.

“Mister Leiss, send to Raithwaite please. Message begins: We will not be needing assistance at this time, request support held on standby. Message ends.”

“Aye-aye, sir.”

“Send a message to the Sightless. Message begins: Nicely done. Message done.”


HMS Exemplar, For’ard Starboard Hangar

The blue crackle of an atmospheric shield closed behind the shuttle as it came into the hangar, the closest equivalent to a door that would be in use during normal operations.

“A pleasure to meet you, Ensign. I am Captain Lancing, this is Navigator Jhe’dhel. Shall we?”

The two men walked up into the shuttle, taking any seats suggested.

Before the door to the shuttle itself closed Watson would have been able to see the sleek forms of Scimitar Wing’s fighter craft all armed with what were presumably heavy rapid-fire guns and a series of missiles capped with crimson, green, black or blue warheads. Hazard-marked energy packs were secured along the walls and spread amongst the deck crew was a five-man team of astrines in powered armoured forms, the blank visors of three of them watching the shuttle. If he had chanced to look outside the hangar through the pale blue of the atmospheric shield he would be able to see the final two feet or so of some of the large main missile tubes hidden, like the hangar, beneath the ship’s superstructure.

Bastien had been preparing to pay a simple courtesy visit to Blakeney and his crew, when her personal communications device had shrilled for attention. Moments later, she was on high-security communications with Admiral Gonzalo de Cordoba, Fleet Command.

“Yes, Admiral,” she continued. “Apparently, the Initiative has dispatched a fleet here and it will be arriving in five minutes, less now really.”

“Do you have any idea of the enemy’s force composition?” the old Human asked. Bastien had not seen Admiral de Cordoba before, but, she had heard of him. He was a veteran and loyalist, who had fought in the civil war, forty years previously. He was one of a very few high-ranking military officers from that period still actively serving.

“No, Sir,” she replied with a head shake. “But I can only assume it will be quite large.”

“Wise move,” de Cordoba replied. “What do you think we should do about this?”

“Sir?” Bastien blinked, confused. She had expected orders, not somebody wanting to gain her opinion.

De Cordoba sighed before responding.

“Commander,” he said. “Presently, you are this Fleet’s SOPA in that area. As such you’re in position to make the most informed decisions. Based on what you know what do we do in response to a likely GPI invasion force striking a newborn space faring country?”

“Well, Sir…we definitely get some ships out here,” was the response.

“Good,” de Cordoba said. “I’ll send out the orders to have a Task Force assembled, but as it is likely the fastest ship in the Fleet will take hours to reach you, the best idea right now is to have you pull back, outside the system. We can push the GPI out once we have force in place large enough to do such, and…”

“Sir!”

De Cordoba stopped, obviously annoyed at being interrupted.

“Yes?” he demanded.

“I could stay here, Sir,” Bastien offered. “I could stay here, and make a show of talking to Initiative leaders, make them think we want to negotiate as Fleet forces move in.”

“Commander?” The admiral was clearly not expecting this.

“If we did this, Sir, then I could get accurate readings on the enemy’s force size, and send it back somehow. Even if they decide to start shooting and my ship is lost, I could still get information back to you in a burst while fighting them.”

De Cordoba was silent for a moment. Then, finally, he spoke.

“Very well, Commander,” he said. “Permission granted. Do try not to die out there.”

“Aye, Sir!”

Bastien turned from the screen once it had gone blank, her ears twitching and tail flicking in excitement. This was why she joined the Navy! This was the kind of thing that won the high profile she needed if she was to join the Admiralty someday.

“Bridge to Captain Bastien.” The sudden sound from her communications device caused her to jump. With a sheepish smile and a thanks to God nobody else was in the room with her, she grabbed the device from her uniforms belt.

“This is the Captain,” she said. “What is it, Bridge?”

“We have a shuttle from the RSV Republic asking clearance to the landing bays.”

“Well, direct them appropriately. I’ll be there shortly.”

“Aye, Captain.”

Bastien clipped the device shut and replaced it within its discreet belt pouch. Then she set herself in position at her full-length mirror, one of the perks of holding command, and got herself squared away, checking all the details on her uniform.

Her trousers were black with a gold stripe down along where the hems would be if they’d had any hem lines. They were tucked neatly in to knee-high, gloss-polished black boots, a lovely touch in Bastien’s own opinion.

Her dress tunic was dark blue and came down to mid-thigh, belted at the waist line. It had highly-polished, brass-colored buttons, also a nice touch. Her rank was symbolized with a lone gold Imperial Coronet button and three gold bars on her collar and on very old styled red epaulettes with gold trimming set upon her shoulders.

Her preparations completed, she entered the corridor, heading to the bridge. Meanwhile, a hike in onboard activity had taken place as the ship went to general quarters. The crew set in to overdrive, scrambling to pull on pressure suits, running system diagnostics, weapons lockers being opened and the contents handed out to Marines and security parties.

“Captain?” The voice was that of Lieutenant Blake. She grabbed her comm device while looking around at the hurried actions of all the crew.

“What is it, Blake?” she demanded. “I’m headed to the bridge for a moment and then I’m looking forward to a shuttle ride to the Republic. Is this important?”

“Yes, Captain, it is. We have a good read on the GPI forces. From here it looks like some kind of invasion fleet, at least thirty ships. Thing is, most of them are leaving.”

“Leaving, Joshua?” Bastien’s tone was skeptical.

“Yes, Captain, leaving. All but a handful are currently outbound. I’d say the ones staying here are an insurance policy, just in case we attack that scout vessel.”

Bastien paused for a moment.

“Captain?”

“I am heading right to the shuttle bay, Lieutenant,” she said. “I will see you once I’ve met Blakeney and his crew. Bastien, out.”

******************************

Ensign Tanner Lockhart was tasked with greeting the Republic’s shuttle, and entertaining in the shuttle bay until Commander Bastien arrived. She waited in the observation section looking out above the main bay area as Hawk’s shuttle touched down. She waited until an irritatingly bright green safety lamp came on, and then opened the entry hatchway.

Lance-Corporal Tyler Posey walked out just behind her, silent and professional. Both had light, form-fitting pressure suits on, without helmets. Lockhart had not liked that idea, but had been reminded by Posey of Navy regulations requiring use of pressure suits in shuttle landing bays and during combat operations. Not for the first time since she had graduated into the Navy six months before, Lockhart was reminded how little a commission granted its holder, when it came to things like impressing the enlist personnel. Evidently, that was less caused by the rank insignia and more by the person wearing them.

“Good evening, sir!” she said as she saw Hawk exiting the shuttle. She stopped before the Rymerian and came to attention, delivering a sharp salute, Posey doing the same.

“Sir,” she said once Hawk returned her the salute and she could relax. “Captain Bastien is held up momentarily, but she has asked me to inform you she will be along shortly.”

“I am along right now, Ensign, and thank you,” said a voice from the main entrance.

Commander Bastien walked in to view, accompanied by Lieutenant Robert Pierson.

“Sir,” she said, addressing Hawk. “Welcome aboard Her Majesty’s Ship Leonard Alba. It is my honor to be her captain. I am Commander Sébastienne Bastien. And you are?”

OOC: I know we have an OOC thread for this roleplay but... I wanted to make sure everyone saw. I will make my next sentence as plain as I can. We do 'not' use anything as easily translatable as a 'quantum ripple array' any idiot with an galactic CB could easily hear what you were saying if you were in their area. Plus it's rather rude to be 'told' what's the best of the best in your own technology.

What's next? Thousands of years of genetic conditioning, sorting, purification, and exclusion being boiled down to 'that's nice?'? -sigh- The last paragraph really boils down to a god modding argument which I will say. Yes I feel I did god mod the 'fleet emergency' in but for a reason. What is an alliance without trail? What would unify them? Their mutual 'niceness?' Their mutual respect and if so born from what?

And I really didn't even 'god mod' it in seeing as how they've got a delay and the sightless damaged it's own communications array to keep the fact that they were really seeking an audience with their enemies 'quiet' though in doing so they 'brought' the attention of their superiors hence they go to their last known position. Perfectly logical.

Let me go back even further and apologize to Rymeria for putting an object on your planet but without it why would they call you anything more than a planet that needs a good 'purification'? This way they have something to say 'hold it they might have learned from us!' 'Oh ok! disengage the rape gun!' though I realize this was in poor taste and I'm sorry. I'm sorry about all this but it's really annoying to have a coded transmission, in latin no less since that's the initiative's native language picked out of the air as though they're some half assed radio jockey transmitting farts across space.

With all that said, I'm sorry I flew into a rant but I just feel that's really disrespectful and dangerous since if the initiative finds out what the Brain jar is doing no matter what it'll be an instant conflict seeing as how it's espionage at it's base level.



OOC: I'm sorry. Didn't think it was such a big deal. You never specified the specific technology, so I had to improvise. Quantum ripple communications is something that I've been trying to get someone to do something about for years. It allows instantaneous point-to-point communication over any distance. Basically, you send a quantum-entwined carrier signal. You encode the communication in the signal's particle/wave duality. You change it from particles to waves on one end, it changes from waves to particles on the other--instantaneously. Great for long-range communications. Two applications that I can think of are communicating with a Mars Probe in real time and a computer motherboard whose data bus just plain can't get any faster.

I figured that something that advanced wouldn't be an insult to you.

Again, I apologize. TG me with the words that you use to describe the communications technology and I'll be more than happy to edit the post.

And I also apologize if my style of playing Brain Jar makes others uncomfortable. Basically, its weapons are minimal, but it makes up for it by having a superdupercomputer and the ability to draw power from another dimension. There are only five plasma guns, but they can really crank out the wattage. I admit that this can seem like godmodding--but it's my answer to the guys who launch 10,000 missiles at a 100-meter-long ship. If others can do that to me (and they have), I reserve the right to have my ship able to fly circles around their missiles. In a way, I was forced into it.

Brain Jar's normal style of combat is, obviously, hit-and-run. It breaks down if the opposition's point defense can target her faster than she can compute a new jump. Normally, this isn't the case...but...who knows what we might have in this RP...or whether it will be necessary to find out.

IC:

"Well, boss...it looks like they called the...cats...off."

"Funny. Did you power up the cloak and the engines?"

"Not yet."

"Good. Don't. If we disappear off of those warships' scanners, no telling what will happen."

"What about the probe, boss?"

"I don't understand."

"I could probably hack its security protocols, given enough time."

"That wouldn't be polite."

"What would?"

"Maybe we should ask the GPI if they're in the mood to share."

"You think that it's that important?"

"...and maybe we should make it an open transmission that everyone can hear..."

"I don't get it. Why would that be such an atom smasher?"

"Because I'm not sure that our friends from Rymeria know that probe is on their planet. Look at how sneaky the GPI has been while they were here--breaking a communications array and then patching it up again. What if the tendency is endemic to the culture?"

"Quite frankly, I'd just as soon not cause a stir, boss."

"All right, then, steady as she goes."

After exchanging salutes and pleasantries with Lockhart, Hawk whirled around as he heard Bastien announce that she was there.

“I am along right now, Ensign, and thank you,” said a voice from the main entrance.

Commander Bastien walked in to view, accompanied by Lieutenant Robert Pierson.

“Sir,” she said, addressing Hawk. “Welcome aboard Her Majesty’s Ship Leonard Alba. It is my honor to be her captain. I am Commander Sébastienne Bastien. And you are?”

Hawk stood at attention and saluted Bastien.

"I'm Lieutenant Michael Hawk of the RSV Republic. It's a pleasure to meet you, captain."

After the brief exchange of pleasantries, Hawk looked at Bastien and Pierson.

"Do you want to head back to the Republic right away, Captain," he asked, glancing briefly at the shuttlepod, which all of a sudden looked like it should have been preserved in a museum compared to Romandeosian technology.

***********************

As his passengers took to their seats, Watson pressed a couple of buttons on his panel.

"Shuttlepod to Exemplar hangar, request clearance for take off, over."

"Exemplar hangar to Shuttlepod. You are cleared for takeoff."

Watson saw the blue flash of the atmospheric shield being deactivated. He then pressed a couple of buttons and the shuttlepod slowly rose and floated past the doors and out of the hangar. He noticed the Republic had changed its course to rest within 10 meters of another object. He pressed a couple of buttons to adjust the course and then engaged the engine.

The shuttlepod hurtled through space toward the Republic. As it did, Watson turned around and said, "this shouldn't take too long, even with the course adjustment required as a result of the Republic's movement. You have an impressive array of fighter spacecraft there."

*****************************

"Status on the shuttles?"

Blakeney was definitely nervous. There was no hiding it. The trick was to keep everyone else from being unduly nervous.

"Shuttlepod 1 is en route from the Exemplar and should be here in five minutes. Shuttlepod 2 has just landed aboard the Leonard Alba," Spencer said, peering in at the monitor display that was tracking the two shuttlepods.

"Wonder what's taking Hawk so long?"

"Captain, you know he's not a pilot by training," Spencer said of Hawk. "He's not entirely used to flying those shuttlepods."

"Lou Anne, we've been through this," Blakeney said, softening his voice somewhat. "I know you wanted to pilot one of the shuttlepods, but I need my XO on board."

"Why? You haven't left the ship?"

"And what if I had?"

"If you had, I would have remained behind."

"You know I need you here, Commander. You're the direct link between me and the crew. You also are the next most experienced officer we have. I can't have you be away from the ship when all Hell could have broken loose."

"Sir, the draft regulations only specify that the captain and the XO both can't go on away missions. They say nothing about neither of us being allowed to go."

"All the same," Blakeney said. "I think we're better off aboard. We need to be here to help make a good impression on our guests."

Spencer looked down with a slight hint of dejection, but Blakeney turned back to look at his display. "The shuttlepod's on its way in. Initiate entry protocols."

The lieutenant set to work at clearing the hangar of personnel who weren't wearing atmosphere suits and activating the lit bars that indicated where the shuttlepod was set to land. Once his display gave the beep that indicated the hangar was ready, he pushed the buttons necessary to open the doors.

Blakeney looked up through the window at his booth and saw the shuttlepod begin its landing. Watson slowed the craft and gently brought it in and moved it to its normal position in the hangar. Once the doors closed and the atmosphere began to be restored to the room, Blakeney turned to the hatch door and opened it.

"Follow me," he called back to Spencer. He and she then descended the ladder down to the ground level.

As the shuttlepod's door hissed and raised to its fully open position, Watson descended the steps of the shuttlepod and stood at attention as his Ventish guests climbed down. Blakeney then walked up.

"Welcome to the RSV Republic," Blakeney said with a wide smile. "I'm Captain Noah Blakeney and this is my executive officer, Commander Lou Anne Spencer. We're pleased to welcome you to our ship, and by extension, the Confederacy of Rymeria."

HMS Exemplar, Flight Control

“FS speakers active, Lieutenant.”

The Flight officer nodded to his subordinate and spoke into the decide by his mouth.

“All FS hangar personnel to be on the inside side of the blue line.”

Another nod and the speakers were switched off.

“FSH internal shield activated, deactivating external shield.
“Message to the shuttle: Hangar control to Rymerian shuttle, you are cleared for departure. Godspeed.”


Rymerian Shuttlepod

Lancing smiled faintly and inclined his head.

“Thank you, but you should see the Flights allocated to an Atlas or Harbourship. We have enough escort craft to support our main armaments. Does Rymeria use much in the way of light craft?”

[[Obviously any answer would take place before this:]]

RSV Republic, Hangar

The two officers of the Exemplar were already standing ready when the shuttle’s door opened. The captain climbed down onto the hangar deck with the unconscious poise that comes from an exclusive education and an exceedingly good pedigree (the sort that has a branch of the family tree somewhere without any chins and Adam’s apples the side of cricket balls) and the navigator with the assurance of a man of higher status that he could ever have been expected to achieve. The two came to attention in front of the Rymerian officers, the broad shouldered navigator half a step behind the captain and to his right. They saluted smartly with stern faces made more severe by the cast of the commanding officer’s features. Then he cracked a small smile.

“I have the privilege to be the commanding officer of His Majesty’s destroyer Exemplar, Captain Alexander Lancing of Ventuus. My colleague is her Navigator, Gheryn Jhe’dhel of Skand.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Captain,” he nodded politely to Blakeney, “Commander.” A very slight bow toward the female officer, the Ventish tend toward the traditional.
“It is an honour to accept your welcome, sir. I would extend that acceptance to the Empire, but that could be all too easily misunderstood.”

What do you know? A sense of humour from a Ventish officer.

Space Command, Rymeria City

Admiral Mark Blakeney was sitting at his desk waiting for the latest transmission from the Republic. He knew the ship was facing several first contact missions at once, and he hoped his son Noah would be responsible enough to help the Rymerians make a favorable first impression on the extra terrestrial world, such as it was.

He studied the latest proposal from the Executive Armory on possible weapons refits. Quadrupling the output the Republic's lasers were capable of was a given. So was adding at least six six-inch rail guns to serve as point defense. The Executive Armory was working to develop a propulsion system that would allow the short-range nuclear tipped missiles to increase in range. Plus, they were working on countering potential spoofing mechanisms employed by alien technology.

Admiral Blakeney heard a shrill beep that was a telltale signal that he was being hailed. He pushed the button hear his computer monitor.

"Yes, Ted?"

Major General Theodore "Ted" Septien was the commanding officer of the Space Corps of Engineers. Unbeknown to the Blakeneys, the Corps was working on increasing the efficiency of the FTL drive based on some information provided by the Romandeosian database.

"Sir, good to see you," Septien said. Admiral Blakeney grimaced slightly, then looked with a slight smirk at the display of Septien.

"C'mon, Ted. Unless some alien species is about to blow a hole through Space Command, you can call me Mark." Septien's face showed a brief flash of embarrassment before he quickly returned to his normal expression.

"Mark, I've got some good news from our propulsion experiments."

"Oh? What, can you get the Republic to 100 times the speed of light?"

"Uh, not quite that fast," Septien said. "However, our most conservative predictions estimate that we can increase the engine's efficiency to 50 times the speed of light. We probably can reach 200 times the speed of light, but not without some risk."

"What's the risk, Ted?"

"The Republic was only built to withstand an estimated top acceleration of 100 times the speed of light. She'd have to undergo a massive refit to withstand more than that."

"How massive would the refit be?"

"We're talking two, three years."

"I don't know if that's possible. Now that we've tasted life off this planet, I don't think we can stay grounded for very long."

"That's just it, Mark. We've been working on a potential new design. The Hera is a civilian design. The Republic really is a scout ship. If we construct a larger ship, we can build it with these advances in mind and it'll keep us in space while we continue the refit of the Republic.

"But can it land, Ted?"

Septien sighed. "No, Mark, it can't. That's the thing. We're going to have to construct a space station of some kind that will allow our ships to dock and undergo repairs, refuel and do all those sorts of things in space."

"Ted, the budget we have won't allow for that. I doubt the Assembly is going to want to construct a space station."

"What if we contact the President and tell him..."

Blakeney cut him off.

"The President has very little real authority. He's the head of state, remember? The National Assembly is still going to have to be who you talk to if you want this thing built. And if you build the thing, how are you going to defend it from attack? Remember, our one little FTL flight brought us four* first contacts in the space of one day. If we build a space station, we're going to have a lot more company up there."

"Perhaps you ought to at least talk to the National Assembly? Maybe we'll be able to talk them into building those things."

"I don't know, Ted. Our economy isn't exactly in the greatest of shape right now. We can't exactly throw billions of credits into these massive projects."

"That's just it, Mark. If we go to the National Assembly and pitch it as part of an economic stimulus program which would put our people to work, we just might get them to do it."

"I'll take that under advisement," Blakeney said. "Keep up the work, Ted."

"Aye, sir."

Aboard the Shuttlepod en route from the Exemplar to the Republic

Watson looked at his display, noting the shuttlepod's approach to the Republic. He heard Lancing's question, "Does Rymeria use much in the way of light craft?"

He chuckled a bit before answering.

"No," he said. "This is pretty much it. Well, we have a second shuttlepod, but that's all the Republic carries. There's talk that we might have another, larger design coming somewhere down the road.

"This shuttlepod doesn't even carry a laser emitter. It doesn't have our electromagnetic hardening charge the Republic uses to provide protection against weaponry," he said, before realizing he gave away too many of Rymeria's limited secrets. He looked down at his display quickly, pushed a button or two, then looked up out the shuttlepod's window.

"We should be arriving in the hangar in two minutes. Once the computer signals that the hangar doors are shut and atmosphere and air pressure have been fully restored, I'll open the doors to the shuttlepod and we can step outside."

The transceiver system was having difficulties. He didn't manage to get that up and running for almost an hour - cursing all the time, and beginning to regret not having taken someone who could crew this thing. At least a bot. He sent a reply to the last ship to hail him.

"Republic, greetings - I'm John Nathan of KSA. It is of the utmost urgency that I repair my hyperspace drive soon, and I'll need to land and power down my ship to do it. I officially request permission to land anywhere on your planet for a few hours."

He thought a moment. "If you do this, I have a business proposition which I think your government might find very interesting. Please let me know your decision soon."

He stood up, yawned, and stretched. It had been a long time since he'd gotten any rest. There were plenty of stims aboard, but he wasn't looking forward to having to use them. Coffee was beginning to fail, he noted with a sigh.

"John, this is the Metal Man. Please forgive my nosiness, but I've been listening in on your conversation. It sounds like you might need some spare parts. I've got a fabricator unit that might be able to produce them for you. I can also host you on my ship if you'd like to attempt repairs in orbit. My experience is that spaceships generally prefer a weightless environment. Anything I can do to help?"

-The 'Sightless' slightly backed away from the vessel sandwich it created as the probe returned to it's now open bay. Una sighed softly in relief standing up in her seat. She'd been in this chair for thirteen hours straight without a rest, it was time for her relief but the closet thing she had to an XO was in his quarters under guard she sighed softly leaning back she thought of who would potentially be next in line and who's duty shift would last long enough for her to get at least six good hours in.

"Seaman third class Alyn! Front and center!"

The male stood up from his station and quickly stood before his captain pounding his fist to his small chest in salute.

"Seaman, I like you and I need to sleep. You are hereby promoted to Seaman first class until further notice and your first assignment is to keep this ship afloat until the newcomers contact us about supplies. Also wake me if the imperials change their minds about us."

Normally one would be proud at this moment but the male hesitated as his superior stood up. Her sigh let him know she wasn't about to take 'no' for an answer because...

"There's no one more qualified to do this Alyn. I can't stay awake forever and I think the worst part of this mess is over."

With that she left the male on the bridge still saluting with absolutely nothing to say and what seemed to be the biggest chair in the universe in front of the 'red' class bunny.

meanwhile on the initiative homeworld, about three systems away a meeting was taking place. A meeting between the planet's governor Kireas of Umil and her political superior, the 'legate' of this galaxy, Cassandra Vi'al the seventh. Kireas knelt in the middle of her meeting hall, the skunkette resisting the urge to grumble and groan at bending knee before the smaller seemingly weaker rabbit. Though she'd brought it on herself defying the noble hybrid's request, no matter how unreasonable it was.

The canine hybrid tapped her long muzzle as she started to gloat over the kneeling figure. Circling the kneeling kireas, her floral colored robe glistening even in the low light of the still damaged former city hall building.

"You know what I want, I know what you've... Requested."

Kireas tensed up as she felt the hybrid get closer to her, expecting Cassandra to reach down and attempt to scalp her right there but the half vulpine only got closer to Kireas ear.

"Give... Me... What... I want... And maybe... Just maybe... I'll spare your little war. Otherwise I'll make sure you and your little slut suffer deeply when you return home, totally defeated, poor, and dishonored."

"You know better than to call her a slut... That 'thing' you want me to elope with has been married sixteen times."

Kireas stood up now, if she was to be beaten then she'd be beaten 'onto' her knees, not begging for mercy. The rabbit hybrid snorted at this move, balling her fists up as her anger grew.

"And I'd be giving up my governorship anyway. Though he only has four more hours more experience than I do. That's rather convenient seeing as how mister... Ri'nalt? is it? Has no plans for this place whereas you've seen my plan for economic stim-..."

Cassandra snorted again, this peasant this 'spawn child' was speaking out of turn. To her out of turn. This had gone on long enough and Kireas needed to learn her place. She smashed her fist across Kireas right cheek though she'd forgot one crucial fact... normally that punch would be enough incapacitate a normal lower class fur it might even kill them depending on how hard the 'white class' smacked them though there was something wrong here. Kireas was still standing, her speech had stopped but she was alright.

The skunkette herself was surprised at this. She smiled wide she smelled it on the hybrid as soon as she walked in the room, a sickly 'pickled' smell like the rabbit fox had been taking sulfur baths.

"...-Stimulus. I could even do it while this war was going on."

Kireas grabbed her superior's wrist. She was stronger that Cassandra, she was stronger than this genetically superior being. Oh if this ever went public, if this ever got out into the public eye Cassandra would be the one walking home in shame. Cassandra would be the one abusing her family name, everything cassandra did would unravel before her eyes.

"LET GO OF ME YOU... YOU 'THING!' YOU'RE NOT EVEN A REAL WOMAN! JUST A COPY OF A SOLDIER SOMEWHERE!!!"

The skunkette held onto her prey before releasing her, throwing her onto the ground.

"A legion commander at the time. Captain Thomas Naius Coroitus, Iron legion fleet training supervisor and soon to be retired."

"I won't give you those supplies! You'll get them over my dead body! You hear me!? I'll die before I give anything to you! Anything!"

Kireas leaned in to do just that, this woman was crazy, deranged, no one would miss her. She could just say the imperials broke through her line. That's it. they staged a raid on the homeworld and killed the legate. Yes, now she'd pay for those words, she'd pay for all the men and women she allowed to die, to rot out in space, to starve on their ships, to run straight into the enemy because they didn't have any ammunition left.

~No!~

Flashed into her mind, Kireas sighed softly her hands staying near her for the moment.

~No. She won't pay. not yet... Let her go. She's already paying, trust me if you could see what I'm seeing then she's already paying.~

The skunkette sighed softly clearing her throat, mock bowing at her superior.

"Well if there is nothing else legate. I think you should leave... now."

Cassandra scurried on the floor out of the meeting hall, her guards pretending to be flustered as they met her and helped her up and away from the crazed 'gun weilding' skunkette.

~It's so sad to lose pieces of oneself every day... Now she's pretending not to notice but soon she'll realize what's happening. And before you ask. Yes. I knew about her anemia. Soaking in blood does terrible things to the body, too much salt is bad for you indeed.~

Kireas was just about to depart to meet the source of the voice in her mind when a male guard burst into the room. The skunkette put her fists up incase this was someone seeking to avenge the legate's honor but he knelt before the governor.

"My lady, task force 'fire' has made contact with the 'Sightless'."

he blurted out. That statement was worth not beating the legate silly. it made her entire week, no her entire month considering the supply crunch.

"And? is Una alright? What has she found? Did she get a map of our enemy's territory?"

the guard had to catch his breath shaking his head.

"No ma'am. Ensign Una is attempting to see if we can open some kind of peace talks with the imps... She says completing her mission as normal is impossible."

That turned her entire perspective around. A peace treaty with the imperials until we got this supply 'thing' figured out. She decided this was the best day of her career ever.

This is a momentary flashback before Blakeney left the bridge to go to the hangar deck.

Blakeney knew Nathan's request would have to be approved by Space Command. Technically. He smiled to himself. There's one time when being the son of the head of Space Command had its perks.

However, before he fired off his response, he brought the issue up as the senior officers gathered in the situation room.

"Well, what do you make of his request?" Blakeney asked.

"I'm a bit concerned, to say the least," Spencer said.

"What do you mean?"

"We don't know this guy from Adam," Spencer said. "For all we know he could be some scofflaw on the run. We give this guy a place to land, next thing you know, he requests asylum and we find ourselves embroiled in a war we have no chance of winning."

"There you go again," Taylor said. "Coming up with all these wild fantasies."

"I'm playing devil's advocate," Spencer said. "There's a difference. We need to know that we're not going to get ourselves in too much trouble if he lands here."

George Leonard, the chief medical officer of the Republic, put his hands up.

"Hold on just a minute," he said. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves here. Suppose he is who he says he is. And suppose he's on the run as Lou Anne suggests? What we need to do is contact Space Command and request instructions. Captain?"

"You're right about that," he said. "At the very least, it would give our government an opportunity to come up with a decision about what to do."

After the senior officers left, Blakeney went to his private office and contacted his father.

"Admiral, this is Captain Blakeney."

"Noah? That's awfully formal."

"So is the request," Captain Blakeney said. "We came in contact with a guy who calls himself a trader. He's requesting permission to land on Rymeria and conduct repairs to his hyperdrive. He's also offering a deal for our government if we agree to it."

Admiral Blakeney raised both eyebrows and sighed.

"You know I could get us both into big trouble," he said. "I'll grant you permission to allow him to land, but if he has a government, we're going to have to require him to depart Rymeria once he repairs his hyperdrive."

"But Admiral, we don't have any extradition agreements with any extra Rymerian governments as yet."

"We don't have any relations formalized with any extra Rymerian governments as yet. The last thing we can afford is to get ourselves into trouble we don't need. You have your orders. Admiral Blakeney out."

Captain Blakeney then returned to the bridge.

"Open a channel with Mr. Nathan's ship. On visual."

"Aye, sir."

"Mr. Nathan, this is Captain Noah Blakeney of the RSV Republic. You have permission to land on our planet, but if you have some kind of government requesting we extradite you, you'll have to depart when our government orders you to. Acknowledge."

He waited for Nathan's response.

"Metal Man, this is Nathan. You know that listening in on private transmissions like that is considered a crime in some circles, yes? Well, anyway, I appreciate the offer, but I really have to power everything down to repair it, and that means landing."

Plus, I need some fresh goddam air, he thought but did not say. "Tell you what, though, if it turns out I need parts I'll give you a call first. I assume you accept Wulfhelm Credits? Over."

He re-tuned to the Rymerians, grimacing at how Blakeney had said the E-word. That would undoubtedly be the first thing the Navy would do if they found him, demand an extradition. These people couldn't resist Wulfhelm's armed forces in a confrontation, but the government wanted his ship - and its gravity engine - intact. Would they risk battle? Would they risk forcing him to sell the engine to the highest bidder? And what about the alliances surely to be made soon? The Rymerians may not be powerful, but John Nathan had a good eye for potential growth. Wulfhelm might just shoot themselves in the foot if they came with demands. Not when he had an offer.

"Acknowledged, Captain Blakeney," he transmitted. "I am beginning my descent path. Requesting coordinates, over."

"Yes," the Metal Man said, "I know that some people frown upon those who try to keep them from having too many secrets." There was a smile in his voice as he said that. Then he sobered as he continued. "I have no standing with the Wulfhelm government, and would have to trust your good judgement as to how much the things I sell you would be worth; nonetheless, when the time comes to establish relations with your people, a little bling could go a long way.

"If you'll pardon my saying so, Nathan, you would probably like Marionetonia. They're extreme lazies-faire capitalists. That, in fact, is why I'm under contract with them and not an employee."

Blakeney turned to Hawk.

"Send him these coordinates via a coded channel."

"Aye, sir."

Blakeney then turned back to Nathan.

"You should have the coordinates now. Godspeed."

Blakeney glanced quickly at Spencer, then motioned toward her with his left arm.

"While we wait for our fellow guests from Romandeos, why don't I have Commander Spencer lead you on a tour of the Republic?" he suggested. "Commander?"

"If you'd like," Spencer said, looking at Lancing and Jhe’dhel. "We can start over here."

Blakeney wanted to be at the hangar to personally greet the Romandeosian guests since they were the first race the Republic made contact with. He hadn't yet reached the point where all the first contacts were starting to blend together, but he felt like that could be on its way shortly.

Wonder what's keeping Hawk? Hope he doesn't crash the shuttlepod into the ship. That's all we'd need.

As for Chef, he was busy with last-minute preparations for their guests. Meanwhile, Taylor stepped away from the command chair and walked over to view the scanner station to get a fix on the shuttlepod still inside the Romandeosian hangar.

"You think you can take over the shuttlepod from here?" Taylor asked the chief at the station.

"What do you mean, control its flight from this station?"

"Yes."

"Only in an emergency. And then, only a Level 6 clearance can get you to man the controls."

"Which I have, Chief," Taylor said. "Part of the perks of being second officer." She pushed a couple of buttons.

"Taylor to Lieutenant Hawk. How are you doing over there?"

She waited for Hawk's response.

"Do you want to head back to the Republic right away, Captain?"

Bastien smiled as Hawk looked around the landing bay. Obviously the young man wasn’t really used to this level of technology. She would have to give Blakeney a tour, and invite Hawk to come along.

“Yes, Lieutenant,” she said. “We should not keep the good captain waiting. We have kept him long enough with this…unfortunate business with the Initiative.”

Bastien and Pierson quietly and quickly boarded the shuttle with Hawk. Within a moment it was preparing to lift, and had been given clearance from the bay.

Meanwhile, the Imperial warship sent a message to the Republic.

“Republic, this is the Leonard Alba. We apologize for the slight delay. The possibility the Initiative would invade this system caused some security concerns to us. Everything looks like it has been sorted now though. Again, we apologize, and we hope nothing else interrupts us in this important meeting.”

Taylor begun pacing while waiting for word from Hawk.

All of a sudden, the chief at the station blurted out, "sir! I have the Leonard Alba hailing us."

Finally! Taylor thought. She allowed a small smile to crease the right half of her mouth.

"Let's hear it."

“Republic, this is the Leonard Alba. We apologize for the slight delay. The possibility the Initiative would invade this system caused some security concerns to us. Everything looks like it has been sorted now though. Again, we apologize, and we hope nothing else interrupts us in this important meeting.”

"Acknowledged, Republic out."

Taylor slumped down into the command chair. An invasion. She knew Space Command was ill equipped to handle an invasion. Even an unarmed scout vessel was enough to cause worry for the Rymerians. An invasion fleet would be enough to batter the planet with little hope of reply.

******************************

"Very well," Hawk said. With his passengers in the shuttlepod, he pressed the button to shut the door. The shuttle's door shut and the atmosphere kicked in. As the hangar doors opened, Hawk pressed more buttons and the shuttle sprang to life. It cleared the hangar door, but Hawk recoiled a little bit.

"Apologizes about the jumpiness. Um, I don't normally fly these shuttles. Don't worry, we'll get you to the Republic in one piece."

I hope Hawk thought. He knew Blakeney would probably have Taylor pilot the shuttle on its return flight to the Leonard Alba. Even Spencer would be a better choice, but Hawk was assigned to pilot the shuttle, so he'd do the job to the best of his ability.

He noticed the Republic's position was farther away than it was when he took the shuttle over to the Leonard Alba. He punched a few buttons to figure out if he had enough fuel to push the craft to its maximum speed. He saw he could do it and decided to push the lever involved. The shuttlepod increased velocity until it reached its top speed. That would get them to the Republic in three minutes. At normal cruising speed, it would have taken 15.

"We should be getting there soon," Hawk said.

When the Republic came into range, he slowed the shuttle down to docking speed, then pushed the buttons involved to move the craft toward the hangar doors.

"Shuttlepod to Republic hangar, request clearance for landing, over."

"Republic hangar to shuttlepod, you are cleared for landing, over."

The doors to the hangar opened and the shuttlepod glided in. Now Hawk was getting the hang of operating the craft. When the craft stopped and the hangar door shut, he waited before the display indicated that atmosphere was fully restored in the hangar deck before pushing the button to open the door.

There, he saw Blakeney. He saluted, then said, "Captain Blakeney, this is Commander Sébastienne Bastien, commanding officer of the Leonard Alba and this is Lt. Robert Pierson. Commander, lieutenant, this is Captain Noah Blakeney."

Blakeney smiled and saluted Bastien.

"Pleased to meet you, commander." He extended his hand to shake Bastien's.

The gravitic ship zipped unnaturally toward the planet and then into the atmosphere. It made a loud, obnoxious sound as it traveled - completely non-aerodynamic, it ploughed ahead through the force of its gravity waves, slamming aside the atmosphere as it did and leaving a rip behind. Were it not for the shield generator, the heat of this re-entry would have fried the ship.

He didn't need to head in as fast as he did, but what was the point of having the WSE's most advanced gravitic drive if you couldn't have a little fun here or there?

"Well," he was saying to the Metal Man as he slowed to a halt above the landing site, "And I'd like to learn more about Marionetonia, I'm sure. But I wasn't talking about keeping secrets. It's a matter of simple courtesy. Likewise, I have no intention of cheating you simply because you don't know the current exchange rate for Wulfhelm credits."

"Anyway," he continued, throttling down the gravity drive as he settled the ship onto the ground for the first time in weeks. "I'm about ready to power down and take a look at my ship. I'll let you know in a few hours what, if anything, I will need from your fabricators. Sound good?"

The ship was now on Rymeria's surface, and once it was powered down it would be hard to locate and identify from space. All the same, he remembered what Blakeney had said, and hoped that the Navy wouldn't come here before he was ready.

The floor of the National Assembly in Rymeria City was bustling with activity. The bill to rename Rymeria City was hardly the first item on the Assembly's agenda.

The proposal to spend 1.5 trillion credits over 10 years to construct a space station led to intense debate and discussion on the floor of the Senate. The House of Representatives narrowly passed the measure and the Senate was taking it up.

"Spending this massive amount of credits on a space station when our planet's economy is not in a position to withstand the price is an inefficent use of resources," Senator A.J. Salvatore (Liberal-Northern Neck) said. "We must be better stewards of taxpayer credits."

Salvatore's comment was quickly shot down by Senator Chris Langley (Progressive-South Trail).

"We have an opportunity in front of us to make our planet prosperous. This is not throwing credits at a non-existent problem. This is an investment in our people's future. We provide more jobs for millions of Rymerians and we open ourselves to increasing trade with extra-Rymerian cultures and societies. We can benefit from this in so many ways."

"Maybe it's not such a good thing to 'open ourselves' up to other cultures," Salvatore snapped.

"Do you need to be a xenophobe?" Langley countered.

"What's so wrong with protecting what makes us Rymerians!"

"Enough!" Senate President Mike Thomas (Liberal-Central Trail) bellowed, picking up, then slamming his gavel against the block. "Mr. Salvatore, you had your time on the floor. Allow Mr. Langley to finish his speech."

"With all due respect Mr. President," Salvatore snapped. Thomas cut him off.

"You will allow him the floor," Thomas said. "Or I'll have you removed. Which is it?" Thomas scowled at Salvatore, rising to his full 6-foot-3 height. With his 210 pounds of muscle coming from his previous days as a safety for his small college's football team, Thomas cut an imposing figure. Salvatore scowled, then sat down. Thomas continued to scowl at Salvatore, then spoke into the microphone.

"Mr. Langley?"

"Again," Langley said, "spending this money is not a waste of credits. This is an investment in the future of Rymeria. Generations that follow will look back on this day. Let's allow them to look back at us and call us the forefathers of our interstellar history. Let them call the crew of the Republic pioneers and heroes."

After another hour of debate, the vote came up on the floor. By a vote of 19-17, the Senate passed the measure. They would invest the credits and potentially bring Rymeria into a new era.

"Roger that, Nathan," the Metal Man said. "I'll be here when you're ready--and I'll trust you."

They watched the news service from the planet below, and thus learned about the Senate's vote when it was announced.

"Perhaps we could interest Marionetonia in offering them a little investment," the cyborg said. "A project of that magnitude should tax that planet's economy to its limit--if not beyond."

"Yes, but you know the kind of bargain that Marionetonia drives," Pete replied. "They'll end up owning the space station and everyone aboard her."

"True enough--and these people have a tradition of political freedom that I don't want to tamper with."

Meanwhile in the Naara system...

The heavy cruiser 'Fire' floated in loose orbit around the 'home' planet, the temporary portal integrated in it's atmosphere abuzz with activity, small tow ships were moving crates of materials into three larger crates which were in turn carried by destroyer sized 'tugs'. Kireas sighed deeply when she saw the response to her order, she saw the cheetah almost snarl at what the governor wanted. Saw her lip curl back in disgust then came the question...

#My lady are you sure there's no one in the navy that speaks that horrid language? Have you no diplomats? No people to handle this sort of thing?#

"Watch your tone ensign... No. I did not plan to 'talk' to anyone so I never applied for any. I don't want to wait nine months for home to finally send some pompus ass I have no control over when our enemies might be ready to talk here and now..."

#Instead you'd rather send a warrior to do the work of an errand boy...#

"Errand boys aren't smart enough to deliver gestures of good faith Lutron and before you go on to say what I know you're going to say I can't afford to buy anymore enemies. Plus it would take months to fully resupply our forces even if that world had the supplies you think it does. We are not rabid ferals nor should we act as such when times are hard."

#No we shall be 'honor less' ferals and turn away from the fight.#

"We're just buying time Lutron. Are you sure you're not an errand girl, you're starting to think like one..."

Lutron was silent here only giving the skunk an angry stare.

"Anyway, you have your orders, and if those supplies do not reach their destination or if there is a 'battle of Rymeria' do not bother returning. Is that clear?"

#Yes ma'am.#

The cruiser broke orbit for a moment to get into a place where it could protect the supply transports. They were very important after all, filled with samples of all the technology and supplies Kireas could scrape together to trade with the new race she found.

The Aurora City, more than 40,000 tons of her, popped out of hyperspace into the Rymerian star system. As in the two previous systems, she immediately began scanning, looking for signs of the elusive pirate ship.

...and found several ships, of several unknown configurations, near a heavily populated planet.

The situation had become an international one. The first one, as far as the ships captain knew. He could try to get in contact with HQ. But that would only give his target time to escape - surely what the pirate was thinking.

Commander Callan thought to himself: I'll be damned if I'll play that game. Could be days before we hear from anyone.

They sent out a general hail.

This is the cruiser Aurora City of the Wulfhelm Star Empire. I apologize on behalf of my government for this intrusion, but we are on an urgent anti-piracy mission. Our last reports indicate our target has last been seen in this system. If you have any data that could assist us, we would be grateful.

Taylor heard the general hail and knew Blakeney would hear it, too. She wondered out loud what Blakeney would order.

She thought about hitting the intra-ship communication, but also wondered if the Aurora City would try to listen in on what the Republic's chatter was. She looked at the view screen image of the cruiser, then at the door to the ship's elevator. She slowly rose from the command chair.

"Ensign," she said haltingly. "You have the bridge." She then walked with slighly herky-jerky steps toward the elevator, as if her body was trying to take her there before her mind vetoed the decision.

Watson noticed how uncertain Taylor seemed about her sudden decision to leave the bridge. He looked up toward Taylor.

"Commander?"

By the time he did, however, the elevator's doors had closed. She was already on her way to the hangar deck.

When she got there, she noticed Blakeney standing and talking to Bastien. She spoke up.

"Captain, sorry to interrupt."

Doing his best to avoid showing his annoyance with the personal interruption, Blakeney looked back toward Taylor. He then looked back at Bastien with a sheepish expression on his face.

"Excuse me for a moment. My apologies, Commander." He then turned and walked a few paces toward Taylor. He then whispered in her ear, "Commander, what are you doing here?"

Seeing the cue, Taylor whispered in Blakeney's ear.

"Sir, the Aurora City from the Wulfhelm Star Empire has arrived in our system. Evidently, they're searching for our 'friend' who has just landed his ship on Rymeria."

Blakeney flashed a brief look of irritation before he whispered to Taylor.

"And you couldn't use the intra-ship communicators to contact me about this?"

"I didn't want to take the chance that the Aurora City could detect our intra-ship communications, sir."

Blakeney sighed. He figured the aliens likely had more advanced communications capabilities than the Republic. Hell, all the ships there likely had more capabilities for everything than the Republic had. And even the Republic could likely monitor "chatter" on another ship if it absolutely had to.

"I see," he said. "Very well. Do not reply to the Aurora City."

"Sir?"

"If they're looking for Mr. Nathan, they're going to have to ask our government directly. And I don't think Senator Thomas is exactly in a mood to be chatty with a bunch of aliens."

Taylor straightened up into a salute.

"Aye, sir." Blakeney then looked back at Bastien and Pierson.

"Commander, lieutenant, this is our chief engineer, Lt. Commander Sandra Taylor. Commander Taylor, this is Commander Sébastienne Bastien, commanding officer of the Imperial Romandeosian ship HMS Leonard Alba and this is Lieutenant Robert Pierson."

"Nice to meet you both," Taylor said, offering both a quick salute. "If you'll excuse me, I have to go back to the bridge." She turned around and left as soon as she finished with the pleasantries.

Back on the bridge, Taylor walked toward the command chair.

"Commander?" Watson said.

"Yes, Ensign?"

"You are aware of command protocols that prohibit anyone below the rank of full lieutenant serving in command, right?"

"I am," Taylor replied curtly. "It couldn't be helped, ensign." She sighed for a moment.

"I was concerned that the Aurora City would be able to detect our intra-ship communications and find out we're harboring a fugitive in Rymeria City. I wanted to buy him -- and us -- a little bit of time before they found him."

Watson nodded his head. Now it was making sense to him.

"Understood, Commander. Now what do we do about the Aurora City?"

"No reply," Taylor said, turning around to address the chief at Hawk's station. "If they want to ask us directly where he is, let them do so. Until then, we don't know anything."

"Aye, sir."

"Aurora City, this is Brain Jar. We, too, were on an anti-pirate mission before we diverted here. I'd love to help, but you're going to have to be a little bit more specific about what you're looking for. Can you give us more information on your target, please?"

Now acutely realizing his words could be read by reporters and recorded by historians for future generations to come, Callan replied:

Certainly, Brain Jar. It is a small starship equipped with an experimental gravity propulsion drive unit, no more than forty-five point eight meters in length. Pilot's name is John Nathan, unknown number of crew but no more than five.

Admiral Blakeney smiled slightly when he'd received word that the space station had been approved. Construction would begin within six months to a year once employees could be hired and processed. The result of the legislation would likely mean a stimulus to the economy as more hands were hired to build the station.

In addition, the bill also included recruitment of additional personnel needed to man the station. Some folks would relocate from Rymeria City's launching facilities to the station, but others needed to be hired to run the station itself. Thus, Space Command would embark upon a recruiting drive.

Blakeney smiled when he heard engineers were hard at work developing a larger ship design than the Republic. The ship would have a more powerful engine, more powerful weapons, the whole gamut. It would be a larger ship capable of taking on larger ships from other worlds if needed. Of course, if the Republic or its government could access more advanced alien technology or develop its own, that would mean the ship would really be able to extend Rymeria's reach farther into space.

Blakeney was interrupted by an aide.

"Admiral? A man by the name of John Nathan has landed and is embarking upon repairs to his ship. What should we do?"

"He has permission to remain where he is until such time as our government says otherwise," Blakeney said. "I'm sure a government representative would be willing to meet with him, but until we hear differently, he is authorized to conduct his repairs."

"Thank you, Admiral." Almost as if on cue, Blakeney's computer beeped.

"Admiral Blakeney," he said after he hit the button.

"Admiral, this is Senator Langley. I'm aware that you have a 'guest' near you."

"We do, Senator."

"I'd like to accompany you to meet this 'guest'," Langley said. "Perhaps he'll have some insights for us. Besides, it's not like I get to met aliens all the time."

"True, Senator. Meet me at Station 3 at 1900 hours." When he saw Langley's look of confusion, Blakeney cleared his throat slightly. "That's 7 p.m." Langley's eyes flashed recognition, then he smiled.

"See you then."

Blakeney and Langley soon arrived and saw Nathan hard at work with some repairs. They decided to wait until he took a break before approaching him and asking him questions. When he shut a panel and put down some tools, Blakeney was the first to approach him.

"Greetings Mr. Nathan," he said. "I am Admiral Mark Blakeney, commanding officer of Space Command here on Rymeria." When he saw the momentary look of confusion on Nathan's face, Blakeney added, "and yes, I'm Captain Blakeney's father. This is Senator Chris Langley. He was one of the chief proponents of constructing a space station which we hope to have finished in three years.

"We hoped you would have some insights for us or could answer some questions about you and your background. If you have pressing matters, we can wait until you complete those. As for now, though, you probably could use a bite to eat and a place to sleep. We can provide those for you if you wish."

Admiral Blakeney and Langley waited for Nathan's response.

The manual was instructive and interactive. The Swift class was designed for guys like him - wealthy, bold, but with no starship experience. The new class of traders who, now that the Isolation Policy was finally ended (the one real decent thing, Nathan figured, to have come from Starky's reign as Emperor) would flood out into the stars. Supposedly.

Still, it was one thing to know that the secondary power unit relied on the gravity generator coils and so needed to be bypassed with an adaptive power module, and another to be hunched up semi-horizontally into the starship with your legs dangling awkwardly out, trying to cram a fragile, yet heavy hunk of metal and plastic in between steel pipes and bulkhead.

Six bumps and three curses later, John reappeared out of the house-sized, brick-shaped starship to find the Senator and Admiral waiting patiently.

"Admiral. Mister Senator. It's an honor," and he extended his hand. He had a firm and seasoned handshake.

Ignoring how haggard, tired and dirty he must look, he said, "My thanks for the offer, but the quarters and supplies aboard my vessel are more than sufficient. I'll be happy to answer whatever questions you have."

Anyone paying attention to their radar screens would notice that the three destroyers stationed to protect the 'sightless' have departed and a heavy cruiser came in their place surrounded at midship level with smaller cargo vessels. A general broadcast hail went out to every non initiative vessel in the area.

#This is Ensign Lutron Mayers, captain of the heavy cruiser 'fire'. We mean no one here any harm and will abide by the rules of the cease fire Romandeos set in place. However my crew and I have been charged with the safety of all initiative vessels in the area and I will not respond kindly if they are attacked. Though those are heavy words in the midst of light chatter it seems. A chatter which we are here to join and hope to as soon as possible. We will be moving into the area to recover our survey vessel and perhaps act as a place for anyone who wishes to speak to the initiative in person.#

The cruiser was moderate in size, several times larger than the sightless and about twice as large as the Leonard Alba though nothing truly imposing, aside the black hull paint, the fifteen gun-ports it sported, nine on the forward bow, six to the rear, and finally the utter lack of windows or view-ports of any kind. It and it's charges moved slowly towards the sightless position sitting lazily in a very, very low orbit around the populated planet.

Ensign Una was in her room peacefully sleeping and that's how she remained since the 'officer' she had made wasn't going to wake her up anytime soon. He was busy in a starring contest with what seemed to be the meanest woman in the galaxy. Alyn was thankful that nearly a hundred or so kilometers separated them and about nine or ten more meters of hull plating.

"I'm sorry the captain and the relief commander are both unable to carry out their duties so. I am here ma'am."

The cheetah growled at this gnashing her teeth. Annoyed that she had to put that message out there rather than coming in to destroy everything she could get her hands on.

#No matter spawn child. Prepare to dock with us and surrender any hard copies of anything you've found here.#

The view screen cut to black before Alyn could respond. It looked like he'd have to handle any tasks that the captain had to perform. It'd be alright as long as he didn't have to do it with someone that wanted to mount his head on her wall just for 'being'.

RSV Republic

The Ventish captain had nodded to the suggestion that Commander Spencer give him and his companion a tour of the Republic.

“I would be delighted. Lead on, Commander”

The two officers of the Exemplar kept their eyes open, observing with interest the visible technology of the Republic and comparing it to those species that the Ventish had encountered before, particularly with the nascent space travel used by the Ophelian and Djakan nations prior to their acquisition by the United Worlds.

The Navigator spoke next, expressing the social and cultural curiosity that was part of the stereotype of the Skandi and that a Ventish military gentleman such as Lancing would not feel himself able to ask.

“Tell me, Commander Spencer, what sort of social structure does Rymeria possess? Doy uo have much in the way of a class system, or different cultural identities within your country?”


Board of Exploration and Encounter, Admiralty House, Raithwaite, Venmouth, Heart, United Worlds of Ventuus

Of the seven high-backed chairs in this half-panelled room six were empty. They stand behind an imposing carved wooden desk before the rest of the room whose decor appears to be intended to cow any coming before the Board.

The panelling was of some dark, varnished wood and came up to about six feet above the floor. The remaining six feet of wall space was taken up by glass-fronted cabinets containing native artefacts from the conquered or absorbed nations that compose the Ventish Empire and from nations encountered and traded with. The ceiling was elaborately painted to represent the Throne of Raithwaite holding dominion over its subject people, ruling with one hand and giving with the other.

In the sole occupied seat, located one to the right of the centre chair was a gentleman who looked as ancient as the Old Man of the Sea with a neatly groomed wispy white beard reaching halfway down his chest and partly covering the gold buttons of his uniform. Glasses framed with gold wire balanced upon his nose, the rich colour of the metal in contrast to the row of tiny grey metal studs protruding from the skin at his temples and above his left eyebrow from a time when it was fashionable to have your augmentations subtly visible. His skin looked pale beside the navy blue of his uniform, his once black hair had faded to white and formerly steel-grey eyes look tired but purposeful.

He looked at the young man standing before him in a Lieutenant’s uniform.

“Wha-“

He paused to cough and take a sip from the glass in front of him.

“What is it, young man?”

“My Lord Leiss. Reports from the Exemplar, ethergrammed over a few minutes ago, you asked to be kept up to date?”

“Hm, yes, yes. My grand-nephew is on Lancing’s ship, did you know that?”

“Yers, m’lord.”

“His father and I were great friends, Lancing’s father, that is,” the old lord leaned back in his chair, expression distant. “We served together under Prince Thomas, you know, back in the third Djakan uprising. I remember when the first and third companies, Second Battalion the Seventy-First-of-Foot held the fortress by the Syenss capital, three hundred men against ten thousand and the Prince, myself, and Admiral Lancing right in the thick of it, you see what had happened...”

The ancient naval officer continued relating this particular Rorke’s Drift-like moment in Ventish history apparently oblivious to the glazed look upon the younger officer’s face as he heard the story for the umpteenth time.

“Young man? Can you hear me?”

The lieutenant was startled out of his happy place (where there are no white-bearded old men obsessed with reminiscences) to confirm his presence.

“Tell the Exemplar to carry on as they are. Try to avoid trouble if they can.”

“M’lord.” The young man saluted, turned smartly on his heel and left the room.


HMS Exemplar, Operations Room

Commander Savile frowned faintly as he read the latest instructions from Raithwaite.

“Not terribly detailed.
Very well, gentlemen, carry on as you are. Mister Leiss, if you would send off the usual introduction to the Aurora City with the following addition...”

...Greetings and salutations. This is the Ventish warship Exemplar of the fleet of Victor IV by the grace of God, King of the United Worlds, Jeshinesh of Ophelia-Kadrin, and Emperor of the Ventish territories across the stars. Command of the ship is granted to Commander James Savile under Captain Alexander Lancing. I regret that although we are committed to the eradication of piracy we are the guests of Rymeria and thus you must wait upon their discretion for any information you seek...

The Metal Man whistled. "You've got a tall order, Aurora City. The gentleman you seek has misled us into believing that he was a legal representative of your government. He's on the planet below, probably repairing his vessel. Can you give us more information on the circumstances of his untimely arrival here? It may help us to predict his likely future course of actions."

Taylor listened in as the chief sitting at Hawk's station played the most recent communication from Metal Man to the Aurora City. She frowned.

"So much for buying him some time," she said out loud. The chief looked back at Taylor.

"Commander?"

"It seems as though the Metal Man has already divulged exactly what happened to the Aurora City," Taylor said. She shook her head. She knew unless she'd sent a heavily encrypted message to the Metal Man, there was no way he'd know the Republic's intent, or Rymeria's itself.

"It'll only be a matter of time until the Aurora City contacts Space Command and demands they hand him over," Taylor said.

Callan nodded, and remarked to the officer of the deck, "As we thought. Nathan will try to use a diplomatic incident to escape." He shook his head.

He turned to the comm officer. "Transmit to the Brain Jar."

Our intel says Nathan stole a highly experimental and valuable starship, which he is now piloting, from a spacedock at Reusch. Since then he's been eluding all Navy attempts to catch him, jumping from system to system. The ship has a high maneuverability quotient, and as a product belonging to the defense company, must be recaptured or, ultimately, to be destroyed before it can elude us again. We thank you for your time and honesty.

"Now," he told the sensor officer, "Scan the surface and see if you can't find it. Keep an eye on all space targets, watch the planetary horizon for new contacts."

Commander Callan sighed and told commo - "Now, see if you can triangulate a big communications hub for the Rymerian space forces. Space forces, military, civilian government, whatever is most relevant."

This was gonna be the tricky part. If the Rymerians acceded, it was just a matter of getting to Nathan on the ground. He'd have no chance of escape then, at least not with the ship. The problem was... what if they didn't?

"Boss, this doesn't add up. How would a space pirate get his hands on a top-of-the line military prototype? How would he know how to fly it--especially one with a gravitic drive? Those things are notoriously temperamental. One power fluctuation too many and it either burns out or starts up a black hole."*

"I was wondering that myself, Pete. Is there any way you can get Aurora City to cough up a packet on John Nathan? Who was he? How did he get that ship?"

"Why don't you just try asking them?"

"It would have about the same chance as a snowball in the core of a nuclear reactor, but I'll try.

"Oh--and scan the planet. How much can you tell me about that ship?"


Aurora City, this is the Metal Man. Forgive my curiosity, but how
precisely did Mr. Nathan manage to elude your security and get his
hands on such a valuable piece of hardware?"


-------

OOC: Pete is merely commenting on the technology in general. Your mileage may vary.

I'm afraid I don't have those specifics, Metal Man. I suppose he has eluded the Navy thus far, however, by virtue of the spacecraft itself. I stress urgency, again, and would request for you to divulge his location, at last detected by your admirably sufficient sensors.

"'Admirably sufficient?'" the sensor officer muttered.

"What was that?" Callan towered over him.

"Nothing, sir."

"Good."

OOC: Yeah, that's pretty much how I think it works too.

"They want what? And they're giving us what in exchange?" Pete asked.

The Metal Man would have smiled if he was wearing a suit with a face. Now, though, he was just a tank of undulating biological goo in the center of his space ship.

"They did a good job of twisting my words, though," he said presently. "I've got to give them credit for that. I asked how the gentleman had eluded their security in order to get the ship. Once he did that, the rest would have been much easier."

"That and ten Marionetonian credits will get us a tingo. And we could actually use a tingo, practically worthless though it is."

"Well, do we want to comply with their request?"

"Not really."

"Then maybe it's time we had a little accident."

"A little...you're not going to do that, boss, are you? It's the corniest trick in the book!"

"No, I'm not going to do it."

"Whew."

"You are."

"Oh, I just had to walk right into that one."

"Sensor malfunction on three...THREE!"

There was a brief power spike followed by the saucer's sensor array shutting down. For all the world, it looked like the unit had shorted out.


Aurora City, you're probably not going to believe this, but that
wonderful sensor array of mine chose this precise minute to
cease to function. I'm going to have to do an EVA to figure out
what's wrong. Process should take about four hours.


"You think they're going to buy that, boss?"

"No, but they won't be patting us on the heads with blunt instruments and telling us what good boys we are, either. At the very least, it'll buy us some time to figure out what's going on. See if you can raise Mr. Nathan on the comm lines. Maybe he can tell us something about what's going on."

The flying saucer sent a hailing message to the planet, and to John Nathan's ship.

Taylor stood up and began pacing the area between the command chair and Hawk's station. The chief looked up and said, "sir?"

"What is it, chief?"

"What are you so nervous about? You're making the rest of us nervous."

Taylor sighed. "That space chatter going on about Mr. Nathan's ship. Our "friends" from Wulfhelm are going to scan Rymeria before very long. Pretty soon, they're going to demand we hand him over."

"How about contacting Space Command? They'll probably have a better handle on what to do?"

"Before I do that," Taylor said. "I'd better notify the captain."

"He'll probably tell you to handle it yourself."

"I know Captain Blakeney," Taylor half-mumbled. All of a sudden, she turned toward the chief at Hawk's station.

"Chief, open a coded channel to Space Command. Wait, on second thought," she said, realizing that she needed someone who was at least a lieutenant to have the permissions needed to input the codes. "Mind getting up for a second?"

"Uh, aye, sir." The chief got up and stepped away from the station while Taylor sat down and punched in a few codes. She heard the computer make its usual acknowledgment of a command and it sent an encrypted message to Space Command.

Down on the planet, Admiral Blakeney heard his communications device beep. He knew his secretary must have routed a message down to him.

"Blakeney."

Taylor started for a second before remembering it was Admiral Blakeney instead of Captain Blakeney.

"Admiral, this is Lieutenant Commander Sandra Taylor of the RSV Republic."

Blakeney's face quickly developed a look of concern as he looked at Langley.

"Commander? Where's Captain Blakeney?"

Taylor recoiled visibly for a second before she realized why Admiral Blakeney might have asked her the question. She smiled faintly before answering.

"Actually, he's fine. He's just greeting two alien delegations. He and Commander Spencer are supposed to have dinner with them in the mess hall. He's left me in command while they eat."

Blakeney smiled and breathed a quiet sigh of relief. "That's good to hear. What's on your mind Commander Taylor?"

"Well, it seems a ship from the Wulfhelm Star Empire is now in our system and is looking for the whereabouts of a man they claim is a space pirate. It is our belief they will soon demand that we hand him over to them."

Blakeney and Langley looked at each other, then at Nathan.

"Go on."

"Our question is whether our guest is a representative of a legitimate government or he is who the Aurora City says he is."

And if he is, what we'd consign him to if we turn him over to them, Blakeney thought. "Thank you, Commander. We'll monitor the situation from here. Blakeney out." Blakeney then touched the button on his communications device to end the transmission. Turning to Nathan, Blakeney decided to begin his questioning a bit more urgently than he'd originally planned.

"So, Mr. Nathan. What can you tell me about your appearance on our planet? And about the Aurora City?"

While he waited for an answer from Nathan, Langley leaned in to whisper something to Blakeney.

"Should we turn him over if that's what the Wulfhelm Star Empire demands?"

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Blakeney whispered back. "I'd prefer not sending him off here until we find out why he's here -- or at least his side of the story."

"I have an idea," Langley whispered.

"Let's have it," Blakeney whispered.

"If the Aurora City does as Commander Taylor expects and demands we turn him over, you inform them that he's being held here for questioning on a trespassing charge and will have to face the Rymerian legal system. Once its run its course, we would then order him off the planet."

"The court system? But that can take weeks."

"Exactly my point," Langley said. "But what they don't know and what we do know is that he's being questioned on what we wanted to ask him related to technology and to this new world we're sending people into. That could provide you with enough time to get the information you need and us with enough time to research what kind of legal system we'd be consigning Mr. Nathan to dealing with if we extradite him."

"And what if the Wulfhelm people torture him or kill him if we extradite him?"

"Notice I said order him off the planet, not extradite him. If we tell him he must leave the planet after he's repaired his hyperspace drive and Lord knows what else he needs, the Aurora City is more than welcome to resume its chase. We're not getting in their way, but we're not exactly throwing him at them, either."

"Sounds good," Blakeney whispered. He turned back toward Nathan, waiting for an answer.

Nathan watched the interplay with a growing sense of resignation. There was to be no wheeling and dealing here. No easing-in. Perhaps that was for the best, though.

"Well," he replied slowly, quietly, gathering his thoughts. "My name is John Nathan. I'm not a pirate, but that they're saying I am shows how desperate they are to get a control on the situation. Just shows I've been right all along. Pardon me, gentlemen," he said, looking them each in the eye, "I should start from the beginning."

"I'm not a representative of any government. But I am, or at least I was until recently, the Chief Executive Officer and majority shareholder in Kirk Sanders and Associates. I've worked with KSA my whole life, and it was my idea to put together a team to seriously look at a modern, efficient gravity propulsion. One compact and safe enough to eventually replace all inferior modes of transportation, all clumsy, vulnerable aircraft, replace the slow and polluting torch drives, give even small businesses an interplanetary range. Cut transportation costs across the board - revolutionize society, in other words."

He sighed. "Now, we've done deals with the government before. I don't deny that. But we weren't doing one now, and, well, they disagreed. Together with a small conspiracy of collaborators in my own organization, they never intended that our product - "

And he waved at the ship in question with one hand. "...fall into any private agencies' hands. They wanted exclusive control. Because, eight years ago, the transitional junta - the Wulfhelm Transitional Authority - was dissolved by a Chief Director, a general by name of Starkey. We're now an 'Empire' now!" Months of bottled-up outrage were starting to show now as he spoke passionately.

"They're calling it a 'Federal Monarchy,' for gods sakes! And of course, Starkey is now an unelected Emperor. I sat quietly by like everyone else, because we'd all just gone through the War, and whatever the government called themselves, they were in charge. I'm not a criminal."

"So when I learned of their plans - including whisking away my company, and branding me a criminal regardless of what I did - I decided to not allow the project to fall completely into their hands. I mean... it can be used as a weapon." His face reddened just a bit.

"But my god... do you know what a death by a rapidly fluctuating gravity wave would be like? Who could do that? Well... they wouldn't shed a tear about it. If they're the Monarchy, independence movements are the peons. They write the laws and the rules, including making me a space pirate."

He laughed. "Well, I didn't mean for any of this to happen. I've been trying to spread the data I've collected, and the prototype of course, to someone I can trust. To revolutionize a society. To do good. But, I was betrayed, the Navy found me, and though I thought I lost them before coming here, I guess they found me again. You're in the middle of it, and I apologize."

He looked at Langley. "All I need to do is fix my FTL drive, maybe stock up on some supplies, and leave. I was going to pawn off the prototype, maybe retire on some world... but I can offer you my data files on hyperspace engineering and gravity-wave generator systems. You could probably build your own Class Five drives - over a thousand times the speed of light."

He let the offer hang in the air. In his ship's control center the communique from Brain Jar got the equivalent of an answering machine.

---

Aboard the Aurora City, Callan scowled at the latest transmission, and then sighed - a short, puffed sound of a man losing patience. He straightened his back. It was hot.

"We're not getting anywhere with this. Alright, radio the Rymerian government. Tell them we know that a Wulfhelm pirate has landed on their world, and that we intend to retrieve him and his starship intact. We request - no, suggest strongly that they cooperate with our efforts in bringing a known criminal to justice!"

The Metal Man, in an engineering suit that looked more like a spider with utility claws than like a man, clung to Brain Jar's side and touched a tool of some kind to something inside of an open panel in front of him. A shower of sparks came out, but the tool held steady.

"Been meaning to fix that for the longest time," he said.

"Umm, boss?" came the AI over the intercom.

"Yes, Pete," the Metal Man replied.

"Remember that shoe you were waiting to hear dropping? Aurora City just basically asked the Rymerians for John Nathan and the ship."

"You know, it's a shame that we'll probably never learn the whole story. I wish someone would tell it to us."

"Me, too."

Langley looked at Blakeney and the two men nodded.

"I have a suggestion that may buy us some time," he said. "We can tell your government that you've been arrested and charged with criminal trespass here on Rymeria, and our confederacy's law requires that you stand trial. Under that circumstance, we would be unable to release you to the Aurora City until our court system has reached a verdict.

"As part of our penalty for 'trespassing,' said files would be 'confiscated' and your vessel impounded. Once we've reached our 'verdict,' we would expel you from the planet."

"At least that's what we'd tell them," Admiral Blakeney said. "What would really happen, of course, is you would have the opportunity to sell to our government the information you've offered to us, including the information about the Class V FTL drive. Once we've reached our 'verdict,' we would then allow you to depart with the ship."

"We couldn't simply hand you over to the Aurora City or to the Wulfhelm Star Empire since they don't have jurisdiction in our system," Langley said. "However, we wouldn't prevent them from trying to catch you."

"From the sounds of it, it wouldn't exactly be easy for them to catch you," Blakeney said."

"I have another thought," Langley said.

"Oh?"

"We would also be required to examine the Empire's system of government to ensure that we aren't releasing you to your death should you be captured. Obviously, if that were the case, your sentence could be, um, adjusted to a 'prison' term."

"Obviously, we wouldn't put you in prison," Blakeney said. "But they don't have to know that."

"What if they demand you extradite me to the Aurora City and they threaten you with force?"

"I would hope the Wulfhelm Star Empire wouldn't seek hostile relations with a new planet so soon after first contact," Langley said. "If that happens, however, the Republic would be called back to defend the planet from attack."

"We also have a few laser defense systems we would fire. They're quite a bit more powerful than the Republic's," Blakeney said.

"Should we tell him about Project Majestic?"

"That information's classified," Blakeney said. "Oh well. The cat's out of the bag." He turned to Nathan.

Based on information compiled from a series of scans and information forwarded to us by some of our friends during the first contact mission, our engineers have begun developing a new class of ship that would be much larger and much more powerful than Republic. It's called Project Majestic because that would be the name of the prototype of the class. The FTL drive you've mentioned would be a perfect fit for Majestic, which we probably could get up in space before refits to the Republic and her classmates were completed."

Blakeney and Langley waited for Nathan's reaction to their plan.

"Well," the Metal Man said, stepping out of the air lock, "that should do it. How does the self-diagnostic on the sensors look."

"Never better," Pete replied.

"That's too bad," the Metal Man said.

"Oh? Why?"

"Because, if it wasn't working right, then we might have to set down on the planet to give it a better look--and who knows what we might find out."

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Well...ya know...those darned sensors are real temperamental. If we don't have 'em adjusted just right..."

"You mean I forgot to calibrate them?"

"No, I mean that they need to be calibrated inside a gravity well."

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhh. In that case, maybe we should contact the Rymerians and see what they can do for us."

"Consider it done."

----------------

OOC: Let's just get through the boring part and pretend that the message was sent...and that one went out to Aurora City saying that the sensors still weren't working, too.

:) :) :)

OOC: Ohhh, alright...

IC:

"That's right, Rymeria, it's the Framastatic Sensor Unit. It's only got a Mark IV Framastat in it. I know I should upgrade to the Mark V, but I haven't had the time. The Mark IV needs a sizable gravity well with a known coefficient of acceleration for proper calibration. Ergo, I have to land on your planet to do it."

The link terminated.

"You think they're going to believe you, boss?"

"No, but I hope they're going to give me credit for creativity. 'Framastat' is the oldest name in the book, and it spans multiple cultures."

"Well," Nathan said, after a lengthy pause, "It's the best plan we've got right now. You might even want to say I've done more than trespass, like piracy. They'll like that we're going along with their story and allow for the 'losses' I caused your people."

He held up a cautioning hand. "But if the gov - I mean, if Wulfhelm is saying I'm a pirate, the Navy will take it seriously. And they have a lot more than that cruiser to back up any threats, so don't try to call their bluff. I don't know this Callan fellow, but if he's standard Navy officer material, he's already called in reinforcements. I'd expect them to arrive in a few days, actually. But whether they do anything but look intimidating..."

The ex-CEO shook his head.

Spencer smiled slightly at the two Ventish officers.

"Right this way," she said, beckoning them to join her as she began the tour of Republic.

"Since we're already on Deck 4, I figured I'd show you the rest of what's on this deck. To the right of the hangar is our decontamination center. Medical staff are on call to provide decontamination services for our away missions.

"Now, we can take the lift down to Deck 5, where our science labs are located. Our science department contains four full science labs manned by a crew of 15." As the Ventish officers followed Spencer through the labs, she added, "our armory is this way. Our weapons consist of three laser cannons, short-ranged nuclear tipped missiles and long range tungsten rods, which serve as a kinetic energy weapon.

"Deck 6 contains our escape pods. Each one is capable of carrying a maximum of six people and we have 20 of them. Decks 7 and 8 are our main engineering section. If you like, we can visit that before we head up to view Sickbay and the galley and the mess on Deck 3. Deck 2 is officers quarters, while Deck 1 is the bridge and the situation room.

"We can finish the tour now or we can resume it after supper if you'd prefer."

She waited for the officers' reactions.