NationStates Jolt Archive

Rustov Maxellian sat back in his leather chair and sighed heavily. Spinning around on his swivel, he looked out the plate glass windows and onto the city of Setulan Prime, capitol of the Republic. The city thrived with life. Though the city in its current incarnation had only existed for fifty years, the Setulan people were as industrious as any, and Setulan Prime had sprung up from the ashes.

Unfortunately, Maxellian could not say the same of all of Setulan.

Leaps and bounds had been made after the Great War; Maxellian took pride in how far his nation had come, but knew that living in the past was a good way to be swept away by the future. For that reason, he had ordered the Republican Navy to search the stars...but not everything had gone as planned.

Colony 1 was completely destroyed. The Kewen assault had wrecked the planet completely, making it uninhabitable.
Colony 2 had fallen to the Danaversian Empire after a valient but doomed defense.
Colony 3 had been assaulted by more Kewen, and the fate still hung in the balance.

On the other hand, Setulan had gained superb allies. The populace still rejoiced upon hearing the name of the Kitsune Empire of Xiscapia, and the Alversians had become loyal friends in the fight against Danaversian agression...and things at home were grim for the billions of refugees left over from the devestated hives.
Maxellian knew deep in his bones that he needed a pressure release, and soon, for those refugees. Things were better than they had been, but still bad, and the Republican Navy could not afford to send ships to explore anymore. It was a problem without a solution that he could see.
Spinning back to his desk, he examined the work that lay before him. As always, his eyes turned first towards the screen that showed the combat on Miller. Looking away was difficult for the former soldier, but his eyes fell upon the report of Prime Minister Marchamp, ambassador to Xiscapia. He started to read.
The Empress seemed like a charming woman, he thought as he read on...but then his eyes froze on one name-Nakamoto.
Nakamoto...
He had seen that name before on his briefing documents. His memory, largely photographic, flicked back to that report.
A grin spreading across his face, Maxellian buzzed an attendant.
"John, set up a link with Mr. Nakamoto on Xiscapia. Tell him President Maxellian of the Republic of Setulan would wish to speak to him."

Nakamoto Dockyards Incorporated Headquarters...

Dusk was falling in the city of Tenfour, the fading medium-sized star casting garish orange light across the center of the great metropolis, reflecting off the smoked glass windows of dozens of huge office blocks and corporate headquarters that stood, silent looming monolithic testaments to the power of free market, in the heart of the urban area. Nakamoto Dockyards HQ, though only eighty stories tall (making it over a hundred stories shorter than the tallest structures in the city) had an unrivaled view across the cityscape, casting it's shadow across multiple blocks of upper class stores and fancy restaurants that catered exclusively to the rich and power Xiscapians that worked in the midst of the great, dirty, exotic city that had become the main trade and immigration hub of the Kitsune Empire. Occupying the seventy-eighth story was Nakamoto himself, President of Nakamoto Dockyards, the most successful builder of starships in Xiscapia since the days before the Long Voyage, number-one (and one of the only) manufacturers of the very warships that protected the sovereign territory of the Kitsune Empire, her allies, and her interests. Nakamoto was of the Homo Vulpes phenotype, which is to say he appeared human but possessed certain fox-like features, an Oriental-looking kitsune with a shaved head wearing a black suit, rust-red fox ears startling on his domed head and a tail wrapping unobtrusively around behind him, orange eyes shining with good spirits. Other kitsune flaunted their alienness: Nakamoto's brand was more subdued, almost lulling, and because of this many humans and other aliens unused to other more vulpine-like Xiscapians were charmed by Nakamoto's quiet style and self-assurance. The brisk business he did with the Kitsune Empire in selling weapons of war had made him a very, very rich sapient, and he was only in his late forties: Plenty of time to make more money, products and build up his corporate empire until he found or sired a worthy heir.

Now, as the sheets of light spilling though the high windows mixed with the bars of darkness creeping in, Nakamoto sighed, pushing himself back from his cherrywood desk. Papers covered the top of his workstation: Memos from executives, invitation to parties, balls and openings, letters from government heads and rival companies alike, status reports, profit-production statements, advertising bids...a regular plethora of requests. Everyone wanted something: More money, more power, more materials, more prestige, more products, always one thing or another. Everyone was different when it came to asking for it, but ultimately, it always filtered up to him.
One way or another.

"Sir," His intercomm buzzed as the secretary from his outer officer contacted him. "There's a message on the network, the frequency looks long-distance, intergalactic maybe."

Nakamoto's irritation at being waylaid from making his way home vanished immediately. This was no government lacky or marketer: Someone out there among the stars wanted to speak with him, and they were willing to pay an outrageous amount of money to do it instantaneously, face-to-face: Unless you were a large, wealthy organization, or a government, you simply didn't make intergalactic holo calls to others, even for the most urgent of messages, they simply cost too much. "Can you trace it?"

"Yes," came the disembodied voice from the attractive kitsune he knew was outside his office, "it appears to have come from the Republic of Setulan, or space near that territory."

"What are you waiting for," Nakamoto let no trace of impatience permeate his voice, only calm rationale, "put them though."

He turned to face the tiny hologram generator behind him, smiling coolly and standing to bow to the one who he knew would appear there. Nakamoto had been contacted by the Emperor himself once before, but other rulers were no trifle either: Especially if they come, as he suspected this one did, with a proposition.

During the thirty seconds from when he called to when Nakamoto answered his message, Maxellian straightened himself out slightly. His craggy face and dark hair with wings at the temples gave him a regal bearing that he seriously doubted would influence the man on the other end of the link.
Nakamoto Dockyards Inc, he thought to himself. Number one supplier of space weapons to Xiscapia. Good weapons, too, he admitted to himself. Very wealthy and very powerful. Shrewd.

Maxellian hoped so.

When the Kitsune appeared in the holo link, Maxellian nodded to him politely.
"Mr. Nakamoto, it is a pleasure to finally get a chance to speak to you. I will get to the point of this call directly, as decades of a being a political chieftan have still not rubbed off upon me in regards to flowery speeches. I have a buisness proposition that can prove highly beneficial to both of us."

Nakamoto gave a deep bow. "President Maxellian," his Galactic Common was altered slightly by the bitten-off, choppy-at-the-ends Xiscapian accent many kitsune carried when not speaking their native tongue, "it is an honor." He smiled, but his eyes narrowed. He didn't know much about Rustov Maxellian, President of the Republic of Setulan- Indeed, he suspected only the Palace really knew anything about the man, but then, the Palace made it it's business to know about other people. But that would not put Nakamoto in an adverse position when it came to bargaining out a deal: If the President was anything like his counterpart who had so recently been to see him, Prime Minister Zachary Marchamp, Nakamoto would know how to play things so any contract drawn up would favor both parties, rather than the one-sided dealings many of his comrades attempted. Manipulation, he knew, breeds mistrust, even, or perhaps especially, if it worked, and he didn't want to scare off any potential customers.

"What is this proposition of which you speak?"

Maxellian leaned back slightly and steepled his fingers.
"Mr. Nakamoto, the Great War that ravaged Setulan those fifty years ago ruined several of our largest population centers, known as hives. It has proved impossible to relocate all of those who lost their homes; there are simply too many.
"The Republican Navy has been looking for new colonies, with some success. Unfortunately, those that we have located are for whatever reason unable to be inhabitated at this time. And the Navy, as I'm sure you can guess, is too preoccupied at this time to continue exploring.
"For this reason, I am asking you, Mr. Nakamoto, to release to the Republic one of your vessels with crew and scientists to help Setulan find a new colony that is away from the fighting. We will provide security for the mission, and I assure you, I can make it worth your while." He leaned forward again.
"For starters, contracts. And upon founding a colony, an equivelent of 5% of the GDP of said colony for a 250 years. I am willing to negotiate that," he said.
"What are your thoughts?"

Nakamoto settled back into his plush dark chair, an appraising look on his face as he stared at Maxellian. Five percent GDP of even a small colony for any significant amount of time was nothing to be laughed at, and the contract would only end once Nakamoto himself was very, very old, probably well after retirement. Nakamoto Dockyards was already doing a brisk trade and raking in billions of credits profit, what with the government contracts to replace XIN losses and beef up the Navy with the new Marchamp class, not to mention the Triad Intergalactic Storefront, but if it could help Nakamoto's already ridiculous amount of wealth grow larger, and forge new contacts in the Setulan Republic, he was more than willing to do it.
Not that he was going to let the President have the deal that easily.

"Six percent GDP for three hundred years," Nakamoto's words were quiet but definitive, "a refugee colony is not the epitome of a wealth-generating asset, and there is no guarantee any vessel we send will find a suitable world...or even that it will come back." He smiled coldly. "Times are hard, sparing even a single ship will put a dent in the profits for this fiscal year. I'd be taking an awful risk, President Maxellian, if that ship and it's crew met misfortune on their expedition the corporation would have to replace the vessel, the equipment, the skilled workers, pay the families, and so on. Perhaps there is something, mhmm, tangible, you can offer me in addition in case this all goes up in smoke?" The smile remained frozen on his face, waiting to see just what the ruler of the Republic would say.

Maxellian smiled inwardly. A hard bargainer indeed.
"In that case, Mr. Nakamoto, you had best make sure you send an excellent ship and crew!" He chuckled slightly, then sobered. "It may not be the epitome of a wealth-generating asset, but several billion souls will produce a significant amount of goods regardless...which is why you should be happy at five point five percent GDP for two hundred seventy five years" He paused a moment-this buisnessman wanted to have his cake and eat it, too. "As well, a contract to produce one hundred Marchamp-class vessels." Time to see if Nakamoto would bite...

Nakamoto let his eyebrows rise slightly, a gesture he knew humans took as one of surprise, done solely for the President's benefit. Even to one knowledgeable in kitsune body language it would have been difficult to discern anything but total calm, but his ears flicked and the very tip of his bushy tail twitched slightly, out of view of Maxellian. It had been more than he had been hoping for: Maxellian could have easily laughed in his face and gone to one of his rivals, but he hadn't. The man was desperate...he needed this colony, or the Republic did anyway, and he obviously knew Nakamoto was the best foreign ship builder he could contact. Imperative or not, the President wanted the best of the best.
Nakamoto supposed the reputation the Xiscapian Imperial Navy had built up in Setulanite eyes at the Battle of Colony One, among others, couldn't have hurt things either.

The kitsune stood again, straightening his suit, taking his time. "I believe we have what they call 'a deal.'" he bowed, coming up smiling with genuine warmth. "I can have a vessel ready within two days. Will your security forces be prepared by then?"

"They will indeed. Two days would be excellent; have an adjuntant send the class and arrival time of the vessel, and one of my own will send clearance codes. With the fleet on high alert, I wouldn't want anything untoward to happen." Maxellian smiled back at the Kitsune.
"I'll have the security troops ready by then, have no fear on that score. I look forward to this joint venture, Mr. Nakamoto."

ooc-I have drill this weekend, so this is my last post till sunday or monday.

OOC: See you then.

"As do I, President Maxellian," Nakamoto inclined his head, though only lightly this time. "I will draw up the preliminary plan tonight, and the necessary persons and resources needed will have begun to be gathered only minutes after this conversation ends. The class and arrival time of the vessel, along with any other pertinent information, will be sent to your Port Authorities tomorrow." He stood, bowing so slightly it might have been Maxellian's imagination. "Is there anything else...?"

"No. Thank you for your time, Mr. Nakamoto. A pleasure doing buisness." With a nod, Maxellian cut off the link. Turning slightly, he punched a number into his holo communicator from memory, and then stopped himself with a chuckle. He had forgotten that the VT didn't let you see them when you called. Picking up a vox, he tried again.
"Veteran's Trust Headquarters, can I help you sir or ma'am?"
"Put me through to Grenitch, if you would. Tell him it is an old friend."
"Sir, Mr. Grenitch is in a meeting."
"Break in. Tell him his old company commander would like a chat."
"Yes, sir. Hold for a minute." The phone started to play some patriotic song as Maxellian waited patiently. When the vox clicked to indicate somebody coming on the line, it had been forty three seconds by his watch.
"Rustov! How are you, old friend?"
"Better now, First Sergeant!" Grenitch laughed.
"Those were the days, weren't they, Captain?" Maxellian chuckled as well. Those had been the days, alright; Maxellian a young Praetorian Captain, Grenitch the First Sergeant who, as he liked to say, really ran things. When the rebellion started, Maxellian offered Grenitch command of a field army, but he had refused; he wanted to stay on the front.
"They were indeed. I'm afraid I'm not calling just to chat, however. I have need of your services."
"Of course, sir. Who needs protecting? Or better yet, killing?"
"I devoutly hope the first option. You see, I have just entered into a buisness deal..."
He explained on for several minutes while Grenitch listened attentively.
"So, what do you think?"
"Xiscapians make good soldiers. I watched the footage from Colony 1 and Miller. Those are some rough troops." He was silent for a minute. "Alright, I'll bite. When do you need the men?"
"I'll let you know, but have them ready in two days."
"Roger. I'll see you around, Max."
"Yeah. See you around, Grenitch."
The link terminated with a click. Maxellian leaned back, confident he had just provided the best protection possible for the expidition short of sending a battalion of Planetary Guard.

Precisely forty-seven hours, fifty-eight minutes and nineteen seconds later, Setulan Prime...

One moment, empty space, impossibly huge stars at such far distances that it would explode your tiny ant mind if you tried to comprehend them.
The next, a ship. (http://theorangeguy.deviantart.com/art/Sleipnir-Armed-Freighter-102495676) It glided across the vast gulf towards a smallish blue-green world streaked with white, like a beautiful, insanely valuable marble, though parts seemed obscured by heavy clouds that could possibly be smog. Such a sight was strange: The home and core system of the Republic of Setulan didn't actually trade with anyone yet, and any attacking fleet would have to be quite massive indeed to hope to get within an AU or less of the world without being forced to flee. So, there was only one thing this vessel could be.
The Nakamoto Expeditionary vessel.

Just to be safe, it transmitted the prerecorded clearance codes on wide broadcast towards Setulan Prime, not knowing exactly where such messages would need to be transmitted to on a tight-beam burst transmission. After a few more miles it stopped dead in space, waiting for confirmation that it was green to proceed to the surface.

Orbital Fortress Marakech

"Contact!" The call rang out from a dozen throats sitting at an equal number of scanner screens.
"Danaversian?"
"Negative, repeat negative, we have just recieved confirmation." A young ensign looked up. "Sir, it is the Nakamoto vessel that we have been expecting."
"About bloody time. Vector in...Widow Maker. She's closest, at least, and it can handle anything that wants to rumble if its a trick."
"Roger, sir."

On board the Nakamoto ship, a shadow would seem to cover up some stars. This shadow grew in size until it was clear that it was one of the few battleships of the Republican Navy. After a few more minutes, it blocked out all view of Setulan Prime. A transmission crackled over the intercom.

Nakamoto vessel, this is Admiral Bronx on Widow Maker. Proceed to the following coordinates-they'll take you to Station 4, Dock 33 on Veto. You'll pick up your package there. Out.

There came a quiet chime of confirmation from the ship, no words, no text, just a soft, pleasant little noise over the frequency as the craft, dwarfed by the awe-inspiring battleship, motored along on the set coordinates, headed for the moon over Setulan Prime. In minutes the vessel had docked at Station Four, in Dock Thirty-Three, and now sat, silent and still as the coldness of space slowly leached away, seeming shut down, waiting for the confirmation that it was safe to open the hatches.

The void lights, amber flashing throughout the dock, continued on as the hiss of recompressing air flooded the dock. Suddenly and without warning, the hissing ended, and the lights stopped their flashing. With a clang, a door on the side of the dock opened and ten men walked out. Two of them were pushing a cart loaded with what seemed an excess amount of gear. The men, however, were all buisness.

On the surface, the assortment of white and grey that streaked the hair of every member of the team (on one man, his entire head was white as a snow peaked mountain; on another, his head was completely shaved) gave them the impression of grandfatherly oldsters who should be at home playing with their grandkids. That impression would last only long enough to see their body language...and their eyes.

To the man, the team had the cold, calculating look that ripped right through you and stripped your soul of secrets. It was the look a sniper had when the target was in his sights. It was the look that said the man had seen things never meant to be seen, had done things never meant to be done. It was the look of death itself.

Each man had a duffel slung over one shoulder. Each wore assault body armor that was liberally covered in webbing from which hung an assortment of baubles and gear, ranging from lucky knives pilfered off of corpses to extra ammo. Rifles (often heavily modified), sub machineguns, and pistols were located at various non regulation points that few could get away with...but these few could, and did.

They stopped outside a hatch and waited patiently for the door to open.

Triad Exploratory Vessel Dimension, Bridge...

"What the fuck? I thought they were going to send a security team, not the post-traumatic stress disorder inflicted nursing home rejects!"

The kitsune who uttered this was staring contempuously at the ten old men, cold, steel-blue eyes fixed on the security camera inconspicuously monitoring them. He had a crew cut which nevertheless betrayed the fact that his hair was a dark brown color, slate colored ears and tail and was dressed in a dirty but well-maintained duster (http://fallout.wikia.com/wiki/Image:Armor_regulator.jpg) with several weapons, some common, like a bayonet stuck in a ankle sheath, and others rather exotic or rare, like the incredibly expensive, devastating man-portable R.E.A.P.E.R. cannon he carried strapped to his back.

"Perhaps it would be wise to follow the old proverb found in the Ancient Texts, Security Commander Griffith," came a quiet voice. The one called Griffith turned to stare at an Xiscapian who's exact height, weight, age and even gender was impossible the guess at because of the heavy orange priest's robes, compounded by the alienness of the fox-like Vulpes Vulpes breed of kitsune. One only knew he was male by the name he went by: Pik, and the fact that he did indeed appear to be equipped with the genitalia usually found in the male half of most races. The silver furred being smiled in that infuriating way all the Enlightened did, quoting in a melodious voice.
"Do not act incautiously when confronting little bald wrinkly smiling men!"

Griffith snorted and went back to looking at the monitors while the Master and Commander of the vessel chuckled quietly to herself. Captain Mitsune had to admit that, while she hadn't been initially impressed by their Setulanite guards, she could see from their eyes and from the way they moved that these men were trained killers. Deep blue hair drawn up in a bun that nearly covered her rust-colored fox ears, a frequently stern expression on her pale face and a blaster pistol with a grip worn from use at her side, Mitsune had written the book on ball-busting female superiors, especially if someone drew the quick and obvious similarities between the name of her race and her own name that had plagued her since she had been a wee kit. She'd been honorably discharged from the Kitsune Imperial Navy after the Battle of Resistance during the Rebellion, having served "with distinction, honor and full competency" as her superiors had said, to lead the light freighter (and occasional escort vessel when military destroyers were not available) Dimension, now contracted to Nakamoto Dockyards and signed up as a temporary Triad Corp vessel. She knew the assigned soldiers were far more than met the eye: If they had been contacted by the President himself, they would no doubt be highly professional.

"Ah," a thin, reedy voice from beside her made Mitsune look around into the watery yellow eyes on Chief Scientist Ippolito, a Triad scientist who hailed from Kyat Drive Yards. He was tall and slender, dressed in tweeds with the typical white lab coat, complete with an array of pens and pencils large enough to stock a school with lodged into a pocket protector, and a tendency to shed some of his golden fur when nervous or frightened. "Might I make the assumption that if these men are in a dangerous business, and have survived long enough to become very old and still find work, that they are exceedingly good at their respective jobs?"

Mitsune smiled at the meek scientist. "You are probably right, Chief Scientist, you are probably right indeed..." She motioned to Pik and Griffith. "Commander, Brother Pik, to the entry airlock if you please?"

Outside the airlock lifted slowly and silently outward, opening large enough to admit the Setulanites two abreast. The outer airlock was just what one would expect: White, clean to the point of being sterile, and bare but for a hatch and a number of warnings and klaxon lights on the bulkheads. The door there opened too to admit them and they found themselves in the much more spacious inner airlock, a gray room with racks of space suits on both sides, benches in the middle and more alarms and caution signs spread around. It was in here that they found the odd assortment of the Captain, the Priest, the Secuirty Commander and the Scientist, all standing and waiting for them, faces impassive, serene, mean, and cautious as to each person. The Captain was the first to bow, shortly followed by the others. "Welcome," she said in perfect Galactic Common, "to the TEV Dimension. I am Captain Mitsune. Are you the security forces we were promised?"

The lead man in the column was very tall, very broad, and very scarred. A bald head reflected light softly and pale scars criss crossed his broad face. One of his ears was little more than chewed up gristle; the second was completely gone, making his head disconcertingly unsymetrical. One of his eyes was a clear, light blue, while the other was a glaring red mechanical implant. Both eyes focused on Captain Mitsune.
Casually, he saluted the kitsune.
"Command Master Sergeant Dougherty at your service. We are the men from the Veterans Trust that Maxellian contacted, and will be serving as your protection detail for this mission." A rifle was slung over one shoulder with a wicked knife on his belt. Professionally and calmly, he looked over his greeting party.

Griffith earned a single amused look from Dougherty before he moved on. Mitsune he had evaluated as he had saluted. Pik recieved a polite nod from the grizzled veteran, followed by a rather more abrupt nod for the scientist.

"May I introduce my second, Command Master Sergeant Mylen." One of the men nodded slightly and smiled...or tried to. A massive scar that ran from his forehead to his lip (obivously from a knife) on one side of his face prevented one half of his mouth from moving, causing what was probably intended as a grin of welcome to be more like a rictus leer.

"If you have room for our gear, Captain, I would be most grateful," Dougherty continued.

"Of course," Mitsune nodded, and jerked her head to Griffith, who barely suppressed an ill-tempered grimace before motioning to the men pushing the carts to follow him. They would house all the extra equipment in the hold with the rest of the supplies, while any actual weapons would be stored in the armory. Pik just looked on with a slight composed smile, all his limbs and skin hidden by his robes but for his head and tail, while Ippolito couldn't keep his eyes off of Mylen's ruined face, seeming quite intimidated by the mangled assortment of war veterans.

"The one with the poor attitude is Security Commander Griffith," Mitsune told Dougherty, "this," she gestured to Pik, "is Brother Pik, our resident Priest, and he," she pointed to Ippolito, "is our Chief Scientist, who will make sure we land on a world suitable for oxygen-consuming, carbon-based lifeforms, rather than, say, Celestis." She smiled, then caught herself, realizing that they wouldn't get the joke. "If you will walk with me, Command Master Sergeant Dougherty? Brother Pik will show your men to their quarters so they can get settled in."

Dougherty smiled slightly.
"No need for the honorific, Captain. You hold the rank, here." He gestured his men to fall out and follow the old priest. As Mylen walked by the nerdy scientist, he winked and said "boo!" softly. The men chuckled as they filed past.
Looking at Griffith, Dougherty smiled slightly.
"Nothing personal, Commander. You just remind me of me forty years ago." He sighed. "And to think, once I was a good looking man." It was meant to be a joke; he just hoped the sour faced Kitsune would pick up on the olive branch and put his bitter feelings away.
"Lead on, Captain."

"Gaah!" Ippolito jumped back from Mylen, an expression of horror, or as close as any of the Setulanites could tell on the alien muzzle, crossing his face, the overloaded pocket of writing utensils exploding open in a shower of pens and pencils as it was jarred roughly by the knee-jerk reaction. He stood with his hands up defensively, lab coat flapping, a haze of brightly colored hairs falling though the air around him, looking ridiculous. He blinked, eyes wide, and slowly bent down to the deck, trying to gather up the fallen objects, looking for all the galaxy like the geeky kid who got picked on by the school bully. At the front of the line however Pik stopped and turned around, taking in the scene with lidded eyes, before rasing his hand and making some complicated motions. Abruptly the pens and pencils gathered themselves from the deck and soared back into Ippolito's pocket, making the kitsune start and yelp again. Pik looked at Mylen for a moment, expression unreadable, before turning and leading the old men away down the hall to the rooms that had been set aside for them.

Griffith just nodded and turned away, heading for the hold, slightly mollified. Mitsune shook her head as they walked along the gray corridors, the bulkheads flat and dull, lights dim and low overhead (for a man of Dougherty's size). "Don't mind him, I don't think he's ever in a good mood about anything," she said as they strolled along, "but he's good at what he does, so as long as you don't try to get anything intelligible out of him after he's just woken up, I think everyone will get along fine." She glanced sidelong at the Setulanite. "I suppose you're interested in this ship that will be your home for the foreseeable future, yes?" In truth, she was dying to show off her knowledge of the TEV Dimension and it's day-to-day operation, but she'd learned in the military to always let the superior officer (or in this case, someone she saw as a guest on her vessel) make the decisions, or at least have the illusion that they were.

Mylen and the troops, upon seeing the magic, mumbled what sounded like prayers. Several more made gestures of protection from evil spirits. Looking awkardly at each other, Mylen stepped forward so he was just behind Pik.
"If you will excuse me, father...what is that you just did?"

"So long as he can hold his weight," Dougherty said agreeably. "And a tour would be most useful." He ducked through a door easily, but then looked back at it in annoyance. Suddenly, he chuckled.
"And to think, I once personel carriers were cramped." His look became thoughtful.
"You know, I've been in this buisness a very, very long time. I must say I had quite forgotten what it felt like to be out of place. I would be very greatful, Captain, if you could help me ease that feeling."

"We in the Church are Enlightened," Pik replied, not slowing down. "Most kitsune have received the gift of Qonn, and some know how to use it to an extent, but myself and my Brothers and Sisters have fully mastered the ability to allow our environment to assist us." He smiled cryptically, unseen by those behind him. "We listen to the unspoken, and gaze upon the unseen. This affords us grace beyond that of mortal beings."

Mitsune smiled dourly. "I'm afraid there's nothing we can do about the ceilings and hatches, this ship wasn't designed for beings any taller than about seven feet, but we'll do our best to make you feel at home. As long as you're not allergic to fox hair I think you'll do fine."

Soon they came to a rather larger doorway set into a particularly thick looking bulkhead with a line of script running across the top: Cung cấp Vịnh. Mitsune eyed it and shook her head. "Have to speak to the Spacers about that, not everyone can read Xiscapian," she muttered vaguely. "This is the Hold, where we're storing all our equipment and supplies, as well as your extra gear." She pointed to a small white slot on the side of the entryway. "You'll need to pass over that to get inside: It's a biological scanner, which will allow selected persons entrance and deny it to anyone who doesn't check out in the database. We haven't input your identification into the databanks yet, once you're settled in and introduced we'll make sure you get clearance. Most doors on the ship have these scanners, so some areas, like the engine maintenance rooms for example, are restricted except to the technicians who work there, myself and Commander Griffith. Most of the ship will be open to you and your men, though, and either Griffith or his Lieutenant will show you and your troops how to configure the doors to your own quarters for selective access." She grinned wolfishly. "I have an override key, however, so don't go having any wild parties and not inviting me."

Mitsune waved a hand casually over the scanner and with a small affirmative beep the door slid open, a dark hole beyond. "Follow me," she beckoned, and vanished into the gloom.

Mylen looked back at the men behind him with an expression somewhere between distaste and, not fear, but a slight anxiety.
"I...see. I suppose that could be useful at times."

Dougherty smiled again.
"I dare say that wild parties are mostly in our past...but if we decide to have one, we'll make sure you are invited." He listened carefully to her as she described the way the scanners worked before nodding.
"I understand." He followed her into the gloom of the hold closely. "Will it be possible for my men-or at least myself and Mylen-to get access to the hold as well?"

"It is," Pik nodded sagely. "However, we try to limit the frequency we use our powers, especially when they affect others. What you saw was only a tiny taste of what is possible. It is said that if a monk goes into deep meditation, and thinks of a rose, imagines and visualizes it in all ways, when he brings himself back onto this plane there will be a rose before him." Pik looked over his shoulder, cool eyes meeting Mylen's and locking them to his, like an insect trapped in amber. "Others who have these abilities make can things....that are not roses. That is why we must bring as many of the gifted under the Church's wing, ensure that they receive Enlightenment, so they will not use their powers for evil. If the Kitsune Empire, or indeed, a private venture such as this, requires one or another of our caliber, why should we refuse? A sought-after thing is often found only after one ceases to look." He gave an infuriatingly wise smile and continued on his way.

"Of course," her voice floated out of the dim room, and Dougherty would get the sense of stepping into a large, cavernous space. Abruptly the area flashed into view, lit by a single massive glowing crystal that extended from the ceiling like a immaculate stalactite, banishing the shadows. Immediately before them were the two supply crates the Veteran's Trust men had brought aboard, but beyond these there was a warehouse's worth of equipment. Mitsune turned around, smiling, spreading her arms wide. "Behold!" Her voice echoed. "No pun intended."

In one corner there were two cylindrical objects covered in unlit lights and stubby antenna, resting beside a half dozen dangerous-looking droids (http://anbuxitachi.deviantart.com/art/probe-001-11511493) that squatted on the floor like huge, metallic insects. Stacked up against one wall were what appeared to be bulk generators, a tower of some sort that had been broken down into several compact parts, and around twenty tripods of some sort with stubby barrels on them, their exact function unclear because, though they had evident targeting computers and gripsticks, there didn't appear to be any sort of loading mechanism or venting apparatus. Towards the back, or what seemed to be the back of the vast room, was a large gray wall that seemed to be jutting out from the bulkhead, but appeared unattached, the nature of the object a mystery. Along the bottom of this were ten packing boxes with large red Xiscapian lettering on them: Nguy hiểm. Cảnh báo. Nổ. Không hút thuốc. Five of what were obviously industrial-sized drills were hunched in the corner, glittering dully, along with ten crab-like, evil-looking black-painted vehicles with large grills in the front. Other objects and equipment were in neat, orderly rows about the room, some recognizable, like a rack of flamethrowers, lines upon lines of spotlights, huge rounded holding tanks of some kind and long coils of hose and piping. Others were more bizarre, like the hundreds of boxes full of glinting crystals or what looked like miniaturized assembly lines, and some simply out of place, like the large array of hovertrucks, off-road buggies and speeder bikes with Triad logos stamped on the side.

Mitsune was looking around as well, apparently satisfied. "They fit us out well," she explained, tapping a datapad that had appeared in her hand. "we've got relay probes, drones, force field generators, tractor beam turrets, a FTL transmitter, pre-fab structures, drills, shaped charges, firebombs, sanitizers and purifiers, flamethrowers, laser cutters, power generators, holding tanks, transport hovertrucks, scout vehicles, portable security systems, a year's supply of food, more Guilda crystals than you can shake a katana at," she grinned, "and it's all right here in this room."

Mylen nodded thoughtfully. Now he remembered why he had become an atheist after the Emperor was killed-if nothing else, he got to avoid infuriating old men.

Dougherty chuckled softly at the pun. Walking slowly, he examined all of the equipment. Looking at the size of some of it, he decided it was just as well his men were pulling security and wouldn't need to fit in any of the industrial vehicles. Things might get...cramped...for the Setulans, who were rather larger than their Kitsune counterparts.
"I admit it, I'm impressed." He didn't say that he would hope that Nakamoto would supply his vessel well; the sum he was getting from Maxellian was so huge, the industrialist had better be trying hard.
"If you don't mind, we'll need access to some of our supplies the moment we leave the system," Dougherty added on. "Some of the things we do to our weapons and other gear is frowned upon by the authorities in system." A devil-may-care grin. "But since we won't be in the system..."

At last they reached the quarters that had been set aside for the Setunalite troops, a long row of polished gray doors on the port side of the ship, each of which led to an individual room. Pik entered the first one they came to, indicating that the other soldiers should look in from outside the hall: There wasn't room inside for all of them. The personal quarters had the same low hatchways as the other areas of the ship, but the ceilings inside were high enough for the larger humans to move about in comfortably, as with most of the ship. Each of the rooms was furnished with a single smallish but comfortable bunk with an attached footlocker and bedside table, a dining table with two chairs, a closet and a personal bathroom. Unfortunately the Setulanites would find that while they could use the amenities such as the sink and toilet easily enough, the already tight personal shower was simply too confined to fit into easily.

"It would appear you will have to use the communal showers," Pik said mildly. "Otherwise everything should check out. The Lieutenant Commander of Security will be with you shortly; if you have any further questions or concerns, please refer them to him." The smiling monk bowed himself out of the first room, leaving the troopers to explore their own rooms at their leisure.

Hold...

Mitsune raised her eyebrows. "Okay, sure..." She glanced at the carts, wondering what was inside, but decided it was better not to ask. If things went well, she would never have to know. "I'll make sure you and your boys get access as soon as we jump. Now, onward and upward!"

They left the Hold and took a turbolift to the next deck up, passing by a doorway large enough to fit a tank though. "Hanger bay," Mitsune told him as they walked by it. "We've got five bulk transports to transport equipment and personnel to the surface and any resources or samples back to the ship." Coming the other way down the hall was a kitsune in a flak jacket and trousers that just screamed 'pilot', a flight helmet under his arm and a cup of some steaming liquid in the other. "Capt'n," he gave a brief bow to both of them, nodded to Dougherty, and kept going in the opposite direction to the hanger. "It's a pretty sweet job for the Nakamoto pilots," Mitsune went on, "only a few days of real flight involved, low possibility of being attacked, double the pay, lots of downtime and a whole ship to run around on."

Presently they came to a mess hall, an open space not unlike the Hold, which consisted simply of a large number of long, low tables in the middle of the hall, with a couple of lunch counters on the opposite wall, which were presently cold and dark, containers empty of food and ovens and other meal preparation units silent and dim. It was deserted except for a couple of kitsune wearing blue cloth, aprons and white headbands with Xiscapian characters inscribed across them, talking in low voices, apparently the chefs. Mitsune nodded to the back of the room, where two vending machines squatted, bright holographic lights illuminating the dim area, with the Triad logo emblazoned across them in bold letters. "Replicated snacks, if you spend money on them it goes straight back into Triad's pocket...sometimes I think there's not any business Triad doesn't have it's fingers in in some way or another."

The veterans took the rooms in stride and waited for Pik to leave before starting a conversation.
"Well...we've all slept in worse, lets be honest with ourselves," said Mylen.
"Yeah, but I've gotten used to not showering with a bunch of other men." Coarse chuckles greeted the comment.
"You'll manage, Skripak." Skripak snorted, the sound startlingly similar to the noise cloth makes when it rips.
"Yeah, I suppose so." The retired First Sergeant looked at the others with an arched eyebrow. "And it's not like I have to worry about your fairies."
Jeers greeted his words.
"Says the man who never took a scratch!" "Where did you hide during the siege of Agrimonus?" "Go fuck yourself!"
Skripak took them in stride.
"I," he said airily, "was in the front, same as you. Just because my skills prevented me from taking a bullet..."
"Yeah, through eight years of fighting." He raised his voice over the objection.
"Does not mean you should be jealous. Except you, Mylen. That scar makes you really, really ugly."
More moans and jeers resounded as Mylen punched Skripak on the shoulder.
"Yeah, whatever. Let's just wait for the Lieutenant Commander." The men leaned back against their bulkheads and started to chit chat.

"No fighting? I imagine it must be wonderful, but I must deny any knowledge of it." Dougherty said it with a smile, showing he was not meant to be taken seriously. "Then again, I might die from the boredom."
He followed her into the cafeteria, memorizing the route. He took a quick look around.
"Certainly large enough." He thought back to what she said. "What is this Triad, anyway? I'm afraid I must proffess ignorance."

Presently the soldiers would become aware of a huge shape at the door of the room, slightly taller and many times more solid than they were, wearing a black uniform of some sort that looked to be stretched to the breaking point by the insanely large muscles that appeared to be all over its body. The thing had tough, leathery hide where it could be seen, two beady orange eyes, twin fangs over half a foot long jutting out from its crushing jaw, which gleamed wetly in the light. It looked like it could take a full clip from an assault rifle to the chest and keep on going regardless. This put it down as the kind of person who put people down. "Baby Kleine Leute und ihre kleinen Türen," it muttered, forcing its way though the entryway, absurdly huge in the confined space. The creature glared around at the assembled men, or seemed to: With the pug-like features, it was hard to be sure exactly what it was feeling.

"Welcome to da TEV Dimension," it growled. The voice was so low and gravelly it was difficult to understand the being, to the point that the words it uttered were more felt than heard. "I are Lieuetent Kommander," you could hear the 'K' being pronounced, "Ubel. I show you how..." The iron plate brow wrinkled with the effort of concentration, "program your doors." A sausage-like finger stabbed towards the hatch Ubel had narrowly avoided ripping away with its broad shoulders. "I help any way I can."

Cafeteria...

Mitsune sighed. "As an independent contractor, I don't know a whole lot about it's inner workings, but I'll fill you in on the common knowledge. Triad is the result of a consolidation between three Xiscapian companies: Blastech Industries, an arms manufacturer, Kyat Drive Yards, a small but high-quality producer of starships and their components, and Nakamoto Dockyards, the primary producer of warships for the Xiscapian Imperial Navy. This marriage between the captains of industry, that is, President Cuqa of Blastech, Head Executive Kyat of Kyat Drive Yards, and President Nakamoto of Nakamoto Dockyards created Triad Corporation, sometimes called Triad Consolidated or Triad Consortium, an intergalactic storefront that sells weapons and technology to foreign nations for exhorborant amounts of money." She snorted, an action that would have been repulsive on any other female of her kind but strangely worked for her. "They were rich before, but that move made them three of the richest beings in the Kitsune Empire...maybe even the whole Coalition.

"Since then they've moved in on other industries, consumption products like food, drink, drugs and tobacco primarily, but they're gobbling up other businesses as fast as they can." She shook her head, half in disgust, half in admiration. "There's talk among the Governor's and in the Palace of passing a series of anti-trust laws to prevent them from growing any larger, word is they've already got their own private army, property all over the place, their own moon..." She laughed. "Well, you can't believe everything you hear."

The troops in the corridor had a unaminous reaction to the massive Korr (though they had no idea that it was, in fact, a Korr at all). All of the men felt for weapons they knew were perfectly functional and ready to use at a moments notice before remembering that this...thing...was on their side. It gave off an evil aura, or so it seemed to the troopers. Reluctantly, they removed discreet hands from weapons. Mylen answered for them all.
"We would be greatful, yes."

Dougherty reacted dubiously.
"Indeed. We have nothing even remotely comparable on Setulan. All military industries are run by the government." Which seems to work better, he added to himself.
"The idea of a single massive corporation controlling that much is somewhat intimidating."

Lieutenant Commander Ubel lurched his way over to the door panel, large fingers working slowly but deliberately on the delicate-looking pad. "When Kommander Griffith gets you into system, you program doors for 'elective entry," the screen now displayed a list of the whole crew of the TEV Dimension, a long list of singular alien names, "so who gets in who you want. 'Cor, certain us have override codes...Kommander Griffith 'n Kapitän Mitsune, 'n Doctor Frock methinks, so ff any 'o you have 'eart attacks he save you life." There was a paced snarling noise that sounded like rocks being crushed together, and they would realize that this was what Korr laughter sounded like. It was beginning to become apparent to them just why it had taken the Xiscapians over a thousand years to defeat these people.

Cafeteria...

Mitsune nodded sympathetically. "They offered right out to buy me and my ship, you know, but I said 'No thanks, I like my freedom.'" She rolled her eyes. "I don't like it anymore than you do, but," she shrugged, "they pay well, and it's for a good cause, a least if they do follow though and dump all those refugees here like they were saying they would." Another roll of the shoulders. "It used to be, during the War," anytime an Xiscapian said War, they could only be talking about the Korr War, "that the government made all the weapons, they controlled pretty much everything linked to the war effort. But the war ends and the reasoning comes around that fancy houses and higher pay attracts brighter minds than shady government experiments, so this is what you get." She glanced back at the doorway. "I've gotta admit, some of the stuff they produced..." Mitsune shook her head. "Don't wanna be on the wrong end of it, or you can kiss your ass goodbye."

Mylen nodded warily.
"I see. So, if you would please show us how to do this and assist us if you can..."

Dougherty smiled slightly.
"For the most part, the government pays well...in truth, exorbantly...to any scientists who work for them. Usually, a researcher comes up with an idea, and then the leading professionals are found wherever they are and encouraged to work on the project." Realizing how strange it might be for a former grunt to know that, he explained a bit more. "As a Ghost, I was used as a guinie pig in numerous weapons experiments." He shook his head again, this time in mild confusion.
"Well, to each their own."

The Korr ran each of the soldiers though the short, simple process, finishing in ten minutes. "'ny more questions?" Ubel hissed, looking around at the assembled men with those cruel orange eyes.

Cafeteria...

Mitsune looked Dougherty crazily, unable to comprehend what he was saying. "You let yourself be experimented on...?" She shook her head, baffled, thoroughly unable to understand it. "Live and let die, as they say. C'mon, there's more to see..."

After a time they came upon yet another cut in the hull, this one the heaviest armored yet, with three different types of security panel and warnings in red and yellow plastered all over it. "A maintenance room for one of the four Faceted Cutting Lasers," Mitsune explained. "It's intended for mining operations, but it's got enough power to do some damage to a small military vessel. It's too slow for a starfighter, it's all automated, but if you take it into manual you might be able to splatter a gunboat or maybe even a corvette if you worked at it." She shrugged. "We've got two kinetic missile launchers as well, also intended for civilian purposes, but even though they're dumb-fired they're so fast we could still hold our own against a couple of gunboats or a corvette if we needed. Not to mention," she grinned widely, "I called in some old favors from contacts in the military and got the Dimension outfitted with military-grade point-defenses. Nothing says protection like a rapid-fire laser turret." She cackled.

Mylen and the other troops shook their heads no.
"If you'll excuse us, then, we'll get around to dropping off our gear and taking care of a few personal things."

Cafeteria

Dougherty shook his head.
"No no no, you misunderstand me. I didn't let myself get shot or anything like that-I simply tested the new systems. New ammo? I fired it. New armor? I shot it up. Things of that nature." He was still amused as he followed the Captain to the cutting lasers.
"Nothing, indeed. Though if we run into something like that, we have more issues at hand than this mission anticipated."

A rumble came from the Korr that must have been a grunt and the great beast lumbered out, cursing in it's native tongue again as it had to stoop under the doorway, stomping out of sight.

Corridor...

The tomboyish kitsune shrugged. "I like to be prepared," she explained, "it won't help us if we come up against anything close to our size, but we'll be able to beat off a scouting party long enough to haul tail out before they come back with bigger friends."

Past a well stocked medical bay with a certified doctor and an attractive nurse, a series of machine shops ("Damn Corporate stuff breaking down all the time," Mitsune had grumbled) and assembly bays ("For whatever raw materials we pick up") and into an armory. "We've got a dozen pistols here," she indicated a rack of handguns and blasters, "a half dozen combat shotguns," evil-looking black weapons with stubby barrels, "and a half dozen hunting rifles." Large, solid-looking laser guns. (http://coonass.deviantart.com/art/weapon-concept-haze-rifle-47388947) Enough to arm about half the crew, what with some of the men already carrying their own private weapons. We don't have anything heavy, of course, that's your job," a wink, "and if all goes well these guns won't even have to see the light of day, but just in case..."

"Just in case, indeed," Dougherty agreed. He looked over the weapons with a critical eye. If they needed the crew to go about heavily armed, things had truly gone horribly wrong; he had full confidence that his own men could stop just about anything they ran into. Feeling the pressure of hidden knives and a stub pistol in his boot pressed against himself, he smiled slightly. Thurman, the weapon specialist (which, considering his company, meant he was really, really good) seemed to have more weapons on his person than this ship had in its entire armory.
"Heavy weapons we have in abundance, and like I said earlier, some things that are not exactly regulation." He shrugged. "Then again, I've never minded violating regulation in a heartbeat if it gives me more firepower." He looked around again.
"Each of my boys has his rifle and a pistol. Aside from that, we have all sorts of goodies that we have added on. A variety of rounds, inferno, explosive, vaporizer. Discs. Our weapons guy, Thurman, carries around a K666 SAW-you can't miss him, he's huge, almost eight feet tall."* Another sweep with his eyes, this time taking in the shotguns.
"All of us have either shotgun or grenade launchers slung onto our rifles, too. We've got a Banshee 30mm in our gear, as well as two K2 heavies. I wouldn't be that worried about things we might run into. If it bleeds, we can kill it."
That final sentence, combined with the look on his face, could have stopped a Danaversian charge in its tracks. Fortunately for Mitsune, it wasn't directed at her.

ooc-I remembered in the other thread when you said my Republicans were seven to eight feet tall. They usually aren't-average height is 6'8", and it is not uncommon for men to be up to 7'3" or so (in the same way that average height in the U.S. is 5'9", but it isn't a shock if you see a six footer). Eight feet is big, even for Setulans. :p

Mitsune nodded sagely. "I hope you're right." She didn't know what a K666 SAW, Banshee 30mm or a K2 heavy was, but if you could judge a weapon by the bad-assery of it's name it sounded like the squad could take on a company of enemy soldiers and come out on top. "I've always preferred blasters and lasers, they're quieter, faster, more deadly, but I've gotta admit, guns do an excellent job of making large, messy holes in people, or," a sly grin, "make large, messy holes out of people, in your case." She smiled. "Things will have already hit rock bottom if we have to use you and your lot, but it sounds like if we have to, you'll do a damn good job of making whoever's bothering us wish they'd stayed home."

Back though the straight, narrow corridors and halls, Mitsune explaining a few more things about the ship. "She's a Kaji class, basically a light cargo hauler made for transporting dangerous materials like antimatter in relatively large quantities. Excellent shielding and armor on her, she has to have it in order to meet regulations, and while she not exactly fast, 1.5 hyperdrive, she's damn maneuverable, I can make her run rings around a ship half her size." They started to pass the crew quarters on the other side of the ship. "We've got a crew of fifty, not including you and your troops. That's twenty spacers, they do all the heavy lifting and hardware maintenance here, and they'll be the ones on the ground with you running the machines and doing construction. There's ten technicians, they're software and electrical engineers, make sure everything's working like it should be, repair what's not, run diagnostics, all that good stuff. Then there's those five pilots I told you about, Pik, that priest you met, Security Commander Griffith and his Lieutenant Ubel, our Chief Scientist Ippolito and his assistant, the two chefs who'll be responsible for making sure the replicated stuff you're eating tastes like real food, and the doctor and the nurse who'll do health checks and care for you if you get sick or hurt."

They came onto the bridge, where another five kitsune were standing in white uniforms at their stations, working silently at glowing consoles and occasionally glancing at monitors or displays situated around the room. At the front three viewscreens displayed the Setulan system as they moved away from Setulan Prime, a Captain's chair a little further back ringed with keys and buttons, and a host of other computers and input devices at each station. "Here," Mitsune's voice dropped slightly in pitch, "we have our Navigation Officer, who keeps us on track, he's also my second-in-command, the Communications Officer, who handles internal and external messages and commands, the Analyzation Officer, who runs the scans and diagnostics on the ship and anything we decide to check out outside of the ship, and our Instruments Officer, who handles the hanger bay, hatches, our "weapons", airlocks, and all that good stuff. And me, of course," she took her place at the Chair, "the Captain, the easiest job on the ship." A grin. "I just have to say quotable things and make sure I don't start an international incident. Easy enough, eh?"

Dougherty smiled back at Mitsune.
"I'm not sure easy is the term I would use." He looked around. The Kitsune were industriously doing their tasks with a minimum of any fuss and a maximum amount of efficiency. If the salty old veteran had learned anything in his time advising young officers, it was that the best way to tell a leader was by the way ones subordinates acted...and this Mitsune ran a tight ship in every definition of the words.
"I must admit ignorance as to how your ships make jumps, Captain, or the power they use...but I must admit, I am impressed."

Mitsune nodded, something like pride flaring in her eyes. "She's as good as they come, Dougherty, she's no battlecruiser but if you want a good civilian ship, the Dimension 'll just about beat all." She gestured behind him, towards the stern of the ship. "Military ships nowadays and some of the more wealthy private vessels use Jaunt drives, I won't even try to explain how that works 'cause I'm not really sure either, but the Dimension uses a good, solid, old-fashioned Hyperdrive. It gets you from Point A to Point B though an alternate universe, nice and simple and pretty fast, the N.O. estimates we'll arrive at our destination from this system in about fifty hours." She nodded to the Instruments Officer. "And if you stick around, we'll be using it in about," she glanced to the Navigation Officer, who uttered something unintelligible in Xiscapian, "thirty seconds."

Dougherty nodded.
"I'm not going anywhere." He looked around again, continuing his examination. Idly, he started talking.
"Using crystals to power your ships is...interesting. I don't even know how to being to understand that. With our ships, we have a contained plasma reaction like a small sun that we use to give power to the ship." He sighed, returning his attention to Mitsune. Wearily, he gestured to the side of his face without an ear or eye.
"I lost my ear and eye...must have been forty nine years ago now...hunting down a loyalist ship. We wanted it in one piece." He grimaced. "I was one of the boarders. Didn't exactly go as planned, and the plasma drive was overloaded. We had just fought our way to the engine room when the reaction went awry. I got a lick in the side of the head from burst of energy." He frowned. "Don't really remember much after that, to be honest. Woke up with a bionic eye, no ear, and a face even uglier than it had been."

Mitsune grunted sympathetically. "That's why I, and the Imperial Navy, never liked nuclear reactors or antimatter drives, too unstable. A good, solid hit at the core and..." She spread her hands out and mouthed boom. "As you well know. The beautiful thing about Guilda crystals is that, while they're pretty fragile, they don't take you and the whole ship with them if they break. Not to mention the fact that they grow as well as any plant, pretty much anything you see made in the Kitsune Empire 'ill be powered by those things, weapons, starships, vehicles, buildings, everything." She chuckled. "Besides, the core of the ship should be the bridge, not the power core or the FTL drive."

"Ready to begin Jump sequence," murmured the Navigation Officer as he bent over his console, fingers working with speed.

Mitsune nodded, turning from Dougherty to supervise the operation. "A.O., what's our status?"

The Analyzation Officer focused his orange, vulpine eyes on his Captain. "Hyperdrive reports that it is one hundred percent operational, all hatches and airlocks have been sealed, the flux capacitator, internal dampers and stasis fields are all online and functional at or above acceptable capacity, gamma radiation is nominal."

"Acknowledged. C.O.?"

"Setulan Prime has given us the all-clear to make our jump, ma'am."

Mitsune looked at one of the monitors, and nodded to herself. "N.O., initiate the Hyperdrive on my mark." She watched a console affixed to the Captain's Chair intently. "Five...four...three...two...one...mark!"

There was a rumble from elsewhere in the Dimension, the stars on the viewscreen displaying the space outside the ship twisted, elongated, and transformed into blue-white streaks of light as the ship launched itself into Hyperspace.

The Navigation Officer tapped a few keys. "All systems are nominal, another successful jump Captain." The ghost of a smile.

Mitsune smirked, looking at the Setulanite. "Put that in your pipe and smoke it."

Dougherty smiled.
"I'm afraid that I won't smoke until the end of the mission...but I appreciate the offer just the same." He shook his head, bringing the conversation back.
"I don't pretend to know much about the science of space-going craft; I've been an infantryman of one sort or another since I was seventeen." One look at his face showed how long ago that was.
"However, I do know that plasma overloads are nigh-on unheard of in warships. Generally, the reaction simply...stops. I couldn't explain it." He shrugged-he had better things to think about than plasma core physics.
"If you wish, Captain, I can introduce you to my men. Most likely, they are in the hold already modifying their weapons."

Mitsune nodded, getting up from her command chair. "I'd better make good friends with the guys who are going to be protecting our tails from bastards and beasties alike. N.O.," she nodded to him, "you have the bridge. Mantain our current course, and let me know immediately if we encounter any anomalies."

The Xiscapian inclined his head. "Yes Captain."

Mitsune walked off the bridge with Dougherty. "Most of the crew aren't essential to the ship, technically I could run and fly her myself if I wanted to, but it's easier to do it with help. Almost everyone will go down to the surface with your boys once we reach the colony site, it'll just be me, my Bridge Officers and a few technicians here aboard ship." She glanced side long at the Setulanite. "Most of them have no combat experience, if something does happen the Veteran's Trust will be the backbone, law and order of the entire operation, supersceded only by me, of course." If Dougherty was perceptive he would begin to notice a pattern: Mitsune was repeatedly stating her authority, almost as if she was afraid of someone taking it away from her. Perhaps it was some sort of the spill-over from her time in the Imperial Navy?

Dougherty nodded and waited for Mitsune to get off of the chair.
"They'll be in the storage bay by now, modifying their weapons." Dougherty followed the Captain respectfully-whatever her fears might be with a loss of command, the salty old retired soldier had orders to obey the ship's captain as if she were Maxellian himself...and if the ten VT men couldn't take on every person on this ship, they didn't deserve to be there.
The two walked in silence until they entered the storage area. The nine men were sitting at tables talking softly, each at work on their respective weapons with a plethora of tools. Boxes of ammo and parts lay scattered all around the soldiers as they worked intently. As the two entered, they stood respectully, but Dougherty waved them back down.
"As you were," he said. "I'm just going to introduce you to the Captain." Dougherty pointed to Mylen.

"Command Master Sergeant Mylen you have already met." The man nodded, not looking up from his work. His scar shone faintly under the strong lighting. "He was a corporal at the start of the Great War and served on Bartasson throughout the entire conflict, ending up as a Sergeant Major. He was a leg infantryman-not much room for mechanized warfare where he was. Bartasson," he explained for Mitsune, "is a continent that is completely devoted to heavy industry. He got that pleasant scar from a loyalist knife during a close encounter."

"First Sergeant Skripak, our chemical expert." Skripak looked up and sketched a small bow from his seat before returning his attention to a box with a warning that said "HIGHLY REACTIVE-DO NOT TOUCH", with a warning triangle that pronounced that it contained corrosive chemicals. "Skripak was a private in the combat engineers when the War started, and he got stuck in Agrimonus Delta during the six-year siege. Somehow, that bastard didn't take a single scratch throughout. His hair is still solid black, too. He retired right after the war as a First Sergeant."

"The massive bastard over there is Sergeant Major Thurman." The eight foot tall soldier didn't bother to acknowledge his name, but instead went right on loading belts of black-painted 30mm rounds into a bandolier. "He's the heavy weapons guy. Don't mind his manners-if one of those black shells goes off right now, we're all going to die horrible deaths anyway."
"It'll eat our faces off and boil our insides, to be exact." The big man spoke in a deep, gut-rumbling bass. Dougherty nodded happily.
"Yes, yes it will. Thurman here used to be a Praetorian before the war, but went over to Maxellian right away. He stayed in until about fifteen years ago."

"That is First Sergeant Goodchild." The man Dougherty pointed too looked about as threatening as a puppy. He actually looked just like a grandfather was supposed to...which made the grenade launcher he was attaching to his rifle all the more incongruous. "Don't let his looks fool you. He is the most highly decorated man here-you are looking at one of the few soldiers who survived becoming a Paragon of the Republic."

"First Sergeant Meps, our resident sniper. He was dropped behind enemy lines-and on his head-a few too many times." Meps flipped Dougherty the bird, which he proceeded to ignore. "He fought in the hives on Exoman for the duration of the War and has...how many confirmed?"
"Nine hundred and seven."
"Nine hundred and seven confirmed kills. They sent an entire company to flush him out. Didn't work. They also gassed his position, hammered him with artillery for three days, and sent counter snipers. In case you are wondering, that is the second highest number of confirmed kills in the history of Setulan...and yes, he is a living legend."

"First Sergeant Martinkis. He mechanized infantry on Findomus and helped to sieze the Fist."
"If by seize you mean damn near get my ass blown away."
"Close enough. He and six other men got in...he still won't tell us how...to the last bolt hole of the Traitor General and killed off most of the command staff. He, too, is a Paragon of the Republic."

"Sergeant Major Floyd. He was actually a crew member of a Griffon heavy tank until he saw the light and transfered to Infantry."
"By which he means, Captain, that my tank got blown away, they didn't have a replacement, and they gave me a rifle."
"With which he did remarkably well, didn't you?" Floyd snorted. "Regardless. He was an anti-armor specialist in Exoman, playing hide and seek with the Traitor's tanks. He is actually the only man here who was never a Ghost, either...which is not entirely a bad thing."

"Sergeant Major Lerod was a combat engineer on Exoman. He's our demolitions man-if we need to blow up a rock...or a very large person...he is the man to do it. He recieved no fewer than twelve wounds during the war clearing obstacles for the Republic. I think he holds the record for most metal implanted in any one human being-he refused organic implants."
"Less areas to hit," he added with a smile.

"Our disc thrower, First Sergeant Sylex. He was too young to enlist when the war broke out, but he entered the fight three years in. This crazy bastard was a space boarding specialist and managed to get in on the Battle of Mayinga Gulf, where the Loyalist Navy was defeated. He was First Sergeant of a company of boarding troops after the war for twelve years, and helped sieze an even dozen loyalist ships after the war."

"There you have it, Captain. The merry men the Veterans Trust has sent you, at your service...and yours alone."

Mitsune listened patiently throughout with a bemused smile on her face. "It sounds like they've sent me the cream of the crop," she bowed to each man as he was introduced, "but you're gonna have to fill me in a bit here. What's a 'Paragon of the Republic'? What's a Praetorian? Where's Exoman? And who the hell is the Traitor General?" She spread her arms wide. "Gimme some background, I might have come from a nation that had a long, brutal war like yours, but they're two different conflicts."

The soldiers chuckled amongst themselves.
"Way to go, SarMajor!" said Skripak sarcastically.
"That's what happens when you let a spacer talk for too long," muttered Thurman, which earned him a venemous look from Sylex.
Dougherty just shook his head.
"Shut up and keep working your gear," he said wryly. He turned back to Mitsune.
"I apolgize; I did get a bit carried away." His eyes, which had until this point been, if not soft, then at least sociable, took on the adamantium-hard quality they had had when Mitsune first saw him, the look that flayed your mind.
"Sixty years ago, Setulan was Imperial, much more so than Xiscapia (from the research I have done.) The line of the Emperors were worshipped as gods; the Emperor was, in fact, the embodiment of God. There was no say from the citizens regarding policy. Things went on like this for thousands of years-we aren't exactly sure how many. Anyway...a new Emperor was coronated, Alfonso XI. He was young-only seventeen-at the time of his ascendency. Young and decadent. He made lots of mistakes that experience might have prevented.
"Regardless. Rustov Maxellian was then a representative from Agrimonus Delta, one of the four major cities on the farming continent. He was highly outspoken against the Emperor, and he wrote a book called The Republic, which sparked tremendous unrest. When the polution vaccuum above Bartasson was bombed, polution caused a famine, which brought up a dozen uprisings in a week." Those sharp eyes turned on Mitsune, but didn't really focus on her.
"I was twenty seven when it all started. It's been almost sixty years, and I remember it clear as day. The largest revolt was on Limur, an industrial moon. The Emperor ordered the poison rain and exterminated the population. Maxellain rose up against the Emperor...and so did General Mantebo, then the highest ranking officer in the Setulan military. Mantebo is the Traitor. He wished to crown himself." Dougherty's gaze drifted away again. Now, all the men were looking up from their work, each with the same look on their faces.
"Fighting started immediately. There were four main theaters of warfare, all on Setulan itself. The first was the Loyalist assault on Agrimonus Delta, a siege that would last six years...interestingly enough, three years longer than the Emperor's life. The second, the campaign on Findomus, was Mantebo's drive to capture Setulan Prime, which was held by loyalist forces. The third, fighting amongst the hives on Exoman, the most densely populated continent in the system. Finally, there was the struggle on Bartasson, betwixt Mantebo's men and Republican troops."
"It was hell, eight years of hell. We lost an entire third of our population, Captain. Fully a third. An entire generation of young men and women were killed off."
"The Praetorians were the blood-sworn of the Emperor, his personal troops. They were a terrifying enemy. Thurman could tell you more about it than I, but they were the best troops the Emperor had. Roughly equivelent to the Republican Guard now...but the Republicans don't inspire the same feelings of terror that Praetorians did.
"The Paragon of the Republic is the highest decoration for valor in Setulan. There aren't that many of them given out, and I think more than ninety-nine percent are posthumous." The cold look went from Dougherty's eyes, and he returned his gaze to the Kitsune Captain.
"If you have any other questions, Captain, don't hesitate to ask any of us."

Mitsune listened solemnly, reminded of the Kitsune Empire's own veterans from the Korr War, how that conflict left a terrible inprint on everything it touched. It seemed the Setulanite civil war had been no different in that regard. "Thank you, Command Master Sergeant." She said, her tone quiet. "I'm sure that one day there will be numerous reporters and publishers who'd like to get their hands on your stories...show the war from a first-hand account to the citizens of the Kitsune Empire and the People's Republic. I'd advise seeking out retired soldiers from the Korr and Danaversian wars, I'm sure they can relate..." Mitsune trailed off. She was one of the newer generations of Xiscapians, she'd only been eight years old when the Korr war ended, so she didn't remember a whole lot about the end of that great and terrible event, so while the Kitsune Empire was littered with veterans, both active and retired, from the Korr war, Mitsune had not had the misfortune to experience it herself.

Dougherty smiled gently, the softest look Mitsune had yet seen on any of the soldiers faces.
"I'll make sure I find those veterans, Captain. As for the reporters..." he grimaced. "If they wish to learn of our tragedy, they are welcome to discuss it with others. I only wish to live out my life serving my country." He shook his head sadly. "And that is why I am here." His voice grew stronger, and the more familiar determined look came into place. "Whereve here happens to be, that is. Any idea where we are jumping to first, Captain?"

Mitsune sighed in relief, glad to be away from the subject of war, withdrew a little silver object roughly the size and shape of a pea, depressing a button upon it and manipulating a holographic map. A star system spread itself out though the hold, stars dotting and clustering along the bulkheads, asteroids and comets darting among the equipment boxes, a single large gas giant as big as Thurman, a orange, white and gray jewel with a number of orbiting moons. "Our target is the sixteenth identified moon in this lonely little system," Mitsune reached out and snagged one of the spiraling rocks, holding it in place in her hand like a captured bird. "So far as we know it's inhabitable, but the scans the Triad mapping vessel did we extremely basic, enough to get the star type, a dying red giant, the layout of the system and some basic facts. It's possible, though unlikely, that the system already holds sapient aliens of some sort, but we've got protocols in place to deal with that." She let the little planetoid go again. "The moon itself is a bit of a mystery, we'll be doing an orbit once we arrive so we can get a good idea of the terrain, atmospheric content, wildlife and weather patterns before we land and start unloading."

Dougherty and the men all watched with interest as the projection was cast all around them.
"As long as their are no spiders," Thurman rumbled. Everyone looked at him in surprise for a moment, and the massive man shrugged. "What? I don't like them."
Skripak looked at the hovering moons keenly.
"And what are the protocols if we find sapient life?"

Mitsune shrugged, staring into the gas giant. "Basic FC directive, we'll establish contact with caution and see where it takes us from there. If they're friendly, we'll notify the Xiscapian authorities and see if we can enjoy their hospitality for a bit before searching for a new place to establish the colony, in-system hopefully. If they're hostile, we'll get the hell out and notify the authorities, they probably wouldn't be able to do anything about it diplomatically or militarily until after the war though, unless the Setulan Republic volunteers." She looked at Dougherty. "If we find any, and a conflict does start, we flee, we do not fight. Old Nakamoto Dockyards won't like it if we damage any of their equipment or cause casualties to their people, and in any case we're just not equipped for it. Is that clear?"

Dougherty held up his hands in surrender.
"No worries, Captain. We have no intention of taking on an entire planet by ourselves...though I must correct you. We do indeed have the equipment. That is, I remind you, our job."

ooc-if you don't have anything else in mind, we can get to the planet whenever and start the fun stuff =)

OOC: kk ^^

IC:

Mitsune just nodded. "I understand, Command Master Sergeant, but don't get too gung-ho about it. There's stuff out there that defy all expectations...things that'll take everything you can throw at them and keep coming." A brief, haunted look entered her eyes, but she turned slightly as she deactivated the starmap, and when the lights came back it was gone. "I'd advise you get yourselves situated, we've got a nice, long fifty hours of waiting to do."

Forty-nine hours, fifty-eight minutes and seventeen seconds later...

None of those aboard the TEV Dimension apart from the Bridge Crew would be aware of it when the starship pulled itself back into realspace inside the as of yet unnamed star system. Captain Mitsune's voice would be heard echoing though the vessel as she piped her voice though the channel the Communications Officer had set up. "Now hear this: All hands to your launching stations, we have arrived at our target destination." It was 'early morning' according to the on board chrono timers and the biological systems as mandated by the life support so the crew could keep in the rhythms of the moon they would be destined to live and work on. This meant twelve hour days and nights almost exactly, thin air and a cool temperature, but after a day or so one became used to living under such conditions. There hadn't been much to do en route, just play cards and other petty games with the crew, visit the Holonet stations and single V.R. pod, clean weapons and tools and generally just relax if one did not have assigned duties. It had been very quiet, Mitsune ran a tight ship, with meals, sleeping, showering, duty and recreation times like clockwork.

The men of the Veteran's Trust filed towards the lander that would take them to the surface. For the first time, the crew would see them in full battle regalia-heavy combat assault armor (as compared to the lighter tactical armor they had been wearing earlier), including helmets with dark faces; rifles, in all cases with some new add ons, and all held at the low ready (though Thurman carried a K-666 SAW, it looked the size of a rifle in his massive paws); three discs a soldier hung from their belt, as well as a variety of different grenades that were attached to web gear next to ammo pouches. On their backs were heavy packs loaded with basic survival gear, and the rest of the heavy weapons were stowed on the first lander that would come down.
Dougherty was the only one with his helmet removed, and he approached Mitsune.
"Captain, if you don't mind, I would like to go over some things regarding getting on the ground." He waited for her nod before continuing.
"My men will deploy by grav drop immediately after entering atmosphere. The lander must not-repeat, must not- land until we have secured a perimeter and given it the green light, after which we will set up a scanner that will relay information to the scientists. Once this is completed and the scientists have determined it is safe, the lander can deploy.
"Following that, we will maintain security around the compound, which we will assit in setting up."
Throughout the entire speech, Dougherty remained unfailingly polite to the Captain, but it was clear that he would not be moved on any of these issues.

Mitsune was standing with Security Commander Griffith, the pilot of the first lander nearby, speaking in low but fast tones. It seemed Dougherty had stepped into an argument.

"-will not permit it." Mitsune was saying sternly. "My answer is no, Security Commander."

Griffith seemed angry. "Damnit, just because they're trained soldiers and you think I'm some mercenary thug doesn't mean I'm no less effective-"

"They have at least fifty plus years of experience on you, Security Commander," Mitsune said acidly. "I think they know what they're doing."

Griffith flushed but caught sight of Dougherty and said no more. Mitsune glanced over at the Setulanite and listened, nodding at the end of his statements. Her eyes flicked once back over the Griffith, who looked away, before settling on Dougherty. "Understood, Command Master Sergeant, you do what you have to. You'll be in contact with Chief Scientist Ippolito, who will be analyzing the scans from Medical. Pilot," she motioned to the kitsune leaning against his transport, who pushed himself off it and shambled over, "you ever done a grav drop before?"

The Xiscapian shrugged. "Once, Cap'n, over the Forty-Ninth moon, bunch of crazy Alversian bas-" He caught himself. "Droptroops, ma'am." A nod. "Yeah, I've done it before."

"Think of this as the same drop, except with no AA," Mitsune looked back to the Setulanites, eyes roving down the line. "Load up and move out, I want a status report the second you hit ground."

Griffith glowered at them as they boarded the lander.

Dougherty did not say anything as he walked in on the argument, but he shot Griffith a long, considering look as he walked away.
"Understood, Captain. See you on the flip side."
The lander left the ship smoothly, entering high orbit above the landing zone. Dougherty waited for a moment, standing near the grav shoot. He heard the pilots voice in his ear.
"Go go go!" With no further ado, the men ejected themselves out of the lander in order, entering freefall. Tersely, each man watched his helmet display as they reached terminal velocity and the altitude meter rapidly headed towards the height they wished to engage anti grav.
For the first several miles, the men were as straight as they could be-heads down, legs up, and arms tightly at their sides. Once they reached the four mile above ground level mark, they bellied out, spreading arms and legs to reduce speed and get their bearings around each other.
"Deploy!"
At exactly two thousand feet above ground level, the anti grav generators kicked in. They worked flawlessly, reducing speed before bringing the soldiers to a gentle ten miles per hour, which gave them the necessary breathing room to unlimber their weapons. The moment they hit the ground, they were bounding off to their various tasks.
"This is Ghost 1, check in!"
"Ghost 2, check."
"Ghost 3, check."
"Ghost 4, check."
"Ghost 5, let's get it done."
"Ghost 6, shut your mouth Skripak."
"Ghost 7, check."
"Ghost 8, operational."
"Ghost 9, hooah."
"Jumpmaster, check."
"Dimension, this is Ghost 1, all men on the ground safely, securing perimeter."
The men set off with a will. None needed to be told their tasks-each had practiced thoroughly before ever boarding the Xiscapian vessel, and the team had spent hours poring over images of the drop zone. Lerod immediately started to set up the transponder that would link him to the scientist support, with Dougherty and Goodchild provided direct security for him. The other team members were bellied down in various points of cover that made sure they had a three hundred sixty degree field of fire on any approaching...well, thing.
"Transmitting!" Lerod triumphantly pushed a button, and the machine began humming softly.
"Must be a record," said Goodchild quietly. Dougherty only nodded and cued his vox.
"Ship, this is Ghost 1. Transmitter is up and running, sending information now. We are ready, repeat we are ready for landers." His message transfered, Dougherty, finally took the opportunity to look around.

His first reaction was that he was unimpressed by it all. For as far as the eye could see in three directions, there was nothing but rolling arid desert, rocky as compared to sandy. Though his body was kept cool thanks to his armor, Dougherty noted the temperature was a whopping 110 degrees...and it was early morning. He wondered what it would be like at noon, and then decided he didn't really want to know.
Clear in the sky was the gas giant that the moon orbited, which disconcerted the soldier greatly-the sun was smaller in his field of view, and seemed to offer less light. As a result, everything had a slightly red tint (which he would quickly realize changed based on which part of the orbit the planet was in-sometimes it was more green or blue). Overall, it was beautiful in a stark, bare bones kind of way...but that wasn't his job. He broke out several powerful IR strobes and set them up so the pilots would have a clear LZ.

"Roger that, Ghost One," came the static-laden voice of the C.O. on the TEV Dimension high over head, "five-by-five, first transport ETA two min, data stream is clear."

The scanning machine relayed itself back to the Dimension's onboard computers, which then analyzed the data and sent it along to Ippolito and his assistant for further analysis. The thin voice of the scientist could be heard as he rattled off readings from the moon.

"Surface pressure 0.4...surface temperature forty three degrees Celsius...reading high amounts of basalt, detecting magnesium, sodium, potassium and chloride in the soil...note as a probable red tint to the soil a result of hematite iron oxidation, compounded by the trace elements of titanium, chlorine and sulfur..."

The voice was cut in and out by chatter from the pilots and the C.O.

"Vectoring in now Dimension...oh, hey, they've set up landing lights for me, that's nice..."

"How's that load, T-34?"

"She's a bit sluggish but it's all going down okay, Control-"

"...mean radius seven hundred miles, surface area of one thousand seven hundred and eight miles by ten to the seventh power, volume of six thousand, eight hundred and twenty-two miles by ten to the tenth power, estimated mass of 1.7592186044416E+57 in tonnage..."

Soon enough the Setulanite squad would see the first carrier settle into the perimeter set up by them and open its loading bay doors. Machines, with supplies and smaller pieces of equipment attached on, strapped to the side and stored inside them, rolled or hovered out, automated. The other four landers set down and the empty patch of desert that had been lifeless and silent was distributed, perhaps for the first time ever, by sapient activity. The rest of those who were to work in constructing the colony came off on the last ship, all twenty spacers, six of the technicians, Doctor Frock and the nurse, Pik, Ubel, Griffith, Ippolito's assistant, both cooks and a strange-looking male kitsune Dougherty and his men had not been introduced to, who wore a gray jumpsuit and boots, looking out of place without so much as a utility belt to indicate his speciality. Even while other items were being offloaded the crews were already going to work, starting up the vehicles, laying plans for the pre-fabricated buildings, testing the soil, making ground surveys and a dozen other tasks.

The men of the squad lay motionless, effectively invisbile to the naked eye, until the last lander had settled in. At that point, Dougherty rose.
"Alright, I want three hour shifts around the clock and starting now, four on six off. Thurman and Skripak, rally on me. Mylen, Goodchild, Sylex, Meps-you're on perimeter. The rest of you, start to set up some hardpoints."
A chorus of rodgers greated his words, and he turned to find the massive form of Thurman approaching him, Skripak in tow.
"Find the pallet with our gear and make sure all of our shit is still squared away. I want the heavy guns set up for point defense ASAP."
"You got it." The men walked away towards the unloaded gear.
Dougherty turned away and looked around, eyes resting temporarily on the man who stood doing...well, nothing. He opened his helmet visor.
"Who's in charge now that we are on the ground?" he called out.

Grunting and swearing, Thurman and Skripak unloaded their heavy gear before gently setting it on the ground. Cautiously, they removed the heavy weapons-the two K2 machineguns and the devestating, multi-barreled Banshee.
"Well, looks like the gas is still safe," said Thurman unneccessarily.
"Since we aren't screaming as we melt, yes, that is a good assumption," was the earned sarcastic reply. The two men quickly started a functions check of the weapons.
"Looks good to me," said Thurman...and then he felt something crawling up his leg. Jumping up, he swore violently and kicked hard, sending a massive spider flying off of him...and hitting Skripak in the visor. The other soldier cursed as well, and he quickly yanked the arachnid off of his face and held it by one leg.
"Merciful gods, look how big this bastard is!" Skripak spoke truly-the spider's body was a good eight inches long not even taking into account its legs. Growling, Thurman took a step towards it.
"Let's kill the fucking thing!"
"No!" Said Skripak. "You stay here, guard the weapons. I'll be right back." Walking away quickly, he approached one of the scientists.
"Hey, Mr. Scientist. I've got something for you." He held out the spider, still trying to bite through the First Sergeant's body armor.

ooc-TG

"Who's in charge now that we are on the ground?"

"I am," a voice growled from behind Dougherty, who would turn to see Griffith, standing with his hands resting on his belt like an old-style gunfighter, tail twitching and flicking, a pair of desert goggles already covered in dust obscuring much of his face. "Hell of a place to be in charge of, too," he was already sweating, "this heat'll be killer 'round high noon, and once it gets dark we'll have to bundle up." He glanced around. "Grew up on Slipslah, you know, we got this sort of weather a lot, but I haven't been back home in..." He trailed off and shook his head, as if trying to clear it. "How are your men setting up?"

"Hey, Mr. Scientist. I've got something for you."

The kitsune seemed ill at ease in the climate, coming from a cool, frequently rainy continent had him choking on the dust and making sweat patches on his shirt under the armpits and around the collar. The spider didn't help any: He yelped, scrambled back, and stood several feet away, tense as if he was afraid Skripak would try and hand him the thing, and held up a shaking hand. "One moment..." He muttered, and vanished into the hubbub around the landing site. The alien returned a few moments later with a shiny specimen jar, which he had the Setulanite tip the struggling creature into before sealing it tightly. The arachnoid beat at the sides of the container with its harry legs and tried to sink it's mandibles into the sides a few times before giving up and edging back a bit, apparently content to wait.

"Are you getting this, Chief Scientist?" The assistant murmured into his comlink, braver now that the venomous beast was imprisoned, holding the jar up to the sky and looking at the ankle biter.

"The spider?" Ippolito's voice crackled back. "Indeed, I'm reading similar life signs nearby, a number of such creatures probably have their nests under your landing site..."

The assistant looked down warily, as though afraid a spider would burst though the sand at any moment to attack him.

"And there are others further off, but they're small and these instruments weren't made to do pinpoint...the geological map I've made of the surface shows what appears to be an oasis about six and a half kilometers from your current position, there's probably an abundance of life in that area, water seems scarce here."

Dougherty gestured vaguely around in a broad sweeping gesture that took in several of the barely visible soldiers.
"We've got a perimeter, if you can call it that-three sixty overwatch, at least. The sooner we get some prefab structures, and I mean actual structures, the happier I'll be-the best hard points around are concrete, not canvas." He shrugged-they would make do. "Until then, we'll dig in a few pillboxes-we could use the help of some spacers for that, by the way-and hope we don't run into anything that shoots back. I'm going to get Laerod to set up some early warning sensors, though I'm not sure how effective they'll be on the life here, for a two hundred meter perimeter. We'll need to have some sort of anti-pest system going, if the big fucking spiders are any indication of what life is like here. Regardless." Dougherty took a deep breath of the arid, dry air.
"Our heavy weapons are ready to go, we just need a place to put them, but I think we'll wait to put in the mines until we brief the scientists-don't want somebody going off to take a leak and tripping one. If I may advise, we'll want a barbed wire fence of some sort, or at the very least concertina, for the sake of the scientists-it's a big morale boost, even if it won't serve all that much of a purpose."

Skripak shrugged and walked back to Thurman, who had a pained look on his face.
"Ah. You heard Ippolito, did you?" Skripak gave a nasty laugh.
"Go fuck yourself, First Sergeant."

Griffith listened.

"We don't even bother with tents and canopies, we should have about a dozen pre-fab structures up by sun-down," he told Dougherty. "I'll see what I can do about getting you guys some help in building the defenses, but I doubt you'll get much, everyone's got their own assignments and duties to attend to already. We'll be setting up the perimeter defenses as soon as the last building goes up, I think they'll be more than adequate." A wicked smile. "I picked 'em out myself."

The foundations for the buildings were already being created, hovertrucks were carting materials and equipment out so large piles of supplies were building up, attended to by dozens of kitsune. The strange 'guns' Dougherty had seen in the Hold of the Dimension were revealed to be tractor beam turrets, the operator would manipulate the shimmering purple-hued beam to pick up a target object and lift it into the air, these pieces of equipment being extensively used as walls on the structures were put up. Drone relays were placed in orbit as the tower went up in the center of the compound, two redundant generators attached to the thirty-foot-high FTL transmitter which would also serve as an excellent sniper's nest, with a view over miles of flat desert. A mess hall made of tough teak wood with a metal skeleton went up across from it, with rows of ovens and refrigeration units to tend to the food that would be prepared, the two chefs overseeing the putting up of their workplace with a stern air.

A large metal hanger that doubled as a motor pool also rose into the sky, for housing and servicing the transports, hovertrucks, dune buggies and speeder bikes. A tiny recreation building, with VRs, Holonet access and games in one room and a small gym on the other side was set up by the mess hall, on the off chance that anyone would have some free time. Four duracrete barracks rooms, each with a dozen bunks, their own bathroom facilities and connected by a long hallway that ran along the backs of the buildings, were also built, to hold those who would be staying at the base. Two massive hardened steel storage tanks, the biggest structures on the installation, made for holding raw materials awaiting processing, rose into the sky with underground pipes and above ground tubes connecting them to the processing, refinement and purification plant. The last building to go up was a white field hospital with an attached laboratory for the doctors and scientists, complete with all the supplies and technology needed to heal just about any injury or ailment. Near the hospital a small shrine that nobody had seen made and would swear hadn't been on the ship popped up, a simple open room with four pillars holding up a seaweed-green stone roof, with a tiny fountain and a symbol of Qonn in the center.

The soldiers of the Veterans Trust would receive little help from the other workers: As Griffith had said, they had their own duties to attend to. Lieutenant Ubel was the biggest assistance, able to dig a foot-deep hole in less than two minutes and easily able to carry any heavy weapons or building materials needed for the construction of bunkers or the fortification of chokepoints. Around the perimeter of the base a ten-foot-high fence was put up, with electrified Shigawire lining the top, roving mines patrolling the bottom, emergency force fields with power feeds from interior generators behind these, and finally a few of the tractor beam turrets were automated to be able to toss intruders out beyond the perimeter of the facility. The final addition was the placement of a pack of large steel bars in geosynchronous orbit over the base. As dusk fell Griffith, who held some sort of controller for them, silently handed Dougherty a small card:

Do you have a new Navy and can’t afford to station ships or platforms over certain vital worlds that need protecting? Perhaps you have no Navy of any kind, but still want the orbital protection without the hassle? Then have we got the thing for you! The basic weapon system consists of an orbiting element some 20 to 40 feet long. It requires a GPS receiver to locate itself; a means of taking it out of orbit; an atmospheric guidance system, such as a means of changing its center of gravity (moving weights, small fins, etc.), and a communication system to give it a target and activate the system, no warhead needed (though nuclear or anti-matter warheads are available on request)! These “Rods from God” or “Godrods” will impact a target area at about 12,000 feet per second; that is sufficient kinetic energy to destroy most hard targets, with minimum collateral damage and of course no fall-out. Achievable accuracy has been estimated at ten to twenty feet CEP (circular error of probability).

"Poor man's orbital strike," he explained. "I doubt we'll have to use them, but it's better than nothing since the Dimension isn't equipped for any sort of precision strike."

After the first buildings went up, the VT men got to work on their own surprises. While the massive Korr, along with Thurman and Skripak, dug out firepits and trenches, the rest of the men not pulling security created strong points on the rooftops, at least one per each. These hard points were generally low tech but highly effective-sandbag bunkers reinforced with concrete bricks and metal plating that allowed for easy set up and good cover. The two K2 heavy machineguns were placed atop strategically located buildings, while the Banshee was placed above the mess hall. Each of the weapons was covered in a shroud with the belt in place. Satisfied with their work, the tired veterans withdrew from the outer perimeter and set up on top of the buildings, where they could perform overwatch with at least some semblence of comfort.

Dougherty handed the card back with a raised eyebrow.
"I certainly hope we don't need them. If we need an orbital strike, things have gone rather badly wrong." Dougherty wiped a hand across his forehead and grimaced at the grime that accrued to the back of his hand.
"Fucking moon. I already don't like it." He shook his head and looked at the compound. "Impressive work, Commander. I'm glad it got taken care of so fast-it means we can get right down to it tomorrow. And when we send out those scientists, they'll all have escorts-I'm not taking any chances until we know for sure what is out there."

Atop the mess hall, Martinkis and Meps were on sentry duty. Martinkis relaxed-if a man such as he could be said to relax-while leaning against the Banshee, looking out over the unchanging desert in boredom. Meps was examining the countryside through his scope while his rifle rested against the sandbags.
"You know," said Martinkis admiringly, "the sundown is really rather strange here." He was right, too-due to the proximity of the gas giant as compared to the sun, there was always an eerie glow (during the nightime, a greenish-blue one) that surrounded the dunes. The contrast was that half the planet seemed to be red with the other varying darkening shades of blues and purples.
"I'd worry more about whats out there than the sun, to be honest." Meps spoke softly, but then again he always did. It was hard to believe that such a soft-spoken old man had so much blood on his hands...but he most assuredly did.
"You see something?" Martinkis twitched the cloth cover over the Banshee.
"I...don't know." He sighed. "It's probably the light...but just be prepared, all right?"
"Yeah...wanna tell Dougherty?" Meps didn't respond to Martinkis, but simply stared hard at the sand. He had sworn that it had rippled...but was it the wind? Or something more sinister?
"Ghost one, this is Meps."
Dougherty interupted his conversation with Griffith.
"Roger."
"Be advised, I might have seen movement out on the dunes."
"Scale of one to ten?"
"Four and a half." Dougherty cursed silently.
"Copy, consider me advised. Out." He turned to Griffith apologetically.
"Sorry about that. Overwatch thought he saw something. Regardless, we'll keep an extra tight guard tonight."

Griffith beamed in spite of himself at the compliment from the Setulanite. "I agree, we can't afford to take risks out here, we're all we've got."

"Sorry about that. Overwatch thought he saw something. Regardless, we'll keep an extra tight guard tonight."

The Security Commander nodded. "I wouldn't be surprised if some of the resident creatures decided to come sniffing around to see what all the commotion's about. We've scheduled an excursion for tomorrow to the oasis we saw on the geo maps, the scientists want samples of the water and plant life here so they can study their properties and see if anything useful can be extracted from them. We'll also be using the mining equipment to dig up some of the deeper soil for analysis, if there's any gems or precious metals to be found Triad'll want 'em."

Dougherty nodded.
"Understood. I'll work out security arrangements at 0500 local. Until then, Commander, I intend to get some sack time. With a curt nod, the old soldier walked away to get some sleep. It promised to be a busy day tomorrow.

Eight hours later...

Dawn broke with abruptness on this world, one moment it was dark and cold and in the next it became bright and hot, illuminating the rude presence of the twelve structures and perimiter fence that made up the Compound. Already the hovertrucks, dune buggies and speeder bikes at the disposal of the workers were being serviced and prepped for the outing while the scientists gathered their equipment and Lieutenant Ubel hefted his man-portable minigun into the back of one of the lorries. Two trucks and a buggy were the units going out, two of the heavy-duty hovercraft commited to carrying the escorting soldiers and the scientist's equipment, and the buggy transporting the scientists themselves, driven by Ubel. Griffith was supervising the loading in the otherwise quiet base of operations: Most of the crew from the Dimension hadn't woken yet. It was almost unnaturally quiet but for the murmuring voices of the workers and the whine of repulsorlifts, there were no plants to rustle, no wind to blow, nothing to be heard but silence and nothing to be seen across the vast expanse but distant, shimmering heat waves.

Most of the crew of the Dimension might not have woken up yet, but the men of the Veteran's Trust were on their feet and drinking their instant coffee, huddled around Dougherty.
"Alright troops, here's the plan. Meps and Martinkis, you get roof duty." The two men nodded-they had gotten a good six hours of sleep, more than enough for them to be fresh the next day.
"Skripak, Thurman, Sylex and myself will acompany the scientists on their little day trip. Mylen and Goodchild, you'll foot the perimeter. Lerod, Floyd, get some sack time-I know you've been up a while. Questions?"
"Dougherty, you sure you don't want more boots with the scientists?" Mylen asked. "We expect to find the highest concentration of life at these oasises, and I'd hate to have you run into something that you can't handle."
"Our job isn't to handle it, Mylen. It's to run like hell if we can't kill it right away." There were dry chuckles.
"Roger."
The men filed away to their various assignments. Dougherty walked towards Griffith.
"Commander. Four of us will go with the scientists-if we can't keep them safe, then we shouldn't be here at all. I'm bringing along some of our heavier firepower-Thurman has his SAW, and Sylex has most of our discs. We'll be mounted up and ready to go whenever you are."

Griffith nodded.

"I think we're just about ready to move, Lieutenant Ubel will be accompanying you in the buggy along with two drivers and three scientists," he gestured to where Ippolito, his assistant and a technician were looking over some scanners and probes in the back of a truck. "The whole operation shouldn't take any more than half an hour, they're gonna to take some scans and samples, plant a few probes and be done with it. You and your men will be in the first truck, the second carries all the equipment and the buggy will be transporting the scientists and the Lieutenant." He looked around at all of them, chewing something in his mouth. "I don't suppose I need to tell y'all the rules of engagement, if there's hostiles in the area you get the scientists and vehicles out of there, we can't lose any of 'em."

Dougherty nodded.
"Roger that. See you in a bit."
Jumping aboard the front truck, Dougherty patted the driver on the shoulder to let him know to go. With a lurch, the hovercraft rose up and started to move.

The first half of the trip was completely uneventful as desert rolled by. Idly, Dougherty accepted that it was a beautiful landscape, but he was too busy watching for anything in the sand to pay much attention to it. The four soldiers of the Veteran's Trust were on their toes, but it is hard to stay at combat alertness when undulating desert goes by with no change...which made what followed even more surprising.
Underneath the convoy, the sand rumbled...shifted...and exploded upwards in a massive geyser of dirt and sand. Before the horrified eyes of the scientists and soldiers, an arachnid stood up to a terrifying height.

Forty feet long (at least) from hairy, bristly rear to the eight evil black eyes and dripping fangs, the spider stood a whopping twenty five feet above the convoy. It was various shades of red, yellow, and orange-in other words, perfectly suited for the desert that surrounded it. It's needle sharp teeth were easily as long as one of the Kitsune scientists, and the hooks at the bottom of its legs were each razor sharp. The look in its eyes was that of a predator that had just woken up to find fresh meat in its domain.

Letting out an evil hiss, it swung a massive leg before anybody could react, flipping the hover vehicle with the Veteran's Trust men in it and sending it flying. By luck or good judgement, Skripak had managed to throw himself off of the hovercraft before it was flipped. Drowsily getting up, he could see in his helmet that the other members of his team were alive. Scrambling to his knees, he hefted his rifle and clicked off the safety. The spider thing was advancing on the buggy where the scientists were sheltered. He could see Ubel trying to unlimber his gatling gun, but there was no way he could make it in time. Desperatation flowed through the retired First Sergeant. He had to buy them time. He had too...
Taking a deep breath, Skripak squeezed his trigger and held down, blazing away at the (hopefully) soft underbelly of the massive creature.
"COOOOOONTTAAAAAAAACCTTT!!!!!!"

The great arachnid let out a terrifying scream as the bullets bit into its underside, sending one of it's eight great leg crashing down towards the buggy. Ubel abandoned his attempts to start the chaingun up and slammed the gear into reverse, the tough little car spitting up sand as it scuttled backwards, the gigantic limb covered in rough bristles just missing it as it smashed into the ground, throwing up a wave of debris and flying particles. The spider began to try to lumber after it, but appeared to change its mind and focused on the overturned hovertruck, completely ignoring the rounds that had been fired into it, lunging downward to bite into it, fangs glistening wetly. The metal sides of the vehicle crumpled like paper under the assault, and the beast began to lift the mangled transport into the air, intentions clear. At that moment there was a rough growling noise and over a thousand rounds buried themselves in the eyes and mandibles of the humongous thing as Ubel's cannon let loose unrelentingly into the fleshy bits of the monster. It shrieked, eyes popping with bursts of white fluid, and flailed blindly, dropping the destroyed truck into the churning sand.

After several seconds of the onslaught the over sized spider seemed to decide it had had enough. Its intended prey wasn't big enough for it to effectively tangle with, and by golly it hurt trying to eat it, so the attacker turned and fled with the regular sideways motion of a spider, increased a thousandfold, crying out the entire way. The other truck had fled over the distant dunes and approached the site of the attack with caution now as Ubel jumped out onto the dunes and, with a stern warning to the scientists to stay where they were, ran across to where the wreckage of the truck was lying.

ooc-sorry for the delay, it's been a party weekend

IC:

Skripak stumbled to his feet and ran (more of a drunk stagger, really) towards the destroyed vehicle as well. Ubel got there first and found Dougherty trying to rise. The giant Korr easily hefted the Setulan and got him stable.
"What the fuck was that..." Skripak found Thurman hunched over Sylex, pouring water over his head. Dazed, the man blinked a few times before coming to.
"Damn if you aren't the ugliest thing to be on top of me for a long time." Thurman grunted and hauled the other man to his feet. Dazed, the security detail gathered around the overturned vehicle. Dougherty let out a long breath.
"Sacred gods of the underworld, that was big."
"And a spider." Thurman's voice was mournful. "It would be a spider." The retired Command Sergeant Major turned to Ubel.
"What's the plan? Do we continue to the oasis?"

OOC: That's alright, I've been bogged down with exams anyway. :p

IC:

The driver of the truck had crawled out of the crushed cab and stood with the soldiers, staring in shock across the wastes at the distant form of the spider legging it across the sands. Ubel shook his boulder-shaped head. "Nein, 'e don't 'ave enough transport now, 'n is too dangerous ta continue anyways." A rumbling sigh. "Methinks Kommander i'll use lander craft next time."

Dougherty nodded solemnly.
"Agreed. Let's get the fuck out of here before another one of those things pops up." The soldiers scrambled into the remaining hover vehicle as it started off. Thurman turned around and looked at Skripak.
"You didn't take a scratch, did you?" The First Sergeant smiled smugly, unseen under his visor, but his tone was unmistakably content.
"Not a one."
"You bastard."

The convoy, now minus one truck, made it back to the compound without incident. Griffith, Doctor Frock and his nurse were waiting, the two medics making a quick sweep over the scientists, soldiers and drivers. "Minor concussion," said the nurse, probing fingers running over Sylex's scalp, "you'll be fine." The others were pronounced unharmed, and made way for Griffith. "The Dimension was watching from orbit," he nodded to the sky, "I don't think we should attempt any more excursions until we've done some more thorough scouting." He allowed a small smile. "Good work out there, though, the truck's a bad loss but we can replace it, the important thing is that we didn't take any casualties and the equipment wasn't damaged."

Sylex nodded dolefully.
"Aye, I thought something was rattling around loose in there." He, along with the rest of the team, listened to Griffith closely. Dougherty nodded in agreement.
"Fair enough. We'll take the buggy and set up one of the K2 heavies on the roof. Four man kill team-we'll haul ass to the oasis and see whats there before risking any other heavy equipment. Is there any chance that we can get life scanners to detect burrowed life?"

Griffith nodded, messaging to Ippolito and his assistant as they disembarked the buddy and walked over, carrying a small box of handheld scanning devices that would have been used to map the oasis. "These should do, fix one on the buggy and it'll warn you of any significant movement below ground up to fifteen meters," the assistant handed over one of the devices: It looked like a wavelength monitor, with a little blue screen and a few buttons and dials for critical adjustment.

"Any idea of exactly what that was?" Griffith inquired.

Ippolito shifted uncomfortably. "I'm not an expert xenobiologist, it's not my strong point, there's a number of differentiating factors that fracture even like families into completely separate organisms-"

"Okay, fine, do you have an educated guess as to what that was?" Griffith sighed.

"Well," Ippolito preened, "if I had to construct a hypothesis I would say that it is a variant on the Arachnida class, specifically that of the Ctenizidae family, more commonly known as the trap-door spider, albeit as a much smaller version. If behavioral patterns are constant, which I warn you they may not be, they are primarily nocturnal hunters, and will typically not travel far from their burrow, rather waiting for prey to come close so it can leap out and drag it under, where the victim will be devoured immediately. The fact that the convoy was just attacked now would suggest that the vehicles made a large enough vibrational signature to match that of the spider's normal prey...which would suggest a very large creature indeed." He looked around at them. "It would be safest to travel only during the daylight hours, avoiding times like now, near dawn, or at dusk, where the spiders will be becoming active."

Dougherty listened intently to the scientist as he explained what the big thing had actually been. He nodded thoughtfully.
"Yeah...well, with all due respect, scientist, to hell with that. Not to put to fine a point on it, but that big fucking animal damn near killed me. Let me tell you what I'm going to do. I'm gonna take that buggy right there and strap a .50 on the roof. Then I'm gonna drive out there and kill one of those big fucking arachnids. And you know what? I'm gonna laugh when I do it. Then I will drag that god damn eight legged freak of nature back to this base and let you tinker with it. That's what I think I'm going to do." He nodded sharply.
"And after that," added Skripak from the back, "We're going to go to that oasis and see if all life on this fucking planet hates us, or just the big ugly things."
"Damn right, First Sergeant. I want you, Thurman, and Ubel with that mini gun. Skripak, you're on the K2, Thurman covers six with his SAW, and Ubel rides shotgun with that rotating monster armed and ready. I'll drive." He looked at Griffith.
"We'll have enough firepower to fuck up a company of regulars, sir...more than enough for a juiced up arachnid."

Griffith swished his tail and smiled. "Vengeance killing? I like the way you think, Command Master Seargent. Good luck," he gave a small bow, "if you do tow that thing back to base, leave it outside the walls, will ya? The last thing we need is that great hairy motherfucker stinking up the place."

Ubel was already fixing his minigun to the hood of the buggy, setting the weapon up so he could utilize it from the comfort of the passenger seat. "'ll ready, Kommander."