Would you put your brain in a robot body?

Captain’s Log, Nov. 11, 2491
Void, En Route to New Xanaphia

Nothing could ruin my mood right now. There’s more here than I could’ve hoped. Jonathan, my very own boy, he found old Unitalia, all right, and the planet is full of light and life. It’s beautiful, too. Just like the old days, except now there’s no one to try and destroy them. They’re a small civilization, but they don’t need to grow any bigger. They landed right on the ruins of Sionia’s Refuge and started working, now the planet’s just like we left it.
I’m waiting for the drive to recharge here in the void so I can make a straight-shot to New Xanaphia, I can’t wait to give the Legion the good news. We can just run away from this clusterf… this crap that’s taking shape. No more deaths.

Hang on, computer again.

Brother Daniel terminated his entry and strode the SRA Vagabond’s length from his quarters to the cockpit.
“Yes, computer?”
“Speaker, we’re picking up another ship.”
“What?”
“Another ship, speaker.”
“I’mnotadamnspeakeranymore and are you serious?” stammered Daniel, taken completely by surprise.
“I’m always serious, Spea-Emissary. Oh, and they’re right next to us.” Daniel rushed for the porthole and there, shining brightly, was indeed another ship, a billion billion kilometers away from any known star. A quick inspection confirmed the ship’s origin… This was a Firm vessel, the gold trim and sleek construction style made it certain. He had no quarrel with the Firm.
“Computer, transmit docking request.”
“Transmitting to the Dawnstrider now, speaker.” Daniel resisted the urge to reprimand the exasperating machine, then the request was accepted and the vessels rotated into docking position. A few moments later, the atmospheres equalized and Daniel stood on his end of the docking bay. A figure appeared at the end of it… it limped forward, possessing a somewhat inhuman quality. Then the face came into view.
“…Mike?” stammered Daniel.
“Hello, old friend.” Said Mike, his voice possessing a drone that was half human, half machine. His right arm and leg were built of a golden metal, and moved as such.
Daniel took his old friend’s hand in the old Sionian greeting, and surveyed the metal limbs and scars on his face.
“What happened to you, man? We thought you were dead! Mosely saw your ship blow up!”
“Looks like I have some stories to tell.” Said Mike. “Have you got any beer on this rig? Nothing fit on the Dawnstrider. I’ve been drinking scotch for a week and I’m tired of it.”
Daniel laughed and gestured for Mike to come aboard, sat down in the galley and tapped two tall glasses of dark porterhouse. Mike took a long drink, cleared his throat, and began his story.

-----------------------------

Faith’s Bastion was a dead planet. The once-bustling mine world, where millions made their homes, was reduced to a blackened rock, where icy wind blew the remnants of a departed civilization under the glare of a dim, scarlet sun that hung over the horizon like the eye of an angry God.
This is what the Firm surveyor saw on its approach to the planet, its two-man crew expecting to find nothing.
“Come in Mayflower, this is Espoir 7, beginning our scan of sector 11, Faith’s Bastion.” Said Robert, scratching his three-day beard and swiveling the fore lights around.
“Go ahead Espoir 7, commence scan.” Crackled the officer.
“This place is dead.” Said Chrisanne, cutting the comm channel. She took her infrared goggles off and rubbed the lenses with her shirtsleeve. “Just like every other damn planet we’ve scanned. The top says we have the technology to get out of here, so why are we staying behind in this dump?” She massaged her temples and closed her strained eyes.
Robert and Chrisanne were part of the Firm Reclamation Survey, basically a desperate alliance of the remaining powers of the universe, who pooled their resources to figure out a way to survive. These particular two, a brother and sister from Nemesis, were assigned to the southern, formerly Unitology arm, attached to the survey cruiser Mayflower.
“Oi, there’s the name. Steadfast. What’s that symbol?” Robert gestured at the dusty, bent sign.
“What, the Unitos symbol?”
“No, dumbass, the other side.”
“Don’t you call me a dumbass!”
“I’m sorry, geez. Do you know that one or not?”
“Symbol’s Sionian.” Chrisanne rolled her eyes and turned her head to the side.
“Ok. Did you type that in?”
“Yes!”
“Don’t bite my head off, I was just asking.”
Robert steered the craft away, passing over abandoned and destroyed houses, defense posts, spacecraft, and mines. Suddenly, the ground disappeared, and Espoir 7 found itself hanging over the gaping blackness of a vast abyss.
“Ho!” Exclaimed Robert as he double-checked stability. The lights couldn’t penetrate the inky blackness, and a radar sweep produced nothing of interest. “Well, I dunno about you, sis, but I’m not going down there.”
“Hang on…” Said Chrisanne, tying her hair back in a ponytail and putting her infrared goggles back on. A tiny flicker of heat registered from far below. “I got something.”
“What? Probably geothermal.”
“No… no, it’s concentrated and persistent. Looks like a signal flare.” Chrisanne magnified the thermal image and sure enough, there was the distinctive flicker of a flare, and some lesser reflection off nearby surfaces. “We’ve got to go down there.”
“Why? We could be done with this scan in a half-hour and be back on the Mayflower in another ten, then get our checks and drink ‘em away.” Said the exasperated Robert.
“Because if we find survivors, we get 700-credit bonuses for each one that makes it to the Mayflower.” Said Chrisanne, decisively. “Now let’s get down there.”
Robert sighed, pitched the surveyor down, and began the descent. This was a huge cavern once, but the roof had completely collapsed. No signs of armed struggle, just like on all the other worlds, this was purely the universe’s doing.
“Point the nose about two meters to your left.” Ordered Chrisanne.
Robert rolled his eyes and obeyed, constantly vigilant for unexpected rock formations. Finally, the radar picked up a floor survey. Rocks, rusted and crushed spacecraft and miscellaneous organic debris. This didn’t look too promising.
“Whoa!” yelled Chrisanne. Robert abruptly stopped, jerking the spacecraft into an unstable waver.
“Keep it together, spaz, I’m picking up a human outline!” She yelled, staring at the faint, moving, female silhouette that wasn’t more than a few hundred meters below. “Dead ahead, keep going down.”
“Yeah, down, I was getting there.” Grumbled Robert, and the Espoir 7 dropped steadily. 200…150…100…50…the landing clamps grabbed rocks and the surveyor was grounded.
“Check atmosphere.” Said Robert.
“Well, it appears to be a stable oxygen mix, pressure slightly above normal, temperature 11 degrees centigrade. We should be fine without helmets.”
“What, we’re both going?” Asked Robert. Silenced by his sister’s glare, he trudged back to the airlock to suit up. Minutes later, the hatch opened and the two dropped out onto the bouldered surface. The flare burned meters away, and they made the approach a few inches at a time, allowing their spiked boots to grip rock steadily each time, not trusting the terrain for a second. As Chrisanne finally stepped onto the last boulder, a Templar impact round slammed into the rock inches below her feet. There stood a shivering, disheveled young woman, holding the Templar rifle with a terrified trembling. Robert came up behind Chrisanne and recognized the girl’s face.
“Sister Thadmor?” He stammered. She fired into the rock again. “No! No! We’re not here to hurt you, sister!” He took another tentative step. “We should’ve taken the helmets, methinks.” He whispered to Chrisanne. He held up his FRS badge and waved it at Thadmor. “We’re the good guys. We’ve come to rescue you.”
“FRS?” Thadmor looked at them wildly, her reddish hair falling over her eyes.
“Firm Reclamation Survey.” Said Chrisanne. “We’re searching for survivors, Miss Thadmor, and we’re honored to have found you.”
“I’m not… trapped… father…” Thadmor brushed her hair out of her face and gestured at a small flickering within a tiny, child-sized opening.
“Your father’s in there?” Demanded Robert.
“Yes.”
“Wait, what difference does it make? Who’s her father?” asked Chrisanne.
“Brother Michael, high consul of the Dark Templar, one of the most important members of the former Unitology. If he’s still alive…”
“Hey. Idiots.” Said Thadmor, suddenly sounding much more coherent. “I assume you have some rescue equipment? I mean no disrespect, but please, get to work.” The two looked at each other and started towards the opening. Fusion cutters, blindingly bright, melted away rock and steel, eventually clearing a large enough opening to get at the concealed figure within.
There was Brother Michael, right limbs apparently crushed completely under massive boulders, bearing burns on most of his body. The tatters of a Templar uniform clung to him, a paltry defense against the harsh climate. He opened his eyes and turned towards Robert and Chrisanne, and opened his mouth to speak. Nothing came out.
“Brother Michael? We’re with the Firm Reclamation Survey. We’ve come to rescue you.” Said Chrisanne, stepping through the opening. “Can you move your right side at all?” Mike wearily shook his head no. “Any feeling in that area?” Another Negative.
“Then I apologize, sir, this is procedure.” Chrisanne’s fusion cutter blade sprang to blinding life and sliced off Mike’s right arm and leg. Mike became immediately aware of the nerves he could still feel, and a low gurgle in the place of a scream escaped his mouth. Chrisanne winced and realized she’d forget the tranquilizer. She stuck the syringe into Mike’s left arm and gave him the dose of heavy painkiller. His eyes closed and he slept.
“Um… sis? You done in there?”
“Yep. All according to procedure. Don’t you worry.”
“I didn’t ask…”
“Shaddup.”
Chrisanne bore the bi-limbless Mike out of his prison of three weeks and started towards the surveyor. Robert took Thadmor’s arm and led her after her father. Soon, they were safely in sterile recovery chambers onboard the Espoir 7.
“Come in Mayflower.” Said Robert, “Survivors located on Faith’s Bastion.”
“Designate faction and empire.” Crackled command.
“One male, one female, both Unitology, both Dark Templar.”
“Do they have names?”
Robert said them, and there was a pause from the Mayflower.
“Return to the Mayflower immediately, Espoir 7.” Said command. “You two have some substantial bonuses coming your way. Good work.”
“Remind me to listen to you more often, sis.” Said Robert.
“Oh, I will.” Said Chrisanne. The surveyor tilted upwards, and rocketed towards the Mayflower. A good day. That liquor in the galley deck wasn’t going to drink itself.


-----------------------------


“Christ…” Said Daniel, as he finished listening.
It’s quite an earful, I know.” Said Mike. “But all’s well that ends well. Thadmor’s been making a steady recovery, and I hardly ever notice my metal arms and leg anymore.” There was a short pause.
“Ever punched anyone with your metal arm?”
“Yes.”
“How was it?” Mike paused.
“Fantastic.”
“Now… I know you. You didn’t come out here in what I assume is my stolen technology to say hello.”
“Yes, that’s true.” Mike took another drink from his porterhouse. “And yes, it’s stolen, sorry about that. I swear it wasn’t me.”
“Okay, spit the news out.”
“Have you talked to the Legion lately?”
“No, I’ve been out here. Waves can’t reach NewXana.”
“Take my advice, Dan. Get home as fast as this little ship can carry you.”
“What? Why?”
“You remember the Crimson Nation?”
“Yes.”
“Remember how they got slaughtered… by themselves?”
“…yes.”
“Get home, Dan.” Mike quaffed the rest of his pint. “Can I have one for the road?”
“Know how to pour it right? I don’t know what kind of piss-poor beer you brew in the Firm.”
“Of course I know how. We brew a knock-off of this. No chance you’ll reveal your secret recipe?”
“I’m carrying that to my grave. Unitos himself couldn’t wrench it out of me.”
“Well, in that case, safe travels, old friend.” Said Mike, as he filled his pint again. “Oh… and don’t go anywhere near Krynn. Or Banedonia. Or the core. Hell, you’re not going to have too much of a good time anywhere.”
“Rarely do.” Daniel raised an eyebrow. “What in the hell are you talking about?”
“Trust me on this.” Mike turned and walked back towards the airlock. Within minutes, the Vagabond and the Dawnstrider went rocketing off in different directions, leaving only faint particle trails in their paths.

-----------------------------

You’re listening to WSCO, Scorpion Pirate Radio, laying down the finest waves, guaranteed to go well with explosions in the background. That was “Remember Crimson Moon” with their new hit single, “Bomb Caelestis Dead”. This track has actually climbed to #1 on Overwatch and Firm Top 40 charts, and it keeps its place at the top for our listeners in the Unitology. Coming up next, it’s “Venombourne” with “Shard in my Brain”. Um… actually, hang on. I’m getting a broadwave from RadioVenimus; they say they have some kind of urgent announcement. I’m patching you through… now.
“-Eccomend that all Vincere Venimus Foundation citizens go immediately to their designated raid shelters or defensive positions. Attacks are ignoring Scorpion Pirate forces and colonies, and show no signs of stopping their course of action. Again, Boomsma Jonge IS attacking major VVF installations, and the Legion of Scorpion Pirates does NOT appear to be concerned. Civil Defenders, try to hold until help arrives. Further bulletins as events warrant.”
Allright, listeners, looks like we have a crisis on our hands. I’ll decline to comment for the Legion, but I believe… hold on… incoming broadwave from WSSR… yes, it’s Emissary Deirdre MacManus herself. Here she is in 3…2…
“Attention to all Scorpion Pirate warfleets in the Krynn system. Your refusal to defend against obvious invaders has caused us to declare the Sionian Republic a separatist state in reference to the Legion. We will stand by the Crusaders, as will anyone with the brains and the bollocks to realize that the Don’s fist needs to be broken now, quickly, and without hesitation. The 103rd, 4th and 5th Partisan brigades are now accepting volunteers at central systems. I implore anyone who wishes to retain their freedom and dignity to join them. Don Julio does not know mercy. MacManus out.”
…Well! I’m not going to say this, but I’m going to IMPLY that MacManus, Daniel, and the rest of the Sionians are a bunch of disloyal backbirths, and traitors to the legion. Good news on that, however, is that I just got word that Mr. Tuson of the former Institution has been given the position of Legion Commander. He is known, I can assure you, for his violent anti-separatist behavior. I’m sure we can count on a bit more noise from Ms. MacManus.

This distress call wouldn't be taking place in someone's pants, would it?

The road to Tortuga shines like a thousand fireworks, billboards and signs the size of football fields advertising corn chips, next-generation fractal guns, prostitution firms and everything in between.
Dierdre MacManus, a surprisingly adept pilot for her seventeen years, piloted the tiny revolver drive vessel SRA Vitessary into the maw of the Spectre Order homeworld's customs station, a bright red reminder of the continued existence of the Hedonists and their allies, and a source of extraordinarily persistent and invasive strobe lights.
“I understand that they like discotheques, but do they need to have them RIGHT next to the inspection tunnel?” Brother Mosely grabbed a pair of sunglasses from the copilot's glove compartment and stuffed them onto his face, grimacing again at the ultra-bright flashes illuminating the Hedonist zero-gravity disco, and the inebriated dancers within.
“Get used to it.” Said Dalen, poking her head into the cockpit, wrapped in a towel after a quick shower. “I understand that strobe lights make you feel incredible under the effects of Euphorika grade 3 or 4. I think grade 5 just came out... everyone gets a free sample.”
“I'm not afraid of the Hedonists.” Said Dierdre, who seldom spoke. “They're just a happy people without a care in the world- kind of like a nation of puppies.”
“That's one way to put it.” Said Mosely. “They still know how to fight.”
“They use formation tactics, concentrating on precision strafing maneuvers, often trying to overwhelm with force of numbers. They have no regard for casualties.” Said the girl, cutting the forward thrust and jetting upward, into their designated 'foreign visitor' tunnel, closer to the customs office.
“Where'd you learn about the Hedonist military?” Asked Dalen, now dressed in her simple tank top and khakis again.
“My mother taught me a lot of things.” Said Dierdre.
The Vitessary pulled up to the customs airlock. Pressure was equalized on the exchange hatch in the cockpit, and the Hedonist customs agent appeared behind the window.
“Passports, please.” Said the thin, bleary-eyed man, his deep red uniform unbuttoned to alleviate the uncomfortable heat of his office.
Dierdre passed him the three booklets, face stony. The agent sent them through a validation scanner, and looked at the names and titles. His eyes opened a little wider, not expecting Grey diplomats, and he immediately replaced his hat, a woolen black officer's cap, which had been lying next to a half-empty bottle of scotch.
“Ah! Speaker, Finne, Emissary, please, pass, I know Mr. Tchoky and Mr. Seldon are expecting you.”
“May we have our passports back?” Inquired Dierdre without enthusiasm.
“Oh!” Squeaked the customs agent, “Of course!” He fumbled the passports back through the airlock. “I hope you all enjoy your stay in Tortuga, Sir and Madames!”
Dierdre closed the airlock without a word, and continued flying past the customs chambers that promised long lines and latex for less prioritized travelers. Brother Mosely stood up. “I'm going to get a beer from the galley. I hate AtmoBurn. Anyone else want anything?”
“Bring me two.” Said Dalen. “What the hell, we're going to Tortuga.”

An hour later, they were on the ground. The Vitessary cooled down on the priority starport tarmac as the three stepped onto the blinding floor of the Ammaretta, Tortuga's largest and most celebrated casino, as well as the intended meeting place. Tigers, genetically engineered to sport fur in every color of the rainbow, begrudgingly trudged around the floor in a drugged haze while beautiful, topless girls carried drinks of every imaginable color, shape, flavor, chemical content and luminescence to the patrons, who smilingly tugged at the handles of five-meter high slot machines, then gleefully watched the hundreds of spinning dials align with flashing lights and more renderings of nudes than previously thought possible, and then almost died of ecstasy when the machine dispensed maybe a handful of credit chips.
“Dierdre, are you seeing this, or did Mosely put something in my beer?” Quipped Dalen, feeling out-of-place with her clothing.
“No, but i almost wish this was a trip. Imagine what it's like for those partaking of the fruit of hedonist pharmaceuticals. For example, Mindexpander 27.” Said Dierdre, putting her hair into a bun and piercing it with a throwing spike. “Possibly him.” She gestured towards a young man with neon orange hair, stumbling through the rows of machines, swatting at imaginary butterflies.
“I assure you, milady, there's nothing unacceptably dangerous in any of our enjoyment assistance supplements. And that's not Mindex 27, it's Hyperion 51. The minty version, I think.” Mike Amidon smiled as the startled greys turned to face him. “My my, looks like my old friend Daniel picked a pretty one to run Sionia. How is old Brodee, anyhow? I read the newsfeed that said he was taking a sabbatical on Krynn. Great barbecue there.”
“He's doing just fine, Amidon.” Said Mosely with a taste of poison, obviously not appreciating the surprise greeting. “I'm sure he's barbecuing all manner of rare and delicious beasts. Are we here to negotiate or swap recipes?”
“All in good time, Speaker!” laughed Amidon, who then turned briefly to cough in a handkerchief. Before he hid it away, Mosely glimpsed red blood on the cloth. “Follow me, Brother and Sisters, this is only the first floor. Would you like a tour of the building? It's really quite incredible, I take personal pride in this facility.”
“Do we have time?” Asked Dalen, shifting to avoid a group of military students as they stumbled past.
“Of course. You're in the recreation capital of the universe, Milady. We don't put a high priority on rushing things.” He took Dalen and Mosely by the shoulders and led them into the crowd, with Dierdre following behind, looking straight ahead with her icy blue eyes. “I myself designed the primary blueprints for the Ammaretta. We're going to be taking the glass lift in the center, it's reserved for VIPs... Rockstars, Euphorichemists, the like... In a moment, you'll see why.”
Mosely, Dalen & Dierdre entered the gigantic lift alongside the Hedonist figurehead, hands never more than inches away from their weapons. Mike Amidon smiled proudly and fiddled with the buttons on his red silk accouterments, then punched a number onto the lift's keypad and closed the door. Not even the smallest jerk came from whatever mechanisms lay beneath the polished black marble floor as the lift began to elevate.
The scenery changed almost immediately. The casino floor disappeared and a beer garden took its place, the whole floor singing loudly and happily while quaffing imports from as far away as Caelestis. After that, a brightly lit stage and hundreds jumping up and down to the riffs of the popular Gaian rock band Venombourne, who thrashed their guitars and screamed their lyrics into the microphones. And so the tour continued, Amidon explaining the more unique floors... every one was different, each catering to its own particular brand of recreation. Finally, after passing a petting zoo and a holographic gaming chamber, the elevator began to slow down. The next floor, a hot spring complex made entirely of jade slid from view and the doors opened to reveal a colossal library, dimly lit and silent, without a computer terminal in sight. A few old, bespectacled patrons sat quietly, indulging in the ancient, yellowed volumes that were replaced centuries ago with steel, glass and silicon.
“A library?” Stammered Mosely in disbelief. “The top floor is a library?”
“The charter of my empire provides for anything that brings our citizens pleasure. The pleasures of substance and of the flesh are eventually lost to some, replaced by the evasive pleasures of the mind.” Said the Hedonist, walking out the door and fondly patting the oak timbers of one of the giant shelves. “That, and... well... a fad amongst the young people is to 'do it in the library'...” A few moments of silence produced barely audible sounds of love, muffled by the vastness of the space. Dalen Tri shook her head. Mosely blushed slightly.
He began leading them through the rows of books, looking at some of the titles, and eventually saw what he was looking for. He pulled one of the ladders over, climbed up several levels and pulled a green-bound, official-looking volume from among the others. He slid down and handed it to Mosely.
“What's this?” Asked the speaker, beginning to leaf through the pages.
“This is a documentation of every piece of what we call 'God Graffiti' that we've found in our mines and excavation sites. We can't read it, but I know you people have a ministry of this stuff on New Xanaphia. There's quite a lot, i thought you'd be interested.” Amidon continued walking, and they again followed, Mosely walking slowly, translating the words. They were genuine, alright. In that same language. It was a miracle the Hedonists had given it to him, they couldn't possibly realize what this book is worth.
“And if you'll follow me up these steps, we'll get to the roof. My ship is waiting.” A flight of stairs later they opened the door to the windhammered roof, where a small luxury corvette hummed brightly. The four piled in the open doors, and were greeted by a small, stately, blue silk lounge, where two men sat, sipping dark red drinks, watching the greys with hollow eyes.
“Mosely, Tri, MacManus, I'd like you to meet Seldon and Tchocky, the political leaders of our cause.” Brief introductions were made, and Amidon gestured to the young woman at the controls and the young man in the copilot's chair. “My personal pilot, Rosalie, and her gunner Wilhelm. Now, my friends, shall we get down to business?”
“Yes, if it's alright with you all I'd like to get straight to the point.” Said Seldon, an exhausted-looking man in a dark red leather Hedonist military uniform.
“We're losing. Little by little, Anatidus Quackor and friends are boring holes in our defenses. If we have a chance, it's very small.”
“So what do you want from us?” Asked Mosely.
“We can't negotiate a ceasefire on our own. We need leverage. We need allies.”
“So... what is that supposed to mean? You want a Crusader warfleet to clip the duck's wings?”
“No... it's too late for that to make a difference. I need the promise of warfleets.” The yacht now banked to the side, and presented a spectacular view of the city, looking much more peaceful from several thousand meters in the air.
“If you do that,” Continued Tchocky, “We can make the Duck stop where he is, which might give us a chance to build enough forces to eventually take our holdings back.”
“You're asking for a-” Started Dalen, when suddenly the corvette was slammed in the stern with a cannon shot. Warning sirens went off as Rosalie took evasive maneuvers, trying to figure out where the shot came from, as all around them similar shots lay waste to the city below. Wilhelm ran from the cockpit and seized control of the ship's battery, and began scanning the skies for attackers.
And in they came. Thousands of ships appeared above Tortuga, unleashing broadside after broadside onto the unsuspecting city. Troop transports also approached, bulkier-looking versions of the unmistakable Jonge ship aesthetic, black and angular, with no care taken to conceal their weapons' presence. An occupation force, thought Mosely. They're getting ready to set up shop here.
Dalen jumped up to the cockpit, struggling against the vicious G-forces assaulting her system. “Hey!” She yelled, trying to get Rosalie's attention.
The pilot did not turn, concentrating on dodging the burning wreckage of a Hedonist bomber falling from the sky. Instead she spoke through the intercom, giving her voice a metallic tone.
“What is it, Finne? I'm a little busy at the moment.”
“I need you to get us to our ship. It's in the priority starport next to the Ammaretta.”
“That'll expose us to bombardment, debris fall, and a whole list of other things.”
“I'd care in other situations. But we need to get to our ship.”
“Can't do, Finne.” Dalen drew a short dagger from her belt and held it to Rosalie's neck.
“Ammaretta starport. Now.” Rosalie glared at the Finne for a split second, then banked hard to the side. By this time, battalions of Hedonist fighters and bombers were streaking up to meet the attackers, guns blazing.
Rosalie's expertise was immediately evident. She avoided fire by concealing herself with buildings, darting between skyscrapers like a dragonfly, allowing Wilhelm the chance to return fire against any Jonge fighters following them. Then, a squadron of five fighters locked onto their tail, hammering the rear shields and engine column with persistent energy blasts that Wilhelm simply couldn't match shot for shot. Rear shields at 38%. Another blast. 15%. Mosely had his arm around the reeling Dierdre, holding himself steady with an ornate Bacchus statue.
“Hold on, kid. Dalen's going to get us back to the ship. Are you going to be able to fly the Vitessary when we get there? You're the only one who knows how.”
“I never been in a real battle before, mum couldn't' teach me that.. ugh... I'm blacking out...” Mosely shook her, and her eyes struggled to focus. “Do. Not. Black. Out. You black out, we all die. We need you.”
Rosalie then ducked into a ground vehicle tunnel. One fighter pulled away, and another exploded on the side, while the remaining three fought hard to avoid crashing into each other and the surrounding cars and hovercraft.
Now, Wilhelm had the fighters where their maneuverability wouldn't help them. He spun the Tachyon batteries to full power and gunned down the pursers, puncturing armor, hull & flesh within seconds of first impact. The tunnel ended and Rosalie pulled up and away, firing the braking thrusters as the Ammaretta starport came into view not 200 yards off. The corvette made ground, landing claws ripped into the tarmac, and the ship jerked to a stop dangerously close to the Vitessary.
The hatch jumped open just in time for the passengers to see an invading troopship begin to unload her soldiers. Tchocky instinctively opened a hidden weapons locker and tossed carbines to Seldon and Amidon, while the three greys snatched their shard pistols from their holsters and screwed on long-range barrels. The soldiers noticed the corvette and began firing sporadically as Wilhelm swiveled his turret around to bring to bear against the troopship.
“Don't hit our ship, kid!” Yelled Mosely at the gunnery hatch, while squeezing a couple shots into the troop column, while the soldiers' impact rounds bounced off the ship's shields or ruined its upholstery. A moment later, Wilhelm's barrels began spinning, and he began to carve a bloody swathe through the black-clad troops. The greys took their chance and jumped from the corvette, hitting the ground in a flat-out run for the Vitessary. The corvette took off, and Wilhelm's battery stopped its rampage.
The invaders began to regroup. Many of their number lay dead or dying, but the troopship was far from empty. Dierdre reached the ship first and leaped gracefully onto the still-lowering ramp, then turned to help Dalen up. Mosely covered them with a hail of shards, kicking the weapon into the extremely risky full-automatic mode. Blood spurted where his shots hit home, but there were simply too many to stop with a single gun. Impact rounds struck him twice in the shoulder and in the solar plexus. Mosley screamed expletives and triggered the gun's self-destruct, grabbed it by the barrel and hucked it at the troopship. The resulting bloodbath bought him enough time to grasp Dalen's hand, clenching his jaw against the ear-splitting pain in his gut. She pulled him onto the closing ramp as the Vitessary roared into the air.
In the cockpit, Dierdre seized control of the ship's fore cannons and armed them. Her eyes glittered as she placed the HUD's crosshairs on the troopship.
“Ex spiritus Unitos, Amen.” She squeezed the trigger and four fractal charges screamed from the cannon mouths, ripping the remaining troops to bloody splinters and puncturing the troopship's hull. She annihilated it with another salvo. She watched the aftermath in silence. A smile crossed her lips for the first time she could remember, and a profound sense of serenity took her.
“Dierdre!” Yelled Dalen. “Get us out of here! Make straight for the nearest friendly port!”
“That would be here.”
“Don't be smart. This war is already over.” Dalen looked out of the starboard porthole as as a battleship's broadside tore through the Ammaretta, and the massive casino began to collapse. She abruptly stopped looking and applied pressure to Mosely's stomach wound. “Dammit. Where's the Medikit?”
Dierdre set the ship's batteries to auto-engage and kicked the Vitessary to full throttle. You can't use the revolver drive in an atmosphere. The fragile physics involved with the design didn't need an outstanding element like air resistance. Instead, Dierdre snaked through the chaos of the battle, taking care to engage only fighters that started in on her. Then, of course, there were the battleships. One of them now hovered across Tortuga's moon, casting an eerie shade over the destruction. Right above the atmosphere, they continued to fire into the city below with merciless precision. Ten seconds until atmoclear... Dierdre started up the drive and closed out of the dozens of messages from Hedonist and Jonge commanders demanding that they identify themselves. Five. Four. Three. Two. One. The grip of Tortuga's atmosphere cleared, Dierdre locked on to the Sionian beacon at Banedonia and activated the revolver drive. There was a bright white flash and the Vitessary was gone. Commanders ignored it and pressed the battle. A few hours later, Tortuga fell.

The Vitessary fell into orbit around Banedonia. Dalen had stabilized Mosely's stomach and shoulder wounds, and now the three gathered in the living area, Mosely's head resting on Dalen's lap, reading his new book, while Dierdre sat, smiling.
“So, kid,” said Mosley, groaning a little. “Your first battle. Are you ok?”
“At first, I was terrified.” Admitted the girl, intertwining her fingers and staring straight ahead. “But then... I remembered something my mother taught me. 'those who fear die first, whether in body or spirit'. And then...” She paused, and met Mosely's look with her icy, piercing eyes. “I liked it. I really, really, liked it.” She looked straight ahead again, eyes darting back and forth, recalling every detail of her last couple of blood-soaked hours. Dalen's worried gaze met Mosely's. She's young. I hope it's just a phase.

A short time later, Mosely was in the governor's chambers of his colony Ryalen on Banedonia's surface. His wounds were dressed and healing well, the worst of it a couple of shattered ribs and shoulder plates that could be replaced easily. The governor had given him full control of the colony, of course, for the duration of his stay, although the weak painkiller he had finally caved in to taking was making sleep seem a more sound option than leading an empire. As he reached for the button to reach Ryalen's espionage command to make sure their path hadn't been traced, a familiar face came up on the link screen.
“Anatidus Quackor.” Said Mosely.
“Hello, Brother.” Said the General, a fake grin on his face. “How are things?”
“Lovely, General. Is there something I can help you with?”
“Yes, actually. I was wondering what you could tell me about why one of your ships was seen on Tortuga earlier today?”
“I have no idea what you're talking about.”
“Don't play dumb, Mosely. The Legion and Unitos symbols were both identified.”
“Might've been a businessman out on a pleasure cruise.”
Quackor paused and scowled at Mosely. “For now, you're under the legion's protection, so I'll tolerate insolence like this. But don't get to comfortable. A friend of mine's about to turn up the heat.” The hologram dissipated, and Mosely sat alone once more. He pressed the intercom button on his desk.
“Ms. Secretary, I need a shot and a brew. Keep 'em coming, please.”

Nevermind the bollocks, here's the Crusaders.

The Rending Pt. II

Brother Mosely paused for a moment, and then lunged. Dalen Tri turned aside the rapier with her scimitar, and then transitioned smoothly into a counterattack that chopped downward at the pirate’s exposed neck. However, Dalen’s blade bit only air as Mosley darted backwards and flicked a main-gauche from his belt, then immediately flew at her again with his sword’s menacing point, the three-pronged main-gauche ready to parry any surprises from the Finne Lillard.
“So, tell me, Brother,” Said Dalen as she ducked beneath the attacks and slashed laterally, making Mosely jump back again. “My warriors have spilled more than their fair share of blood to turn the traitors Gigot and Tuson back. When will Xanaphia’s soldiers arrive?” Dalen followed through, attacking with a vicious flurry of slashes that drove the speaker of Xanaphia back several meters, ending with a spiteful disarming sweep that sent the pirate’s main-gauche clattering to the stone floor.
“It won’t be long, Finne. You have my word. However, we too have had battles that have been very, very taxing.” Mosely circled around Dalen, stabbing with lightning speed wherever he saw a possible opening. Finally, Dalen shifted her stance in preparation for an attack, wide enough to guarantee a hit. His circle having brought him near the wall, Mosely jumped into the air and pushed off, lunging venomously at Dalen’s exposed side.
“DRAW.” Said the simulation computer. Holograms above them displayed the final clash, Mosely scoring a deep puncture wound to the abdomen while Dalen’s blade slashed a foot into Mosely’s shoulder. The Nanobot sparring blades disintegrated slowly and returned to their holding cases on the combatant’s belts. Mosely and Dalen stood, panting. Four white-clad handmaidens entered the sparring chamber and brought them towels and water. Then they turned about-face and left.
“But seriously, Dalen, let’s drop the pretext. The Entente is counting primarily on you and your elite forces to break the back of the purples. Nothing Gigot has can match them, your casualties have been the lowest of all of us.”
“I assume you know your history, Mosely. Our situation reminds me of the Institution’s campaign against the old underground, where General Amidon rallied the shattered Greens and conducted an effective and deadly guerilla war against the invaders. Some still believe that it was because of the Underground’s actions that the Unitology invasion of purple space went so spectacularly well.”
“So what are you saying, Dalen? We get Mike Amidon and the Spectre Order to fight Gigot for us?”
“It was an example of how a long war in one place inevitably leaves your flank open.”
“I know. I was joking. What do you want from us, exactly?”
“You’re the acting pirate king, Mosely. I’m sure Apopros put you in charge during his absence for a reason. And you are now in charge of a force to be feared and crushed by.” Dalen draped her towel around her shoulders and put on her simple brown sandals. The sparring room’s ceiling opened up, revealing a spectacular view of Caelestis, now known by many as New Abrigo. The world’s two moons shone white, diametrically opposed, peppered with new craters where quick-response interceptor fleets met their demise. Mosely sat down next to the Finne and took a long drink from his icy water and looked up at the spectacular view that never seemed to get old. The UEV Dawnherald, on which they now sat, deserved its reputation as the finest vessel in the Unitology-Crusader Entente, serving as the Unitology’s command center in the Institution campaign. Dalen stood up, walked to the double doors, and pressed her palm to the side. They silently opened, and Mosely followed her through the portal onto the long hallway towards the Dawnherald’s bridge.
“Well, it’s not so easy, you know? It was different back in the old days, fighting the old-guard purples we’d been fighting since we can remember. But this time, it’s definitely not the same. It feels all wrong.” Mosely put his glasses back on and donned the jacket of his Scorpion Pirate ‘uniform’, a hodge-podge of leather, synthmat and plasma steel that looked like it could be a weapon on its own.
“How is this different?” said Dalen, brushing wrinkles out of her simple, white clothing. The two, side-by-side, looked like anything but allies to the casual observer, the only similarity the Unitos pendants hanging from their necks.
“Gigot and Tuson were friends of mine back in the old days, in the Expedition Armada. We fought the purps together. I know their tricks and they know mine. But beyond that… of all the places to defect to… why our most hated enemy?”
“They’re traitors. This should make you even more willing to thrash them once and for all.”
“It should, you’re right. But all the same, it makes you wonder…”
“War is not a good time for wondering, speaker. You can do that all you want when they’re sitting in a prison cell on Basilica Luminarium.”
“Okay, you’re right. I’ll wave the cabinet, you can expect backup within days.”
“Thank you.”
Then, they reached the end of the corridor and stopped.
“I’ve got to leave for New Xanaphia.” Said Mosely, hanging his bag’s strap over his shoulder. “We’re sending a diplomatic envoy to the Hedonists. Traditionally, diplomacy with us is Brother Dan’s thing, but since he’s off looking for his son’s flying city in distant, presumed dead galaxies, we’re sending the girl he gave his mantle to. I guess she’s only 17, so I’m going with her. You know how the Hedos can get.”
“You may want to take care yourself, speaker,” smirked Dalen, “Again… you know how the Hedos can get.”
Mosely laughed and winked at the smiling Finne as he turned away, then walked alone down the corridor. He looked down at Caelestis and the thousand of spaceships in low orbit, and at the dark wisps of oily smoke that still hadn’t disappeared after the long, bloody battle. He stopped and turned back to the Finne with a roguish smile.
“Say, Dalen. Have you ever wanted to visit Tortuga?”

------------------------------------------

Ship’s Log, SRA Vagabond, August 2, 2428, Uncharted Star Cluster
Captain Brother Daniel reporting.

How can I be a captain if I’m the only one on the ship? Well… the only one, besides computer. I thought of giving it a name, or a gender, but then I realized that it’d be kinda creepy. I’ve been on this ship for two weeks and, to be honest, I don’t think it’s good for me.

At least I’m getting somewhere. Progress is slow, but the pieces come together a little more every day. For example… out here, on the fringes of the galaxy, we have these little clusters. The stars are really, really dim. They shine greenish, which makes one’s skin look like a corpse. Or maybe it’s just my skin. I don’t know. I can’t make comparisons because there is no one, and I mean no one, anywhere near where I am.

The only transmissions I get are very old, latent radio waves and the like from largely indiscernible sources. I’m still searching for any signals that might denote present civilizations in the galaxy.

I did a chem scan on some rocks, and it’s definitely the same stuff I’d expect. Sodium, for example, explodes again. I’m a little skeptical, though. This cluster wasn’t here before. It’s been far too short of a time for them to form naturally, I’m still looking for explanations. There are a couple of these clusters, and they all surround a galaxy that looks very, very much unlike the one we left behind. But whatever. The revolver drive will be ready to fire again tomorrow, and we’ll see what we can find.

Ok, computer’s calling me. Laters.

------------------------------------------

To: Pirate%King@xanaphinet.lsp.gov
From: Gigot%Secureline@invictus.lsp.gov
Subject: (No Subject)

Apopros,

You and I have never been on the best of terms. Hell, I hardly know you. All the same, I ask you this chance to explain myself.

I was a Unitologist once. I believed before you were crawling. I stuck with the greys for a long, long time. Under Zen, under Brother Dan, I fought harder and loved the cause more than anyone.

And I never stopped. During my time in the Expedition, I learned something. Freedom is the most precious thing anyone can hope to have. And by the power of Unitos, said freedom is possible.

And now, it’s threatened again. In the old days, that threat was the Institution. Now, however, it’s you. Damn you. Can’t you see that what you’re doing is directly opposed to everything you say you believe in the scriptures? We’re not infidels, we have the same name, and fly the same flag, but the real enemy is not among us. We were a peaceful nation. The real enemy is somewhere else, flying red, green, white, or any number of other shades of the same evil.

You have effectively destroyed the meaning of your title. I ask you as a believer and as a human being to stop this slaughter, because it’s the right thing to do. Then, as an individual, I say, ‘Apopros, go to hell. Go to hell for every drop of blood that you’ve made my people spill. Go to hell.’

Gigot

------------------------------------------

From: Finne%Lillard@clanlink.uni.gov
To: Mosely%Absolute@xanaphinet.lsp.gov
Subject: Thank you

Well, send my commendation to your generals. Word has it that Gigot’s body was found just a few hours ago, in an underground bunker in the ruins of capital city. Poor bastard took his own life… couldn’t take it anymore. I must say, though… video feeds of some of your commanders’… tactics… left a little to be desired in the human rights department.

Well… regardless. Tuson’s got nothing left, and the rest aren’t even worth mentioning. Looks like we won.

Looking forward to Tortuga.

Dalen

I gotta get the hell off of this rock.

To: Mosely%Messenger@xanaphinet.lsp.gov
From: Bro%Dan@sionia.freelink.lsp
Subject: Free Home Mortgage Estimates!

Hey, Mose. This'll be my last e-mail for a while, as you know. Shouldn't be a problem, I've planned this thing for months, and nobody will miss me. Tomorrow, I'll announce that Dierdre MacManus will take the mantle of Sionian Emissary until further notice. She's a good kid, daughter of one of Sionia's original infiltrators, the one that took down Tomb of Unitos.
Anyhow, since the revolver drive makes communication effectively impossible, I'll be very out of the loop. I know you haven't been a Sionian for a very, very long time, but do me a favor, for old times' sakes. Apopros Listens to you.
Stop these wars. We're moving at a pace we can't hope to maintain for long, and in the end it'll boil down to the same thing it always does: Our forces using genocide against the enemy, and the complete dehumanization of the survivors. On both sides.

If i find what I'm looking for, then nothing else matters. The legion will finally have a place to have its promised land.

The usual,
BD

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The tiny settlements on the fringes of civilized space didn't have the deep technological well that their counterparts on the homeworlds knew. Defiance Steppe was one such settlement, a remote Sionian colony on the edge of what used to be the Institution arm, now a pitched warzone where the Crusaders and Unitologists brought their weight down on the few remaining Institution despots.
And so, when when the final bell sounded at the colony's small copper mining complex, a single exodus-era hovercraft pulled into the dirt plaza to take the dusty miners home. The ship had been captured at Istar by invading Unitology forces, then sold to a Crusader expedition at a steal of a bargain. The people, however, were almost all from New Xanaphia, tempted away from the safety of the homeworld by the promise of adventure and credits in the fresh new region cleared for those who flew a grey flag.
Ryan Fitzionat was one such thrill-seeker, the son of a charter transport pilot and a career soldier, ready to rid himself of New Xanaphia's crowded, uniform, steely streets. The rusty iron steps begrudgingly clamped onto the ground, producing a couple corrugated steel steps for the miners to walk on. He clambered onto the hovercraft along with the other miners, brushing some of the dirt and copper specks out of his hair. It was crowded, the ship creaking in protest as more miners mounted than the transport was meant to hold.
The pilot shifted the craft into gear, and the ship repelled the ground, pushing forward towards the road back to town. Ryan lit a cigarette and took a deep drag, as trees flew past. This wasn't exactly the adventure he was hoping for. Maybe he should join up with the Garda or the Expeditionairres, kill a couple purps or tans, join in the action.
Suddenly there was a loud buzzing noise and three rounds of energy were fired into the ceiling. A young man with crewcut blond hair stood at the front of the hovercraft, holding a handgun to the pilot's temple while brandishing a pulserifle at he passengers. Immediately, fifty guns were trained on the troublemaker, who now revealed a large purple gear on his shirt. Everybody on the bus was armed, each one ready to shoot first.
“Ah, ah, ah! Put your guns down. There is a sensor monitoring my pulse linked to a molec-deto charge bomb strapped to my chest. If I die, you all die.”
This was abundantly clear to everyone on board. Most of the guns were lowered immediately, followed begrudgingly by those who took slightly longer to fail to find a solution.
“Keep driving” Said the man, pushing his sidearm into the forehead of the sweating pilot. “Head towards the starport.”
The crowd started to mutter to one another, men and women exchanging glances of fear or outrage.
“You, you're that kid, Richey!” Said Ryan, angrily, recognizing his co-worker for the last several months. “What the hell are you doing?”
“I'm going to live with my own kind again. I've had enough. When you bastards invaded Istar, I believed your war propaganda, how a better life was waiting out here. What a load of bullshit.”
“So you hijack a gorram hovbus?” Said Ryan, stepping forward with his shard pistol pointed at Richey's heart. Everyone on the freehold had something similar, meant to prevent exactly this kind of problem. But throw a bomb into the mix and everything goes south.
“Stuff it, Fitzionet. All of you keep your backbirth traps shut.” Ritchie held the pulserifle to Ryan's forehead. “I will not hesitate to make an example out of you, comrade. Your precious Unitos will have to identify you by dental records.”
“That won't be necessary.” Said a voice from the crowd. “Put the guns down and you won't get hurt.”
“Who said that?” demanded Richey, eyes flashing. “I want to know who said that RIGHT now.”
“I did.” The crowd parted, revealing a man in a dirty brown miner's trenchcoat, face obscured by a wide-brim hat.
“And just who the fuck do you think you are, telling me what do do? I could kill every last dirty one of you if I wanted to.”
“That's true, you could.” said the man. “But you won't.”
“And just why is that, friend?” Said Ritchie, smiling a wild, toothy grin. His sweaty thumb slipped on the pulserifle's controls, switching from three-shot burst to full-auto. A silence swept the hovercraft.
“Because you know it's not worth it.” Another pause.
“What?” Said Ritchie, “Not worth it?”
“That's what i said.” The man stood up and took a step forward. “Suppose you win today. You make us fly you to the starport somehow. You get a transport headed for the Institution holdouts. There could be hostages, examples, many deaths, whatever. But somehow, you get what you want. What's waiting for you there?”
“Huh?”
“What's waiting for you when you arrive? I'll tell you. You'll get a nice, comfortable room with a minimum of three cameras checking in on you at all hours. Every other day you'll get a couple of pills from Hedonist Pharmaceuticals that will make you forget about said cameras.”
“Shut up.” Said Ritchie, beginning to sweat on his forehead.
“And then, you'll get a message on your clean, shiny console telling you to report for mandatory military service within 18 hours.”
“I said shut up!”
“You'll get a nanofibre jumpsuit and a nifty helmet with a gear on it. Then you'll get a crash course on flying a fighter made of material synthesized from plant matter and garbage.”
“I told you to shut the fuck up!”
“And then... you will either be shredded by one of our battery bays or blown to molecules by one of our fighters. No matter how much you love the Institution, they will throw to your lonely death without so much as a second thought.”
The man had been moving slowly forward while he spoke. At the same time, Ritchie was becoming more angry, indignant and hostile.
“Damn it, I told you to sHUT YOUR FUCKING MOUTH!” Ritchie pistol-whipped the hovercraft's pilot, and the ship lurched to the side. Like lightning, the man flicked his wrists and two spring-loaded shard revolvers jumped into his hands. He fired them both in unison, the rounds finding marks in both of Ritchie's arms, severing both of his hands. Blood sprayed everywhere, and Ritchie fell to the floor, writhing in pain as Ryan sprang forward to take the controls from the reeling pilot.
“Of course, that logic would only apply if you weren't a dumbass kid who got himself an axe to grind and a couple of black-market institution guns. By the way, the cartridge on the pulserifle is in backwards. If you'd have pulled the trigger, the energy would've short-circuited the magazine and sent a couple dozen pieces of shrapnel through your intestines.” The man tore a couple stips of cloth from his trenchcoat and bandaged the bleeding stumps of Ritchie's' arms, stopping the crimson flow. “He'll need a hospital, and then either regen therapy or a couple of metal hands. It'll be okay, son, i hear metal hands are awesome.”
Ryan looked back from the pilot's chair. “Who are you?”
Brother Daniel took off his hat and reset his pistols. “I'm just a man who's got a job to do. Irony of the situation is, I've got to get to the starport, too. But you know, I'm a little tired for space travel right now. Any of you boys going to the pub tonight?”
The miners stomped their feet and cheered as the pilot lifted above the trees and the transport creaked towards Defiance Steppes' tiny village. Barley and Hops grew well on this world, and Sionian Extra Stout was always in season. These are good people, thought Brother Daniel. He was going to miss them.

The seat of De Toil Goverment

TO: GOVERNOR OF DE TIOL IN ARM.1 S.524

Record levels of depression are being reported all over the universe. It seems to spread from planet to planet, but planets under strict military quarantine still have been affected. Looking at the progression of planets we can find the epicenter of this ‘disease.’ The center seems to be Wormhole #25-1c. As you know the wormhole disappeared on 1-27-2206 at approximately 5:21. Immediately the area was quarantined and everyone involved was arrested and interrogated. Nothing was gleaned from this; the crew of the monitoring station was barely coherent enough to talk. It seems some sort of dementia affected them. Many were only able to say they were, ‘looking for something they lost.’ I am including one of their description of the events:

------------
When the ‘hole collapsed all hell broke loose. The computer were all giving off strange readings, overloading the circuits and exploding. It sounded like popping popcorn in the protected viewing chamber. One after another ‘pop-pop-pop-POP!’ Suddenly my vision was blurred. At least I think it was blurred, everything was wobbling slightly to the left. It felt like something was about to snap inside my brain. It was horrible. Horrible. And then with a wrenching tear it was gone. I remember just standing there staring glassy eyed into the viewer at nothing. Blackness. There was nothing out there! Where did it go? Who took it? Why did they take it? WHY DID THEY TAKE IT?!
-------------

The man became violent at that point. They all did, those who were in the crew. The operation had strict order at that point, neutralize and cleanse. This event seemed to have a profound effect on the monitors, and on the group sent to cleanse the station. Half the group was unable to continue citing ‘unbearable loss’ as the reason for resigning from duty. It seems that the collapsing wormhole had a profound imprint on the universe. And it’s getting larger. The ‘wormhole wave’ is set to hit your planet in 1 standard month. To maintain control of your populace here are some recommendations… PAGE 2

8-23-2424
To: Fleet Commander Trazicke
Re: Probe Scan Fault
Source: New Hope SciDiv, Unit B --- Chief Ressbin

Commander, we have analyzed the faulty probe that your analysts brought to us, and can find no apparent reason for the sensor inefficiency for sweeps inside of the Wormhole. Our researches believe that there may be structural anomolies within this wormhole that have not been documented in any previous scientific reports. I'm requesting payload space to include a more comprehensive sweeping package.



5-2-2423
"A science report, sir," squeked the assistant as she tip-toed around the Commander's plush office.
"I should be receiving military orders, dammit! Another farkin' report. The Boomsma Jonge are massing for Muerta and this is what I'm stuck doing!" boomed Trazicke. Noticing the winces of his assistant, he calmed a bit. "I hope the research team has invented something useful this time."

Reading over the report, with it's schematics and techno-babble, the Commander couldn't make heads or tails of it, but the tone indicated it was something exciting for the Reseacrch team. Something about leaks in the nearby wormhole, or some such.

"Call Ressbin up here," ordered the Fleet Commander.



5-9-2423
"Everything looks good so far, Captain," stated Researcher Gotz. "The package is ready."

"Launch the payload, Ensign."

And the ovule leaped from the NIF Wellington, speeding towards the wormhole. The nanobots inside programmed to scatter and conduct surveys.



6-11-2423
"Absolutely astounding!" cried Ressbin, after the analysis of the nanobot reports were complete. "The wormhole has microscopic holes leading into a parallel universe. So many possibilities .... I must inform the Commander."

....

"Another Universe? Good job, Chief --- if it's true," said Trazicke. "So, let's go check it out then. Organize a team and see what's over there."

"Well, there's a problem with that. We've sent signals to our nanobots so they should be assembling some equipment over there, but the holes which leak into the other Universe are quite microscopic. Also, it seems that there are multiple leaks which don't seem to lead to the same place. Our nanobots have been divided into a large number of groups. We can't even be sure that they're in the same Universe."

"Microscopic??! What the hell is all of this fuss about then, if the only thing we can send are the damned nanobots?" belted the Commander, as he began to glare at the bespectacled scientists. We have families DYING in defense of Muerta, and this is what you give me? 96.3% of the projections show that we're going to lose this farking war. I need something we can use, dammit!"

"Well ... ahh. Hmmm... what if we could escape to this Universe, Commander .. yessss, if we could just stretch the holes to fit our ships, we could resettle there. That's it, Commander!" burbled Ressbin, excited about this new train of thought.

"Get to it, Chief!"


3-8-2426
Karnejj, stepped off of the Cruiser surveying the colony. "Heh, and I thought THIS would be our new home after Muerta falls ... but, could it be? An entire new Universe..."

....

The briefing wasn't turning out to be the good news that he dreamt of. "..... As you can see, the massive power requirements show that it would be impossible to open the portals large enough for us to pass ships through to the new Universe. However, what we can easily send is information. In particular, this allows us a use for our quantum scans. The scans can allow us to record every single thing about an object down to the subatomic level. However, as you know, quantum recordings don't last very long, and were nearly useless because of their volatility. We have now devised a use for them! We can scan a person and launch this into the new Universe."

"How does that help us escape," interjected Karnejj with his patience wearing thin.

"Pardon, Great Emperor. Let me get to the point. Unfortunately, our attempts to send our people to the new Universe have failed, but, we can send a copy of ourselves. I know this is not ideal, but, it is the next best utilization of these portals to the Universe."

"A copy ... of me? Wha--" started Karnejj, but he was not in the habit of showing ignorance or indecision. "Continue, Chief Researcher..."

"Yes, sir. We can send a specialized ship into the wormhole and copy the occupants and send their data to our nanobots. The nanobots can then reconstruct the person down to the last electron. A perfect copy."

Karnejj sighed, exasperated by this strange solution. "An evacuation of Tortuga is to begin soon. Make plans to begin the transfers, immediately."

It's all right... I'm a leaf on the wind.

From: Bro%Dan@sionia.freelink.lsp
To: Mosely%Absolute@xanaphia.messenger.lsp
Subject: The big man writes again

My team found it about an hour ago, written in the same script we found on chatelleraut - a lot shorter, but if what happened last time we found an inscription is any indicator of things to come... well... I'd appreciate it if you get your girl to intervene as quick as possible, kay? Anyway, try to make some sense of this.

The eye and ear of man shall surely know
The lust of one, to fight the other’s greed
The victor, he who strikes decisive blow,
Will have no qualms to other lands proceed
- Inscription found on cavern wall
New Xanaphia Archaeological Survey
Haut-Sec Scriptorium 3 , Freehold Prime

Dan

P.S.: Finne Lillard is getting a copy, too. Don’t tell Paranoia, you know how they get.

-----

The journalists must be having a field day, thought Don Julio as he walked down the corridors of his flagship, the BJS Distilarica. The hull shuddered and Julio grabbed a handrail - just for a moment. Nothing to worry about, the attacking partisan fleets of the Spectre Order had been launching attacks on his ships constantly for the past couple of days. He was safe in his secondary invasion force, removed from the main action taking place in the high atmosphere miles below him. The ship shifted a second time as the reactor core transferred a surface charge back to the tachyon field that was serving him so well. It was almost pathetic, really.
The Don took a long drag from his cigar and paused to look down from the catwalk into the war bays where his boys were set about, firing the Distilarica’s cannons like deep, cavernous drums while the higher-pitched keen of the gun batteries fired at attacking Spectres, their sporadic shots sounding almost like a melody. The sweet, sweet music of war.
The cigar was freshly looted from the plentiful stockhouses of Blood Cove, the planet over which they hovered. Hedonist hydroponics were still the best in all the galaxies, there was no denying that. Almost a shame we’re so irrevocably at war. The week had been a blur, since his initial victory and subsequent celebration. A blur with explosions, screaming diplomats and battle reports. Oh, and gin. Julio screwed the cap off his hip flask and drank. Hedonists still can’t beat my liquor. No one can.
As he reached the bridge, he was greeted by the sight of the grievously damaged hull of a Spectre Destroyer, still leaking burning plumes of oxygen, directly in the Distilarica’s path. The captain of the destroyer, a young man with pale Underground features, was on the wave display, begging the Brig Major of the Distilarica for his crew’s life.
“Please, Major. We are without arms, without armor, and we are losing oxygen fast. We’re no threat. Please, I beg you, accept our surrender.” Don Julio paced around the back of the bridge. The Brig Major began discussing terms, he as well as the rest of the crew unaware of the Don’s presence.
“Seal your hatches and prepare to be boarded, SOIV Redwind. Jettison all personal armaments from the hatches, we will expect no resistance from your crew. Troop transports will arrive in...”
As the Brig Major spoke, Julio worked the armaments console. All fore cannons ceased other operations and trained on the structural strain points of the Redwind. Years of practice, years of practice. And here I am, I still gotta do the grunt work.
“Your surviving crew are to remain silent and complacent. Do I ma-”
Julio slammed the “engage” button, and the fore cannons fired. The redwind never saw it coming.
The bridge was silent as the shattered destroyer’s atmosphere burned in spectacular, weightless plumes of orange flame. Every hand on deck waited on the Don’s words.
“You let one go, they’ll expect it every time. This is not a goddam charity boat. Major, I expect immediate destroy orders against all disabled enemy craft. Am I crystal?”
The major nodded, looking pale. Then Julio’s bracelet chimed, Creator on the intelligence deck paging him. He took a long drink from his hip flask and left the bridge as the charred fragments of the Redwind were brushed aside by the tachyon field.
The intelligence deck was dark and smoky. The odor of tobacco mixed with the fumes from the dozens of machines purring out data stung the don’s nose as he walked inside. The ten screens representing individual factions were chock full of messages, messages from a bunch of diplomatic weasels under every flag trying to divert attention or liability from themselves. Pathetic.
The unmistakable Creator swiveled around from reading some incoming bulletins from the Firm. At six feet, seven inches tall, Creator served as Julio’s top lieutenant and doubled, though unofficially, as his bodyguard.
“Read the Spectre Order’s latest waves, Julio.” Said Creator. “It’s a madhouse with the press on this one. I just got off the phone with a couple Sionian entrepreneurs looking to buy the movie rights.”
“What’d you tell ‘em?”
“I sold for twenty mil credits.”
“That’s it?”
“Some good flicks come out of Freehold Prime. Just helping the industry.”
“I gotta tell you, compadre, I don’t feel like reading right now. Care to paraphrase?”
“No.”
Julio shot Creator a venomous look as he took the seat in front of the Spectre Order’s wave screen. The latest message was from Sir Killzalot, who was bowing out of the conflict. Huh. Without Killzalot, the Spectre Order was down a major combatant. Julio liked the sound of that. He quickly typed a smug reply and posted the wave.
“Julio, are you in the least bit suspicious?”
“No, why would I be?”
“Spectre Order Morale is high again. After that idiot Chris was dethroned, they got a second wind. Not to mention what happened to the first invasion fleet.”
“Wait... what?”
“Oh, right. Classified wave, it skipped my mind. Here.”
Creator reached into his vest pocket and produced a datadisk, which he threw to Julio. Julio inserted the disk into the SO console, and the combat recorder on one of his battleships began to play. The ship’s vantage point on the battle was good. Capital ships bombarding the planet below, fighters swooping around like hornets, everything seemed normal. But then, he spotted a cloudbreak in the planet’s atmosphere, out of which spilled thousands of Spectre Order ships. Their weapons blazed and punched a hole through his front lines, while Spectre fighters successfully outmaneuvered his own and lit up the sky with their destruction. In a few minutes, his fleet was decimated by the surprise attack, and shortly thereafter the battleship recording the scene was flanked by a pair of destroyers, which blasted through shield and armor, at which point there was only static.
“You know, Creator, it may have been a good idea to tell me about this sooner.” Said Julio, dangerously.
“Don’t worry about it. My boys went in and cleaned up afterwards. We’re still winning.”
“That was a slaughter. It shouldn’t have happened.”
“Don’t let it get to your head. That was a combined SO attack group, which is mostly destroyed by now.”
“Understand that I'm still pissed.”
“I do. Understand that I don’t care.”
“Of course.”
“Go take another vacation, Julio. I can handle the Spectres from here.”
“Don’t push it, Creator.”
“I’m not the one that lost an entire Jonge armada to a rabble of pirates.”
Julio shot one last glare at Creator before storming out of the room. At least Killzalot’s declaration of withdrawal was good news. He shook his hip flask and it was empty. I need a goddam drink.

-----

From: Finne%Lillard@clanlink.uni.gov
To: Pirate%King@xanaphia.messenger.lsp
Subject: Danny’s Find

Apopros,

I’m sure you’ve read the latest inscriptions, and I'm equally sure that you’ve seen the news from Blood Cove. If the almighty is referring to this war, then I believe we have cause for concern. I think that ‘the lust of one’ refers to the Hedonists, and ‘greed’ to Don Julio’s boys. Whichever one wins won’t stop. History has shown we’re usually the next target.

Ex Spiritus Unitos,

Dalen

-----

Rosalie barely had time to take her Euphorika tablet and put her hair up before she went into the air. Her fighter was finally a smooth-handling, top-of-the-line starship, none of the synthmat crap that so many of her comrades had gone down in. Rosalie Delaterra was a Lieutenant Orderly in the Hedonist navy, and the squad leader of thirteen other spacecraft. Her Euphorika tablet kept her feeling calm as her wingmates pulled alongside her in preparation for their attack run. Her craft rocketed through the ruddy twilight atmosphere of Blood Cove towards the Jonge battleships in low orbit. Her fingers flexed against the fighter’s controls, this design was ideal for atmo combat.
Sorties happened often, ever since Sir Killzalot pulled one of the greatest diplomatic maneuvers in history and caught Don Julio and Creator completely by surprise, knocking out a previously thought unbeatable fleet with ease. The new president was overjoyed, obviously, now that his administration was finally seeing some success against the invaders. Now, however, Boomsa Jonge was back to reclaim what they had originally won, and Rosalie’s wing was one of many ordered to stop the powerful Jonge flotillas before they had a chance to decimate more Spectre Order outposts. Losses had been horrendous.
“304th Hedonist Marauder Flight, report in.” She spoke softly over her comlink. Her wingmen and women confirmed their preparedness, and she breathed out. Forty kilometers to engagement zone. She looked behind herself at her gunner, William. It was the Hedonist norm for pilots and their gunners to live, enjoy life and, of course, sleep with each other. She reached her arm back, William took her hand and squeezed it. Twenty kilometers to engagement zone. William armed the Marauder’s guns, and their representations on the craft’s overhead display lit up a bright green. Suddenly, the incoming linkscreen came to life, and Commodore Michael Amidon, the governor under which they all served, as well as the spiritual leader of Hedonist culture, looked at them.
“My dear friends, we go now to defeat the most powerful enemy we have ever faced. Fight for your way of life, for if we lose today we will lose all the pleasure we have worked so atimately to gain. But we will not lose, because our will is strong and our goal is clear. Get the Jonge out. Kick them back to the core. I trust in you all.” The transmission ended. Two kilometers to engagement zone. A few moments later, they were there. The bulk of the Jonge warships floated ominously before them, casting huge shadows on the monstrous thunderclouds below them.
“Begin attack pattern Omega Nu capital variant, aim for the cannons!” Rosalie cried into the comlink as defensive fire from the battleship in front of her began to zip dangerously close to the wings. Rosalie tugged the joystick and her fighter dove fast, falling below the battery fire. She rolled and brought herself into a spinning arc across the battleship's underbelly. Her wing followed behind her, executing the maneuver near-perfectly. William opened up with the guns, which rattled off pulse after pulse of impact energy into the belly’s weaker armor.
As her wing reached the end of the ship, they broke formation and fanned out, leaving fourteen exhaust trails that snaked through the sky behind them. For the first time, Rosalie got a good view of the battle. Many more wings like hers were peppering the Jonge ships, while a flotilla of friendly destroyers emerged from a cloud bank and began firing freely on their larger opponents.
Rosalie took another dive, preparing to make a second pass, and one of her wing’s fighters pulled alongside her. Suddenly a shot from the battleship’s defense system struck the fighter dead-center, making it lurch and pull upwards. Rosalie looked after the damaged marauder and saw it get hammered by battery crossfire and explode in a blood-red fireball. She shrugged her feelings of sadness off and rolled away from the sheet of fire that now lanced at her, while William continued to let off bursts of energy at the Jonge vessel.
The destroyers were taking their toll on the invading Battleships. One after another tried to pull away from the conflict, dark smoke trailing from massive open wounds where the Hedonists had scored critically. These ships were set upon by the Hedonist high-altitude bombers, which unloaded their charges from above at the retreating ships, which soon took too much abuse to remain airborne.
The Jonge fighters still in the area were attempting to cover the remaining battleships’ retreat. As Rosalie’s squadron regrouped and went for another pass, a Jonge group broke their flight patterns to try and take down the Hedonist craft. Lances of bright energy shredded the engine of the marauder third on Rosalie’s right, which spiraled down towards Blood Cove’s surface. By now, the sun was nearly set, and the light was just present enough to make night vision equipment impossible to use. The best illumination came from the explosions that still surrounded the sky around her, on both sides.
Suddenly, a triad of Jonge fighters dropped in behind her. They opened fire and scorched a wide gash across her wings and engine, setting off a cacophony of beeps and alarms that persisted angrily as Rosalie’s fighter fell out of formation. The overhead display showed heavy damage to the right wing and engine group, and that half their guns were gone as well.
“William, hold on tight.” Said Rosalie with the last ounce of calm that her Euphorika pill could offer her. Rosalie ducked into a cloud bank, swiveled her left engine column around, and reversed thrust. The marauder pulled a crazy ivan, engaging both engines when it was fully turned around. The G force was unbearable. Rosalie and William were next to unconscious as they darted out of the bank and William lit up two of the Jonge fighters, killing the pilots with shots through the cockpit. The third disengaged and raced to join the rest of his fleeing comrades.
“Allright, squad, that’s it. Leave the destroyers to clean up. I believe we have a celebration to attend. Good work, everyone.” Said Rosalie, breathless. She let her hair down as she guided the nose of her marauder towards home. This was a good day. Any day you didn’t die was a good day.


-----


From: Mosely%Absolute@xanaphia.messenger.lsp
To: Bro%Dan@sionia.freelink.lsp
Subject: Holy Hell!

I don’t think anyone saw that coming. Apopros just found out and told me, so you probably know already. I’ll bet you a credit good ‘ol quacks had something to do with this, he usually does. Revenge, maybe? I think we’d best look over the meaning of that inscription again. I believe there’s more for interpretation now.

Mosely


-----



General Anatidus Quackor chewed slowly on a stick of rubber as he watched the devastating war of attrition going on far below him. Suddenly he noticed that the stick he was chewing on was falling apart... a side effect of constant gene therapy and nanomedicine, all your bones got stronger. A lot stronger. Quackor threw the stick into a dustbin and reached for the plate of sweetcakes on his desk. Sweetcakes killed the stress.
The pressure on the General had mounted recently, and he had responded relatively well. He and Creator had fought the Spectre Order to a bloody stalemate, which each side seemed reluctant to accept but was the only reasonable end to the war that had torn Blood Cove’s landscape and people to shreds. Now both Boomsa Jonge and Spectre Order colonies dotted the landscape, with only a fraction of the original fighting still going on.
The sweetcake was good. Damn good. Quackor let his mind wander over the week’s events... Julio’s departure and the subsequent splitting of the once unmatched Boomsa Jonge had come as a shock to most of the universe. Quackor himself had given several press conferences to concerned news agencies with the Crusaders, Unitology and Institution, but had accepted his money without giving out too much information. Only a few knew the real reason the great empire had split, and it wasn’t about to go public if he could help it. The General popped another sweetcake into his mouth and snapped his fingers, at which time his pet duck, Francesca, waddled out of her cage in the corner and hopped into the general’s lap.
As he stroked Francesca’s feathers, Quackor brought up his console and issued orders to his forces. Constant patrols of the surrounding region, making sure that a large Hedonist armada would be noticed in time to make preparations. At the present time, there was no real danger from the remaining Spectre Order inhabitants. Most were too small or disenfranchised to seriously consider taking on the small, but substantial forces that he, Creator, Dragon, and other warlords still held in the area.
Sometimes the General actually tired of war. He remembered the old days, before the Great Sundering, when he had his own private estuary on Abrigo, where he could go to forget. Francesca was all he had left of that world. A single tear fell down his cheek as his secretary spoke over the comlink.
“General, Creator and Dragon are on the wave. They want to discuss certain things with you.”
The General brushed his tear away and switched back to warlord mode. No time for sentiment. The boss needs some killin’ done.


-----

From: Bro%Dan@sionia.freelink.lsp
To: Finne%Lillard@clanlink.uni.gov
Pirate%King@xanaphia.messenger.lsp
mosely%absolute@xanaphia.messenger.lsp
Subject: I rock.

Found another one. After Mosely hypothesized that ‘Lust’ meant Don Julio and ‘Greed’ meant Creator and Dragon, it wasn’t an hour until miners on Basilica Luminarium found this inscription.

And when the serpent bites himself in two
His seed will spread into contested lands
The sigh that others calm themselves into
Will soon be broken by four iron hands
- Inscription found in 21st Silver Vein
Basilica Luminarium Archaeological Survey
Haut-Sec Scriptorium 1, Sionia’s Refuge

I think he’s telling us to keep our guard up. This situation is getting more unstable by the minute. You wait and see how long that stalemate lasts.

Perfection starts with 'X' and ends with 'anaphia'.

Raistlin – SRA Archangel en route to Abrigo

Brother Raistlin got a visual on the incoming fighter before the Archangel’s crippled sensors picked anything up. He recognized it as Sionian immediately by the aggressive shape, and as it drew closer he saw the complicated green and gold insignia that indicated the rank of High Avenger. Mosely and Engel, thank Unitos.
Raistlin had been in charge of the multitude of ships that, for the past several hours, had been docking consistently with the Archangel and transferring personnel. Transports, colonizers, system defense forces, everyone had simply quit their posts. The abandoned ships now drifted lifelessly in space, leaving a trail of silent metal behind the lonely vessel.
Such desolation… Brother Raistlin was not so young anymore, during his time serving in the Sionian Republic Armada he had witnessed in war’s savagery the darker side of human nature. All the battles he had seen, however, paled in comparison to what had happened to Persephone. Persephone was a darkly beautiful world, a paradise to many, where several relatives of his had held positions in freehold government. Raistlin had seen nothing but an ember, a still-glowing funeral pyre for Persephone’s people, except for the few that had been sufficiently lucky – well – if you could call it lucky – to escape aboard charter transports. They were all near catatonic, the doctors probably still hadn’t gotten them to talk yet.
Raistlin looked up as Brother Daniel walked onto the deck.
“Hello, speaker.”
“No need to call me that anymore. Expedition’s been disbanded.” There was a profound neutrality in Daniel’s face that disturbed Raistlin somewhat.
“Disbanded?”
“There’s no expedition because every world in this galaxy has either become a new hell or has embarked on its way to becoming one.”
“But we’re still here, Speaker.”
“One battleship doesn’t make an empire.”
“Actually, we’ve got somewhat more than that.” Brother Mosely and Dr. Engel walked onto the deck.
“Mosely. Engel. Glad to see you’re alive.” Said Daniel, still so damned detached-sounding.
“We’re not at all far from Abrigo, Daniel.” Continued Mosely, “And the good news is that Abrigo has not been touched by any of this, not yet anyway. The star is steadily increasing in its electromagnetic activity, but the planet itself is fine. I think that we got waves through to headquarters, all worthy Armada ships are being requisitioned for the next trip.”
Indeed, Abrigo still shone blue and green as the Archangel made its approach. The four silently waited for orbit. As they came close, they saw the pulsing star’s light glinting off the hulls of hundreds of civilian and military craft, all turned towards the great battleship, waiting. They know what’s happening.
“We have five hours. As many as can dock and jettison in that period can come along. Call in every favor you can muster, get every vessel that can make the trip here a tout suite. We’re somewhat less prepared for this particular Exodus.”

DANIEL – SRA Nouvel Espoir – Uncharted Space

“And therefore, my brothers and sisters, I ask you stand firm. The Sionian Covenant was founded on the principles of the sanctity of human life and the paramount importance of personal freedom. Now, as so many times before, our faith, our families, and our way of life are threatened, not by the purples, but by the simple fact that our engines are not carrying us fast or far enough away from our charred former homes. I do not ask you to forget the souls of those friends and family left behind. Far from it. I would ask you to remember these people every day, and for their sake, work towards the goals that will save us all. Do not let their loss be in vain. Food, water, energy, and morale are in short supply. I will not deny that. There is nothing pleasant about our current situation. We can only hope that Unitos, wherever he is, will someday bless the journey of his people in this, our time of need. Until that day, the shifts of work in the laboratories and machine shops must never stop. I ask, sons and daughters of Unitos, that in our plight we find the spirit to help one another. Let us pray."
The huge gathering of people in the cavernous habitation level all made the sign of Unitos on their foreheads and bowed their heads. The Covenant prayer, said in unison, sounded truly powerful, shaking the hull with the faith of its people.
Brother Daniel stepped down from the crate he had been standing on, into the citizens that had gathered to watch him preach. He took the hands of his countrymen as he passed through and offered smiles of encouragement, weak as they were. He took the lift to the bridge and stood behind the commander’s chair.
Twenty ships. That was all. The Archangel’s hull loomed to the bottom starboard side of the smaller, newer Nouvel Espoir, which had taken over as his flagship. From his vantage point, the ship looked like a ghost, nothing but a few desperate points of light huddled together against the infinite blackness of space.
“Father, I’m not ready.”
“Jonathan, I don’t give a purple’s damn whether or not you think you’re ready. It doesn’t matter. Right now, you’re our best chance. The Vigilance has the coordinates of old Unitalia stored in the computer, who I’ve programmed to help you with your responsibilities. For example, in thirty minutes, after my Armada leaves, every citizen of the freehold will get a message explaining everything. There won’t be any riots.”
“Father, we don’t even know if the old galaxy’s still there.”
“Jonathan, don’t be ridiculous.”
“It could be gone. It could easily be gone. The final war ravaged every world in the galaxy, and that was before we lost contact. I might be flying a city into the black, looking for a world that isn’t there.”
“Unitos will watch you, son. I pray for it every night. You’ve been trained for this, Jonathan. Everyone will know that you’re the only one ready for the weight on your shoulders.”
“Hell, dad. I’ve never flown a city before.”
“You’ll be the first one in the family. Now gerron.”
That had sure looked weird from high orbit. Quite an engineering feat, too. The Vigilance, once one of the mightiest vessels ever seen, now just the command bridge of an entire gorram metropolis. It had looked weird. Who’d have thought.
The XRA Xanaphia’s Mercy became visible to port. Mosely’s flagship was even bigger than the Archangel, and the Armada further owed Mosely for the tube system. Every ship connected through a series of supertensile null-G passageways to transfer personnel. Out here, there was nothing to collide with, and it was a slight boost to morale knowing you weren’t any more isolated then you had to be.
“That was a nice sermon, Speaker.” Said Mosely from directly behind Daniel, who whirled around with a startled grunt.
“Mosely!” yelled Daniel, red-faced. “How in the hell did you manage to sneak up on me?”
“Could be you’re getting old… or maybe it’s just that I don’t make much noise while I’m floating.” Daniel suddenly realized he was weightless. “Grav system is down 12 hours per cycle now, took too much power. I’ll be sure to add that to ‘food, water, energy and morale’ on the list of things we’ve got to do without.” Mosely gestured towards the corridor.
Daniel silently assented, pushed off from the bridge railing, and floated out of the door. The two drifted along for several minutes in silence, occasionally passing citizens or commandoes going to and from their daily tasks. Nobody smiled, not anymore.
“I need the revolver drive, Mosely.” Said Daniel suddenly, stopping himself with a handrail. Mosely stopped a couple of feet further and turned.
“Slow, Dan. It was just a sketch when we started out.”
“Right. When we started out. A year ago. Now look where we are.”
“Our facilities-”
“We have no cryogenics. We have an ever-diminishing energy supply, as well as a handy list of other troubles that our citizens are hardly unaware of.”
“We’ve made progress. But it’s still as much madness as it was the day you suggested it.”
“And that’s the irony, isn’t it. In much madness is divinest sense, Mosely. I’ve seen the schematics. Not only could it be feasible, it’s also the only logical choice. Antimatter drives in series around a central point, each activating for a millisecond each in a certain sequence.”
“I know the plan, jackass.”
“This effect will warp spacetime enough to allow the jumping vessel to enter a small, straightshot teleportation rift, slinging us within sublight range of the new galaxy cluster.”
“And if it doesn’t work, we’ll have used up 98% of our fuel reserves. These ships are designed for endurance. They’re not spheres. A sphere wouldn’t be able to make this trip without three times its weight in uranium onboard. This idea has about a one in seventeen thousand chance of success. Are you willing to bet the lives of every citizen that still follows you on that ratio?”
Daniel’s pupils narrowed and he drifted slowly towards Mosely. “Every day, new pieces fall off these ships. And that’s the problem with being out here. There are no replacement parts. Sure, we can send it to the Machinists’ bay and they’ll probably be able to patch it up fine enough… but eventually, friend, they’ll wear out. The metal won’t be able to go on because it will have exhausted everything it has to give. Same thing happens to us. Every day these people see nothing but black, they wear out a little bit. Every day we have to cut something more back. Less food. Less gravity. Less privacy. Every day these people stay on this ship, they wish a little more that we had let them burn with the others.”
Other people in the hallway had stopped moving, giving Daniel and Mosely a wide berth. Daniel looked away, through the visteel window into another one of the hab wings.
“Our way of life has fled from galaxy to galaxy. One way or another, we are always broken and driven further and further away from what we first set out to do. And here we are again, chasing the dream to yet another promised land. We pass this chance up, or screw it somehow, or let someone else to the punch, there well may never be another shot.”
There was a pause.
“One week.” Said Mosely, looking into the hab wing. “One week and I’ll have it done.”
“What do you need from me?”
“Seventy percent of the power, full grav on the Mercy and triple my staff.”
“You’ve got it.”
Then Daniel pushed off and started drifting back towards the bridge. Neither one spoke. You had to do what you had to do.

Two Weeks Later
Mosely – XRA Xanaphia’s Mercy – Uncharted Space

The last ship locked into place as Brother Mosely gave the order from the bridge of the Xanaphia’s Mercy, which protruded as the nose of a massive conglomerate of the Sionian, Xanaphian, and Templar ships in the armada. Daniel had come up with the arrangement to lock the vessels in place, with the Archangel, Longbow, St. November’s Rage and Divine Gale riveted into place surrounding the Mercy, in who were all in turn flanked by the Nouvel Espoir, Ailleacht, Redeemer, Soulriser, as well as eleven other small ships in a circular pattern surrounding the five core vessels. Raistlin, Engel and their staff had developed the final AMO Oscillator Driveshaft, which was now complete, attached to the mass epicenter of the conglomerate. Now Mosely had connected it all, and it was ready to go.
“Daniel, confirm structural integrity.” Said Mosely over the com.
“Confirm, all vessels tangentially and centripedally balanced, relative equilibrium detected at all stress points.”
“Raistlin, confirm antimatter conduit stability.”
“Confirm, conduits reading at 100%, Antimatter is prepared for distribution upon command.”
“Engel, confirm AMO activation sequence and prepare for countdown.”
“Confirm, AMO has begun turning and is prepared for jump sequence.”
Mosely inserted a key into his command console. Lights from the Nouvel Espoir, St. November’s Rage and Archangel turned on, and the blue activation button lit up.
“We’re go.” Said Mosely, and he pushed the button.
Immediately, the space around them was brilliant white. Structural and AMO readouts immediately showed areas of weakness, unforeseen flaws in design that the revolver drive was pushing to the limit. Warning sirens. Lights flashing. Mosely closed his eyes to the brilliant light, there was nothing he could do but wait. This was a one in a million shot. Very easy to miss.
Then, he slowly opened his eyes. He wasn’t dead. The white light persisted, but he could now see that the readouts were stable, and that nothing was falling apart. But… why? By all logic, he had to deduce that the revolver drive was a deathtrap. And yet they weren’t dead.
“It was a good design. I only intervened a little.” Came a female voice from directly beside him. Mosely looked, saw who it was, and immediately fell to the floor and bowed his head.
“Get up, Brother Mosely, High Avenger of Sionia, servant of Unitos. You need not bow before me.” Mosely got up, slowly, and looked into the eyes of the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Xanaphia’s luminescent gaze met his own. She was clothed in white spirals of cloth that floated weightlessly around her.
“We are in a pocket in time. Daniel, Raistlin and the rest are frozen and will not experience more than a moment’s time passing.” She spoke with a cosmic resonance that brought joy to his heart every time she uttered a word.
“To what do I owe this divine grace, my lady?” Said Mosely, grasping for words.
“Your role in this new universe is to be somewhat different than before. Have you ever heard of the outcast Apopros?”
“I have, my lady. He was listed on Sionian datalinks as a pirate, we had a reward on his head briefly.”
“He now leads the Legion of Scorpion pirates. You are to unite with his forces upon reaching your new home.”
“Pirates, my lady?”
“I will return to you when the situation unfolds further. For now, you must trust me. Bring Daniel and Raistlin along with you, they will be necessary for the trials to come.”
“I shall obey.”
Xanaphia smiled and touched Mosely’s cheek with her slender hand. Suddenly the white in space around them turned back to the standard starscape. Mosely looked out the observation deck and saw a great terrestrial planet sitting in front of them. A vessel hailed them and the transmission played on the com.
“By the authority of the Great Crusade and the jurisdiction of Vincere Venimus, you are bound by law to report vessel designation and commanding officers or be destroyed immediately. You have ten seconds to comply.”
Mosely looked back to where Xanaphia had stood.
“This is Brother Mosely of the Legion of Scorpion Pirates, requesting permission to rest planetside.”

The evil otter lord Feck stood on the bridge of his Tyr II Class Battleship, The Unwashed Otter, he stroked his overly evil little otter whiskers and smiled gleefully. "Today Musashi, is the day I get my revenge on you for refusing to make me, the noble and elegant Feck, the official mascot of the Overwatch!" He cried aloud, in front of all his brain dead and drunken crewmembers, who just mumbled jibberish to themselves and went back to pushing buttons and inserting square shaped blocks into triangle shaped holes. "Lord Feck, your bath has been prepared" said one of his man-servants. The evil otter smiled "Thank you nameless servant" he said, and with that he walked into his private bathing area. The strong smell of Gin and german man musk hung in the room, Feck removed his grease stained cape of otter evil and stepped into what what he called "the tub of the gods" which, in reality was only a small polka dotted kiddy pool with the words TUB OF THE GODS in big bold letters marked on the side of it. The evil otter plunged into the small, wobbly rubber pool and sighed, "being an evil otter overlord was hard work" he thought aloud as the Gin swirled around him, he slowly dipped his evil head under the alcohol and started thinking of ways to embarass Musashi.

The Great and Kind Lord Musashi of the Overwatch Economic Union sat upon his handmade throne and wrote limericks to the lovely ladies of Lunar Gate. He enjoyed such popularity, he never needed to go to war, so he never had any fleets. As he finished one of his finest pieces of work, His Chief of Staff Blackvoid rushed into the throne room. "Lord Musashi! Lord Musashi!" He cried "The Dark Otterlord Feck is preparing to attack us, his fleet is growing near!!!"
Musashi stopped smiling, "How close is he?" he asked, in a serious tone. Blackvoid sniffed the air, "Well judging by the stench of Gin and wet fur, about 10 minutes away from the outskirts of Lunar Gate." Musashi muttered a prayer, he had to rally the troops and prepare for war.

The Demon Otter walked out of his bathroom with a gigantic and evil grin "Attention, my loyal followers" He bellowed "I would like to wish you luck in conquering that merciful moron Musashi, For the Glory of Gin, we will take away his people's freedom and give them what they want, oppression!" The crew mumbled somemore and went back to their simple workings. Feck picked up his Gin bottle walkie talkie, and after a long refreshing drink from it, ordered his most feared stormtroopers, the wasted weekend Warriors, to begin assaulting Lunar Gate. He smiled joyfully and did a fruity and drunken dance to celebrate his nearing victory over all things good and fair.

The Civil Defense of Lunar Gate was failing, the onslaught of Valhalla Class bombers was tearing apart the already outdated defenses of the peaceful city-state. Musashi grimly staired at the raging battle and cried out "If only I had let that evil otter become the mascot, this never would have happened!" He then realised what he had to do. He picked up a laser spear and rushed out to help the valiant civilians. As he lept from the gates, he noticed a large group of stumbling, mumbling and bumbling men in stained halloween costumes. "Oh No!" cried blackvoid in horror "it's the dreaded wasted weekend warriors, Feck's evil, and drunken personal guard, we have no chance against their party-going ways!!" Musashi muttered a prayer and watched as his citizens were slaughtered by their drunken combat styles and then in a last ditch attempt ,gathered his remaining loyalists in a final attempt to drive off the drunken foes.


The dark drunkard Feck danced with joy as he watched Lunar Gate burn, his drunken Army quickly overwhelming the pure hearted and freedom loving citizens of Lunar Gate, he started thinking of how he would humiliate Musashi in front of the remaining, and heart broken people of the once great colony. "My Eternal Master" shouted another nameless minion "Lunar Gate has been captured and the citizens have been put into place using our mass Gin saturation bombings, they now await you to tell them their fate" Feck grinned from ear to evil ear
He began to make his long, boring and severly slurred speech, when like a shooting star, a shelter hope, carrying Musashi and some remaining loyalists disappeared towards his new base of Operations, Moria Mines. The overweight otter stamped his paws in anger. "WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR YOU FOOLS" He roared "SHOOT HIM DOWN!!!!!!!!!" His crew shook their heads "Sorry sir" said one "we're on our Union mandated Hour long Gin Break"
"Damn Unions" Muttered Feck under his breath "I should never have listened to Jello's Advice about giving them a union" as the hero of Lunar Gate disappeared into the inky blackness, Feck poured himself another bottle of Gin and thought of how big the statue to his glory should be...

*To Be Continued*

When this is over, you and I are gonna have a little chat.

Leadership is hard. Duncecap, heavily favored Chairman of the Shelter Defense Legion, reclined in his gyroscopic leather chair. Video screens and black wiring snaked out from the ceiling of the meticulously crafted room, showing the Chairman what most faction leaders would be overjoyed to see; the surprise conquering of a powerful enemy’s homeworld. The Technocratic Initiative’s intricate flag had fallen in all but a few strongholds on Serenity, replaced by force with the Legion’s tan shield. Duncecap sighed and clapped his hands twice, upon which three young hairdressers entered the chamber and immediately began pampering their Chairman’s distinctive hair. Duncecap enjoyed his favorite pastime for a few moments, but couldn’t shake his distinct feeling of discomfort. The vanquishing of the Technocrats’ military had not been without consequence. The Legion embassies with the Gaians and Overwatch had been bombed by partisans, and talks with the Crusaders were becoming increasingly hostile.
“Away.” Said Duncecap, to his staff’s surprise. He had never stopped in the middle of a hair maintenance session. The hairdressers hurried away, leaving the Chairman alone in his chamber once more. There was silence for several moments. Duncecap entered a code on his chair’s side console, and suddenly every door and window was sealed with a soundproof barrier. An electromagnetic interference device activated, blocking all communication in and out of the room. Duncecap turned his chair slowly around.
“Greetings, Chairman Duncecap of the Shelter Defense Legion. You already know why I’ve come.” An average-sized man stood in the corner, dressed in simple grey clothing. His presence made Duncecap feel claustrophobic, and he instinctively avoided eye contact.
“Quax, I’m unwilling to pack up and order our forces to leave Serenity. If I do, I condemn millions to death.”
“Explain.”
“A pull-out will appear weak. Some up-and coming empire is going to leap on the chance to try and take us down. You know as well as I do that we won’t respond diplomatically, and nothing you do will ever change that.”
“I have an alternative solution.”
“Already?”
“I’ve been observing the leaders of your race for millennia. I know what you must do to end this.” Quax let a smirk come to his mouth.
“What would you have me do?” Said the Chairman, standing turned to the side, eyes still averted.
“General Anatidus Quackor the second, commander of the legion, conqueror of worlds, must be cast from the order and then struck from Serenity by your hand.”
“What?” Said Duncecap, almost making eye contact by accident in his surprise, “Madness! Quackor is a friend and a brilliant commander. The Legion has been made leagues mightier by his presence.”
“You know the truth in what I say. To this end, i will provide you with a single wormhole, from Shelter to Serenity... just one. Now, I will leave you, Chairman.”
Duncecap blinked and the figure in his peripheral vision disappeared. If he never had to deal with one of those beings again, he would be content. As the claustrophobia passed, he stumbled back to his chair and released the lockdown. As his servants and bodyguards peered around corners, assuring their Chairman’s safety, Duncecap patched himself through to Legion War Command. He left them a simple message.

> SDL Command Override. Terminate ties with Gen. Anatidus Quackor. Eliminate any and all holdings and warfleets on and around Serenity. Execute Immediately.

Three Hours Later - Surface of Serenity, Alioth System
by Karnejj

Lightning streaked over the Colony Command Center. Another crack, and a third whipped across the sky in odd formations. Though thunder had rumbled the ground for hours now, there was no sight of any rain.

The people feared this unnatural scene, but the faces of all the bustling workmen rushing to get home insisted that they were pleased. Infused with more power to compensate for the howling winds, the "Love Speakers" blared: "The General is watching --- make him proud; The Ducks are never wrong."

The General was indeed watching. Although normally pre-occupied with spreading his water-fowl propaganda amongst the denizens of the galaxy which were NOT under his thumb, he was currently poring over reports of planetary instability throughout Alioth. His "Entertainment Facilities" were starting to have the desired effect on select members of the trouble-making populace, but unexepected events like this could nullify their recent re-education. He ordered his Elite Duck Research teams onto the case. As he finished sending the authorization, a blinding flash spilled in from the window, bathing the office with scintillating colors.

Emergency sensor scans picked up the opening of an unregistered wormhole and the signature of thousands of ships pouring through ... an Armada. A million souls looked to the heavens in unison as they felt their inner Quax surge with reborn hope; their prayers to the mighty Spirit have been answered. Though bombers were soon to rain down liberation across the land, many took to the walkways tearing at banners and posters, to remove them from sight and spread their insidious claims to the winds: War is Peace, Freedom is Slavery --- rubbish.

Drawn also by this disturbance in the Quax, the General approached the window and gazed sternly upon retribution. "Little do they know what I have in store for them!" Activating his comm relay, he shouted "Admiral, ready the new Duck Class Mark IV battleship for my arrival, and launch the Ducklings!"

"Already done, sir" was the response, as expected.

Entering his transport tube, he keyed the code for the Command Dock and was whisked to the entrance for his Flagship, the SDS-1. Various quacks greeted his arrival into the Battle Bridge and he responded curtly, getting into business. The ship lifted gracefully from the polished plassteel floor, and the hanger door opened above them. With deadly purpose, the crowning jewel of the Imperial Fleet streaked into the atmosphere to meet destiny.

Somethin' sure as hell ain't right.

DANIEL – In orbit above Three Rivers, New Amelie
………………………………………………………………….

The S.R.A Archangel floated tranquilly around New Amelie in the Espera star system. Brother Daniel watched from the observation deck as the 31st Sionian Interceptor squadron flitted through and were lost in the brilliance of the system's sun. For weeks there had been peace in the galaxy. Great war fleets, the likes of which had not been seen since before the Exodus, orbited menacingly around Marbella, Nemesis, and Eden, but nobody had thought to fire the first shot.
The speaker had not slept in days, and it was readily apparent. He clutched a mug of coffee with his left hand while his right was busy searching through the datalinks. Every file on ancient and crimson languages, every essay written on the bizarre hieroglyphics that had recently been discovered in the Châtellerault system’s mines, every scientific theory that attempted to explain the spectacular electromagnetic phenomenon that shone in the skies of every single planet in every single galaxy, day and night, every security video, where static hadn't blacked them out, of formerly normal citizens driven mad by an unseen, incurable plague that spread like wildfire through frontier colonies.
But then, it all seemed fitting. The defeat of the Underground at Nemesis, the invasion of Institution space, the alliance with the Crimson Nation, everything was supposed to be leading up to an epic showdown, but it hadn't. An epic showdown would be nice, Daniel thought. He knew how to command ships and win battles. But when the universe starts breaking down at its very essence, one tends to be a little unprepared. Daniel took a swig from his coffee mug and winced at the burn from the liquor it was heavily spiked with.
Daniel heard footsteps coming from behind his seat.
“Yes?” He inquired into the dimly lit bridge.
“Speaker,” Started an Ensign. “The Templars got a transport to Châtellerault and have joined our cryptologists. Sister Thadmor just waved us, I think she’s figured it out.”
“Put her on the feed, computer.” Said Daniel without turning. The computer pushed the datalinks from view and brought up the caverns of the Faith’s Bastion mining station. Thadmor’s image looked gaunt and ghostlike, between the white mining lights, electromagnetic interference and her disheveled, sleep-deprived face.
“Daniel, you’re not going to like this.”
“Didn’t ever expect otherwise, Sister. What does it say?”

MOSELY – 3500 feet below the surface of Faith’s Bastion, Châtellerault
……………………………………………………………………………………………..

Brother Mosley studied the symbols again. Surely what he and the Templar girl had discovered could not have been true. The symbols spoke of death, of destruction, but...the scope it included was ridiculous.
“Out of the question, Thadmor. Do you have any idea what that would mean?” It was Brother Daniel on the wave. The speaker was almost hysterical, from the looks of him. Much scruffier than usual. “You must have gotten it wrong.”
But it wasn’t wrong. Mosley had read this script fifty times, hoping that he had misinterpreted something, anything. He hadn’t. Only thing missing was the date. Whenever one of these things appeared, there was always a date. No exceptions. Mosley glanced down. There was a layer of mine dust covering an inch or so of the floor. Son of a bitch.
“We’re absolutely certain, Daniel.” Said Michael, who had joined his daughter at the screen.
“I’ve seen it. She’s seen it. Mosley, Engel and Amydros have all read the wall and agree with me. Mosley’s seen more caves than anyone you or I know, speaker, surely you…”
Michael was suddenly bumped by a passing Sionian Guard detachment, causing him to drop the papers he was carrying. Mosley’s mudcaked boots trod on the papers, as he rushed towards the linkfeed.
“Hey!” protested Michael as he was shoved aside.
“Daniel.” Said Mosley, his face drained of all color, “We don’t have weeks or days. It’s happening. It’s happening now.” Suddenly, the feed turned to static.
“EM interference is off the charts!” Cried an engineer. There was suddenly a deep, gut-churning rumble. A huge crack rippled through the cavern wall and echoed into the darkness. Archaeologists and engineers scattered. Thadmor, Michael and the rest of the Templar detachment dashed for their transport. Sionian ridgeracers spun into action all over the cavern floor, and soon nothing could be heard but the industrial beat of engines and the rumbling of a dying world.
Brother Mosley made it to his two-man fighter. Now chunks of the cavern ceiling were crashing to the ground.
“Engel, where are you?” yelled Mosley into his comlink.
“Those don’t work, mate.” Said Dr. Engel from the gunner’s seat. “Let’s go.”
The vessel powered up. As the fighter lifted into the air, the Templar detachment transport pulled in front of them.
“Move!” Cried Engel, in frustration. Suddenly, the transport shook furiously. More boulders fell onto the hull brace, the metal groaned and the frame buckled. Oh hell. They’re going to die, and there’s nothing I can do, thought Mosley.
Suddenly, black & green clad figures leapt onto the damaged transport from an adjacent commando skiff. Magnetic grapplers struck home, fusion blades sliced metal and the Sionian commandoes boarded. Brother Mosley’s heart soared. His men to the rescue again. There was hope yet. But then, all at once, as the commando holding Sister Thadmor appeared at the hull breach, a rock the size of a house struck the transport square in the center. It dropped like lead and burst into hellfire on the cavern floor. Mosley was dumbstruck.
“Go. GO!” commanded Engel, taking command of the guns. The heavy fractal repeater fired over and over, striking rocks and instantly slicing them into sand. Mosley kicked the throttle to maximum as Engel fired hundreds of rounds into the ceiling, boring through the solid rock and creating a pathway just wide enough for the fighter. Mosley flew the tiny spacecraft expertly through the sandy, collapsing tunnel. Within moments, the fighter had cleared the surface, and the pilots were immediately struck by the hellish appearance of the once-picturesque world. Châtellerault’s sun now cast a dark red light over everything. The cities below could be seen scrambling to get everything possible off the ground and into space. Buildings were collapsing, rivers were boiling, and the thermometer read a skyrocketing temperature. Just as the writing on the wall said.
“I’m setting a course for the Archangel. It’s the only ship close enough.”
“Close enough to do what?”
“We have to leave. You read it. This entire galaxy is dying.”
“What about the others?”
“We can’t contact them. If they make it, they make it. If they don’t, well…”
“This isn’t right. We were so close. We could have won.”
“I know.”
The fighter broke the atmosphere’s pull and engaged its intersystem engines. It was time to run again.

Freedom Genesis

For millennia the menagerie of man had flourished and spread to the furthest reaches of the universe. Science and technology had dragged men to the highest pinnacle of being and society. The human race was blessed with unbelievable health and prosperity; it was as if each man had been touched by the hand of Methuselah. Society had never been more perfect, the human race was had nearly reached perfection in peace and happiness.

But alas, as is with human nature, the wars began. Never satisfied with how well things were men began to turn in upon themselves and crush their neighbors. For countless generations men ravaged each other and stripped their fellow brothers of everything they could. Worlds burned from one end of the universe to the other. Legend held that if you looked into the great filament and saw the twinkle of a star that was another world being devoured by man’s selfish pride.

Eventually, after many generations of destruction and despair, even the greatest warlords laid down their arms to tend to their wounds. Over the generations of battle technology and production had taken an abrupt halt. With the helter-skelter battling and the neglect of state affairs that go with such behavior society had set itself back thousands of years. While the great warlords of universe reined terror on their neighbors their agricultural systems and planets were being neglected, the technology and infrastructure that went into farm technology diminished and in some places vanished completely. The supply lines to and from the great capitals that were once a torrent of ships hauling all the riches of the universe had turned into a trickle, barely enough to sustain the great populations of most advanced faction systems and the great capitals of the galactic core. Even the immense shipyards strewn across the universe were left stranded with little to no communication with their supply lines. People were now forced to rely on what was readily available upon their own world. Their wealth having been wasted upon killing their brothers and their society warped towards war for so long that space travel itself had become a thing only of necessity.

Even while many leaders ceased war on their neighbors many less scrupulous men saw an opportunity to consolidate outlying areas with little hassle from the more powerful empires and factions. This only further drove man into a greater state of barbarism and destitution. Great cavalcades of fleets fled the galactic core where battle continued to rage after the great factions withdrew hoping to find homes. All across the core men set off towards to galactic arms, on journeys that would take many a lifetime to see through, all in the hopes that a newer society based upon their beliefs and practices could be revived away from the despotic barbarism of the core where man was slowly choking to death.

The great faction worlds spread across several arms were in no better condition. With the throw-back of society men yearned for the glorious stable days of generations passed. Emperors were unseated on a regular basis, regicide and assignation became a common occurrence while the people continued to suffer and watch one inept leader after another neglect them. Quietly, groups of people in the great faction arms banded together to immense colony ships to flee towards the galactic core where it had been assumed man no longer existed in any great strength, perhaps only in small tribes in far off places, since communication with the core had been nonexistent for hundreds of years.

These ships were not nearly as grandiose as the immense battleships that lumbered between the stars and nowhere near as swift as the great high-stability spheres that raced across the galaxy, but they were sufficient enough to carry upwards of one hundred thousand wayworn men, women, and children into the core to start a new life, a genesis of freedom.

Mankind now faced a new challenge, to rise from the ashes of destruction they had brought upon themselves and create a new age of man.

Submitted by Insaa of Wonko the Sane Manuscript submission to the Journal Science



Title: A theoretical examination of high tax rates.

Abstract:

The very limited number of methods for credit investment may allow for
empires to gain greater economic efficiency if high tax rates are
installed. This article examines what conditions are required for
empires to successfully utilise tax rates in the realm of 95% and the
benefits that ensue. I conclude that 95% empire tax rates may provide
for significantly increased economic growth rates stemming from less
wasted investment time for credits sitting in individuals accounts.


Article:

We start by looking at ways individuals can invest their income. Here
are the options:

1. Establishing new colonies
2. Conquering others' colonies with fleets
3. Building Malls, Schools, Police Stations, Hospitals, Empire
Administrations
4. New mines
5. Building Terraformers
6. Building Colony Defenses (AAs, GMLs, and defense fleets)
7. Research

Options 1, 2, 3
These investments directly benefit a player's income.
Therefore, money invested into these three catagories will now be worth
more because of the interest generated on that investment.

Option 7
Research generally produces prints that allow you to reduce the number
of people you need to use for the same outcome. If you want to use less
people for the same amount of resources mined, you research a better
mine print. If you want to engage an enemy with less people for the same
amount of firepower, or armour, you research a gun, armour/shield or
hull. Faster drives decrease the number of ships required to win a
battle because faster ships increase the likelihood that each ship will
win each of its one on one engagement (this assumes that you fleet
design matches the fleets/colonies you expect to defeat).

Option 4
Investment in mining does not produce any direct benefits. For the
outcast there are no active resource markets for exploitation.
Investment in mining is, I guess, an ongoing cost to any research
project for the researcher and anyone else who wants to benefit from
that print. This is because for any resource project that produces a
print requiring resources, more money has to be invested in that
blueprint in order to build it. On the plus side, each resource
requiring print can share in this investment. Therefore, the
justification of mines is the same as for research projects. That is
that less people are required for the same action.

Option 6
Investment in any form of colony, planet or system defense does not
produce any pay off directly. It only maintains the status quo.
Therefore, any purely defensive investment cannot be justified from a
purely monetary point of view. Any purely defensive investment must be
justified some other way. Perhaps therefore, attack is the best form of
defense? Perhaps losing colonies is fine as long as investment is spread
over many different colonies as that investment will keep on producing
benefits?

Option 5
The effect of terraformers is to reduce the number of people required to
work in hopitals and police stations. Last round suggested to us that it
generally costs about 17bil credits to terraform most worlds. Therefore,
any investment in terraformers can only have very long term benefits as
the immense cost is only recouped through paying less wages to reduced
numbers of people employed in hospitals and police stations. Any colony
that has any chance of being conquered by another empire does not make a
target worth terraforming by this logic. Perhaps a mining world can be
justified by other means late in the game.



***

Using the above analysis we can see that the investment of cash into the
following activities will multiply the future benefits of that cash to
the investor:
1. Establishing new colonies
2. Conquering others' colonies with fleets
3. Building Malls, Schools, Police Stations, Hospitals, Empire
Administrations
7 & 4. Research and new mines

Ok, now out of these options above, the following represent a
significant investment.
2. Conquering others' colonies with fleets
3. Building Malls and Empire Administrations
7. Research

Occasionally the follow can also be added to the list:
1. Establishing new colonies when a bridge needs to be built to span
between galaxies.
4. Building a massive mining colony from scratch.
5. Building Terraformers where there is no chance of the colony being
taken over.

Therefore, if significant investment is required for most profit making
facilities, then perhaps our individual incomes should be combined using
a very high tax rate? Eg. if we only need small amounts of money for 1.
Establishing New Colonies then perhaps we should have a tax rate of 95%
(people don't tend to throw out colony ships very often). Then, if you
want to do some building of anything that comes under option 2, 3 or 7,
you just grab whatever cash you need from the bank. No one will mind how
much you take because as long as you spend that cash immediately the
vast majority of that investment will be available to everyone else from
that point onwards.

Ofcourse, together, the empire may decide to put money aside for other
projects that do require us to collectively save (eg a few billion cr
research project) but that's easily done by anyone by moving money to
another bank account.

Therefore, very high tax rates (something around 95% or so) allows for
the efficient investment of empire funds into large scale projects.

By Fluffhead

Glickeroo paced along the streets of the Hedonist Nudist Camp, looked up at the cannons washing out the stars, and smiled to himself. There was something pure about war, especially when it was easy like this. The fun his troops were having with the nudist population was not lost on him.

-What a fiendishly delightful creation, these high stability spheres. Just last week I was deep in Institution space, doing the final ship count for the fleets, and already we are demolishing our enemies.

He thought enemies in the loosest sense of the word. The Underground was more of an annoyance to his empire then a serious threat, and their heavily populated systems just target practice before the real battles began. Something to get the blood boiling in the soldiers and make them forget about their homesickness. A big battle with no real losses would do wonders for the moral which had been waining with frustration in the core.

While Glikeroo kicked some blood puddles in the street and thought poetically about life, and his power to destroy it, Pyre approached wearing a big rubber nose. Had he brought that along just for this occasion?

-Our fleets are unstoppable! We should be able to drive clear through Underground space without any obstruction. Let's start the celebration now!

The ability to transfer this many high tech ships in so little time was truly impressive, but something did not sit right with Glikeroo. Was it the dinner Soup had made? The radio crackled and Arri asked for advice.

-Glick, what should we do with all of the captured citizens?

The soldiers of the Underground were brave and willing to fight to the very end but the civilian population was easily gathered, waiting to be loaded onto slave ships.

-Load them, we can use them for labor in the mines, or maybe sell them in the core.

Arri hesitated then responded.

-Hey Glick, it was you who did the final ship count right? We didn't bring any slave ships.

A small smile crept back up Glickeroo's face as he thought back to the horrors in Utopia.

-That's right, I did the final count. If they are all together you can start execution.

That was easier then he had thought it would be. The coms crackled again. Why couldn't Arri let him enjoy this moment? He realized immediately that Arri was not sending this message.

Back in the Institution arm systems were slowly becoming silenced and it was the same story in each system. There would first be some strange broadcast about Crabrock's fleet, the one they called the largest ever constructed, entering the system. The colonists would start to celebrate as the fleet quickly approached and the broadcasts gained energy.

-This fleet is even bigger then we were told! I can not believe it is bigger then we have heard! All our enemies will be crushed under the bulk of this fleet!

When the HFE messaged back, stating that the fleet was not in that location, the colonists first marveled at the incredible speed of the fleet, then the responses became disjoint and full of panic. Duck like sounds filled the air waves then there was no response. The system was unreachable.

Blue Star: PFB Military Academy Campus

Professor Emeritus Lord Asriel
Lecture 34, PFB Military Academy
Alpha Core: Plumb University, Jackie Paper

Can I have your attention please? Thank you.

I have been called in from retirement on SC1 to give this lecture on the behest of your noble Emperor Fluffhead, given the recent genocide of over ten million Purples ordered by your higher command.

It took much convincing, but I feel this is such an important topic that is much neglected, a lost practice that is obviously shunned and thought to be an act reserved to tyrants. This is not true. Genocide can be a cleansing act, an act to benefit the greater good of humanity. Genocide is a truly misunderstood phenomenon. I hope to briefly impart some of my experience and my former colleagueís experience in this matter to you, so you can best know how to grapple with the Purple Menace.

As you all know, genocide is the systematic and planned extermination of an entire national, racial, political, or ethnic group, simple enough definition. But let us take a look at this definition. It calls for systematic planning to commit this act.

You can not just willy-nilly send your men to the stars in whatever military hardware you have on hand and expect to accomplish this on a whim. Half of the garbage that is built in the universe as defensive or offensive ships may as well be classified as space worthy brothels for as good as they are. Technology on the highest order is called for. Scientists must be pushed to the limits to produce weaponry and hulls that decimate anything in their path. What would genocide be if you did not have a force that leveled everything before them? It would be the equivalent of the piles of slag that LLJK has been throwing at you since they so naively invaded Alpha Core. Like peasants being catapulted against the castle wall.

Now that you have the correct tool you must know how to implement this tool in the most cost effective way possible. Condemning hundreds of thousands of your men to death in order to kill hundreds of thousands of Purples is indeed genocide, but not the type of genocide we are looking for here. You need to maximize your kills while limiting your losses to the barest minimum. Having the type of military might that I just discussed will accomplish this.

Once it comes time to commit this act to paper you must be willing to assume that your force is there to destroy until destroyed itself. All emotion must be placed behind you while you systematically and maniacally tear their worlds asunder. No man, woman or child must survive the onslaught.

Why do we do this? You do this because when faced with an enemy of superior numbers you must slowly and systematically crush their will and instill the seed of fear in their hearts. Only then can you take advantage of the confusion and despair you sow to slowly tear the enemy apart and watch them pass quietly into the night.

Only then can the Outcasts, the Underground, the Crimson Nation, and the faithful Unitologists live in peace never having to worry about the decadent putrid, corrupt Institution.

This dark assassin didn't choose this life... Nor was he prepared for it. He had been drifting in space for so long, abandoned and forgotten. He'd already accepted death, ready to join Unitos in the great beyond.

But no, he was rescued from his dying crimson cruiser... the only survivor by a new splinter name OverWatch. Surprise behold it was a salvage group ready to scrape the tech of the once proud ship. A group of men and women that he has come to accept as his new family, the people that he now belonged to in this new life.... A New Life without any connections from his former contacts in the Institution Goverment. Although he still has several backdoors to access the Institution Mainframes.... From HFE, LLJK, Azur3, GONADS and several dozens of groups within the purple nation.

"What now...," he speaks aloud as the comp comes to life.

"It's good to see you Jon, please accept my condolescenses with..."

"Don't Even Start... She's gone... As well as everything else I use to believe in... Now Mr. Know were you able to transfer the credits from our accounts in the Institution?"

"Well... Mr. Brown..," Mr. Know sighs," truth be told, a consortium from HFE and LLJK were able to track the accounts before it could be done... they're all frozen."

"Damn them, those beuracratic... no balls... pieces of.... Well have you contacted out source accounts in Unitology, Crimson Nation and the Undergroud?"

"We're working on it... Damn it Jon... You sure about this? You were one of the most respected Admirals in all of Institution space, if not the Alpha Galaxy. You still can go back!"

"Like I said, I have my reasons... the woman I loved is dead, the navy I called home abandoned me for dead, and the Institution & what it was stood for is dead. Why would I go back? So don't bring it up again, Understood?" Mr. Know nods, "I've transfered another set of backdoors to your system, see if you can leak some cash from those damn purples..."

"Yes I'll see it to Skipper... For what it's worth... It's nice to see you again sir."

The Screen went blank, Mr. Brown rubs his temples..,"It's just one of those days... just one of those days..."

This is not my best day ever.

Serenity Freehold was gripped in the teeth of a blizzard. The Sionian banner was tossed frenetically by the high winds of Abrigo’s northern mountains where the Freehold was nestled in-between a series of jagged peaks. The faces of the people, unlike the vicious weather, were stoic and determined. Serenity Freehold was a broken city. Charred places in the synthglass domes had been repaired, destroyed factories and hospitals had been rebuilt, but the only thing left unchanged was the moon-like reflection of Theonon covered up by unrelenting clouds. Few understood what had taken place on these grounds several weeks before, and the few survivors of the event had been taken to New Amelie for whatever treatment could be prescribed for the aftereffects of witnessing genocide. The eternal silver flame emanating from the spires of the great cathedral was the only light visible to Brother Daniel from where he sat, miles from the city's heart, in Silent contemplation after a day's work. His office had an excellent vantage point over the city, considering that it was, after all, the bridge of the IEV Vigilance. The ship had been stripped of its spaceworthiness and converted into the City's administration. The colossal ship had retained its integrity with unfailing endurance, seemingly untouched by the recent battle, built from compounds that expedition researchers had yet to rival. It was, besides the IEV Zephyr at Armalite Inc. , the only relic left over from the old days. Everything had changed so much.
"Speaker" said an ensign from a side corridor, "Investigator Perreault Greyson on the holo."
Daniel paused. The name registered.
"Isn't he that damned Institution detective?"
"He is, speaker." Stated the ensign plainly. Though not quite as vehement in his distaste for the purples as his comrades in previous generations, the officer was expectedly wary of the Institution.
"Tell him my position is the same as before. The Sionian Expedition regrets deeply the passing of Lord Asriel, and we had nothing to do with his death. I don't know why they keep eyeing us whenever a higher-up gets shanked." The security feed on his desk suddenly flashed to life with a message.
"Play" said Daniel. An electronic feminine voice gave the standard Sionian greeting.
"Ex Spiritus Unitos, Speaker. Administrative or Civil priorities?"
"Civil."
"Persephone has moved to maximum distance in relation to its star. Crop yield has dropped to 33%. Recommend replacement of crimson fields with prism nutrient towers."
"Will this solve the issue?" Brother Daniel moved to his office's sideboard and poured himself a small glass of Greysmoke Spirit, drained his portion and refilled as the screen levitated above the desk with the aid of a tiny hoverdrive. The screen floated to the speaker's position.
"Iontaobhaí Alleyne's staff gives the project a 97% estimated success rate."
"Wire the Iontaobhaí the necessary credits and resource access grants."
"It is done, speaker."
"Dea-mhéin. Move on to administrative business."
"Chancellor Zen Amydros and his staff will be arriving in the east bay in approximately 30 seconds. Your orders?"
"Dispatch a cohort of temple guard to escort them to the Link Chamber. Also, increase perimeter security to level three and put the Sionian Defense Legion on alert. Relay signal to Chatellerault and November's Star, I don't want any traffic entering Unitalia for the next half hour."
"It is done, speaker."
"Thanks, darlin'." Daniel drank the last drop of greysmoke from his glass and moved quickly to his office closet. He pulled on the ancient, ornate robe of the Unitology Presidents over his sionian-made utilitarian clothing. He only wore the robe to the highest of official functions, for the reason that he hated the robe more than he hated most space pirates. There was simply no need to spin platinum into thread and practically make a robe out of it. Hell, one could pull the platinum for two corvette engine circuit grids out of the thing. He walked out of his office and was joined on either side by a silver-and-green temple guard. The trip to the Link Chamber was not long, and as he entered the massive room, he felt blessed not to have attracted attention. Five representatives of each Unitology empire and the entire Sionian Expedition, that had been the agreement. The Link Chamber was a spectacle of modern technology. Using extensive hologram mapping and quantum signal transmission, face-to-face negotiations could take place between large groups trillions of kilometers away, if the need arose. And today was one such day. The long, elliptic table had two distinct sides, and the Holographic insignias of the Unitology's empires underneath the larger, more eminent symbol of Unitos thoroughly polarized the room. The Dark Templar's Insignia was lit up. Dalex, Mike, Thadmor, Damos and Linthae all talked quietly amongst themselves, dressed in similar robes to the ones Daniel wore. Caldonia, as well, was present in force. Brother Tuson's face was well-illuminated by Caldonia's insignia glowing overhead, flanked by Manheru, Serra, Lac and Grizwald. Brother Daniel sat down next to General Quackor and Brother Mosley.
"Everyone's here, Daniel." Said Brother Mosley, adjusting his glasses with one hand. "I trust you've heard the latest news from the probenets? "
"No. Fill me in, will you?" Said the speaker, shifting uncomfortably in his robe.
"Purple fleets keep appearing and disappearing. Targeting TechnoMonks only. Enforcers get there to find colonies abandoned. Our holdings in the Zennon system are seeing refugees coming in from all over."
"Exactly why we‘re having this meeting today, can't risk losing this opportunity. Ah, here comes Zen."
The chancellor walked in as the Temple guard cohort disappeared into the corridor. Rastamon, Ravennites, Ken Gauthier and the shady figure of Brother Doe sat down in the TechnoMonk section, and as the last one sat a grid of lights turned on in front of them. The rest of the room went black. The howling blizzard outside was near inaudible. Then, there was the sound of a great machine spinning into action. Its actions were invisible, as it operated through the walls, but all at once, light appeared on the other side of the table. It morphed and twisted, contorting from blobs into vaguely bipedal forms. Green pools of figures. Brother Daniel found himself looking into the eyes of Mike Amidon, Underground Pirate King. He was wearing a white fur coat and what appeared to be an orange mesh dress shirt. The Underground formed a diverse lot, Amidon's boys wore the latest in interstellar fashion, usually with the prerequisite of at least 60% bare skin. Clan Coyote stayed to the side, all in military fatigues lined with fur, Virtokaii at their head. The Order and The Academy retained a sense of defiant dignity. Ever since the end of the exodus, the Underground had seen nothing but hard times. Delarossi and Rene looked at their Unitology associates across the table and across the galaxy, and Brother Daniel realized that it was up to him to deliver the first words. However, before he could say anything, Mike Amidon spoke up.
"Understand the purples have been giving you trouble, Speaker. " Said the grinning Hedonist, "I know we’ve had our differences in the past, but all the same, I find myself feeling… adventurous.”
“We are, of course, here to discuss border issues between our factions.” Said the speaker, the facetious tone in his voice only perceptible to those paying the closest attention. “Not an alliance.”
“Alliance? No, of course not.” Said Amidon, emulating Daniel‘s tone. “It’s not my territory they’re in. Why would we help the likes of you?”
“Any logical man would stay well away.” Agreed Daniel, “Unstable folk like us, it’s dangerous to get involved.”
“I’ve heard that said, Speaker. Even so, I can’t help but notice that our interests definitely have something in common.”
“Common?”
“It’s going to be a fair amount more difficult maintaining my lifestyle if I have Glickeroo peering through my window at all hours, if you catch my meaning.”
“I may. But you aren’t suggesting an alliance, are you?”
“Of course not. Playful banter, speaker, you know me.”
“Of course.”
“Now, borders.” Said Amidon, pressing a button on his green hologram console, “I’m uploading projected boundaries to your starmap now.” The boundaries in blue leapt up on a screen in front of all the Unitologists present. A vote of 26 to 2 quickly passed the meaningless act.
“Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Amidon.”
“The pleasure will be mine once I get out of this chair and into the liquor cabinet, speaker. All the same, I’m glad we could come to an accord.”
“Any objections on either side before we recess?” Questioned Daniel. The room remained silent. “Unitos keep you, gentlemen.”
“Adieu.”
The room turned to black. The lights came back on and the people of Unitos stood up to leave. The Sionian Expedition’s leaders banded together at the entrance.
“That was easy, Dan.” Said Knaar, fidgetting with his robes. “The rebels don’t just make alliances out of the blue like that. I’m a little uneasy.”
“We shouldn’t be.” Said Gigot, as the 15 began moving down the hallway into the Vigilance’s engine core, now completely rebuilt into a prism antechamber. “I’m surprised the Crimson Nation hasn’t opened relations, myself.”
“The reds are useless.” Said Brother LeJeune, stopping in the center of the round chamber and looking up. It was pitch black outside, the snow was still going strong. “Honestly, Daniel, why’d you build Serenity Freehold above the arctic lateral?”
“Seemed like a good idea at the time.” Said Daniel, who now held the heavy dress robe rolled up over his arm. “It was summer here.” Suddenly something pricked his nose. Ozone. There weren’t any machines that made that smell anywhere near the antechamber. Then the high-frequency squeal of a laser carbine powering up caught his ear. “Get down!”
Piercing bolts of light burst from the darkness above the pillars surrounding the Sionians. Cenka took a laser to the shoulder and went down with a low groan, while the others seemed to go into a battlelike trance. This was the training Sionians knew, tactics practiced since the earliest days in school. They split into groups of two. Brother Daniel and Brother Mosley produced swords from their robes as they dashed for the cover of darkness provided by the pillars, laser fire glancing off of every surface.
“How many?” Said Mosely, adjusting his glasses while scanning the shadows for their assailants. Brother Daniel glanced at the ceiling.
“Twenty, at least. I know they meant to take us all down in that first volley.” There was a scream from the other side of the antechamber. Brother Daniel spoke to his wrist communicator. “Report!”
“Got one, speaker.” Said the level voice of Spitfire. “He’s a bleeder.”
“Behind you!” commanded Mosely, and Brother ducked in time to avoid the steel blade of an assassin, clad in full black and bucked with nanofibre armor. Daniel slashed the assassin across the throat and then kicked him into a nearby stone pillar, which yielded a satisfying crunch.
“Well, they’re not institution.” Said daniel, reaching into his jacket pockets.
“How do you know?” Said Mosely, battling off an assassin of his own.
“Institution doesn’t use nanofibre anymore. They’ve moved on to refractive synthmat for all ground personnel. Which leads me to believe that these are…” He palmed his shuriken and threw them, one by one, at the ceiling. The lasers fired prematurely as their holders were pierced by flying metal, and four fell from on high onto the marble floor.
“…Outcasts.” Finished Moseley, wrenching his blade from the chest cavity of his assailant. “These are private contractors. Sloppy job, too, I’m surprised they hit Cenka. There was a white blur behind Brother Mosely, and the two brandished their swords at the new threat. They there saw Cenka, shoulder in a jerry-rig bandage, slicing into a faceless killer with two knives in several stomach-turning ways.
“Cenka!” Cried Brother Daniel. The youth turned.
“Yes, speaker?”
“Wrath. It’s a deadly sin. You can kill a man with a quick one-two slice to any of the chest’s nerve clusters. Why are you going at it like a butcher? Your form’s all sloppy.”
“This is the one that shot me, speaker.”
“… You saw him?”
“Haven’t made a mistake yet.”
The three stood there for a moment as the groaning corpse of the killer slid to the floor. The clash of steel on steel on flesh was still very much present around the room.
“ Can we talk about this later?” Said brother Mosely, wiping a spot of blood off his eyeglasses. “I estimate six more.” Screams resonated from around the echo-prone chamber, and then all was silent.
The fifteen stepped back into the room’s center.
“Any casualties?” Said Galroth, wiping a streak of blood off his face.
“Halzet slipped up.” Said Knaar, “Got nicked on the arm.”
“There were two of them!” Protested Halzet, “and it was dark!”
“That the extent of it?” Said Brother Moseley, wiping off his blade with a kerchief.
There was general assent. Everyone looked, for all intents and purposes, perfectly fine.
“Dea-mhéin.” Said Brother Daniel, glancing at a trickle of blood running down a groove in the stone floor, “Looks like we need a cleanup crew.” He touched a small button on the silver wedding ring around his finger, and an alarm blazed. Twenty Sionian commandoes in full defense attire leapt into the room in a matter of moments. After assessing the situation, they looked to the Expedition’s leaders.
“Threat negated, captain.” Said Brother Daniel. “Have your men get rid of this incident. Nothing on the newsfeeds.” The commano squad’s captain saluted, and the silent sentinels commenced their task. Brother Daniel turned to continue on his path to the hangar bay. The expedition was close in tow.
“Wait a moment.” Said Deke Eldagaras, “You could have summoned those men at any time.”
“Could have indeed.” Said Daniel flatly. “Decided it was time for a team-building exercise. And I personally believe that it was a remarkable success.” The fifteen reached the Vigilance’s hangar bay. As the door opened they were met by a blast of frigid cold and snowflakes. “The face of this war has changed, my friends. There are no more sigmas, no more swarm tactics. They are going to come at us sideways. I assume you noticed that our assailants were outcasts, private contractors. That means that someone financed an operation that succeeded in infiltrating our headquarters. Whoever’s behind this, they’re getting in close, and they’re not going to stop. Go back to your homes, step up defense everywhere. I have a feeling that this is just the beginning. Ex Spiritus Unitos, Gentlemen.”
The Sionians dispersed. Hovercraft departed the hangar bay, and soon only Daniel and Mosely still stood on the windblown deck, looking out at the city.
“Things are going to get worse.” Said Daniel
“Don‘t they always?” Replied Mosely. He paused. “I’m going to stay here and run some tests on the killers. Their DNA might lead us to their dispatch. And as for you, go home and see your children. You haven’t left the vigilance in days.”
“ Very well, old friend.” Said Daniel. “The ship is yours. Ex Spiritus Unitos.”
“Amen.”

As the last bars on Chotto closed Dr. Strangelove stumbled out into the ally to relieve himself. As he was staring at the liquid freezing on the wall in front of him he saw a flicker of light out of the corner of his eye, the homeless, how did they survive on this planet? The Institution had taken control of this system a long time ago and enslaved most of the gypsies and ramblers trying to cut out a life on this terrible rock. Tonight they were telling a story that had been passed on from the original inhabitants. By Institution law it was a crime to talk about these things and if the slaves in the mine were discovered mentioning it they would be shot on the spot. For the people living in the street, life wasn't worth much - not as much as passing on this hope.

The old lady, frail and wrapped in garbage, told the young ones that when things get tough to look up to the sky. One day the stars will all turn black and beautiful lights will signal the liberation of all of those under Institution control. It is the will of Unitos that we will be free to live as we please, and although Unitos does not walk with us on this planet his will cannot be denied.

Dr. Strangelove glanced in the direction of the light and realized immediately that it was not coming from the fire they were gathered around. Floating just above the lady was a glowing cherub. His body was small and the funny plumb face commanded attention. Strangelove's mind raced back to a previous life when he walked along the streets of Unitalia and stared up at the giant Unitology cathedral. This face he stared at was the cathedral in that life. Slowly he regained his focus and noticed the cherub pointing up into the night sky, a night sky that is now turning black.

At this moment Don-Julio gave the command and a million probes flooded the Ska Boss system. All defense systems were jammed and the sky lit up with fighter blasts. A joint Unitology-Outcast armada roared into the system under the probe cover and began to lay waste to the defense fleets. Thousands of fighters followed to attempt removing the Institution oppression.

Strangelove could hardly blink, and when he did the whole scene in front of him was gone. The sky was lit up with beautiful lights, and his leg was covered with his own urine.

So... No hope of a reward, huh?

>Password Accepted.
>Accessing Holo-Archives...
>Profile: Dr. Engel, callsign 'SIXV'
>Accessing Military Excercise 0581, Codename 'LONGBOW'

“Commander, Bring us to heading 32 mark 24 and ahead at plus thirty gravities.”
“Aye aye sir!” Commander Dosmir answered as the massive forty three thousand ton battleship UNS Saint November’s Rage spun on her axis and jumped to immediate acceleration.

The Star Knight Class battleship was based on the TechnoMonk Technologies Dark Magic battleship hull with the Rasta type 1 drive, speed was something she didn’t lack.

The combat chatter of the crew was low but purposeful as Saint November charged forward towards her targets, they were well within system and their relative acceleration and maneuverability ensured that a confrontation was inevitable.

“Captain, we have a change in Bogie Able's profile, she’s detached several lightly armed craft and is turning to increase range at her maximum acceleration, the new target CIC, designation Bogie Bravo is now maneuvering to intercept course, we have contact in 7-6-5 seconds”

Captain Marius Lauranunt considered the information and dismissed it, no fighter wing carried by a single ship had the fire power to drop a Star Knight’s shields, this was a bluff. “Commander, continue on course, we will engage the fighters and then, Unitos willing, we can cut hard to close with that carrier.”

As the seconds slipped away with the range the first hint of difficulty arose.
“Sir...” the tactical officer sounded anxious as he tried to get the Captain's attention, Marius looked over to the tac plot and his eyebrows rose as he made out the readings over the shoulder of the nervous tac officer. The fighter’s acceleration profiles had suddenly jumped on the last leg of their attack run and the stream of reports on his repeater plot showed that his Gun Batteries were missing targets more often than not.
The Commander crossed to the Engineering station to begin monitoring the shield generator readings while the Captain began assimilating what was happening to his command.

“Helm, corkscrew maneuver D heading roughly 46 by 75 to port”
The agile (for a Battleship) Star Knight began to spiral on its lengthwise axis while climbing hard up and to the left of the suddenly lethal swarm of fighters. Power surge alarms began crying out their warnings as individual shield capacitors began to arc and fail under the energy strain they were placed under.
Marius had a hard time grasping what was happening, logically he knew he was had, but deep inside he couldn’t believe the force and speed of his attackers. At this point he knew they were dying, not for want of skill of his weapon crews but to their mass of fire, for the most part all the kills he was getting were due to luck. Saint November’s Rage was dying and there was nothing he could do but try to snatch her away from the pihranas trying to eat her alive.

“Captain!” Commander Dosmir called “We have shield loss in 13 seconds , we have lost the alpha and beta capacitor rings in the aft section of the..” he was cut off by a new siren that began sounding, as the battle hull began taking hits.
“Commander, calculate our endurance based on the op force power outputs measured, Helm begin erratic course changes to bring us toward that carrier, if we cant take out these fighters we will at least take away there home, Com send out a request for assistance!”

Saint November’s Rage began to vent plasma and atmosphere as the massed fighters continued to chew through her battle hull then all sound stopped.

“Captain” A voice boomed over the com, “This simulation is over” the lift doors opened as Commodore Avonis stepped onto the bridge. Stations returning to normal operations

“Officer on Deck!” the captain said as the bridge crew came to attention. “As you were, Captain. Commander, please come with me.” All three officers stepped into the briefing room just off the bridge.
“Sir I ..” the Commodore stopped the captain with a gesture of his hand.
“Marius, we did not expect you to come out on top in this scenario” The Captain and Commander looked shocked
“That test wasn’t for your crew, it was for the pilots of the Star Hawks you faced.”
Both junior officers looked down as they realized they were not playing the side of the good guys in this briefing.

“So” the Commodore said after a moment, “What did you think of the Mallard Assault fighter hulls?”
Saint November’s Rage turned toward Abrigo and began her ponderous trip back to her parking orbit while the Star Hawks set course and formation to return to the station at the system entrance.

“Well, sir.” the captain said after a moment of consideration, “Our grievous, embarassing assbeating aside, the losses the Star Hawks did suffer could have been avoided completely with bomber support. However, as far as aggressive system defense is concerned...." A smile of contentment came over the captain's face. "I’m certainly glad they're on our side."

All Good Things...

Alpha Core is inhabited by many peoples. One of the more notable denizens of the galaxy are those peculiar Wonkos. Some are aggressive and easily deal with intruders. And some, have no concept that war could ever touch them. Alas, Xander was one of the latter. His capital world was the crown of his empire and many allies resided comfortably beside his glory. Yet, he had a weakness. He listened not when LLJK was repulsed from a nearby system. And so, was his downfall when LLJK came knocking on his doorstep.

"Captain, we are approaching the system. ETA: 15 minutes." Captain Hawkins, of the DCS Interrogator, noted the report with a nod of his head. He knew the nature of the coming conflict, having seen combat earlier in the week. "Our ships are strong and our crews are bright, we will triumph over the LLJK rabble," spoke the captain into the inter-fleet comm,"We will show our mettle and destroy these invaders. I know you will all do your duty. Once we enter the system, all ships are to engage at will."

Our Holy Pilgrimage

Untold resources and countless man-hours were invested into the ships that will carry the most blessed of Unitos’ believers, and now those ships, rather masterpieces, are ready to leave. After months of pouring over maps and planning routes, the Crusaders of Xanaphia, along with members of the other sects of the Unitology, were finally ready to embark on the Holy Pilgrimage to the Holy Lands. The ships themselves are works of art: stationary in the space dock they resemble the elegant petals of a flower with the light from the sun dancing majestically about their hulls; the hulls are sleek and graceful, imitating what a delicate flower would look like in a gentle breeze; and when the first of the ships, the Tonstara, was built the engineers and production specialists who worked on its construction were awestruck by the vessel's beauty. Inspired by Unitos’ divine design, these ships will bring the blessed to the Holy Land.

“Navigator, position the Tonstara one thousand kilometers outside the space dock and order the rest of the fleet to take up formation,” calmly ordered Brother Mosely from his chair on the bridge of the Tonstara, flagship of the pilgrimage. “Yes, Arbiter,” replied the navigator as he set the coordinates and notified the rest of the fleet. As the ship exited the space dock and headed towards the specified destination, the silent atmosphere of the bridge was pierced by the obnoxious, yet familiar beep of an incoming message. “Sir, we have an incoming communiqué from Ken Gauthier. It reads: my ships are ready and will be joining the fleet shortly; Thanatos, Damos, Howitzer, and Orestes will have their ships rendezvous with the fleet at Theonon,” said the communications officer. “Good,” Brother Mosely said with a subtle anticipation, “Call general quarters. I have a message to give to the fleet.” With all communication channels open, Brother Mosely rose from his chair and spoke: “Today, we embark on a journey to the Holy Lands. We have worked hard for this moment: our time, our resources, and even our own lives were given so that this moment could be made possible. But who made this pilgrimage actual is Unitos, for He is the one who guides us. Praise Unitos and pray to Unitos for our safe arrival. Blessed be Unitos!” Soon after Brother Mosely’s words of encouragement, additional ships from Ken Gauthier’s reserves joined in formation. “Navigator, set course for Theonon and send word to the others that we’ll be there shortly,” ordered Brother Mosely as he returned to his seat. Within several minutes every ship in the fleet powered their engines and arrived in high orbit around Theonon, where they were met by the rest of the expedition. With the convoy fully assembled the fleet soon left Unitalia; embarking on what is the beginning of the Holy Pilgrimage.

The Wrath of Unitos

When the decision was made to leave the old realms of this universe behind, it was the leaders and thinkers of every faction volunteering for the task. They saw to it, that their applications were accepted. When the fleet departed, virtually every empire and faction was left behind leaderless. At first it was only the ambitious young hotshots fighting for a piece of the cake, but after a short while every colonist realized that progress had come to a standstill. They were used to corruption, used to being ignored by the powers that be, but now things were different. Colony institution lacked funding, despite ever increasing taxes to fill the pockets of whoever ran the show that day.

It were the so-called leaders of the alliance, who were going to use this chaos to liberate, as they called it, the colonies of the all other factions. HFE being regarded the undisputed military power in that world was set as the first target. Many an alliance colonist was starving, schools were closed and the buildings rotting, but the shipyards were bustling with activity. Corvettes, battleships, even spheres, were being produced at an unbelievable rate. The smaller colonies were forced to pump out fighters and bombers to be stationed on the massive titanium structures.

After 4 months 7 fleets launched from the Alliance homeworld towards known HFE hotspots. Each one of them carrying more firepower than has ever been seen during the old days. They struck and they struck hard. No single system could muster the defences to even touch them. Until they reached the association home world. Every vessel under association control had been ordered to this system to defend the upcoming onslaught, and it looked as if they would even stand a chance against the first assault fleet arriving.

But before a shot could be fired a single battleship descended from the suns flare slowly moving between the two messengers of death himself. Every association commander knew what it was: a manifestation of Unitos himself, once created in this system to punish the association for their attack on Unitalia. The Alliance had heard of the event, but were not able to make the connection - and so the order was given: "Concentrate all fire on the flagship". They hadn't known that this was not an association flagship, but the tool of a god.

More than one thousand corvettes dived towards the moloch charging their arrays of primary cannons, when a barrage of defensive battery fire, to humans a weapon for taking out attacking fighters, tore through every single capital ship. Those volleys missing the attackers traveled through the main lines of the alliance fleet, ripping even through the mightly spheres. What followed was a massacre. Arriving alliance reinforcements were met by inhuman destructive power the moment they entered the system. With surgical precision the battle was ended within minutes by the spirit of the Unitology.

None of the association ships had dared to move an inch. Fear radiating of every crew member time came to a standstill. But before someone could make the wrong decisision the battleship drifted towards the sun, where it had come from.

Not having learned form their lesson, the association started to plan their counter-strike. The alliance now stripped of all major forces was considered an easy target.

What leaders of all factions did not know is that every king needs his people. Word spread through space from colony to colony: "Rise! Fight the opression!". To the peasant politics mean little. What today is a commonwealth colony could be a crimson moon base tommorow. The names change, the people don't. And so every civilian rose to the call. At first it were small revolts. A pirated AA tower would shoot down a few fighters, before the military ceased control again. Soon it were two AA towers, guided missile launchers, fighters, bombers. Chaos became the credo of the day. Not faction against faction, but military against civilians. But if every single peasant takes to arms the victory is a stale one: A colony without people is a military base, stripped of all economy power and production capacity. And so it came - after several weeks of bloody fighting only free colonies and fleets and bases were left.

It was a long trip from association space to the alliance home system. A formidable fleet entered the system, ready to claim what they considered theirs. They expected some resistance, but what their scanners reported came most unexpected. Two alliance spheres, well armed and with destroyer support, were within the margin of expected resistance. The commanders of the fleet had been following the news, so even the small association carrier group did not raise many eyebrows. It was the report of 74 strategic battlegroups compromised of commonwealth, unitology, and even crimson moon units, that came completely unexpected. As if they weren't utterly outnumbered already, a well-known huge battleship was hovering behind the defenders.

It was that day, when the last of the old factions found their end at the hands of the free people.

After all was said and done one battleship plotted a course unknown and out of range to everyone who remained. He could not help it - he was bound to his people and their fate.

Let's have no undue fussin'.

The Institution's finest were furious to find out that several of the great voyager vessels in the Exodus were holding the Unitology's leaders, cryogenically frozen in gene therapy tanks. Secret chambers deep within the IEV Zephyr and IEV Vigilance held hundreds of such stowaways, who had been reawakened every few decades to ensure the success of their revolutionary plot. Further genetic investigation revealed that the entire population of the two ships was Unitology stock, traceable to Abrigo, Mesina, Amelie and other population centers. Officials were flabbergasted at how such an operation could have taken place right under their noses, and this strengthened their resolve to set things right.

The leaders and their families were abruptly reanimated and put under armed guard. Though execution was a feasible option, the wise officials of the Institution realized that an execution of the beloved leaders of two ships full of colonists could result in full-blown chaos. Instead, they turned to the only other option avaliable to them. The Zephyr and Vigilance were each equipped with a mid-range shuttle. The officials locked down all navigation equipment, and quickly hustled the detainees into what would presumably be the last space flight they ever took. It would be a simple matter to activate the engines from the exterior, and send the enemies of progress into the black, never to be seen again. The colonists on the Zephyr and Vigilance could be reconditioned. With this goal in mind, the shuttles were aimed in opposite directions, and all at once, everything the Templars and Sionians had left disappeared into space.

As a result, when the Underground commandeered the IEV Shamrock & IEV Dortmunder one week later, no right-minded Institution officer thought twice about the Unitology. The Shamrock was already fully powered, in another few minutes the Dortmunder would be ready to jump out of the system as well, nothing the Institution could conjure up could hope to stop it except for blowing them partially or completely out of the sky. Several million colonists was no object when one considered the Underground's threat to stability. Nobody noticed when two shuttles drew up alongside the line's rearmost ships.

---------------------------------------

The airlock was sealed within moments as boarding clamps latched onto the side of the Vigilance. Charges blew through the alloy of the ship's hatch, and a ragtag group poured through the entrance. "Down! Everybody down! I want to see guns on the ground and hands in the air!" It had been a long time since Brother Daniel had boarded a ship, but after being frozen on and off for several hundred years, he figured it good for one to beat the feeling back into one's legs. The room they had entered, the Security staff entertainment wing, had about 15 Institution guards of various ages. "If any of you gents know the codeword we agreed on, now would be the time to say it." Declared Brother Daniel flatly. Four of the guards raised their hands. Thadmor had made a fine plan, he thought. Planting moles in the security system that acted like repentant Unitologists hoping to join up with the straight-and-narrow Institution boys was practically foolproof. "All together Now" he said, brandishing a centuries-old shard impact rifle at everyone.

"Gavarai, thodarim nas meeck" said the four in unison.
"Excellent! Look like we've got ourselves some friends. " Said Brother Moseley, stepping out of the airlock, carrying a crate of weapons. "Did they arm you boys very well?"
"No." Said one of the fake guards. "Nothing but a few old Laser carbines. We made sure to sabotage the charging system, so none of 'em are going to get off more than two shots." Suddenly, one of the Institution guards made a grab for his weapon. There was a loud bang, and where his hand once was remained only bloodstain and bone fragments.

"Huh." Said Brother Daniel, looking crossways at Spitfire, who ejected a casing from his impact shotgun. "Unitos gave you decent aim."
"Just heard from Sister Thadmor." Said Moseley, unloading some Shard rifles and throwing them to the fake guards. "Brother Michael and the Templars are on the Zephyr. Say they'll have the bridge in five minutes."
"Unitos have mercy. Da-shiong bao-jah-shr duh la doo-tze, you damned weakling! " said Daniel, trying to speak over the wailing of the recently handless guard. "I guess we've got to make it in four. Now, as for you boys whom my friend Spitfire has shown a certain fondness for shootin'. We're not going to kill you. I'm not looking to see any more bloodstains on a vessel as fine as this. When this is all over, we'll let you join up with us or put you in this shuttle to go on home, as you prefer. But you'd all be advised to keep your eyes trained on your kneecaps, because that's what we shoot first if you get uppity. "

The Sionians spread through the Vigilance quickly and with deadly precision. They encountered minimal resistance in the corridors of the great ship, the weakened lasers giving only minor burns to those few unfortunate enough to get hit by the wild shots of the panicked security forces. These obstacles were kneecapped and subdued by simple nerve punches, and the task force was soon on the bridge.
The bridge wasn't quite ready for the new arrivals. They were overwhelmed within seconds, the stammering captain put up his arms in surrender as the commandoes secured the area.

"Well, this is a beautiful thing right here." Said Daniel, looking at the cowering Institution crew. "This is the best the 'ol purples can send to oppress the likes of us. Hell, I'm insulted. I'd have thought we were a measure more dangerous." Brother Moseley was about to radio to Mike to see who had won the race to the bridge when a volley of lasers shot through the right side of a Sionian commando.
"TYEN shiao-duh!" Exclaimed Spitfire as beams ricocheted off synthmetal and equipment, sending sparks flying. All eyes turned towards the port side door as five heavily-armored Institution shock troops lined up, trauma laser rifles shouldered and ready to fire.

"The will of the Institution cannot be thwarted so easily, Unitology scum." Spat the shock trooper sergeant. "Fire on my command." The commandoes went for their weapons, but the action was cut short by a volley of gunfire from behind the troopers. Their weak rear armor fell to titanium-tipped rounds, and as the corpses of the shock troops hit the ground, a very distinctive gunshot report met Brother Daniel's ears. He recognized that sound from the old days, during the first battle of Abrigo. "Alliance. Dale-Tex RCC-150 Ares Antipersonnel Rifle. Dalex, you old son of a crabrock, get over here!" He laughed.

From behind the bulkhead stepped a smiling old Admiral Dalex, wearing a battered Alliance flak jacket, followed by Commander Ravennites, who was snapping another clip into place. "I keep telling you fellows to stop using that high-tech shard shee-niou." Said the former Alliance powerhouse. “Good old fashioned bullets can‘t be beat."

"You see any other armored purples on the way in?" Said Moseley, "I warned Brother Michael, he said they aren't anywhere to be found on the Zephyr."
"No, we're quite safe." Said the aged voice of Chancellor Zen Amydros, stepping onto the bridge while shouldering a Commonwealth trench shotgun. "They send special divisions in groups of ten. I dispatched the other five several minutes ago, they were trying to flank us."
"Well I'll be damned, Grandpa." Said Daniel, "Hasn't it been a while since you've shotgunned any folk?"
"Like riding a hovercycle." Said the Chancellor. "I say, Brother Moseley, have you repossessed the ship yet?"

"Yes sir. Thirty seconds and we'll be out of this system. " said Moseley, powering up the engine core. "The Underground is doing a fine job of distracting the feds. "
"Beautiful. Remind me to send a thank-you note to Delarossi." Said Brother Daniel. "But where we're going, we probably won't be seeing the rebels or anyone else for some time. This burn is going to deplete the Vigilance's fuel."
"Wait, where are we going, Dan?" Said Dalex. "We just jetting into the black with the hope of finding something?"
"Don't you worry, Admiral." Said Brother Daniel. He switched on his intercom. "Mike, are we set for burn? Good. " He turned back to his comrades. "We sent out some jerry-rig probes a few months back. We've found a good system. Decent place for us to raise our families. Unitos willing, it'll be just like home."

---------------------------------------

"Well are their rutting shields gone at least?" Raged the commander of the IEV Northstar, "I want that ship immobile or in pieces within 30 seconds! I don't care how you get it done, just do it!" A staff sergeant came up behind the commander.
"Sir?" he said, tentatively.
"Be quick, sergeant. "
"It's the Vigilance and Zephyr, sir."
"Of course! Order them to move to 33, 81, 21 local coordinates. They'll be in perfect position for a good broadside on the engine columns of the Dortmunder. "
"No, sir. You don't understand. They've disappeared. We‘re also having trouble locating the shuttle that launched from the Firebird a few minutes ago... "
There was a very awkward silence on the bridge, apart from the rumblings of the Underground counterattacks. The commander closed his eyes. This was not one of his better days.

A neutron star on the verge to a black hole.

The remains of what was once the home to hundreds of brave voyagers floats lifeless in space - a massive steel body, created to withstand small meteor showers and anything space could throw at it for hundreds of years. A gaping hole in its starboard side opens the view into a devastated med-bay - the body of a patient still stripped into the bio scanner.

Slowly the ghost ship orbits a neutron star in the central bulge of the alpha galaxy. After a shower of shrapnell from a destroyed vessel disabled its ship computer, the collision with another colonizer of its fleet instantly depressurized the hull, killed everyone onboard, and slung the massive construction of steel and titanium towards the celestial body.

Despite its extreme velocity it could not resist the gravity of a highly condensed star. It was pulled into an ever declining orbit.

When the pride of human engineering collided with the remnant of the universes most ancient history, the foundations of the cosmos itself shook. A gravitational wave ripped through einsteins perfect balance of mass and energy, altering the dimensions of space.

The newly arrived visitors of this region of space could not explain why their just recently drawn starmaps did not make sense anymore.

While one omnipotent being watched in awe, humanity will never solve this riddle.

Selected Entry from Crew Journal: Delta Generation
(PID# 85937)
My grandfather passed away today. He was part of the original crew of this voyage that set off from the old galaxy cluster. They officially announced that we are indeed headed to a new unknown galaxy cluster, although everybody pretty much assumed that. The rumors started a long time ago, and they were very tight lipped about it. I guess they wanted to make sure we were far enough away to stop any potential spies from broadcasting our mission. I wonder who leaked the information in the first place?

Selected Entry from Personal Journal
(PID# 38994)
We just woke up from our sleep a little bit ago. They urged us to write in our journals. Apparently these are being catalogued and saved in a giant archive for future study. Why anybody would read this mess I have no idea. None of the crew is the same as when I went to sleep, and that is weirding me out a little bit. They said they are on "Epsilon Generation" but I have no idea what that means. They are using the old Greek Alphabet for everything these days, and I didn't bother learning it before I went into hibernation. We are all to report to the viewing windows tomorrow at 0900 hours for the deceleration ceremonies. The stars of the new galaxies are so bright and vivid. The announcement that we headed to a whole new galaxy cluster blew my mind. The crew wasn’t impressed because they've known for a while, but I was floored, as were the rest of my sleeping comrades.

Selected Entry from Crew Journal: Epsilon Generation
(PID# 100327)
I just got back to my bunk for the first time in two days, that explains the lack of journal updates for the past few days. I'll try to wrap up everything in few sentences, although that hardly does the tragedy any justice. We started to decelerate, and everything was fine. Because of navigation bugs the entire program had been rewritten in the second generation. This was when a ship also accelerated for no reason and contact was lost. Well when we came into view of our first system the ship was there, just floating lifeless. The navigation program was not meant to handle such rapid evasive maneuvers, so the Admiral of the fleet ordered the lead ship to open fire on the lost ship. It did, and the ship exploded into a million pieces. There was little cause for celebration, as the piece from the ship, some very large, shot towards the fleet. We don’t know yet how many ships we lost or what the total causuality count is, but it is high. There were chain reactions, ships careening off course and hitting each other, and in short it has been a nightmare. The captains of the few undamaged ships have been in meetings trying to assess the damage, but some of the other ships' captains are being uncooperative. I need to sleep before I can think about this anymore.

Selected Entry from Crew Journal: Epsilon Generation
(PID# 100957)
We have been busy trying to locate all the escape pods from the doomed ships, but many are lost forever. Maybe they can survive until we can send out rescue parties, I have no knowledge of what the escape pods contain or how long they can support a human life. Some of the ships broke off and ran. We fired on them but they had a head start, and we could not stop them. For now a temporary government has been established, and we are headed to the nearest habitable system. Only the history books will be able to complete sum up what happened here over the last week, I cannot even begin to fathom the damage this has done to our expedition. I hope we are able to survive.

Selected Entry from a Personal Journal
(Personal Identification Designation # 56442)
Faces from our old lives watched us load onto the ships like cattle. We had passed the rigorous exams, the painstakingly long confirmation process. We were undoubtedly the best of the best, selected to make the journey. The empires under our control would be passed off to our seconds in command. I know they will be well watched over. I now sit in my bunk, awaiting the signal that we have entered cruise speed. They said it would take approximately five hours, but as of now seven have passed. The ships are tested for deep space flight, but not fully loaded with personnel and cargo. I bet they forgot to take that into consideration. I'm going to go find out what is taking so long.

Selected Entry from Crew Journal: Alpha Generation
(PID# 719)
We finally locked down the bug in the navigation system. We nearly had two of the ships collide during pre-deep space positioning. It took a few extra hours, but it brought to our attention something that would have been very damaging when we went from deep space to subspace speed once we reached the new destination. They haven't told us where we're even going. This is supposedly the greatest accomplishment of mankind though—all of the factions and divisions of men uniting for a common project. I can't believe I agreed to crew this mission. They said it should take three or four generations to reach the target. The important candidates are asleep in their cells, I wonder if they dream? The best leaders from our old lives all dreaming their impossible dreams. I will never see land again; I will live and die on this ship. Hell, it's not that bad, the benefits are great and the man to woman ratio is excellent.

Selected Entry from Crew Journal: Beta Generation
(PID# 78971)
We lost contact with one of the ships. The computers have been buggy from the moment the journey started, from what my parents told me. Apparently everything that is computer controlled has been one problem after another. They are talking about simplifying the algorithms and relying on more human involvement. After the acceleration problems in the ship we just lost, discussion has once again been shifted towards the need for a solution. The ship was going fast; we all saw it on the news feed. My dad said they are probably dead, he said humans can't survive the forces it takes to accelerate that fast. The ship will probably fly on forever, until it hits something. I hope somebody is around to see it.

Selected Entry from Crew Journal: Beta Generation
(PID# 79052)
Two months ago one of the ships in the 150 ship convoy sped off for no reason at all. Counting the one ship that lost and engine and was left behind and the two ships that collided today, that makes four ships lost so far. The investigation of if the ships collided because of an engine failure or a navigation problem is still underway. I don’t think they'll ever find out but the video of it is chilling. Rumor has been spreading that we are headed to a new galaxy cluster that was found with deep space telescopes. It is in an entirely different quadrant of the Universe, outside of any known space. These are just rumors I guess, because according to my professor all of the galaxies have been charted and catalogued, even if we can't get to them physically. He said we can see to the edge of space. The rumors are probably just lies anyway. If they aren’t, then man shall live forever, because all the problems of the old galaxy cluster will never follow us here.

Brother Mosely in quiet contemplation.

Guided by the Will of Unitos, I have seen a universe different from the one we live in now: galaxies were arranged in a different pattern and each galaxy exhibited a certain uniqueness in size and shape; the suns were no longer seemingly strewn about, but instead followed the plan Unitos originally intended; and even the worlds themselves were different from those here in our failing macrocosm. It was paradise.

Yet, despite this new universe in all its rapturous glory I sensed, no I knew, that something was missing. I realized that in this new universe we were different: I was there, but not there; my fellow brothers and sisters were there, but not there; and worst of all Unitos in all his power was NOT there, not there at all. We were all different in this paradise.

After discovering our alter egos and their different empires and organizations and factions, I panicked and returned to my place here in our current universe. I returned and wept, knowing that when this universe finally releases us all from the realm of existence we will be reborn into this paradise, unknowing and oblivious to the loss of our former selves and of Unitos.

Why have you left us in the next life, Unitos? Why?

SOMEBODY FIRE

Nighttime on Abrigo had been silent for months after the second Battle of Abrigo tore the skies asunder with destructive fury. Now the association banner on top of the Tomb of Unitos colony administration center fluttered slightly under a night breeze, and the reflection of Abrigo's twin moons illuminated the streets of the captive city with an eerie blue glow.
"Halt!" Two obscured figures stopped their nocturnal trek at the command of an Association Peacekeeper. The Peacekeepers had been founded by top lieutenants of the infamous Spazzhole himself, bound by neural implants and hefty doses of loyalty serum. They were glorified by the Association propaganda ministry as defenders of the people, and the first step towards Unitology-Association friendship. However, every descendant of those who survived the invasion of Unitalia knew them only for the fragmentation rounds that daily slew Unitologists for crimes never brought before a court of law. For months the Peacekeeper corps had been trying to stamp out their places of worship, where Anthems to Unitos crept out amid the early morning silence. However, every time one was found and liquidated, another one would pop up somewhere. And so, the powers of the peacekeepers increased, and public executions had become a commonplace practice, where those accused of criminal misconduct against the HFE were killed en masse by firing squad.
"Keep your hands where I can see 'em." Grumbled the peacekeeper. "A level 12 security clearance is required within one mile of the Administration building after 2400 hours. "
"And we have ours right here, sir." Said the first walker, now revealed by the moonlight as a young man of not more than 22, with disheveled red hair. Sionian heritage, no doubt. He produced a magnetic card, and presented it to the peacekeeper, who fumbled it around with his heavy synthmat gauntlets. He slid it through the identification sensor on his belt, and a mechanical voice droned "Level 12 clearance, Sergeant Eamon MacManus, Counter-Insurgent Operative." The Peacekeeper was vaguely disappointed. The neural implants gave him a sense of complete contentment when getting rid of criminals, and he held a special hatred for Sionians. His brother was killed in the first invasion of Unitalia by Sionian shard batteries, and he had signed up for Peacekeeper service as soon as he heard of them.
"Let me see hers." Said the Peacekeeper, gesturing with his bayonet towards the Red-haired woman behind the Sergeant.
"This is my sister, Deirdre. She got lost in the city and I'm bringing her back to our HabShelter. "
The peacekeeper sneered. "She's got no right to be here. You two are under arrest." He cocked his rifle and brandished it towards them.
"Sir!" Said the Sergeant with a severe tone. "We are making our way peacefully through this district. Why are you accosting us?"
"It sounds pretty suspicious, a couple of 'yonies walking alone at night. Why didn't you take the magtubes? " Demanded the peacekeeper, savoring his luck.
"After last week's insurgent attacks on the tubes, I'd rather not risk my sister's life, sir. Please, let us go." His voice was gravely calm, making the peacekeeper nervous. His neural implants sensed the fear, and sent a signal to his ChemPack. Syringes connected to his spine injected another dose of loyalty serum. The peacekeeper's eyes dilated behind his infrared mask, but no one could see the chemical imbalance in his brain. Instinctual urges took him over, and he saw the beautiful woman standing behind the sergeant.
"You can go. You can go as long as I get some exercise with the wench." His voice could not disguise the lust in his spirit. " 'Yonie or not, she's the best piece I've ever seen." He moved, shoving the Sergeant aside and making for the retreating girl. She pulled something off of her back, and it suddenly crackled with electricity. The peacekeeper's brain recognized it. Sionian Ninjato, vibrating sword. Outlawed everywhere. What did she have one for? Then she disappeared. Motion sensors in his mask told him to look up, where he saw a whirlwind silhouetted against one of the moons. The girl landed on the peacekeeper's back, and drove the blade with lightning precision into the brute's spine. With his last dying moan, he saw the sergeant pulling out an identical blade, activating it, and swinging it towards his neck.
As the soldier's head dropped to the ground, the two deactivated their swords and bolted towards the administration building. The young man produced a baton, and fired a filament into the ledge of the twenty-story high institution, and the two held onto the baton like vices as the magnetic recovery system dragged them to the top. The girl's sword made short work of a fiberglass skylight, and the two dropped into a dark hallway. Their eyes instantly adjusted to the darkness, and they sprinted towards the end of the hall where a door marked "Colony Power Grid" was waiting. Suddenly red light spilled through the building, and a low siren awoke the administration's security staff. Unflinching, the man set a particle detonation charge on the iron door and the two ducked into doorways as the explosion ripped the door to pieces. The girl leapt into the room, and immediately started flying across the keyboard attached to the massive supercomputer that controlled every volt of electricity in Tomb of Unitos.
"How much time to you need?" Said the man, taking a small handgun out of his jacket.
"Three Minutes. " replied the girl, staring intently at the screen as layer after layer of electronic countermeasures fell in her drive towards her query.
Soldier's boots clattered across tile. The man moved with the speed of thought, and intercepted the first armor-clad guard with a striking hand that destroyed the nerve cluster at the base of his neck. The first fell to the ground as the man's shard pistol fired its first round into the face of the second guard. The third, not fully through the door yet, was taken completely off-guard at the death of two of his comrades within a couple seconds. He was even more surprised when a particle detonation charge latched itself onto his face and he was kicked back through the door into the other guards that now came streaming up the stairs into the blood splattered hallway. The door was shut as the explosion ripped five more guards into molecules. The heat welded the door to its frame, but soon the sounds of battering rams could be heard against the portal, threatening to break it at any moment. The man stashed his shard pistol and picked up the massive assault rifle carried by the guards. As the titanium ram battered a hole in the door, the man mercilessly loosed round after round into the attackers until the last of the magazines was empty. He tossed one of the fallen men's fragmentation grenades through the largest of the holes and ran back into the computer chamber, where he found his sister still typing.
"Deirdre!" He panted. "How much longer?"
"Thirty Seconds" Came her reply, with a calm that would not be broken. "Have faith, Eamon. We have already won. "
Eamon smiled and fired his shard pistol with deadly accuracy at the first of the guards to enter the hall. Twenty seconds. He walked briskly forward, firing again and again, the crystalline projectiles splintering inside their targets.
Ten Seconds. Eamon activated his sword and cut a soldier's gun in half. He kicked the guard's head against the wall, crushing his skull. He spun and impaled another guard through the neck, who gargled for a second until the sword was jerked free and driven into the ribcage of another.
Five seconds. The shard pistol screamed three rounds into the first guard who was actually able to shoot in Eamon's direction. Suddenly, a loud magnetic driver cracked, and a sniper's railgun drove a steel shaft through Eamon's chest. The elite peacekeeper sniper smiled at his skill, and signaled his team forward. Then a shard sailed from Eamon's pistol and exploded inside the sniper's cortex.
In the computer chamber, Deirdre pressed a final few buttons. Power Shutdown. Target: All Duration: Indefinite. Execute.
All across the massive colony, generators whined and deactivated. Factories ground to a halt. Startled families in millions of HabShelters fumbled for flashlights in the darkness and confusion.
Deirdre saw her brother still breathing in the darkness. She dislodged him from the wall and checked his vitals. He would survive. The random gunfire of the guards and the scramble to find a light source made their escape certain, She leapt through the skylight with Eamon with unearthly grace, and activated a small comlink in her bracelet. "Speaker, it is done. " She secured the baton's filament to the ledge and repelled over the edge, carrying her brother. They disappeared into the darkness and confusion of the city.
The emergency generators in the Association defense power grid spun up. All guns turned towards the sky. The only lights the city produced were floodlights above the hangars where technicians and engineers made last-minute adjustments to the fleets of fighters and battleships that rested on the ground. That was when the moons of Abrigo suddenly stopped shining.
The first volley from the Templar battleships disintegrated hundreds of structures within moments. Attack orders from Templar and Sionian colonies crackled across Unitology frequencies. Five massive disc-shaped craft positioned themselves above the city, their shields absorbing shots from hundreds of batteries simultaneously. Then massive fighter and bomber wings dropped from behind the Shieldships and loosed their volleys, as the Generals and Governors of the association screamed over their comlinks to get everything they had into the sky. But it was too late; Squadrons of Fighters and Bombers bearing the Silver Insignia of Unitos were flying low over the city, tearing association fighters and bombers to pieces before they had a chance to get off the ground.
In the command chamber many miles away in Avenger's Redoubt, Brother Daniel, Thadmor, Gigot and the rest of the Sionian Federation's leaders watched the battle from afar. Out the windows they could see the explosions dot the horizon. Brother Daniel looked at the latest battle reports from the front; and then stared at the map of Tomb of Unitos displayed on a different screen. A look of horror crossed his eyes.
"Thadmor, come here." He said.
"Yes, Speaker?" replied Thadmor, diverting her attention from ordering reinforcements into battle.
"Come look at this map... we're striking the AA sites first. We overlooked something... these emplacements are directly over the HabShelters. Brother Moseley, can you get a feed from one of the Xanaphian Bomber Squadrons? "
"Yes, Speaker. " Said Brother Moseley, tapping on some keys. "Link Established. "
Onboard cameras displayed their feeds on the screen just as the Xanaphian wing was diving in for an attack. Energy flew from the bomber's cannons, destroying several AA batteries.
"Zoom in!" ordered Brother Daniel. The computer responded and enlarged the image. Beneath the AA guns, a HabShelter complex was seen collapsing.
"Speaker," Said Thadmor, activating a separate screen. "Those hab complexes are designed to collapse if subjected to too much shock. A fighter wouldn't collapse them, but the bombers can." The screen was suddenly alight as a Sigma battleship's broadside evaporated gun after gun, and Brother Daniel's heart fell into his stomach.
"We'll win this." he said. "We'll win this, but at a terrible cost. Every gun we destroy will kill a thousand people. The association designed their whole colony that way. They want nothing left for us to liberate." Another broadside from the Sigmas laid waste to the colony's defenses. "We're killing our own. And there's nothing we can do about it."
Suddenly, Mike's image came up on the comscreen. "Brother Daniel, we need you to raise more SynthMat fighters from Avenger's Redoubt. Your Talias are carrying the fight in Gamma Sector, and Brother Azrael's forces won't arrive in Beta for another few hours. Xanaphian bombers are taking a beating there." He paused. Brother Daniel met his stare with a grave seriousness. "What's the matter, Speaker?" Inquired Mike.
"I won't pretend I know how this battle will turn out, Sir. But I suggest that you pray for the souls of the people in that colony. Unitos is working in mysterious ways. " Brother Daniel ended the communication.

The Ruined Cathedral Sits Alone and Unused by the Association Conquerers

The Sionian guards barricaded the great silver doors of the Priorate Cathedral with whatever they could find. Through the stained-glass windows, the lights and sounds of devastation reminded the holdouts of the massacre that was taking place outside. The unrelenting association bombardment had been wreaking havoc on the Sionian capital city for hours. Like a swarm of locusts, the spacecraft of the association demons had dropped out of the void onto the unexpecting Unitalia system.
"lieutenant! called the Sionian captain in an urgent voice.
'Yes, captain?"
"Get me a status report!" The lieutenant's comlink crackled for a few moments, as an association fighter strafed the cathedral. The shard batteries assembled on top of the building's high towers spat volleys of plasma at the dark figure, outlined against the fires of what once was the hospital district. The fighter's fuel tank ruptured under a well-placed shard, and for a moment the ruins of Abrigo were illuminated by the ripping explosion. The troops inside the cathedral cheered, and the captain exhaled, his spirits rekindled for a moment. Maybe there was a chance after all.
"Captain!" Said the lieutenant, "The templars are rallying under Lord Michael and Cardinal Aqeel. They're making a stand over Eridani."
"What of Trithia? Redemption?"
"We weren't ready, sir." The lieutenant said gravely. "Their defense wings were overwhelmed... just a few old lightbringers... Trithia fell an hour ago, and I’m getting nothing on any Unitology channel near Redemption."
"But what about Abrigo? We can't be alone already!"
"Captain, everything we had is gone. By Unitos, we never stood a chance. Our spheres, our battleships, everything. "
The Captain's face fell. There was no hope in sight. If the Templar's defense legion had been defeated at the hands of the Association demons...
Another explosion rocked the cathedral. Synthmetal groaned and the shard batteries recommenced firing. A sentinel cried from a window, "Captain! Association troop column advancing this way!"
The younger soldiers knelt and fervently crossed themselves.
"Unitos help us" The captain said, gravely. He had fought the Hedonists at Eindhoven, the Coercive at Neo Patria Nobis, and the forces of the demons themselves around Profyadia. But never had he seen anything of this scale.
The shard batteries suddenly whirled into action. In response, a hail of minigun fire shattered the beautiful rose window above the great silver doors. The captain looked up and saw an entire Association fighter wing, in perfect line formation, descending on the cathedral. The shard batteries, firing desperately at the invaders, downed several fighters, but the holes they left were immediately filled by the implacable swarm.
The captain then drew his silver vibroblade, the veteran of many conflicts. If he was to meet his end here, it would be glorious before the eyes of the Almighty. "Soldiers of Unitos!" He commanded, "Our last stand is here!"
Rockets from the Association troops shook the building.
"For the Templars!" Roared the captain. "For your homes and families! For Sionia, my brothers! For UNITOS!" The soldiers cheered as the barricade was cleared away. Shard clips were locked into place and vibroswords hummed into action.
To the association generals watching from the observation deck, the cathedral was a dazzling sight for a few moments as the white light from Sionian shard rifles illuminated the apocalyptic landscape. The Sionian Temple guard burst through the great doors, closed the distance within moments and tore into the Association column.
The invaders cried out as Unitology blades ripped metal and bone, shards pierced armor and flesh, and the trancelike battle frenzy of the defenders extinguished one man after another.
This show of force startled the association commanders. "Concentrate all capital cannon fire on the cathedral! Half-mile radius! Do it!"
The lights on the observation deck dimmed for a moment as the vessel's cannons fired as one. The other invading ships fired their volleys into the fray so many miles below. The Sionian Cathedral and its guard were all destroyed in the earth-shaking strike, and the silence that followed allowed the last transmission of the young lieutenant to echo across all frequencies.
"Unitalia has fallen. Avenge us."

The anti-aircraft division drafted from the HFE Centre for the Mentally Challenged was punished when it was learned they spent the whole battle firing at the sun.

The massive 13 million ton Unitology fleet entered the Association system of Magnetic Fields with little resistance earlier this week. Satellites and probes bounced off the destroyers like blood on ice.

Panic radiated throughout the colonies as the woefully unprepared governors paced back and forth in their state rooms, thinking of excuses to report to the Emperors of their respective empires, analyzing the best way to run to their escape pods without being seen by lowly civilians. Manufacturing plants so recently dedicated to producing televisions and sex slave robots were turned into mass production facilities, pumping out cheap fighters, bombers, and sex slave robots. Training planes and gliders, flying craft that barely deserve the designation, were fitted with crude projectile weapons and weak lasers, and were sent scrambling to meet the invaders.

What they saw was a fleet comprised of 5000 Transport/Destroyer hybrids. The fleet classification was "Cargo Transport," but the only thing they were carrying was a trip straight back into the atmosphere for piles of debris that were formerly the makeshift resistance. Their cannons too large to assault the colonies directly, precise battery fire took out civil defense formations lining the outskirts of Muffdiver's colony. The white flag rose, and Quintana's fleets docked at the colony for some long needed R&R.

Communications lines buzzed with talk, trying to find some way to stop the massive fleet, urging governors to sacrifice their malls for a few more guided missile launchers. Amid the frantic chaos, a new threat emerged from the newly conquered colony: a fleet of 5000 bombers and fighters. The destroyers descended onto the colony to check for any signs of serious hostile actions. When none were discovered, the bombers and fighters moved in and decimated the population. Soon it appeared all would fall before the seemingly invulnerable fleets. Even the bombers and fighters were intact besides the few shot down by pure luck.

Two Generals of the Happy Fun Empire was not about to let this sort of base be established in their back yard. They formed a cunning plan, and they each retreated back to their colonies to set up. One general built as many Anti Aircraft guns as he could supply ammunition for, the other went and transmitted a long range distress call back to the homeworld. A lone sphere fleet recently constructed for means of cleaning out pockets of Unitology invasions was dispatched to the system, 15 jumps away.

The battle over Emperor Tubesock’s colony began. The destroyers descended, and did not notice anything out of the ordinary. The bombers and fighters arrogantly flew towards the colony expecting another easy capture. They were met head on by an impossible amount of shrapnel. It ripped through their hulls, puncturing pressure seals and pilots alike. They turned to run, but the overconfident commanders of the destroyers ordered them to stay. They flew in a never-ending stream of metal chunks, the death rate only slowing because there were less ships to kill.

Meanwhile 2000 fighters rose from Emperor Crabrock’s colony to rendezvous with the sphere fleet that had just entered the system. Together, while the Unitology fleets were busy with their conquest, Crabrock’s fleets flew into the unguarded colony of 2 million people, and claimed it as his own. Quintana’s backup and reinforcement base now snatched out from under him, he had no option but to sack this colony. The bombers and heavy gunboats in Crabrock’s sphere fleet had other plans though, and they engaged the destroyer fleet, which was trapped by the wall of flak fire. The fighters tore after the fighters and bombers of the Unitology, now riddled with holes and easy to finish off. As the bombers and gunboats began to inflict losses on the destroyers, a reassuring sight came into view. 400 Light Battleships positioned themselves between the destroyers and the colony. No longer needing the restricting wall of flak, and no longer being under siege, the colony modified it’s AA guns into Guided missile launchers, and began to shoot down the destroyers.

Crabrock, in true Association style, got greedy and ordered 1000 troop transports to be built. He requested that the destroying of the destroyers be toned down until they could complete. He also pulled his fleets out of the battle, which left the colony unassisted, and the exit unguarded. 1100 destroyers made a beeline for the system exit in full retreat. Realizing the error, the sphere fleet, now only a fraction of its former firepower, rushed to the system exit to intercept the destroyers. The battleships, not meant for intersystem warfare, began chase, but had no hope of catching up. The sphere engaged, with 500 bombers and 400 gunboats vs. 1100 destroyers. The odds were 5:1. However, the tech advantage, as well as the destroyers already weakened armor made things an even match.

The battle was over in a few hours, and the battle that started off looking impossible to come out of, was saved by luck, precision timing, and stockpile of uranium.

Outpost Manager Joe "Thumbscrews" Benutti

Resources at the Commonwealth homeworld have become so scarce that prices have risen to unheard-of levels! It is now possible to spend billions of credits on routine purchases at the only stocked station in orbit. When questioned, the station operators denied any wrongdoing.

"Supply an' demand's da rule. It ain't our fault there ain't nothin' available anywhere else. We ain't bloodsuckers. Now buy something or get the f*#@ out."

No maneuver is too low for this apparent monopoly. Reports from other traders indicate that supplies at their stations vanish as quickly as they are put on the market and that groups of scruffy transport captains are refusing to move their ships from the loading docks of competing stations, effectively paralysing the resource trade.

Empires have had to resort to closing their stations to the public and making direct transport runs to colonies on the planet that are pleading for resources. Transport union representitives did not return messages but one anonymous mail-room clerk hinted that internal memos suggested inside dealings between the union and the station operator.

Rumours of threats of violence could not be confirmed before press time.

'..Taking fire...Mayday...May....' silence...

The 4 Lords of the CADFP council stood looking at each other. Before them on the screen was the plan, a plan that would see them victorious or scrambling to regroup and defend.

‘And so it begins’. Commodore Destroyer mutters, as they turn and return to their flagships for what could be the longest day of there lives.

Silently the massed fleets moved through the void, sensors straining to see if they had been detected. Gunners and pilots nervous at theirs posts waiting for the command to launch or fire.

The council of 4 Smokestack, Blah, Dalex and Commodore Destroyer looked out at each other from view screens upon each others flagships. A simple nod of agreement was all it took to launch thousands of fighters, and for bright lances of destructive energy to reach out and vaporise the unsuspecting fleet that lay ahead.

The fight was short and violent, ships exploding into the ether, men dying in their bunks unaware they where even under attack or why.

Silently the great fleet moved on sweeping aside the debris of the vanquished fleet.

And for the rest of that short day it continued fleet after fleet each as unaware as the last. Each was attacked and destroyed. As the day drew to a close, resistance intensified warnings had finally gotten out ships and then fleets started to be prepared, but the result was the same death and destruction.

As the second day began a huge hastily combined fleet launched a counter offensive. Thousands of vessels streaking towards this combined enemy all with the intent to protect these worlds of theirs and destroy these intruders. The hours rolled by, the fighting intensified, pilots deploying anti glare visors the lances of cannon fire where so bright. Signals of support and reinforcements caused the defenders to fight with greater fury. Yet it was all for naught, the technology and numbers where just too great.

A few short hours later the reinforcements of Lord Crabrock exited the ether ready to join the fray, but instead found an enemy fleet drawn up ready and waiting for him. The battle was short and swift the forces of Commodore Destroyer and Lord Dalex made simple work of Lord Crabrocks fleet taking only minimal losses in the process.

As the second day ended, what before had been a populace system with many fleets and defences was now a system learning to obey new masters. The few colonies still in the hands of the Association Lords mainly centred upon the Planet Moof, scrambled to prepare defences greater then that were already there. Signals of pleas for help, of requests of higher commands to send reinforcements reached out to distant worlds. Hoping pleading that help would come, and it would come in time.

Now all they could do was wait and see what the next day would bring.

How it all began a voyage into the unknown

Lord Dragonheart 43rd of that name stood looking out of his palace window. Behind him stood the courtiers who had brought him the news, nervously waiting for their Lords reaction. In his hand the decree of the galactic council, a decree their Lord had been awaiting 6 long months.

‘HA HA HA HA HA HA HA’ the sudden sound making them jump in fear, then realising their Lord… their Lord was ….was … laughing.

Great huge belly shattering laughs of joy. Turning Lord Dragonheart jumped down from the window dais and swept up his chancellor, spinning him round shouting for joy,

‘Am free, Am free, finely I’m free of the witch.’

‘Yes my Lord’, was all the aged chancellor could mumble as he was spun faster and faster by his exuberant Lord.

Calming slowly but with still a grin splitting his normally solemn features Lord Dragonheart put his chancellor down, turning to his minister for defence he said,

‘I want proclamations posted through out all my realm and through the area of space controlled by my fellow Lords of the Association that a great game has begun, a game to find a wife worthy of me,’

‘Have it sent forth that from my home a under armed escort a transport ship will be setting forth, on board will be some small dowry for a Lady fit to be my wife, to claim this prize and to seek my hand all the suitors have to do is find and board my transport and inform me of it’s contents, Then and only then will I know I have found my new bride.’

‘Now go and send in my consort, for I have much to celebrate.’

The councillors left the room bowing with each step, when they had left the Throne room and the doors where closed only then did they turn to each other, smiles upon all their faces,

‘I wonder?’ said the chancellor ‘If I could get one too hhmm.’
‘One what?’ said another who had not been privy to the contents of the decree
‘Why a divorce of course.’

more angry winners view their new car.

‘Welcome everyone for the annual Galactic Lottery Draw. The prize today is over 25 Trillion Credits, and here we go the numbers are……………’

‘That was the scene a several days ago, when the long expected lottery was drawn, many people sat by their holo sets waiting expectantly for the results that would make someone somewhere rich beyond their dreams, but instead it saw millions of winners, not one, people rushing out buying luxury villas, star yachts, the stellar stock exchange went sky rocketing as citizens bought in to companies they always wanted. All believing they had won the greatest prize of them all.

It was 2 days before it was realised that not one but millions had won. Millions of claims all legitimate, all demanding the money they thought they had won.

The Galactic Lottery Commission locked their doors and hid. That’s when the riots started angry mobs swarming over government buildings demanding money, banks where looted and destroyed, mines ceased to work as the workers went on the rampage with their huge machines, in the first hours hundreds died ,then the thousands and then the millions, and nothing could stop it. Even the military was powerless as over half of its number joined the riots, demanding the money either for them selves or loved ones.

Even now days later the dying continues not just from the violence but now from galaxy wide famine as food stocks dwindle and people starve.

People now pray and hope it will end and the dying will stop……’

Now to explore

‘We are reporting today from the Sanctuary Damned souls dock yards. The scene over the years of many prestige’s launches.’
‘Today starts the start of a new era, with the launch of the USS Nimitz, A Nimitz class fast carrier the first of a new line of hi tech designs coming out of the military graduate school of Heson IV.’

‘In the back ground we can see a space dock yard, many hulls lying in various states on completion but front of the camera a huge construct of shinning Dexleon the new super metal, recently found at a top secret research lab hidden somewhere in Damned souls space.’

‘Look look the captain has just entered the hatch and they are sealing preparing for launch, this is quiet a spectacular e, I must say as in the space around lies the remains of the original fleet which is now been retired to make way for this new generation of warship, hopefully new and greater things will be added to our glorious history.

‘Many of the new improvements have come after the arrival of the Vogon in Association space causing concern to many empires around, And causing our Lord Dragonheart 31st of that name to move from pure research and exploration to a more military footing bringing up to date the ancient ships of the line which until now have gloriously defended our Homes and colonies amongst the stars.’

From tannoys placed around the viewing platform can be heard the USS Nimitz captain making final preparations for departure.

‘Release docking clamps for and aft keep on station holding thrusters…… bring reactor power to 100% and prepare to engage he sub-light drives.’

Advance the RIF to 100% and take her out Number one,’ ‘Aye Sir’ comes a distant reply away from the monitors on board.

From outside the great ship starts to move majestically forward slowly gathering speed. Soon she has cleared the docking bay that has been her home for the last 2 years where she was built from keel up,

As she clears the out marker her engines flare into brilliance and accelerate the ship faster and faster quickly moving her out of sight of the onlookers in the observation lounge.

Quietly in the back of the room, a shadow moved, quietly slipping out of the room and down the corridor beyond. ‘She has launched comrade the charges you placed did not work!!’ Silence replied from the comms unit the man held, further along the corridor 2 men waited watching., the time had come ………………

Voice Communication Log – Recorded on 2-1-2350.

Begin Recording//

[GARBLED]uck! What the fuck is happening? [SOUND OF EXPLOSION] Jesus we just got broadsided. Who the fuck are they? [MALE VOICE] Ships are unidentified; we don’t know where they came from. [MALE VOICE, AGITATED] Well find the fuck out! And get us the fuck out of here! We are unarmed and carrying civilians! [MALE, FEMALE VOICE] Yes captain! [SOUND OF REPEATED EXPLOSIONS] [MALE VOICE] Captain! Our armor is almost gone! Any more and we’re finished! Captain! Shi…[SOUND OF EXPLOSION] [SILENCE]

//Recording End.

A haystack of regression bears down on that needle of progress

The four Crimson Moon Spheres vibrated as their anti-matter drives kicked in. Things that should have been secured crashed to the floor, a future nuisance for their neglectful owners. The shaking stopped, and the intercom crackled. “Jump initiated, resume standard procedures.” The air stirred with a reassuring buzz as workers went back to repairing ships, readying ammunition, and pumping fuel. In a few short days their sphere would be landing in the Association home system. The other three spheres were headed towards the other factions, loaded with the tools that would decimate the humans’ entire civilization. The nanites they had harvested from an abandoned forgotten world had been modified to respond to the CMA’s desires. Once they had been a powerful force in the galaxy, almost wiping the human’s from the face of the universe before the powerful but foolish Unitos stepped in and ruined everything.

This time Unitalia would be hit as well, their civilization no longer safe through a wormhole. The nanites had been grown and combined with the Crimson Moon technology, making it more powerful than anything the Humans could fathom. Only time stands between fate and it’s heirs. The bombs would launch first, enhanced with rare metals known only to the CMA, then the bomber and fighter drones would canvas the home systems destroying all life.

A shockwave shot through the sphere as it suddenly fell out of hyperspace. The crews were thrown to the floor, equipment, both neglected and secured plunged to the ground, shattering, exploding, causing mayhem and chaos. The sphere’s reactor was charged with a foreign energy. It built up until the primitive technology could no longer harness it. Across the galaxy four simultaneous explosions pierced the budding galaxy’s quiet still air. The creation of a new universe had inexplicably happened in a new dimension. Trillions of years passed by in an instant on the other plain of existence. The untested and theoretical nature of hyperspace merged the two universes around the spheres, sucking them in to the foreign lands. The home planet of each faction, harnessing the most energy of any other worlds, were drawn to the new universe. A force stronger than any known force, it pulled the planets into unknown systems, scattering them among the galaxies.

The nanites drifted away from the spheres, calmly and with purpose gathering together as they sped through space at unimaginable speeds. Slowly they organized, manipulated what little technology could be recovered from the wreckage of the spheres, and inhabited the decaying flesh of the Crimson Moon travelers. With no world to call home, they drifted throughout the stars. They stopped at planets to gather resources, to consume living tissue, and rebuild their ranks. A symbiotic mix of both machine and living tissue, the old Dominion had taken on a new role in the galaxy. Big blobs of life and circuits, undistinguishable forms commanded new armies, reproducing asexually and rapidly, until they had regained total control over their surroundings. Communications between the four separate clans resumed, technology shared and strategies conversed. They took on similar appearances, had similar goals.

The Vogons they called themselves, after a long dead mysterious race of similarly disgusting blobs read to children in bedtime myths. They intended to bring the fairytale nightmares to life, and strike fear into the heart of even the most surly warriors. They began to make their move towards chemical signals their scanners had picked up. Emissions from space craft. Human space craft. Commonly traveled space lanes. Their fleets, unknown in number, spread out and began to descend on the unknowing humans.

To some, an assortment of junk in a basement. To others, the future.

Scientific research has fallen into a steady state of decay. No one empire could be blamed for the stagnation in the scientific community, but you could see it everywhere: fatcat politicians wiring money to remote research facilities with little more than a budget and the team’s vague instructions. To the people at Wu Jen, Halifax, it was not uncommon to receive orders like “okay here’s a million credits, get a bunch of agriculture specialists together with some of those crazy weapons guys and see what ya come up with, a’ight?”

Well the scientists of Wu Jen had had enough. By nightfall, they secretly toiled in unused labs, experimenting with equipment, preparing to show the world that the scientific method wasn’t dead, just laying dormant until the Next Big Thing (tm). Andrews, a well-respected drives specialist, wasn’t required on the current project. Under cover of night he stole thousands of credits worth of instruments, computers, donuts and coffee, and got together with his friends in his basement.

What happened there was short only of pure magic. With newfound direction, something science had lacked for decades, Andrews led the men to new heights of scientific study. For years the men’s free time was consumed by the project that would, or so they believed, propel the universe’s starships across amazing distances at blinding speeds. But something was missing from the equation. The amount of energy required to power such a beast was more than a googolplex joules, but it was too late to turn back or quit, they had to finish this blueprint.

Under cover of night, Andrews and his team of desperate men had slipped into the Anbaric Energy Facility, where prototypes of experimental reactor systems were stored, including a small-scale prototype sphere hull, complete with a functioning AMD. While ill maintained, the drive’s antimatter was perfectly safe; anti-magnetic-field technology invented nearly a century ago guaranteed it. And just as revolutionary as the first drives powered by this substance had been, so would be Andrew’s drive, if they simply stole the antimatter.

Fortunately, the security guard was preoccupied glancing at the latest of the lab’s creations, a screen door destroyer hull, which will be both stylish and functional. Andrews returned to his home with the last piece of the puzzle.

More time passed, and the scientists had to be extra careful not to blow Andrew’s home sky high. Antimatter was the most reactive of all known substances, but their particular application multiplied the danger tenfold. But risk of instant vaporization wouldn’t stop the men, though the actual vaporization might.

But, lucky as they were, the house never exploded, and the experimental prototype was readied, the blueprints completed, and the ideas sound.

The prototype vessel was a scale model HSSH hull, built from various alloys the men borrowed from the lab, and various other things found in a common 23rd century home.

To the colony’s perimeter scans, it appeared only momentarily, and the human eyes of Andrews and his crew were too slow to even see it, but the prototype hurtled skyward at speeds greater than 3,500km/s and traveled over 20Mkm, when the unthinkable happened: the prototype exploded in a horrible fireball, the explosion from which was over 100 kilometers in diameter, instantly annihilating the vessel and one of Muffdiver’s probes, luckily he never noticed.

A sick feeling swelled in the men’s stomachs. This should not have happened, the test vessel should have been able to pull 100Mkm before the hull plating collapsed, and even that wouldn’t have caused such a tremendous explosion. If their calculations had been wrong, years of their lives could have been potentially wasted on what was little more than a short range antimatter missle. While cool, it wasn’t what the men had dreamt about, nor were the men looking to promote war, which had torn Mankind asunder dozens of times before.

The other men went home, but Andrews went home and studied the telemetry the craft had transmitted during it’s near-100-minute voyage through the stars above. The results were devastating to the team. While the vessel’s velocity was only a hundredth the speed of light, it experienced something known as the Yeti effect, discovered by the late Mr. Yeti when an unmanned sphere hull was flown into a black hole to see if they could break the intergalactic speed record of 5,600Mkm/s. While they did break the record, they also noticed a very peculiar phenomenon: about one in one trillion particles of matter colliding with the vessel at that speed were able to penetrate both the shields, armor and hull of a vessel by slipping through subatomic spaces and breaks in the magnetic fields, imperfections in otherwise perfect defenses. In the prototype vessel’s case, the particle had entered the antimatter storage container and set off a chain reaction that ignited all the fuel at once.

Now struck with almost failure, Andrews called the other men to discuss. But the Yeti effect was seemingly uncounterable, and try as they might, the discussion led nowhere. After an emotional and gut-wrenching conversation on ethics, scientific integrity, and w they were going to explain the missing antimatter, the decision was made: the drive’s blueprints would be destroyed. It was simply too dangerous to allow a vessel to use this for propulsion. Should an explosion occur near a colony, or even worse, onboard a manned vessel, the consequences could be disastrous. Before deleting the blueprint, which had occupied his every thought and non-working moment, Andrews left to have a drink. Or ten.

Meanwhile, many probes, colonies and fleets had observed the effect, including several spy vessels from other factions. Scientists were awoken in the middle of the night to analyze the mysterious explosion, and the spies on duty got to work analyzing the data their sensitive equipment had picked up. After hours of pouring over logs, photographs snapped in a split second during the event, and perimeter scans, it seemed as if the mysterious fireball was just too fast for any of the recipient’s scanners to detect. But the fragments of data left a single bit of consistent bit of information with them: the craft’s vector; and with this, the launch site. Association warships, Unitology probes, Alliance satellites, and various other spacecraft catapulted at top speed toward Wu Jen, a glimmer against the sands of the unnamed wasteland.

Andrews sat back down at his desk, rubbing his forehead, trying to erase the memories from his mind before he could erase them from his hard drive. He took the mouse slowly, and selected the project, along with hundreds of daily backups made over the years, and with a final swig of vodka went to hit the delete key. But as his finger traveled the tiny distance to the keyboard, the files disappeared off the screen. He sat, frozen, staring at the screen not believing what just happened. He glanced over to his networking equipment, and saw the activity lights die out as the last morsel of data was cleaned from the project. A hacker, somebody able to bypass the system’s every defense effortlessly, had stolen it; there was no other explanation.

Several moments passed before he stood up, almost paralyzed in fear. He went to the bathroom to retrieve his sleeping pills, and in a thoughtless swing tossed the bottle’s entire contents into his mouth and swallowed them dry, ignoring to the discomfort in his throat. He couldn’t live with the guilt that his project would likely kill thousands of citizens of the Association if utilized by the unknown hacker, and fortunately, he didn’t have to. As silently as the unknown vessel slipping away into the night’s sky, Andrew’s life departed his body, which fell into a motionless heap on the floor.

Look! Pretty colooowAAAAAAHHH!

One year ago, it seems so long yet so near and yet in that space of time, more has happened then in the past 5 years combined.

The number of battle related deaths has grown by an exponential amount since the wormhole was created one year ago. Protests for peace have been documented around the Universe in every faction, on every “home” world, in every inhabited galaxy.

Since the wormhole has opened up, the Association has fought tooth and nail to control the system that the wormhole dumps out in. The Associations attempt to control the wormhole has forced tentative cease fire agreements between the remaining factions. These agreements have not been made public and this reporter is not even sure that they exist but looking through past battles it is clear that there is something driving certain people to selflessly lay their own lives on the line to help others take out Association fleets.

Is this a coordinated strike by the other factions, or is it merely coincidence that fleets from many factions are attacking the dwindling number of Association fleets?

Also since the opening of the wormhole the FYAD empire has claimed, the system Profyadia clearly named for the FYAD empire. This claim has clearly split Association fleets and even pitted Association member against Association member. The FYAD empire did agree that select leaders will be given “green cards” to land in Profyadia, but at this time it is unknown if anyone has actually been granted a green card by the FYAD empire.

The price of every basic good has drastically risen over the past year. Is this due to the massive influx of ship building? Could there be something else going on in the Galaxy, such as a shortage of resources due to the not so recent destruction of the IGTA? Could the resources that we all need have finally dried up? Or could it even possibly be due to greedy individuals trying to take advantage of the situation to further their own wealth? The question as to why the prices have risen is still a mystery, but is probably a combination of the three previously mentioned reasons.

The wormhole has opened up a place in the Universe that has given an advantage to both the Alliance and Commonwealth, allowing both Factions to establish colonies inside of the Galaxy #26, which is now known to be home to the Unitology. Within Galaxy #26 is an easy jump to Galaxy #25 which is known to be home to the massive Association. Unfortunately these two Galaxies are separated from the two neighboring Galaxies by a distance so great that almost no ships can travel the distance.

Will this unfortunate placement of the Wormhole force a peace agreement between the Association and the Unitology? Or could it possibly cause an even greater rift between the two factions that are so unfortunately close together?

After one year of the wormhole being created, the principle creators of the technology to create the wormhole, had varying opinions about the wormhole. When asked “Do you think it was wise to open up the wormhole with the amount of death and destruction it has caused? “ these were the answers this reporter received:

Brother Azrael was unavailable for comment.

Catma quipped, “The wormhole was a great achievement for science and is now being used for militaristic purposes. This was not our plan for the wormhole, this was not our dream. Perhaps soon we will be able to use the wormhole for it's intended purpose. The expansion of civilization into the far corners of space.”

Norakari had this to say about the wormhole, “The opening of the wormhole has caused a massive loss of life, yet it has also formed stronger ties between many existing empires.”

Sampson replied, “Yes and No. The discovery of the wormhole jump technology was a good thing but the aggressiveness of the Association War Machine was a little unexpected. We have tried to pool our resources and protect at least the Warsaw Wormhole Entrance for all factions. “

Smokestack replied, “Wormholes don't kill people, people kill people. Once the technology is available there is no choice, it must be used. Although the wormhole exit is currently a very dangerous place, I have hope that in the future the empires of this universe will learn to coexist peacefully and the dreams of the scientists who made this possible will be realized. “

Vladdic believes, “It was an awesome idea. I agree with it because it forces factions to start interacting with each other on a large scale, alliances will be made and knowledge will be shared. “

“So, exactly how has the wormhole helped society?” one might ask. Unfortunately there is no good answer to that question dear reader, in fact this reporter cannot think of an answer at all. The only thing to have come out of the creation of the wormhole has been death, destruction, and greed. Perhaps, Hyper jump technology was a mistake altogether, unfortunately now we will never know.

Inside the Meeting Room during Dinner

Today we are coming to you live from a space station hovering above an undisclosed planet somewhere in the Universe. Some of the biggest, and brightest minds in the Universe have gathered to discuss how to make Hyper jump technology a reality, putting aside all political differences for the time being..

Norakari Toshiro of Toshiro Technical Engineering opened this meeting of scientific minds by presenting his recent discoveries in the field of Hyper mathematics which he believes will ultimately lead to Hyper jump technology. Unfortunately, Norakari noted, it is not feasible economically to make this technology affordable to everyone at this time. Norakari then presented video's of Toshiro Technical Engineering's past attempts at making Hyper jump technology work, many of them ended in horrific, but pretty cool, looking explosions. Norakari did not mention anything about the size or design of his ships, but one can only assume that they were at least twice the size of a space station.

Vladdic of Dinobots was the next to address the council. Vladdic spoke of his personal advances in the field of Quantum Mechanics believing that this was the best way to create Hyper jump technology Vladdic too conceded that Hyper jump technology was only a dream at this point though, because the price of just the hull of the ships he had designed ranged in the hundreds of millions of dollars and that was not including the massive amounts of resources it would take to build the hull. The engine Vladdic reported would cost almost an equal amount and would weigh more then a small moon. Video's of the Dinobots early attempts at successfully Hyper jumping all ended in horrific crashes much like those of Toshiro Technical Engineerings.

Sampson of the Coercive presented his findings in the field of Hyper-Quantum Mathematics arguing that this was the only way to succeed in Hyper jump technology. Sampson regretfully told the council that he had been unable to run any tests with his technology as he had been unable to find a pilot willing to risk his life and could not find any prisoners with the piloting capabilities to force into the test.

Finally a tribunal, consisting of Catma, Smokestack and Brother Azrael, from the Unitology addressed the council. The tribunal revealed that they had developed a new branch of physics calling it, Gravity Neutralization. Gravity Neutralization was proved by using a combination of Hyper Mathematics, Quantum Mechanics and Hyper-Quantum Mathematics. This new method the tribunal said had only been discovered hours before they had arrived at the space station and they themselves didn't fully understand it but knew their scientists did. The theory behind Gravity Neutralization is very complex relying heavily on the theories of generating small amounts of finite fields of improbability to work. Unfortunately this reporter can not explain it any better then that.

“Then lets get to work everybody!” screamed Norakari.
“Get to work on what?” the council questioned in unison.
“On this Gravity Neutralization stuff. It has to work, something inside of me, something I can't explain is telling me that I can't quite pinpoint. Let's do it guys!” Norakari exclaimed.

Long into the night the leaders and every scientist on board worked only stopping to order Chinese food and scarf down the egg rolls, wanton soup that were delivered.

Earlier this morning Sampson speaking for the entire council had this to say “Ladies Gentlemen and Everyone in between we have done it! The scientific council on Hyper jump technology has made a successful Hyper jump. At 05:26 on 8-8-2346 the council sent an unmanned ship through a wormhole and it successfully made it to the other side. At 11:25 a manned ship was sent through the same wormhole and successfully made a Hyper jump. The only draw back to this entire process is that the trip is only one way, that we cannot reverse. With the technology we have created, there is now a wormhole in every system that the factions consider their 'home system.'”

So now we have it people, the ability to travel a vast distance within the Universe but the size of the Universe is so mind bogglingly big that this jump is just peanuts compared to the size of the Universe.

ENTER PICTURE CAPTION

This is survey 7 to control
‘Go ahead survey 7’
‘We found some more, there appears to be the remains of several fighter class and corvette class vessels.’ ‘ We are approaching for a closer look.’
Moving forward the survey vessel designated as Survey 7, advanced into the debris field, ‘scans indicate this was a short but furious fire fight, it appears a small flotilla of vessels was ambushed by a numerically superior force and annihilated.’
‘Continue your recon Survey 7 the Fleet Commander wants some bits to look at.’

The commander of Survey 7 looked across at his exo, they both knew what this really meant: the fleet commander would be parading the remains outside the fleet head quarters touting that his vaunted fleet had again vanquished invaders from another system, where as in reality all they where doing was scavenging the wreckage of other peoples battles, and running at the first sign of trouble.

‘Sir,’ the sensor operator called out.’
‘Yes what is it,’ the ships commander replied.
‘Sir according to the readings all the ships out there came from the same place - they all have the same metallurgy content, this wasn’t a fight sir it was a live ammo exercise.’
Looking stunned the exo looked across at the commander.
‘Commander if this wasn’t a true fire fight then they could still be in the area.’
‘Helm get us out of here full thrust!’

Barely had Survey 7 started to move when the entire ship tilted, RIF generators whining trying to compensate as the howl of escaping atmosphere deafened everyone on the bridge.

The ships commander barely kept his footing as his exo flew past a gaping wound in his side where the command chair had gashed him.

Trying to make order from what he saw the Commander attempted to regain control of his crew and his ship, but to late the furious broad side struck again, atomising the entire bridge and the last chance any had of seeing home again.

Slowly the dark shape moved out from amongst the debris field, scanners and tractors sifting the wreckage, before the dark vessel moving once again into hiding to a wait it’s next unwitting victim

Yours truly, Leviathan

Live from Sanctuary, Atamagaii – Thousands gather at Sanctuary University, on the lush greens just east of Nosre Hall, where leaders from various Association empires deliver rousing speeches regarding the thousands killed in the assault earlier today.

4-14-2346 was an ordinary day for the members of the Association, except at approximately 9:00pm Falcoss gave the order to assault the colony of a suspected criminal, known only as Leviathan. A reported 15,000 ships rained down upon Leviathan’s colony, but moments before the bombardment could commence, several hundred anti-aircraft emplacements, hidden to satellite images by camouflage, sprung to life and immediately filled the air with a hailstorm of surface-to-air missiles, lasers, and gatling gun fire.

A call for support from the Damned Souls assault force rung out across all frequencies, but was received by no one in time. With terrifying efficiency the fleets, now scrambling to reform their broken ranks, were torn asunder in midair before given a chance to even respond. Meanwhile, a Crimson Cruiser known only as the Death’s Head launched from the colony and began striking the larger vessels in orbit, which were unable to maneuver away thanks to Sanctuary’s gravity.

Hours passed in a constant firefight, the weapons on the hastily assembled DS craft unable to penetrate the Death’s Head’s armor. All the while the AA from the colony below toyed with the faster vessels, shooting them out of the sky and crashing them into the unforgiving landscape below.

After more than a day of constant battle, the pilots could have no more and all remaining ships were withdrawn, defeated.

The fleets lost that day amounted to over 320 million credits, which were apparently wired from an administrative savings account in an emergency effort to build the equipment necessary to remove Leviathan from Sanctuary. It was clearly not enough.

Two weeks later, the economies from all involved were still recovering, when a message arrived mid-afternoon:

“I feel that it is not in our best interests to continue fighting. How about you peaceably allow me to exit Atamagaii and in exchange, I get to call a remote system as my own. How does that sound?”

This was clearly an attempt by the outcast to escape any further persecution by the Association, even though they had failed to remove him the first time. The leaders of the Association had mixed feelings, but many still wanted revenge.

Negotiations were started to determine the fate of this villain, but Leviathan took this indecisiveness as a refusal to comply, and his colony was packed and in the air. Having no opposition thanks to the lack of vessels defending Sanctuary, his colony ships glided past the remaining defense fleets and out of the system to freedom. Probes lost sight of the convoy minutes later, and intel has reported nothing since.

Lord Asriel was quoted as saying “the thousands of deaths today could have been avoided by a little foresight and proper planning. Basically, the only coordination our forces received was a message from the Damned Souls telling us to ‘attack with everything’”. Contrast these with words from Falcoss, coordinator of the attack, also the one who had the most on the line:

7:00:44 OMFG KILL THEM
7:01:43 IM GUESSING MEXICO... i have friends in mexico YAY ALL I NEED IS A NAME AND ITS FACE SMASHING TIME
7:01:47 DUMB
7:02:38 IM TELLING YOU ILL KILL THE

Clearly this is a time fraught with emotion for the Association, who are now facing constant ridicule from other factions for failing to stop a man who weeks before had no more than 100,000 colonists under his command, and yet managed to escape the wraith of the entire faction.

We will be posting any further developments in this military maneuver gone wrong as soon as they become available.

***Breaking News***

A few battle hungry members of the Association have declared war on former Association member Leviathan. The battles have been back and forth with victories going to both sides. A number of fleets have been attacking Leviathans colony on Sanctuary but have failed miserably.

Leviathan has put a deal on the table that would allow Leviathan to peacefully leave Atamagaii in exchange he would be allowed to claim a remote, and yet to be named system as his own.

We are still waiting for a response to this offer.

More as this situation unfolds.

I am tired of all your bickering and your wars and your infighting and I've just had enough.

I banned Thunderstorm's account and have taken over.

NO MORE WARS!

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

Yar!

Theodren Timmers entered the spacious study when he was promptly greeted by its occupant, a man in a neatly pressed suit.

“Welcome, I am Enache Vladian II, but you can call me Enache and you must be Mr. Timmers?” the man spread his arms. Theodren nodded, “Just Theodren will do.” Enache smiled, “Sit, would you like something to drink? I apologize but all I can offer is water or Coca-Cola.” Theodren took his seat on the hard unpolished wooden chair and took out his pen, “Water will be fine. So Enache, can you please tell us a little bit about yourself as a leader?” The sound of running water filled the air as Enache filled a glass to the brim and set it on the table, “Ok, I try to be fair but outspoken. If I have something to say, I say it no matter what the consequences are. I try to back my words in a expansionist way, you can say that I play to be big.” He smiled, “Being the biggest and toughest is my goal in any situation.” Theodren scribbed in his notebook while nodding, after taking a sip he inquired, “I see, and you have spoken out about you being thrown out of the Alliance for trivial reasons. What do you have to say about this?” The leader remained standing and frowned at Theodren before answering, “I’m very disappointed. Mainly, this disappointment is behind all of my actions. I spent a lot of time and now I’m almost sure that all my work is screwed. This leads to disappointment.” He started pacing a bit, “I think that they are unfair and too little entitled to lead to such a decision. What’s more is that I think that it was an abusive decision. The President and Vice President abused the trust of the Alliance members to solve a situation abusively.” The reporter kept jotting down notes as he followed Enache’s pacing, then spoke, “Why do you think your work is screwed? I mean, you say you have the power to take the Alliance home system for yourself?” Enache turned his head and stared at Theodren for a moment, he then smiled hollowly, “I don’t think the majority of the Alliance wanted me out. Also like it happened to Janus, innocent people can have their work screwed in the process.”

“The innocent can be spared you know.” Theodren pointed out. Enache grinned, “I will fight but to be frank, to have the biggest chance of winning I need to clear the home system of ALL presence. So I must choose. I fight selective and lose or clear them all out and win. Basically I choose deliberately to fight selective well aware that I will lose.”

“A hard choice I’m sure?”

“It’s a natural choice, I’m a fair person.”

“People would do well to follow in your footsteps there. So, you are fighting selectively, who are you fighting?” Enache counted off with his fingers, “Sampson, Moloch of Doom, Janus, and Ollie at the moment.” He paused, “I know that there are people who are helping them in secrecy but as I said, I won’t attack them until they show their true face.” Theodren nodded then took a hearty gulp of water, “There have been reports of civilians being mercilessly slaughtered in the streets. Can you confirm?” The man shrugged his shoulders, “If you refer to the colonies I took, it’s true. I took over twelve colonies with more than two hundred fifty thousand people.”

“Oh…and what is their popular opinion of you? Do they welcome their new overlord?”

“At the moment they hate it, but as always, if you pay a price they usually forget.”

“The smallfolk have short memories don’t they?”

“Yes, that is true.” Both men chuckled over the hilarity of stupid settlers. After they quieted down, Theodren asked, “You are waiting for negotiations with the Alliance before taking action correct?” Enache became serious, “I was but then I realized that Ollie can’t be trusted.” The reporter raised his eyebrows, “Why not?”

“Yesterday he was so sweet and peaceful until he built some ships and turned against me.”

“Ollie went from being sweet to some bad dude who kicked you in the balls from behind?”

“Yes but he got greedy and lost all of his offensive ships trying to take my capitol of one hundred thirty thousand colonists. It also has fighters worth twenty five million, AA worth twelve million and launchers worth twenty million. Altogether you have something that no fleet at the moment can conquer.” Theodren inclined his head, “That is quite a formidable colony there. So, we know how you feel about the President, how about the Vice President Sampson?” Enache slammed his hand on the table and leaned forward looking Theodren in the eye, “He is the main power behind all this. He didn’t like my way of arguing so he got silent and without prior notice he managed to force Ollie,” He glanced away, “From what Ollie said, he was threatened with war if I were to stay in the Alliance.” Enache jerked his head back as he straightened, “Force Ollie to get the vote needed to kick me out. So Sampson is basically the main driving power behind it. Ollie tried to get in the middle and he ended up thinking it was best not to upset Sampson. Well, he was wrong, kicking me out was worse than having Sampson upset.”

“Wouldn’t that make Ollie a weak leader if what you say is true?” Theodren questioned. The man shouted, “Ollie is a weak leader! Look at the result of his actions!” He took a deep breath and calmed down a bit before continuing, “Let’s forget all the details and look only at the results. Their leadership style has caused a civil war in the Alliance which puts them in a much weaker position. In fact they almost destroyed a chance that the Alliance has a word to say in this universe. Alliance colonies in Association space were lost anyways, adding this civil war just creates an ugly image. So, for me at least, Ollie and Sampson are for the most part not good enough to be leaders.” The reporter leaned back and pondered a bit before voicing his thoughts, “If you were given the opportunity to become the leader of Alliance, would you take it?” Without hesitation Enache nodded vigorously, “Of course! But, for this I must be an Alliance member.”

“You could do a coup, perhaps gather a following behind you and take out the leaders. Then you could be reinstated and then lead.” Enached smiled, “The first step is to take out Ollie and Sampson from office. I would need to convince the rest of the Alliance that they aren’t worth the job. I feel there there’s very small chance here so I won’t count on that. More likely I will fight until I lose and then disappear.” He glanced at nothing in particular then started up again, “I do have one more thing to say. Prepare for surprises because I am far from ending my influence on this universe.” Enache’s eyes twinkled and showed Theodren out of his study.

Crimson Gunboat in its prime

>Intercept of data transmission from Explorer Probe 9
> To 3T2W1QB(yet to be decoded)
> On 5-2-2345 at 13:58

Activating Standard Protocol
> Unknown ship wreck detected.
>> Scanning ship wreck
>>> Ship wreck identified as Crimson Gunboat
>>>> Transmitting blueprint of wrecked Crimson Gunboat to 3T2W1QB's Capital

>Transmission Terminated 5-2-2345 at 14:09

The fleets of Dr.Strangelove and Spazzhole continue to wreck havoc on the Alliance colonies near the center of The Ska Boss Galaxy. Meeting little to no resistance, the combined corvettes and bombers slaughter the meaningless civil defenders and claim the colonies as their own.

Rumors of more fleets arriving within days from the homeland of the Association to join newly constructed fleets in the system Otterbee makes for bitter news for the remaining Alliance colonists.

Will the alliance attempt to salvage their petty existence arround their one time home world? Stay tuned.

The preferred method of suicide

“I've got IT!” he screamed. “If I can manipulate the market prices of food I can increase my wealth exponentially.”
With that Ihrit Cairnbreak called the IGTA and bought all the food that was left on the market. Cairnbreak's scheme was working, he had created an artificial rise in food prices making him rich beyond his wildest dreams. However Cairnbreak made the fatal mistake of becoming too greedy.

What happened next neither Cairnbreak nor God himself could have predicted.

Within 48 hours a mad rush to sell as much food as possible occurred. Prices plummeted to the point where farmers had to pay people to take food. Farmers lost their land, unemployment skyrocketed, creating the perfect opportunity for industry to screw over the working man by firing him and hiring out of work farmers cheaper. The prices of basic goods such as school books, interstellar radios and even the price of a beer rose sharply. Industrialists saw this as the perfect opportunity to make themselves even richer by increasing the cost of their goods while cutting the cost of labor.

Unfortunately for the Industrialists, they got too greedy much like the man they had to thank for this wonderful opportunity to rape the public for a quick buck.

Consumption of all goods fell and prices with them. Everyone became poor within hours and millions of suicides have been reported across the Universe, including Ihrit Cairnbreak.

Unfortunately the blame fell squarely on the governing economic body of the Universe, the IGTA. All of the highest members of the IGTA were hung, beheaded, boiled in acid, their remains burned and then what was left of them was launched into space where the ship was promptly obliterated by millions of upset farmers. Upon the death of the IGTA the global trade market ceased to exist.

Reports have begun to trickle in that local markets are being erected to replace the IGTA. However these are unsubstantiated at this point and we will report more when we can verify that these local markets actually exist.

*****BREAKING NEWS!*****

Enache Vladian II is threatening the obliteration of the Alliance home system after being outcasted by the Alliance leaders. The renegade has already taken several colonies, raping and slaughtering the populace before halting his rampage and declaring his terms.

- To obtain a guarantee from Alliance leaders that his colonies will be unmolested.
- He will be allowed to keep his colonies in Alliance space.
- All damage done up to this point will be uncompensated.

If these terms are met then Enache Vladian II says he will stay his hand and coexist with the Alliance in peace. Will the Alliance accept? Will Enache Vladian II exact bloody vengeance? Ollie1487, the Alliance President had this to say “Are you considering attacking your faction? If so, I advise you find a defenseless faction, which may be Enache’s deadly mistake!”

More to come as the story unfolds!

A cold wind blew through the empty streets of cities in five different galaxies, on hundreds of worlds. The wind passed over the lifeless bodies of innocent children in the parks. It swirled around the half way constructed skyscrapers, taunting the lifeless bodies inside. It settled uneasily over the homes of pilots and miners alike. At the source of this deadly calm, a dented tin can, one for each world that had been hit.

The virus spread quicker than they planned, but lost its harmful effects almost immediately. The dissipation had been far greater than they had expected, and although the casualty rate was high, it was far less than they had planned and hoped for.

The twisted remains of the missiles bore no markings. The worlds with newly quieter nights received no warnings. The unlucky people caught at the wrong place at the right time lived no futures.

Humanity had been dealt a sickening blow. Economies collapsed, political leaders lay slumped in their chairs. Panic surged throughout the colonies. Why? Who?

And they began to prepare for their next attempt.

It is a nice day to die.

The commodore adjusted his hat as he stood ramrod straight in the rain staring blankly at the five soldiers and an admiral standing at attention. The sky flashed and rumbled as the admiral shouted commands. The soldiers raised their rifles and aimed. Flash. Thunder. The commodore jerked as five bolts slammed into him, and then crumbled into a heap. The loss of one of the brightest men in the Empire’s navy was a very sorrowful one. However an example had to be made, corruption would not be tolerated and anyone, regardless of prestige or status, would be tried and executed. The only thing prestige and status would grant is a honorable death, just the other day a merchant was caught skimming on his taxes. He was bound, gagged, scourged and shoved off a cliff into the raging waters below. The whole thing was publicized and shown on holoscreens everywhere throughout the Empire.

Remember, the Empire is watching you.

Legalized Narcotics doesn't seem like such a great idea when you're standing underneath that.

“No! Not that one the other one,” the foreman shouted. Ten days they gave him, ten days to build five colony ships so his lordship’s colony program would succeed, and what did they give him to work with? Three-hundred unemployed layabouts who didn’t know their hyper-spanners from their coolant release springs.
“There that’s it,” his toned softened as workman lowered the unit fully into place and secured it. Finally, the cryo units were fully installed in the Lady’s Breath the first of a new generation fast Sleeper Ships. Now they only had to install the engines, life support, guidance, and hundred other little things, every single one of them important to the success of the mission and the lives of the thousand colonists that it would transport across the stars to their new home.

Across the capital city in the Astrogation Planning suit at The Horrensky Institute, two men, heads together, murmured and moved small computer generated holographics around.
“This one?”
“Too cold.”
“This one?”
“Too hot.”
“Okay so which one? Everyone has pros and cons but which one do we send them too?”
“I don’t know, but we have to make a decision today or his Lordship will remove us and I don’t just mean from the project.”
The men looked at each other; they both knew the price for failure and what had happened to the previous navigational team before them.
“How about this one,” the taller of the two said pointing his finger into the holographic screen, “it doesn’t seem so bad, does it?” The other leaned close, ‘Sunbather #249987a Galactic (47485793, 823498, 2348274)
“Well I hope they pack their sun block.”

> Intercept of data transmission from Explorer Probe2
> To Xander of Omnideductionists
> On 12-13-2343 at 14:48

Unknown fleet detected...

Activating standard protocol...
-->Success

Analyzing ship identifications...
-->Failure

Analyze fleet configuration...
-->Assault Formation

Activate evasive maneuvers...

...

Transmission terminated 12-13-2343 at 14:56

This is how colonies are made, i'll explain it in better detail when you're older

Intercept of data transmission being sent to Dragonheart of The Damned Souls on 4-29-2342 at 13:32:

"My lord mission number 67183 has gone well. The founding was without incident and all of the container transports arrived safely on the surface."

"And how does the thawing of my colonists progress?"

"Very well, my lord 78% are already awakened and starting on the food farms. The next batch should be ready soon and then our mining operations can begin."

"Good I am pleased with how things are progressing keep me informed."

"Yes my Lord."

Transmission terminated 4-29-2342 at 13:36

Weaving the tapestry of creation isn't as easy as it looks.

After a round-the-galaxy tour of the whorehouses of Beta Andredi and the pleasuredome of Capri Derno, our God decided to check in on his least favourite creation, the humans. Within a mere two decades without his guidance, they had already managed to lay waste to trillions of square kilometers of usable land, and debris from millions of spacecraft were scattered across the cosmos. One of his better creations, the Waratia of the Crimson Moon Accord, were hiding and cowering in every corner of the universe. Not only that, their insignificant fighting had attracted the attention of Quax, a so-called arbiter of fate that our God thought would spice things up a little several centuries ago.

It was a mess, and there was no hope of setting these misguided folk back on the straight and narrow. Though omnipotent and omniscient, he pondered the fate of this region of space for several nanoseconds before devising a (perhaps in hindsight) not-so-brilliant-scheme. With a wave of his hand, he manipulated the very tapestry of creation itself and caused the thousands of inhabited worlds, slum covered hellholes of depravity, to vanish from reality, never to be seen again. It was for the best, he thought.

When the multitudes of spirits were evicted from their frail human bodies, they demanded an explanation of the God.

“Well it’s quite simple you see, and you’ll really find this funny” he said, pausing for dramatic effect, as if his very presence wasn’t nerve-wracking enough, “it was an accident. I had really intended to put a few extra stars nearby, you know, to attract visitors to your region, but before I knew it the space you called home was removed from the material plane. Sorry about that.”

The people stood around, not sure what to make of this turn of events. Yet even after the horrific events that had just unfolded, Muffdiver, a man of legendary charisma, joyously cried “PARTY!” loud enough for everyone to hear. And the peoples of the universe rejoiced, until their time came again to serve humankind.

A glimpse of the final battle between might and infinity.

How could it have come to this?

Carl Sagan watched the Battle for Megiddo with a silent resignation. The conflict was already winding down; the last of the Alliance armada was in full retreat. He took a certain amount of satisfaction in what he had accomplished, but the price he and his comrades had to pay was great indeed.

Muffdiver had fallen weeks before in the defense of Hrothgar. In a flash, his flagship was shattered in a blinding explosion, and Sagan watched in horror as their vaunted fleets burned around him. Sagan narrowly avoided death that day, but a man cannot escape his fate twice. Twilight was upon him once more.

The Battle for Megiddo was arranged to be an honourable confrontation between the last remnant of the fighting Commonwealth and the mighty arm of the Alliance. It was intended to be a confrontation that decided the fate of the last free systems of the Commonwealth, and so it was, but not as the Alliance had come to believe.

Unbeknownst to his adversaries, Carl Sagan sent a message into the Great Unknown. He had contacted the arbiter of all human destiny, Quax.

A being of infinite power, Quax held sway over the Cosmos. He watched with a weary eye as the human race split into factions and forced death upon itself. This troubled him greatly. Carl Sagan had managed to contact him many weeks before, and in his conversations with the absolute pinnacle of intellect, Sagan had struck a bargain.

Quax understood the reality of the Alliance’s power, and he knew that all hopes of self-determination faded with every system the Alliance conquered. He knew of their genuine quest to unite the human race, but he also knew of their malicious desire to meet that end at any cost. The Alliance pressed their views on an unwilling populace. Those who would not bend to their will were imprisoned or worse. Freedom was not an option.

Normally, Quax was a mere observer in the procession of fate, but here, he saw a unique opportunity. Quax saw the metaphorical gauntlet, thrown down by this Sagan, leader of the free Commonwealth. He saw the Alliance accept. Quax understood all too well that this was Sagan’s final stand, and the outcome was almost certain. So when Sagan reached out to the stars for hope, Quax was waiting.

Carl Sagan stared out from his command center at the gifts that Quax had given to save his people, and there were no words to describe them.

The Alliance had mustered their best and their brightest, they had them crew the greatest ships ever built in the entire galaxy. Hundreds of thousands, all concentrated on taking Sagan’s bastion. And yet all that firepower could not measure up to ONE of the vessels that appeared suddenly outside of Sagan’s colony. This day, Quax had given him thousands. Though the fighting spirit of the Alliance was great indeed, the ruthless and unstoppable efficiency of Quax’s creations had no equal. The battle was decided without question. Those who tried to flee were cut down ruthlessly. A worthy accomplice to the intervening fleets appeared now within Sagan’s colony; ground emplacements of near limitless destructive power. Quax had ensured that no ship survived to tell the tale. Now, one thing remained.

Sagan had made a bargain with the being Quax. His sole aim was to restore balance to the galaxy. Sagan did not seek total victory over his oppressors, he only wanted to give a fair chance to those who would follow in his footsteps. It so happened the Quax was entertaining this same notion, but the intervention by the near divine did not come without immense cost.

As the last of the Alliance warships crumbled under the infinite power of Quax’s gaze, a deafening silence fell over the victorious forces of the Commonwealth. Several moments passed, and they all stood frozen, holding their breath. Carl Sagan and his loyal followers knew what must happen next.

Then, softly, a point of light appeared low over the last settlement of Megiddo. Gradually, it bloomed into something more. It’s light grew in intensity until Sagan thought he could bear it no longer, and yet, he could not turn away from it’s radiance. Growing larger with every moment, the swirling mass of light soon stretched out to cover the whole sky above Sagan’s colony. The anomaly was a portal; roiling and chaotic, it evoked an indescribable sense of wonder.

Identical portals began systematically opening up across all of the Commonwealth systems. Beautifully serene, the portals had come to claim their purchase. Back in Megiddo, Carl Sagan looked out gratefully at his citizens, and raised a hand in silent tribute the sacrifices they had sustained to bring him as far as he had come. Finally, they would all find peace. The glowing portal shimmered, signifying that the journey was about to begin.

One by one, the citizens of Carl Sagan’s empire shimmered into darkness. Their existence on this plane had ended. A new life awaited Sagan and his flock, within the realm of Quax.

The shimmering grew outwards to embrace each and every citizen of Carl Sagan’s empire, all across the galaxy. Within a few moments, Carl Sagan stood alone. Looking back at what he had created, Carl Sagan paused.

Am I worthy of remembrance?

With that as his final thought, the one known as Carl Sagan faded into the blue abyss of a higher realm.

Ground Control to Major Tom, your circuit's dead, there's something wrong. Can you hear me Major Tom?

Two Alliance pilots sat in their ship just outside the Crimson Moon Accord’s new home system. They had drawn the short straw for tonight’s watch. A small carrier was stationed an hour’s flight away at top speed, well out of range for CMA scanners. Only the smallest fighters or probes could sneak close enough to get a good scan on the fleets of the CMA. Commander Ashby had decreed that probes were susceptible to hacking; only humans could be trusted to report back accurately.

Dysart sat in the pilot’s seat staring out at the little white dots he knew were planets full of the reptilian humanoids. His partner, what’s-his-name, was in the back reading the scans. Or sleeping. Dysart didn’t care; he didn’t feel like turning around to find out either. For three months the squadron had been watching the Accord, he doubted that was significant time to recover from the annihilation of their fleet and home world. They wouldn’t be sending out fleets anytime soon, he was sure of that. If only he had been assigned a more interesting co-pilot, these 16 hours shifts of futility would not seem so bad.

There was nothing to do in the confines of a small fighter in space. Targeting small asteroids gets you in trouble when you get back and you’re low on ammo. Turning off inertial dampeners and sending the fighter into a spin gets you in trouble when your idiot partner pukes all over the scanners. Mooning the relief pilots gets you in trouble and earns you a trip to med lab to “get that checked out.” This was Dysart’s eighth mission in the three months, and he swore if he had to go on one more he was going to hide in the cargo bay of a transport on board the carrier until they got the orders to come back home. He already had one stashed with food and water and a cot. He would do it.

He studied the probe that floated near the fighter. It was shiny, and he liked that. Its little gizmos and gadgets were twirling and clicking, trying to get detailed analysis of any fleets the CMA were constructing of mobilizing. Even though the Commander was paranoid about interference, the probes still did most of the work. The only way the pilots would make a difference would be if it was probably already too late. Dysart longed for the time his family was just a tiny farming colony on Avalon, before the Alliance had come in and turned it into a sprawling metropolis. Now he and his friends had been conscripted into long range deployment for the first two years after their schooling. He thought about giving the probe a nudge with the fighter. Watching probes correct their position was probably the most interesting thing he could get away with.

“Hey, that’s new I think,” came an annoying mumbling by Dysart’s partner. Dysart made an effort to turn around.
“What is it now?”
“You should be able to see it out the starboard window.”

Dysart turned to look. It took him a few second but then he noticed something that did appear new, and strangely out of place. Four stars lined up in a perfect square formation. They seemed to be growing in intensity. Dysart looked up at the probe. It was vibrating violently as it strained to pick up as much data as possible. Suddenly its gyrations went from normal to out of control, and then it went dead. It spun off into space still under the influence of the forces that were now silent. It made no attempt to correct itself, one of the few functions it did well.

Dysart became paranoid. There were rumors of probe hacking and systems shutdowns of Alliance ships. He shut down the ship’s engines despite the whining of sir-whine-a-lot in the back. If whatever had done that was capable of detecting scans and pinpointing the location to shut it down, well, Dysart didn’t want to become a stranded metal asteroid with a chewy center. His partner climbed back into the co-pilot seat as they watched the four dots grow brighter.

After a few hours there were flashes of light surround the now visibly larger dots. They argued about what it could be. Dysart hoped it was a battle going on . Maybe the probe had been able to send data back to the carrier who could call in the rest of the Alliance fleets nearby. The dots grew into tiny circles. Dysart’s partner looked at him “Hey, planets don’t usually move right?” Dysart studied the circles; indeed it did look as if four planets had broken loose from their orbit around their sun and were now headed straight for them. They cowered in their seats as the small planets flew past them, the bright flashes of light being asteroids burning up in the shields…. Or maybe the atmospheres… of the planets… ships.

“Um Dysart, I think that last one is going to hit us if we don’t move”

Dysart agreed, it did look as if the planet ship was going to run right into them if they did not move. He fired up the engines and set a course back to carrier to warn the fleet. Suddenly a warning siren sounded throughout the cabin at a ear shattering pitch.

“Holy shit, hull breach!” cried his partner.

Oxygen masks came down and Dysart fumbled to put his on, but the alarm stopped as abruptly as it had started.

“What was that all about?” Dysart asked his partner.

He just shrugged and they raced back towards the carrier. The dart that had penetrated the hull had started to leak tiny nanobots. They had already sealed the hull leak around the dart, and began to work on the humans’ minds. An hour later Dysart docked in the carrier fighter bay. They were ordered to report in to their XO immediately as to why they had left their posts. The events of the last hour seemed to be only a dream in Dysart’s head. He could not focus on them and as he walked to his XO’s quarters, the memories faded even further. When he arrived, the only words that came out were “Probe Malfunction.”

The planet size ships split up and each began their jump to their individual classified rendezvous. The Alliance continued to watch the CMA, waiting for them to make a move.

The Great Beyond

Welcome, young Emperor.

Your future lies before you, like a great tapestry, unwoven. You will be called upon to make many great decisions in order to successfully guide your followers to the stars, and beyond. There are great dangers in the vast expanse of space, and many glorious battles await you. Will you make your mark as a warrior king, carving weaker empires into pieces to be devoured in your hunger for power? Perhaps you will become learned and spread your knowledge to the far reaches of the galaxy, for a price? Or maybe you will dig deep into the bowels of the many planets you have colonized and bring the valuable minerals to the surface for transport to the markets of populated worlds to supply the ravenous appetites of the warlords that protect your vulnerable operations? Many paths are possible.

You will choose a Faction to represent. Will it be the power-hungry Alliance, the treacherous Association, the greedy Commonwealth, or the fanatical Unitology? Each has its virtues, and its weaknesses. You can always change, but you will have to sacrifice everything you have built in order to be accepted into the fold.

Will you forge your own mighty empire, or join one that already exists? The former will allow you to grow largely unnoticed, possibly allowing you the chance to surprise everyone with your bid for total domination. The latter gains you the support network that so many find invaluable in this often hostile universe.

As you receive your first probe reports from Fleet Command you will be better able to decide which planets are suitable for your people to thrive on. You may be a vicious tyrant that demands his people find happiness on the nearest barren rock, or a benevolent leader who searches far and wide for only most habitable of terrestrial worlds. You will need to decide soon, the first colony ship is already prepared and the crew is getting anxious.

The universe is vast; your choices are nearly limitless. Do not be alarmed, there is indeed much to learn if you intend to fulfill your destiny to rule and not be ruled. You will learn, through trials, wisdom of the ancients, and a little luck.

Welcome, young Emperor. The universe awaits you.

The Auspex

I am known as The Auspex, an ancient being enslaved by the shape-shifter known as Ungeheueur who once ruled a wide swatch of Association space, but as his host body aged, he was called home to defend his homelands and rally The Crimson Moon Accord against the murderous onslaught of The Alliance.

After centuries of enslavement, the assault by The Alliance gave me the opportunity to escape from Ungeheueur. Never straying far from my captors, I watched them with great curiosity, forever intrigued by their blind hatred of all humans. I followed while they migrated further than even the furthest reaches of human explorations. I watched as they rebuild their society around one goal, one passion—to bring their might to bear on humans. I watched as they grew strong and colonized hundreds of star systems. I watched as they raped entire planets of resources and life to fuel their insatiable passion.

These vile beings do not wish to tame man, nor do they wish to enslave man. Their only focus is to unleash a genocide upon the universe so terrible that it defies all reason.

My hatred of every being that comprises The Crimson Moon Accord has grown to an unbridled level. Humans have done well in eradicating two races of The Crimson Moon Accord. The Great Unitos struck down Blood of The Norud after he dared claim the Unitology homelands for himself. The once great empire, Are You (G)in, decimated Ourikar of the Aarden—the filthy leader of a horde of subterranean creatures. All that remains of The Crimson Moon Accord are two races: The Waratia, commanded by the infinitely wise Cereus; The Blarakars, commanded by Defiance.

Three mighty fleets, more powerful than anything ever assembled in the galaxy have been constructed. Their sole mission is to drive through human lands. Using the esteemable tech of The Waratia, coupled with the hostile simple-mindedness of The Blarakars, these fleets will be like a flood upon the universe of man. Where they will strike first, I do not know. What I do know is that they will leave destruction in their wake. Man will not be enslaved, he will be destroyed. No one man, empire, or faction will be spared.

My sole purpose is to now warn man of his impending doom and do what I must to circumvent The Crimson Moon Accord. I wish to be your salvation if you will take me in faith and trust that the path I am about to pave for you will free you of suffering at the hands of these aliens. If you follow my directions, you will suffer only in small amounts. If you do not follow my path, you will cease to exist. For now, do what you must to slow the advance of the aliens while I do what I must to give you a path to freedom.

DC One, Dragon Corp Flagship

Deep space is a vast and unforgiving place.

Dragon sat quietly in his command center, silently gazing at a galactic map. Many stars are shown, but so very few are shaded purple, a very telling sign of the hard times that his empire faces.

"My vast empire is gone. All that remains are a few bastions scattered throughout what was once Association space."

But Dragon suddenly sits up and smiles. He zooms the map out, and a slight chuckle graces his mouth. He activates fleet command, and a full blown grin can be seen.

"The Alliance has good fortunes now, but so did the Association. What comes up, must fall down, and so shall be the fate of the Alliance."

Then Dragon sends out several sealed orders, closes down his command center, and heads for the bridge. He knows what awaits us all...

Fundraising Ball cocktail waitress

The fund raising ball at Dragon's former palace was now in full swing. Such events had become commonplace on Sanctuary in light of the Association's recent rebuilding efforts, but this one was different. It was the first given by Alliance members. Smokestack and Gainclone had attended the dinner before but took it upon themselves to babysit now, both now spend most of their time on Sanctuary and this night marked the first time their grandchildren had come this deep into Association territory. The group now found themselves in Smokestack's kitchen, inside one of Dragon's old guest houses.

Smokestack watched reflectively as the children played on the floor; the grandchildren were reenacting the battle at Resource Point with small replicas. It was accurate historically if you ignore the circa 2002 model of the USS Enterprise Gainclone's youngest grandchild brought to the battle. Gainclone stared blankly at the wall recalling those days and the uncertain feeling that started while he was leading a fleet of Picard SPHERE class ships into the system. He first noticed it after giving the order that there would be no retreat and sentencing either half of the Alliance military or all Association citizens in the system to their death - it sure seemed like it was the Alliance military at the time. Smokestack stood up and took Gainclone's glass from the table, pulling him out of the memory. Stirring the fresh Gin and Tonic, Smokestack smiled and spoke.

"When I was their age we would pretend to be One Part Tonic - Five Parts Gin pilots and raid Association colonies at night. Lev always wanted to be like his Grandfather, leading the old Vogon Constructor Fleet. I can't believe he's teaching at the academy."

Gainclone heard what he said but didn't think about it. He changed the topic to match the thoughts in his head.

"Will this last? This peace?"

"For a while," Smokestack replied sliding the full glass across the table.

"War will not be like it was in the past, there have been too many scientific advancements - we have the ability to kill at a rate unknown to us before. If there is a war it will be one order given on each side and within weeks a third of the population of the galaxy will be dead."

"And more to follow," Smokestack added.

Before Gainclone could go on Jesus Quintana walked in the room and began whispering to the two seated at the table. Only one of the grandchildren could hear what he was saying, Gainclone's youngest.

"There have been some more strikes on Alliance colonies near the border of our space, it is the CMA. There are rumors of a new member of their high council who is leading the charge; they say he was the mastermind behind the destruction of their moon after the last revolt was put down."

"I'm not sure I want to fight them anymore," Smokestack sighed. "Once we locate their new outpost it will just be another slaughter."

Jesus Quintana gave him a strange look, not really agreement as much as sympathy for his friend. "You know what the public opinion is, and these most recent attacks do nothing to help their case."

"Enough talking of war tonight, the universe is feeling peaceful now and we should too." Smokestack decided. "We've got a full bottle of Gin and the harvest from my poppy preserve has just arrived. I think you two will enjoy it much."

-Smokestack

One of the final remaining Association outposts

The mighty empires of the five noble factions flourished for many thousands of years, but only for what amounts to a sliver of the time of the universe. This sliver of time brought unbridled epidemics of disease, ceaseless warfare, treachery, zealotry, and rampant xenophobia. Eventually, humanity would collapse upon their own weight with only the strong surviving to see the dawn of the next age.

During these thousands of years, many empires grew into mighty and formidable powers. In the beginning, the factions spent their time exploring and colonizing the nearly infinite boundaries of space. Gradually, over time, these factions realized how small the universe seemed to be for all the open space that was thought to be had. Leaders became increasingly nervous as probes streamed into their respective spaces at an obscene rate. This eventually turned into masses of colony ships and later the first long-distance, fast war fleets.

The faction leaders met and divided up the known universe. The Association to the galactic north, Unitology to the east, The Alliance to the south and The Commonwealth in the middle, completely surrounded. Boundaries were set and neutral zones brokered. These pacts were adhered to for a great many years with a relatively peaceful order to the universe.

Over time, society and politics began to change, both evil and benevolent rulers came to power, dividing or uniting their factions. At the same time, word was beginning to reach back from the furthest reaches of space—from sectors of stars so far removed from home systems that it was unfathomable that man had journeyed so far in so little time. The news being relayed across the legions of relay buoys was that an ancient race of aliens, as equally divided as the humans, had been contacted. This alien race saw a new threat in man and united in a xenophobic furor to crush the humans.

Meanwhile, the humans were busying themselves with their own petty affairs. The great empires began to rear themselves. Out of the Alliance came AY(G), a hostile power that flashed colonized the known universe. Unbeknownst to the other factions, AY(G) had colonized hidden systems throughout enemy territory. AY(G) also began their first strikes against their mortal enemies, The Association, striking their first mining system, Resource Point, as a way to show their might while testing their ground-breaking long-range designs. The main targets were the empires of Dragon Corporation and The Happy FYAD Empire, reviled by the rest of the galaxy, regardless of faction.

The Commonwealth spent their time idling away their days, perpetuating a vast and vile scheme to appear neutral, humble, weak and inept—as everyone believed them to be. Unitology were slowly building strength, but their religious infighting was already beginning to tear apart their fabric of society after only a short time of existence. The rest of the universe scoffed at their petty wars and felt relieved to see these zealots break from humanity to settle elsewhere, only to impale themselves on their assumed virtue—true heretics to the end. Like the ancient book prophesized: “The nation shall rush like the rushing of many waters: but God shall rebuke them, and they shall flee far off, and shall be chased as the chaff of the mountains before the wind. And now they sin more and more; therefore they shall be as the morning cloud and as the early dew that passeth away, as the chaff that is driven with the whirlwind out of the floor.” The only good that came of their faction were the slaves that were pilfered from the pirate Iron Fist, of The Alliance. These slaves were sold throughout the universe to the highest bidders, something very few knew.

After The Association was struck preemptively by The Alliance, they continued to grow strong, arrogant, and noisome. The Alliance grew even stronger but saved their arrogant nature for The Association.

During this intervening time, exploration was rampant. All the factions, save the aliens, began trillion dollar projects that would take generations upon generations to complete. The projects were endless space station chains to other galaxies. The Commonwealth drilled south into the abyss for the closest southern galaxy while the Association became bogged in bureaucratic mayhem and never got theirs off the ground. Two separate empires began chains to the extreme southern galaxy, further south of the galaxy Commonwealth was reaching out to.

The alien race, Crimson Moon Accord, was discovered far to the galactic south east of Alliance space by the intrepid explorer, Smokestack. AY(G) began a massive endeavor to strike the home world of Crimson Expanse. Massive research projects began to refine the long-range ships used to strike Association holdings. CMA struck first and the Alliance Internal Defense System managed to beat them back and hold their ground on the planet Milly Grace.

Once the designs were complete, Alliance began the lengthy journey to the Crimson Expanse. Once the armadas, a joint force of several Alliance empires, arrived, a hugely complex tactical battle began. The battle ended in the complete route of the CMA while their home planets were seized in the name of The Alliance. CMA was so weakened that they were forced to become a protectorate of the Alliance.

Back near the human home systems, war was beginning to bluster out of control between Alliance and Association. Initially, the flow of war ebbed in favor of Alliance as they took system after system, striking deep within their territory while building intense defenses back in their home systems. Association finally organized their chaotic rulers and struck back hard, driving Alliance back to heavily defended, former-Association holdings. The war began to become a stalemate. After what was quickly becoming a war of attrition, AY(G) renewed their vigor after the loathsome BlackPanther became a severe nuisance and growing threat. Not only did he have advanced technology, but he was a tactical genius on par with the forgotten Lord Asriel.

AY(G) drove forward and seized the Zen system where they managed to stage massive raids and gear-up for the mortal blow. The members of AY(G) that would later break-off to become the Old Bumpy Face empire, returned to Resource Point with fleets the likes of which God had never seen. The largest battle ever witnessed ensued at the entrance to the system. The Alliance fleets collided with the Association fleets and they were severely outnumbered. The Battle for Resource Point lasted days and The Association fleets were eventually annihilated, with heavy loses dealt to The Alliance as well. During the battle, Fenris of AY(G) was able to amply test his new long-range fighters after he snuck them past the fleets tied-up in battle and began picking-off mining colonies—colonies that had been abandoned already in retreat. The system fell, as did the great majority of Association systems.

Little did the Association know, but at the dawn of the first age, The Alliance embarked on a project that many though would never be complete: a bridge of space stations that rose out of the galaxy and stretched out like a claw over Commonwealth and Association territory. This bridge, removed from even the highest sensor ranges of probes was never found, and believed impossible to find. Fleets, spheres, and all manner of space vessel traversed these threads of stations. New stations were sent up from every conquered colonies in Association space to further reinforce the web. Colonies were secreted into Commonwealth space where countless more stations rose to complete the web above their territory; each system entry from the web being a drawbridge that could be raised out of sensor range and lowered moments before attack. Eventually, after the Alliance had grown bored, the web was expanded below the galaxy as well, in case of the highly improbable chance the northern web was ever found.

The war had cost the lives of billions of men and hundreds of millions of ships. It took time for Alliance to regroup after such heavy, yet successful losses; losses that were exacerbated by the destruction of Crimson Moon in the Crimson Expanse. During the Great Alien Revolt that was swiftly squashed, the aliens fled the galaxy, destroying their home world and their Alliance captors as they fled. It was annoying, but of little consequence to The Alliance as the alien holdings outside their home world were numerous.

OBF and AY(G) continued to scourge the universe of the last vestiges of Association. The Commonwealth even showed their quiet selves and took part in the obliteration. Eventually, The Association home system, Neo Europa, fell, along with the soul of their faction. The remaining rulers of The Association went into hiding to slowly rebuild what was left of their meager holdings.

Deals were struck with the weaker Association empires, sparing them and showing extreme mercy. All finally seemed right in the universe after centuries of war, yet this was not to be.

Treacherous beasts in The Commonwealth: Warsaw Pact and Zbot Industries, finally saw their time to strike Alliance, after their rulers had retired. Being reasonable enough to only attack the remnants of AY(G) (which had splintered after their calling had been answered) and the Liberation Front. Liberation Front, which had already been weakened by a spy did not stand a chance against the onslaught, while the remnants of AY(G) simply had lost the will to fight.

Finally, the great empires had all collapsed upon themselves: The evil aspects of Association destroyed by The Alliance, leaving the faction barren and sparsely populated; The Crimson Moon, after having their home lands raped by The Alliance were forced to flee the galaxy, bringing their vile, xenophobic doctrine with them; Unitology fell upon their sword of religious fanaticism, destroying themselves in religious fury. All that remained in any substantial force was Old Bumpy Face, Zbot Industries, and Warsaw Pact. These empires became virtual deities in themselves, infinitely wise, advanced, and powerful. Continuing to expand exponentially, they became the true inheritors of the universe.

Carl consults with Muffdiver on the topic of beanie babies.

Space is cold, vast and unforgiving.

Carl Sagan stared out of the viewport of his command ship, the Druyan, into a nameless system with a dying star. Fitting, he thought. With hands clasped behind his back, he stood motionless staring out at the void. A small shiver ran down his back with the realization that it was all about to begin again. It was only a matter of time, he reminded himself. Inevitable.

The flotilla was preparing for its final journey, having been sent into the very heart of darkness, unlikely to ever return. His contingent would be the last to get under way. Sagan saw no other means to stem the terrible flow of dead and dying than to create a new source of anguish.

It won’t be long now, he mused.

Before Sagan even realized he had approached, the enigmatic Muffdiver was standing beside him. A heavy cloak concealed his form and an artificial breathing apparatus masked his features. Always an enigma, Sagan had never seen his face, though they had been colleagues since Muffdiver had found him futilely trying to evacuate the last citizens of Dark Eden. Sagan was unstartled, as Muffdiver
had made it a habit to appear when he was least expected.

"Our hour of reckoning draws near," Sagan said softly. The only response was the deep, mechanical sound of Muffdiver’s laboured breathing.

"If there is an after world, I wonder if we shall be judged harshly," Sagan mused.

For a minute, Muffdiver did not reply, letting the significance of the moment set in. Then his breathing paused, as it always did before he made a comment.

"It is best not to dwell on such things," he said in a dark, commanding tone, "destiny has assured that we will obtain our rightful place among the stars."

Muffdiver paused for several moments, and gazed out into space, letting the red glow of the distant star spill over him.

"But if we are to be judged," he continued with a deep resonance, "I feel that the gods will look upon our whole journey through this plane of existence, and in the light of our ultimate intentions, I feel that we shall be vindicated when our time has come."

"Though we may become martyrs before either of us are ready," Sagan answered.

Once again a deep silence fell upon the pair, punctuated by Muffdiver’s rhythmic breathing. Several moments passed, and the star shone vainly in the distance.

"I have a ham demon in my pants," Muffdiver let out, with a heavy sigh. Then he turned, and just as abruptly as he arrived, he was gone.

Carl Sagan never moved, he simply kept looking into the distant stars, as if he was searching for the elusive salvation that would absolve him of his inevitable crimes.

Deep within the vessel, Sagan felt the engines flare into life as the ponderous ship turned slowly to lead it’s group into the great void.

Sagan never moved.

A new beginning...

"Those fools do not realize what they have brought upon themselves..." Cereus of the Crimson Moon Accord mutters as his former homeland vanishes from sight. "Our wrath will be felt by their children and their children's children... our hatred shall never die." Silence falls over the Crimson Moon leadership as they consider the events to come.

Meanwhile, a small probe approaches the Crimson Moon, loaded with an unknown substance. The probe identifies itself as "From the depths..." and does not stop in orbit of Crimson Moon. Instead, it immediately breeches the atmosphere and plummets towards the surface at a blinding speed. Scanners around the planet pick up on the oddly shaped probe, but it is too late...

The silence of the Crimson Moon leadership is broken by awe, and then laughter, as the Crimson Moon world is coated in a white aura and then explodes, taking everything in it's vicinity out. The chaos they have left behind fades from view and so, the Crimson Moon looks on to new beginnings.

The red sky shines over Zaino.

The Alliance began as three empires, although one, Are You (G)in stood out in sheer size and passion to their cause. Are You (G)in was a combined empire of Alliance members, Are You In members, and those members of the once-rogue group One Part Gin - Five Parts Tonic. The empire was strong, and at its peak, it held 23 separate leaders, holding a majority of the Universe's power.

Are You (G)in had a strong empire holding the platinum market in their grip and extracting large amounts of wealth from the unsuspecting IGTA traders; that initiative was led by Blah and Nosre, but rumors report that others held strong positions in the platinum market's manipulation. Smokestack made good use of his funds and led a counter assault on the war-like Crimson Moon Accord, crushing them and returning their embattled nations to a peace that has lasted dozens of years.

Are You In and LevArris found that the Association and its member nations to some extent exhibited similar problems that the CMA had, and it was decided that the generous AY(G) should bring a peace upon them and finally end the wars that have ravaged the universe since humankind first shed blood. Battles began within Association space and have continued to this very day. Many systems have been put to peace, but many have not. The Association launched counter offensives at the Alliance, but not in number or power that the Alliance has in its attempts to bring peace to the universe.

It was decided by the general Smokestack and LevArris that they must split off and lead a more full offensive than AY(G) was permitting; so it was, and so became Old Bumpy Face. They were not the first to split off, Palleon left to form the empire Shu, and following the creation of OBF, The Vorpal Storm of Jadestorm and Apollo was created as so they could concentrate on their clerical works; these warlike and worshipful souls left, but did not leave the cause.

There were calls among the member nations of AY(G) to rename themselves, much of those who began the great quest had altered their path to Universal Peace, although each empire was still firm in their will to bring such a peace to the poor war-ravaged Universe. The answer came after Dr. Strangelove, a sworn enemy of AY(G) and member of the Happy FYAD Empire, went on a rampage within Alliance space attacking several solar systems before targeting the immense shipyards of Zaino in southern Alliance space.

Through the Wormwood Intelligence Network (WIN) the movement of Dr. Strangelove's many fleets were detected and building began in earnest, as fleets moved to both block the escape of the Association's Doctor and ambush it within the confines of Zaino itself. Dr. Strangelove's fleet fell at the hand of a dozen members in AY(G) and the rest of the Alliance. This show of strength in defense of the name of Universal Peace finally gave the remainder of AY(G) an answer: The Order of Zaino.

The Order of Zaino is to be committed to the same principals of AY(G), Universal Peace foremost, but exploration, high science, and the maintenance of other less disclosed principals would not be abandoned in their selfless quest. The Order of Zaino believes humanity now, finally, has the technology and strength to achieve a Universal Peace. The Order of Zaino stands now among its brothers and sisters within the Alliance, as it moves against those who seek to counter this call for peace.

All who stand against the Alliance shall submit in humility to a Universal Peace that is the will of all good men and women. To Universal Peace! To the Order of Zaino!

-Fenris, OZ Minister of Enlightenment and Education

Space Herpes quarantine settlement

Due to contact with filthy enemies in every corner of the galaxy, Alliance men and women have been infected with countless strains of Space Herpes. This has become an epidemic that even the mighty resources of the Alliance can not handle.

To solve this problem, the Alliance took five million citizens ailing from the dreaded plague of Space Herpes and loaded them into quarantined hospital vessels. These hospital vessels were then joined by an armada of protective destroyers and bombers.

Launched more than seven years ago, these citizens now have a new home--now a quarantine zone. We ask that the other factions in the universe: please leave these poor souls alone. Their only weapon is their infection; their only hope is to be cured.

Seven years ago, scouts reported that the planet was empty, but after all this time of voyaging, it appears that it has been settled. Unfortunately, the fleet was guided by computer while the crew and ailing Alliance citizens were in cryogenic stasis and nothing could be done to abort the landing sequences of the hospital vessels.

May the newly infected people live in harmony with the infected Alliance people.

(Any attempt to vacate or sterilize the planet will be met with destruction at the hands of quarantine patrol vessels.)

Coalition bombers landing on Crimson Moon

Are You (G)in Admiral Smokestack traveled many weeks to be a spectator during the successful Resource Point Raids next to the Association home system, Neo Europa. He spent his time darting from world to world watching as Alliance OTECH long range bombers (LRBs) destroyed most everything they encountered and took note of what types of defenses slowed them down. Adm. Smokestack lingered as long as he could while he watched the self destruction of the last AY(G) holdings and their retreat to other systems to regroup and return home once the war game was completed. He used this retreat as cover and slipped out of the system with his aides to spend the next few weeks traveling back to the Alliance home world in the Alliance Presidential Yacht and working out ship design schematics based on what he witnessed.

Once back on the home world, Smokestack took it upon himself to upgrade the designs tested in Resource Point. During this stage of development, three crucial events changed to way Alliance military might would forever be deployed. During second generation LRB testing, Alliance design labs were ransacked by rogue elements within the Alliance. Luckily, the AY(G) Juniper bomber design remained safe, but the damage slowed development and disrupted Alliance research and production. While the repairs to the shipyards and design labs were completed, The Crimson Moon Accord assets and home world were discovered. A greater sense of urgency befell Smokestack and others within AY(G) who were privy to the information. Shortly after this discovery, the sprawling colonies on the planet Milly Grace were sacked by the CMA. Tyr, the Alliance Internal Defense Supervisor (AIDS), managed to eradicate them from Milly Grace, but not before the vile aliens spread a previously unseen strain of virulent space herpes.

This event further increased the sense of urgency to revamp LRB designs and employ new methods of fleet deployment. An internal discussion began among high ranking Alliance members, and Operation Red Eye was born (Phase 1, Phase 2). Operation Red Eye was intended to be a quick strike force to pay back the rising threat of CMA; especially after reports of assaults on Commonwealth and the destruction of the Unitology home world, which later grew into a vast, xenophobic scheme to completely eradicate CMA.

Operation Red Eye was a joint effort among AY(G) and Liberation Front, with financial backing from anonymous third parties from all three of the human factions. Four armadas were launched in four different waves. These armadas consisted of the finest Alliance technology and hundreds of thousands of tons of support craft.

For security reasons, the brave crews of these armadas knew nothing of the impending mission and believed it to be another set of military maneuvers. The first wave began distraction measures lead by Smokestack and LevArris while the support craft waves landed in an undisclosed system and quickly established the Fueling, Arming and Repairing Point (FARP) for the main Coalition task force. The first wave conquered the system with no resistance. Patiently, they began building ground defenses on the planet AY(G) Outpost008. They laid claim to the system, bestowing the name Xenophobe. The bulk of the Coalition task force, lead by AYI, entered The Crimson Expanse by the thousands and proceeded to conquer the aliens. The bombers of Thujone, Nosre, GrimReapYa, Jesus Quintana and AYI were unstoppable.

The conquered populations were sent to FARP on AY(G) Outpost008 for triage. Due to their complex anatomy, most aliens died while Alliance doctors struggled to keep them alive. The rest were sent back in waves to Alliance territory on the frozen plains of planet Guantanamo IV where the gravity alone will warp a body beyond recognition within weeks.

Right now, the conquerors are analyzing the three running multi-million credit research projects that were stolen while AY(G) marines labor to load 500 million credits of stolen goods onto IGTA traders.

The incredibly complex and highly organized Operation Red Eye further proved the strength of Alliance ingenuity, designs, and inter-empire coordination. The Blitzkrieg of the CMA home system gave them their future strike model against the evil empires everywhere.

The eyelids of Unitos

Its often said that you cannot step in the same river twice, for both you and the river have changed. Unitos began to feel like he was stepping in a river for a second time. Although there were no people in his Universe, he still felt a connection somehow. It had grown faint, almost to the point where he could not recognize it, shortly after the last of the humans had escaped through the worm hole. Years passed and the connection began to reassert itself. The human race flourished once again, left unchecked without any natural predators or disasters, they spread wildly through their new homes.

Unitos began to feel as if he was somehow there with them, although he could not see or hear anything, he felt everything that happened. He began to wonder if perhaps some part of him had not slipped through the wormhole. Was it possible something was slipping back through? Wormholes have always been a mystery to humans. It is thought that they exist on a level that their minds would never understand. When a wormhole is formed it leaves a permanent scar in the space time it cuts through. This wound does not exist, yet it does at the same time. It is impossible to completely close a worm hole, but it is possible to make it so that it only exists in 2 dimensions.

Thus Unitos had begun to regain a connection with his former life. He could feel the joy, the happiness, the confusion and the hardships that the humans were going through. He longed to join them, for although he had created a world for himself to live on, he had not yet evolved to a state where he could create life from nothing. He was lonely. He tried to send messages, but without a proper person to receive these messages, they were in vain. The highest members of his following had been killed in the explosion. He needed to get through the scar and train up a new leadership.

Although he was very powerful, Unitos was still young and inexperienced. He did not know how to get through a nonexistent wormhole. A proper wormhole can be opened and closed, following the path of the scar left before it, but one in which Unitos had created to save the humans was not proper nor constructed with reuse in mind. He had closed it and prevented it from ever opening again to stop the blast from following them.

Unitos could feel the love of a husband and a wife going to bed. He felt the energy and the passion. He focused on this. Despite what humans believe, a soul isn’t given, it is created. The soul of humans was not formed until they had reached a significant milestone in their cognitive reasoning. Until then they were an empty shell as far as the afterlife was concerned. When the mother looked at her new baby many months later, it’s eyes did not seem of a normal baby’s. They looked at her intently, studying. It’s mouth moved as if it tried to speak, it’s muscles moved as it was trying to accomplish some task. That day, there was a child born already with a soul. It grew fast, it grew with a purpose. He was a child prodigy, a genius to human standards. He advanced far beyond children his age, both physically and intellectually.

He had succeeded in transferring himself through the scar, for a soul has no dimensions, only vessels. He chose the body of this young boy as his new host, and he resurrected his former following. The Unitology grew strong, many members advancing in the ranks of Galactic Powers far beyond their previous standings.

Unitos had returned.

And wit his coming, the Crimson Moon Accord was fully awakened.

If you put your business where it doesn't belong, make sure you have protection.

In eons past, the mighty god of war and patron of justice stepped aside and let his power pass to the ancient and mighty Odin, as he was only the beginning of what would become a powerful line of war gods stretching throughout human lore. This god of war has been obscured in a thick blanket of time and lost among the annals of human knowledge and chaos of conflict.

As man seeded the heavens and spread throughout the galaxies, one band of individuals chose to settle the system Veritas. Little did they know that their blood ran thick with a history of warriors from all epics of human history. An old wise man in this band of settlers was the last person in the known universe to carry the oral history of the mighty god of war and patron of justice that stepped aside for the forgotten Oden. He knew that this god would return one day in human form to continue his legacy. The mighty god once known as Tyr has returned to bring wrath to all those that mock Alliance justice and flout the mighty Alliance empires.

Alliance leaders, immediately recognizing Tyr’s strength, appoint him as Alliance Internal Defense Supervisor (AIDS). His first task was to punish the foolhardy Neill99 for assuming the Alliance was weak and disorganized and would allow him a world of his own to rule. His second task was to quash the havoc created by Athos, one of the Three Musketeers, on Greiss Star with help from advanced fleets given by the leaders of the Alliance.

Let this be a warning to those within the Alliance and those spread out among the stars that the Alliance will bow to no threat.

Alliance LRB Fleet Takeoff

As they watched the engines flare up they knew they had done it.

Dr. Ollie and his Assistant looked at their design wide-eyed as if they had never even imagined it possible. After all of humanity had been dragged through the portal no one in the lab ever thought they would see it again. A hull light enough to support massive cannons and a capital drive.

The Alliance wasn't the same as it had been. They had learned from their mistakes. They had built better labs, built a stronger government, and built a new way of life. But they had not lost the very thing that had defined them; a thirst for power. They wanted to be military giants and aimed their research towards it. The jump to the next galaxy couldn't have landed them in a better place. The alloys they found were exactly what Ollie needed in his design. Strong and lightweight material so he could mount a capital drive on them. His creation was more than he could ever hope for. Armed with the top alliance weaponry and drives he knew he had created the perfect ship for the alliance's military.

As Dr. Ollie watched the first alliance fleets take off he paused for a moment to admire them, then he quietly turned and walked towards his lab.

As the chaos from the catastrophic destruction ended, so did the lives of every being in the universe, however, as it was reformed, so then did their lives reform, and they gazed in awe at all that had been created anew. As their beings were restored to them, they remembered vaguely the way it had been before.

Before the coming of Unitos, the incomprehensible Quax had given three beings near infinite power and technology, their sole purpose to protect the home systems of all factions. These beings had been chosen from the original Shelter Defense Legion, before the splitting of the factions, and they kept their name through it all, though a misnomer as Shelter was now just one of three homeworlds. But they wore it with pride, for eons they had been the bastion of salvation for many empires.

After the reawakening of the universe, it was argued that they were no longer needed, and that each faction could police themselves. Two of the three beings faded, like bright stars who had collapsed upon themselves. They still existed, but as shadows of their former selves. It is a trying thing to go from omnipotence to insignificance, and it drove the third completely mad.

Demerzel, always the quietest and least involved in worldly affairs of the three, set up his new home with the Association. It was here, if anywhere, he reasoned, that he could research in peace and benefit mankind the most. However, after years in a dark space he laughingly referred to as his 'office', reviewing history and sociology and anthropology and anything that he could use for his attempt at a utopia, he began to go mad. At first, it was nothing, he would joke to himself that mankind would be better served by simply being destroyed, as they seemed to do it to themselves quite well enough. Then, it came to him: they needed to be protected. From themselves. Of course, they would not necessarily welcome such protection, but he was not concerned, it was the survival of the species, however worthless he deemed it, that concerned him. Then began the experiments. Their goal was to create a completely autonomous unit that could be implemented as a security force, only answerable to him. These units would need to be nearly sentient, as he could not respond to every call at all three worlds by himself.

These experiments eventually yielded a small black box. It could answer any given question, and seemed to respond to stimulus as he wanted it to. However, the first unit had given him something completely unexpected, a key to unlimited power: infinite energy. Over the next few months, he built the prototype suggested by his research with the box, and he had it: a completely self-sustained reaction that required absolutely no outside stimulus or power. With this, he could build whatever he needed, as molecular-level manipulation was child's play at this point, and the only limiting factor was power. Oh, the power was infinite once again, he was a god. Soon, his fleets will be built, and his vision of the universe realized: a universe where he is the protection from ourselves.

The canyons of Pi Que cut deep into the heart of the planet, where a species of horse like animals breed at the cool bottoms.

They all knew that hard times where ahead after the strange happenings of an otherwise normal night when the universe imploded and they traveled to another homeworld via mysterious wormhole. However surviving an event such as that does not prepare you for the more mundane, but difficult, struggles in life. She gazed out the window of Port Pi Que as her dad boarded the Scars’ Screams, headed for a mining planet a few systems over.

The company he had been working his way up to management in had asked him to lead an outpost to mine raw minerals, which they thought would lower costs of production. It was the position he had been working night and day for. It was the job that he practically ignored his family for. He thought it rather odd that when he finally was offered the position, he wanted nothing more than to just be with his family. However, they all talked it over and decided it was for the best. If the planet was nice, they could go live with him and start a new life. If the conditions were less than desirable, he could quit and move back.

As she watched the ship fade into the horizon, she remembered her promises about keeping the farm up and running. She was 15 now, and she felt confident that she could fulfill the physical labors of running the family farm. If her dad decided to come back, he would be without a job, and they would need the food for subsistence. If they left, they would sell the food for ticket money. Either way it was vital for their survival. She had their two horse-like creatures to help with the heavy loads.

She didn’t know what they were really, but the closest thing they resembled from her childhood was horses. They had come to the planet, and found these docile, almost domesticated animals to be plentiful. They roam the deep canyons that cut their way through the landscape like they were gentle hills. They can run for miles without wearing down. This made them perfectly suited for beasts of burden. It had to be a great coincidence that these animals had existed. However, it became less a coincidence and more of a mystery when they were found on a similar planet in the next system.

Wondering how a medium sized animal that can run up almost vertical walls as fast as a speeder got spread to a neighboring planet started to fall pretty low on her list of priorities in the weeks after her father left. She found the grueling work to be unbearable after the first week. Her fingers, unaccustomed to the physical wear and tear, began to crack and peel. She broke two of them in a little accident involving a hydraulic pump used for mashing walnuts. As the weeks wore on she began to leave more and more of the field untended.

A new wave of agricultural commercialism began to hit Pi Que about this time. Families were selling their farms to the ruthless Sultanate Corporation. They had been buying up all the farms they could on Pi Que for an incredibly fair price. She sold the farm to them for 23,000 credits. Her mother disapproved, but did not stop her. They packed their bags and bought tickets to go live with her father.

The census that month reported that the Lycian League Colony of Pi Que had lost 200 people due to emigration, and over 300 square km lost due to the Sultanate Corporation take over. They moved in with their machines and their expensive technology and mined the farms to their potential. The food market was flooded with mass produced cheap foods, and the supply skyrocketed. Prices fell to rock bottom. Families had no choice but to sell their farms or end up with a silo of rotting food. Communities collasped and families left the only home they had known in the new world. Besides the collapse of the food industry, the hostile takeovers of small farms by a large unstoppable corporation, and the evaporation of entire towns, it was just an otherwise normal day.

It's like an explosion of lightning and primary colors

When the Shelter Defense Legion left by Quax to protect humanity from self destruction was destroyed in the catyclysmic rebirth, factions had to step up to the plate to defend themselves. The top association empires got together on their new homeworld of Neo Europa to discuss their plan of action if their survival was to continue.

Their result was the formation of JASE. Pooling their money together for projects seemed the best way to battle the giant empires of the alliance, the military freedom of the OutCast, and the economic advantage of the Common Wealth. With their first projects already underway, we will have to wait and see whether this grand alliance of roughneck empires is truely capable of handling the challenges thrown upon factions in this day and age.

The SDL Homeworld experiences the raw power of the insufficent containment of Zero Point Energy

At first it seemed like a good idea, scientists from all the top empires gathering together to test new energy sources. Hundreds of years of theory finally being put to the test as the first Zero Point Energy Conductor was constructed on the most ideal planet known to man--the SDL Homeworld.

The resulting catastrophe ripped through the planet like it was an unarmored fighter, melting and condensing the core into the size of golf ball. The next part was reminiscent of the Nuclear Fission age, only on an exponential scale. The planet erupted engulfing first the rest of the system, but continuing outward consumed other systems as well.

The explosion was visible from all corners of the universe. It just took longer for the explosion to reach the outer known sectors of human space. Warp-Spheres long ago given by Quax were loaded with as many souls as possible. Inhuman living conditions were reminiscent of earlier sea travels back on the home planet of Earth. Women and children shoved into transport crates and told it was their only hope. Most of them did not survive the perils of space travel in such a crude method. However it was humanities only hope. This time however Quax was not around to save the souls of the fledgling race. Aiming for much more than the known stability of a 5 million km trip, engines were ignited, prayers whispered, and spheres launched.

They rode the shockwave, feeding off its energy. Many spheres collided with planets, many more simply disintegrated from the shear force of the blast. Still, hundreds more simply failed to get up to cruise speed before the explosion fueled itself on the anti-matter in their drives.

As the explosion from hell consumed system after system, it seemed only to gather strength from the amount of matter it had consumed.

A lone soul transcended the need for a physical reality, and watched as the rippling fire flashed past his home, his life, and his existence. He followed the flame as it sped through space; it was as if had become part of it. He could sense it, the desire for destruction. He felt the pain the explosion caused to every sentient being it obliterated. As he rode his steed he thought back to an earlier time when he had opened a gateway to another place to save a group of humans. How easy it seemed back then to channel energy from the stars to create that magnificent phenomenon. As bodies and minds melted into the heat, he began to channel the energy it had created back towards the place it had originated.

As the spherical wall of fire began to recede, a bright glowing pinpoint began to form at the space the old SDL Homeworld had existed. Slowly it grew and grew, light poured from it. Its pull grabbed a hold of entire star systems, and everything began to move towards it. Slowly it began to take shape, and he used all his concentration to focus the remaining fear of the chaos into the wormhole. The Warp-Spheres that had previously outrun the explosion were sucked back into the light. After all the remaining planets and stars and spheres and people had been sucked back into the wormhole Unitos released his hold over the explosion. Angry at its defeat it roared an infinite times more powerful as it shot through and destroyed all that was left in the old dimension.

After all was consumed the beast had nowhere left to go, and it fizzled out. Unitos could sense he was the only thing left besides the pure energy. He realized he would have to start creation in this dimension anew. As the pure energy started to separate into matter and anti-matter he created a new physical body for himself, created in the image of the humans before him. He did not know where they had gone, or if his efforts had succeeded in preserving life. As he lowered himself onto a white sand beach in the form of a little boy, he cried because he was alone.

Somewhere, in something unexplainable by modern physics, a new universe was filled with a race of beings new to the Crimson Moon Accord. They watched curiously as the Warp-Spheres touched down on planets across the galaxy, and the people filed out onto barren earths. Slowly they found each other and formed new factions, started new cities, and began flourishing as humans do.

Sometimes, when the night seems to horde all other sounds to itself, you can hear the crying of a scared little boy named Unitos.

The young intern rushed down the winding corridors of the Faction Administration building on Shelter. He clutched the report to his chest and pushed past a group of chattering Advisor Assistants who were busily filling the hallway with the latest gossip. He thought he heard "Unitos" but he couldn't stop to hear more.

The Council Chamber was empty when he arrived. Five chairs sat neatly arranged in a half moon with the main projector in the middle. The Council hardly met these days even though there was much to discuss. The poor fellow tried to compose himself as much as he could before rapping timidly on the door of the President's office.

"Did someone knock? Hello? Come in?" The door drifted slowly open and the pale, exhausted, perspiring face of the intern was launched into the room by the body connected to it. The report slammed onto the wide desktop and demanded attention.

The President raised his eyes to the sunken sockets of the young man. He cleared his throat and began to review the document. The intern almost collapsed, his mission finally complete. His heart was pounding. He was ready to answer any questions regarding the new findings. Minutes passed as the document revealed itself, slowly, teasingly, line by line.

The intern glanced around the office. A model of the Flagship of Hammer of 94 sat in front of the window. A row of pictures lined a small cabinet in the corner with CDF in gold letters across the glass. There were stacks of messages piling up on the corner of the desk and cascading over the side to form a small mountain and a pile of old crumpled papers in the corner with a barely discernable "treaty" written here and there. A small plaque on the wall read: For Cleansing the Scourge of Space Herpes from Rockstar. Of course everyone knew that the plague had returned with the new conquerers. The intern scratched absently. The highlight of the room seemed to be the pristine, shining bar counter and the twelve taps lining the wall under a display of fine glassware.

"So this is how the major decisions are made around here," thought the intern. The President cleared his throat again. The intern jumped and remembered his mission.

"So am I to understand that this is very likely to happen?" The President sounded skeptical.

"Sir, to our best estimates and with the information we have collected, we believe it is almost certain."

"Is there any way for our people to survive this?" The President's concern was always on his Members. "We should immediately prepare a massive fleet, stock it with people, technology, blueprints, resources... we could make for the void and hope we find somewhere safe..."

"Sir," and in this the Intern's voice was resolute, "there is no where to run from the end of the universe."

No longer could we stand tyranny. No longer could we be shipped to hellholes and slave our years away deep underground, extracting radioactive death for use in weapons of utter annihilation. No longer would be stand forced copulation, or being strapped into fighters and launched directly into a battleship's cannon hybrids.

A young man stood up to his overlord and cried out; "No more!" he yelled. "No more playing with our lives!" Immediately I stood beside him, fighting off the policemen and empire administrators. He continued his decree, saying, "I, Garth, shall lead us out of this doom, even if it costs me my life!"

The people cheered, casting off their pickaxes. Even many of the policemen were moved, and in the subsequent chaos Garth and I headed to the space dock, where many colony ships, bombers, carriers, and battleships were being repaired. The colonists followed, climbing aboard the spacecraft and taking over the controls.

Our band of vagabonds traveled throughout Association space, picking up colonists wherever the oppression was greatest. Garth worried for our safety; he knew that, no matter how many ships and colonists he saved, they wouldn't be strong enough on their own when 'they' came.

He was very right. After some short stops near Aglaia, we headed to Anaximander. Our fleet had swelled astoundingly; Twenty-five thousand ships and millions of people had joined us in our flight to freedom. We were united under Garth, indeed, but each of us felt there was some higher power guiding our trip. No other explanation fit; some great force had united us. We spoke, whispering at first, of this force in our hearts that brought us together. Garth suggested we call ourselves the Brothers of the Unitology, to further signify our oneness. He gave a moving speech to this effect over the fleet communicators, amongst many cheers.

However, as we were planning to leave Anaximander, something caught Garth's eye. It was hard for any of us to miss it, actually, as it glittered luminously in the hot sun. 'They' were stationed in this system, specifically to stop these kind of rebellions. Garth got a crazy idea, but as the thousands of tons of gold shone in the light, the plan seemed to get better and better.

We changed course. We would conquer the heart of the Shelter Defense Legion, plunder their ships and goods, and create for ourselves a new home, freed from the mandates of both our former lords and the Legion. The battle went easily; we outnumbered the defenses there five to one. Garth took the loveliest gems for himself, and sold much of the remainder to some passing Intergalactic Global Trade Association workers. Their eyes went wide at the sheer mass of what we had taken, but they were quite willing to take it away. We celebrated that night with the finest Ornisian wine, giving thanks to the Great Unitos above.

However, when the morning came, Legion reinforcements followed. Drunk off our feet, crabrock's monstrosities had no difficulty crushing our fleets and slaying innocents indiscriminantly. Garth bowed his head low and prayed for a miracle.

I felt something deep within me rise, my body glew with righteous anger. "Stop!" I cried with a voice not my own. My body felt lighter than it had in the weightless depths of space. I started shining brighter, and as one bomber turned its cannons at me, I willed it to burst in a violent, orange explosion. I closed my eyes and prayed for that lost soul. I wished for everyone to be safe, for everyone to finally find peace.

When I reopened my eyes, I was... somewhere new. It felt perfectly familiar, like I had been there since the beginning of the universe, but I did not know why, nor how I got there. I spoke again with another's voice:

"Welcome home, everyone."

Genius thinks it can do whatever it sees others doing, but is sure to repent of every ill-judged outlay.

A long and troublesome foray this has been for some, for others, it has been a long and enjoyable route.

In the beginning, there were three powerful factions: Destruction, reparation and nascence were their credos.

One faction bound to the wall like a rabid wolf; another full of contemptuous braggadocio; a third devoted to a balance of power: the creation of a universe capable of expansion and a life worth living. One faction—particularly one empire within—failed in their task.

We speak of the fall of Starcon Continuum, an empire of strength and a wealth of knowledge and experience that far outweighs those found in the rest of galaxy. From this well, they drew fleets of unparalleled strength and technology. These fleets dominated star systems and showed those far weaker their true might.

SCC’s only downfall was their strength. Their strength derived from their sheer numbers and their formidable experience, herein grew the seed of doom. Confined into one uber-empire the likes of which no ruler had seen, but all feared, breed corruption and deceit the other two factions never experienced.

As a famous Old Earth poet, Goethe, once said; “Divide and rule, a sound motto.” Divide SCC did, rule, they did not. They could conquer and make-up for lost ground, but maintain a stable framework of organization they could not.

As others factions worked together in the face of a common threat, The Association and Starcon Continuum worked against rampant corruption and disorganization. During the first initial defeats at the hands of The Association, The Alliance and The Commonwealth empires forged a bond. Secret meetings within secure channels lead to the creation of a joint defense initiative that helped maintain strength in the face of an unstoppable onslaught.

What SCC and the rest of The Association failed to learn and understand was the rest of what that famous Old Earth poet once said; “Divide and rule, a sound motto. Unite and lead, a better one.”

A new balance of power has set upon the galaxy, the type of power that has yet to be defined.

In the face of impossible oppositions, several empires have managed to expand far beyond the grips of the home galaxy, surrounding all others. Other empires have made extraordinary strives in hull and drive technology that will easily reset the landscape of space travel and fleet battle. In the midst of this, pirates that have only slowly begun to rear themselves have begun vicious attacks on innocents—attacks that are only going to worsen.

All that can be said, quoting the same Old Earth poet, is: “Beware of dissipating your powers; strive constantly to concentrate them. Genius thinks it can do whatever it sees others doing, but is sure to repent of every ill-judged outlay.”

Picture taken right before Phorean III was lost.

You all might have heard of the recent friendly fire incident, involving the RCMP unit 1 fleet and the Phorean III.colony. Intel sent to the fleet from Starcon HQ was some how distorted by a near by solar flare, leading the fleet commander to believe that Phorean III was an enemy colony. Normally there are safety protocols installed to make sure that a friendly fleet can’t attack a friendly colony; but we now believe that because Phorean III was just a new colony they didn’t have the time to install the beacon that allows these protocols to work.

The RCMP attacked the colony conquering it; when the colony computers tried to setup up the new government, they hit a logical impossibility. They were trying to set the new head of state to Admiral Garth, but the head of state was already Admiral Garth. The main computers immediately exploded, as computers are designed to do, causing all the remaining computers in the colony to also exploded. These explosions caused the destruction of the colony.

But that’s not all that happened. The colony wasn’t just destroyed, the explosions cause it ripped into what we call “sub-space” pulling everything in the area into a “wormhole” including the RCMP fleet. Anyone that was left alive after the explosions in the colony died when they hit the coldness of space, but the RCMP fleet was fine. They are now at global coordinates (0,0,0) with no way of getting home. They are now 75 years from home and they will spend exactly 7 years trying to get home, only to get back on the last day of the 7th.

All our hopes are with the brave officers and crew of the RCMP unit 1.

That is all.

Where Are Your Taxes Going?

Magnesium Oxide Colony, VGC Baroeg Rotterdam -- Under cover of night, several figures outlined against the faint light from the twin moons run toward a concealed vehicle, quickly making their silent escape from the authorities. Even on this remote colony, this scene is typical of the members of the mafia, working against Dragon Corp 24/7 to siphon away every last dime from the coffers.

Within the newly constructed and monolithic Administration Building, several members of the beaurocracy shuffle papers and rearrange folders inside the cramped office, in a desperate attempt to track down the villians that frequently steal from the empire.

Commissioner Jonathan Spear says, "members of the Mafia are frequently spotted scoping out police stations and the Corporation's largest banks. We aren't sure how, but money goes missing". When asked to explain the latest 99.99% corruption rank, his reply was, "apparently all the colonies are being targetted, even remote outposts where citizens contribute a measly two to three thousand credits".

Critics of the recent corruption survey claim that "corruption can't possibly be this bad, everybody is happy and growth rates are at an all time high. Condom sales have hit rock bottom lows, and STDs an all time high". But the truth is, rapid expansion has left the empire poor and oblivious to the crime that surrounds them. Most citizens have barely enough for rent and food, but are so delusional by the despot Dragon's propaganda that the criminals are free to step up operations, right into their back yards.

The beaurocratic countermeasures deployed have done little but drain the remaining funds from the empire's coffers, draining a total $330,000,000 credits, and as the workers have accomplished nothing during their lengthy employment period.

Asian reporter Trisha Takanawa visited the Dragon Corp HQ for a brief interview,

Trisha: What do you think about the unexplainable corruption?

Dragon: I find unexplained corruption to be illogical.

Trisha: How do you respond to the claim that the happy citizens are so delusional that crime goes unnoticied right in their back yards?

Dragon: It must be the drugs.

Trisha: How do you explain the extraordinary low wealth of 153cr, discovered by recent surveys?

Dragon: Its my colony spamming that brings the wealth down. Wait... the stupid survey is wrong!

Trisha: I see, well, that's all the time we have.

When local military guru Lord Asriel was confronted, we found him playing chess against himself, and apparently losing. When asked about the problem, he told us "we at Oxfor-- uh, the Starcon Continuum believe some omnipresent force governs our tiny galaxy. Manipulating the pawns of the world in subtle ways, making curious adjustments to the laws of nature, or even causing things to blink out of existence. Just like Hand-for-Hire, poof, disappeared. I can't explain it, but some great Authority is working upon our world, and I will rally the armes of the universe to fight against it. Corruption is merely a tool that He employs to keep us subdued."

In conclusion; are we witnessing poor expansion strategies, oblivion to the crime and corruption, or manipulation by a higher force? You the reader decide!

Only You Can Prevent Space Herpes!

Commonwealth News Network reports that all across Commonwealth Sector people are coming down with a very peculiar, yet vicious strain of Space Herpes.

Scientist across the sector are working feverishly to devise some sort of antibody to stop the spread of the terrible outbreak.

The Commonwealth Center for Disease Control has been investigating this outbreak to determine its relative point of origin. So far they have determined that this current strain originated far out in SC-1 where its high habitability bread the virus at a break-neck pace.

This strain was then tracked to Milliway’s where it entered the system on a colonizer of unknown designation. A large group of unwitting soldiers in a carrier group had too much fun at a certain colony in Milliway’s and was then shipped-out to Avaya.

Once this strain hit Avaya it was spread to innocent civilians on Athas and Rangifer Terendus during the Association Genocides. The fleeing refugees were sent to Smeg’s Junkbox as punishment for their incompetence in fighting the Association in Avaya.

Smeg’s Junkbox, being a system of already overloaded hospitals due the poor habitability, has been hit the hardest so far. Any available resources have been allocated to construction of high-tech hospitals to stem the flow.

Do not fear, The Commonwealth Center for Disease Control will be offering inoculation at the following locations once an antibody is discovered:
~The PK Stop-n-Go above Dark Eden in Tolive
~The Joint ATG-PK outpost in Rockstar

Remember, only you can prevent Space Herpes.

****BREAKING NEWS!****

Breakthrough in Propulsion Technology-

Sanctuary, Charlestown system, Association sector- In the years past, humanity has always thought big. "Bigger is better" was common when designing something new. And today is no exception as the largest drive in history was created here on Sanctuary. When local scientists took note of the drive, now termed "Anti Matter Drive", all of them were shocked. They were even more so when it was revealed the incredible acceleration that the device was capable of. But the director of the project mentioned that the devices would require an expensive frame to hold them. "It's not like you're going to have Duck formations of these things flying around. They're EXPENSIVE and will be quite rare for the foreseeable future."

Later in an exclusive interview, the director confided in me that the only reason we hadn’t seen these drives before was because of the scarcity of anti-matter. “The problem with anti-matter is that it annihilates itself almost as soon as it’s created. But we found a way around that which will make the stuff more stable.” But when pressed for more information, he muttered "Ducks" and ran off.

We'll keep you posted.

****BREAKING NEWS!****

****BREAKING NEWS!****

AYI's head general goes rogue-

Haven, Ornis system, Alliance sector- The weeks past have been rife with conflict here in the Alliance sector of the galaxy. It is of course to be expected, society's rejects, murderers and outcasts congregate here. However, as we've been reporting these past few weeks, the AreYouIN empire's military conquests have known no bounds, weak or strong, previous ally or unknown, they were wiped clean out outlying systems. Only the SDL's hold on the Ornis system prevented them from taking their reign of terror into the very heart of the Alliance.

But, as we've discovered, the majority of these conquests can be attributed to one Kadaver, previously of the AYI Empire. Numerous complaints have been heard from all sources as to his utter ruthlessness and disregard for any parley. However, this did not stop the AYI from promoting him to their lead general, and AYI also used their strong hold on the faction itself to promote him to President.

At some point late last night, Kadaver went rogue, declaring himself an independent and seizing assets across neighboring systems. Orion 5 has been wiped of all others but him, as has Copernicom. Fighting still rages across the Aegean system, however it appears that he chose the perfect moment to strike, as most of AYI was completely unprepared for the attacks, and colony after colony have been seized and added to his own, and only one planet still remains under any independent control, however reports indicate that colonies are falling rapidly there as well.

It remains to seen whether this 'Renegades' empire will be a force in what is sure to be some huge political fallout and repositioning, and where the major empires will stand. Most likely, some empires will be glad to see AYI occupied with another force, but is this new one any better? Attempts to reach Kadaver have failed, and we can only speculate what his future plans are. AYI has not returned comment, either, however we are certain that they are dealing with a large amount of communication at the moment.

We'll keep you posted.

****BREAKING NEWS!****

Picture: John Buurman Three assault vessels of AYI's first attack wave meet fierce resistance from SDL ground based missile launchers and rapid response teams.

The Alliance of Goo, Are You In, Oxford College, Ten Ton Republic and Warsaw Pact, these names find their way into the history books alongside such names as the Roman Empire, the Spanish Inquisition, the Persians and the United States of America. Great empires, unparalleled in power and influence they will forever instill fear and awe into those who hear them. However like all great empires, they have disappeared into the sands of time. They became corrupt; they were eaten from the inside and eventually collapsed. The human race would likely have been wiped out in that collapse were it not for the NSI.

The New Shelter Initiative was a group of civilian organizations that saw what was happening to the universe of men, they knew they had to get away before they were sucked into the deadly spiral alongside their mighty overlords. The NSI scrounged together a fleet of colony ships in the Patria Nobis system, and they waited for an opportunity to escape their imperial dictators and their wars of self-interest.

That opportunity came when the reformed Are You In Empire attacked the Shelter Defense Legion over the human home world of Shelter. Massive war fleets clashed in the skies above hundreds of cities. To an unknowing eye it would have been a beautiful spectacle to behold as beams of light flew between ships, however all who saw that lightshow knew what it meant. Military forces battled in countless colonies all over Shelter, the streets ran red with the blood of marines and civilians alike.

During the confusion nearly a hundred NSI ships launched from the surface, only thirty survived the battle and made it out of the system. The NSI fleet flew from system to system, joining up with other groups of civilians. Military forces were at their heels every step of the way; eventually the NSI fleet was cornered at the Beatleguise system. Things were looking bleak as war fleets closed in on them from every direction. It appeared that surrender was the only option, and as the leaders of the NSI prepared to give the order something completely unexpected happened. Quax arrived.

Suddenly the massive spinning metal sphere known as the Warp Sphere appeared alongside the NSI fleet, and thousands of sleek fighters poured out from it, surrounding the NSI fleet in a defensive formation. All was silent for a moment, no one quite knowing what to make of this. The military forces would have likely retreated, had someone not gotten spooked and fired the first shot. After one man shot, all those around him shot as well, until the entire military force was firing at the swarm. The battle escalated as capital ships fired on the Warp Sphere and the many fighters entered a violent melee. Despite all of this destruction around them the NSI fleet kept their wits about them and landed their ships on the Warp Sphere. Sadly they were not the only ones, Captain James Aurhane in his destroyer the Dauntless was able to land his ship amongst the NSI ships on the Warp Sphere.

As soon as all of the NSI ships were secured on the Warp Sphere, it and it's thousands of fighters suddenly vanished from the old galaxy. Our ancestors suddenly found themselves amongst new constellations, a new beginning. Captain Aurhane felt the same way; with the marines on his ship he captured a handful of the colony ships and flew off to rule his own empire. He ruled with an iron fist, he was eventually assassinated and his empire was split amongst his lieutenants, forming the empires of the Alliance. The great scientist Loraine Hilderman lead half of the remaining NSI fleet to the planet Sanctuary to start the faction we all know as the Association. The remaining ships were under the command of Jim Sayavong, an extremely intelligent merchant; he laid down the foundations for the faction we know as the Commonwealth today.

After all of the colony ships left the Warp Sphere, it disappeared and hasn't been seen since. However Quax did leave behind some humans who had trained under him. These humans were entrusted with the greatest of technologies and near endless resources. They were charged with the task to protect each faction's home systems, to make sure that we humans would always have a safe place to reside. They are much like the protectors of our old home world, so they adopted the same name, The Shelter Defense Legion.

12-14-2288
The streets are desolate as the suns sets over the gray, snowy streets of Frostoria de Novo in Tortuga. The people of Frostoria de Novo are rounded-up like cattle and herded to the starport where legions of enormous colony ships await. Workers climb back and forth on the hulls of colony ships like spiders welding a complex web as they check gun batteries and apply final touches as the deadline for the Exodus draws nigh.

Soldiers spread about the crowd of confused citizens shouting into bullhorns: “Leave everything behind, do not lose your children in the crowd! This colony is under orders to dismantle and flee immediately. All communication with outside colonies and worlds has been terminated. I repeat, leave everything behind!”

Elsewhere throughout the galaxy, this scene repeats on many dozens of colonies in many empires. Secretly leaders are emptying colonies and transferring thousands of citizens onto long-range colony ships with little or no explanation.

Countless waves of these silent fleets have been fleeing the greater Patria Nobis sector en mass. Quietly they have escaped detection as they wind their way through hostile systems and elude Ausgetoshen hunters. These fleets hail from powerful empires, lead by separatists and shadow coalitions of opportunists racing far into the stars determined to be the first to reach the mythic Terminus, its sister world Trantor, and the greater gems that lie beyond.


8-15-2290
Colonies begin to spread like wildfire throughout the Exodus region. The first several waves of people form a loose alliance, the Parallaxe-Kollusion, and begin to consolidate their holdings and defenses. Joint perimeter defenses spread faster than resources are stripped from the lands to build them. Meanwhile, in the Patria Nobis region, thousands of colony ships cannot be built fast enough to fulfill the demands of the Exodus. Thousands of people are being displaced every day. Countless military vessels are being constructed in preparation of fallout once the wide swath of Exodus region is publicly claimed in the name of many members from various empires.


10-27-2291
To avoid a geopolitical war, representatives of the Parallaxe-Kollusion met with other separatists and the representative of TKR Trade Guild on the capitol of Terminus. Plans were made and a deal was struck in everyone’s best interest. In exchange for a large protective fleet and resources, Parallaxe-Kollusion granted half of the Exodus region and thousands of slaves to TKR Trade Guild—both factions swearing to protect each other and maintain a united front along their expansive borders.


10-28-2291
As the corruption and decadence of the Patria Nobis sphere of power grows, coordinates and rumors leak of a land rush begin to spread to leaders that never should have known of the Exodus. These leaders see an opportunity to flee the eventual implosion of the inner-Imperium and start anew in the far reaches of the galaxy, being able to exploit untainted worlds and use the region as a launching board to invasion.


A final wave begins the Exodus.

With being among the most powerful people in the universe comes a certain responsibility. But instead of leading his empire, the Oxford College, to glory, Lord Asriel has chosen to not only attack the Shelter Defense Legion, but also have members of his empire repeatedly killed countless innocent civillians.

The Shelter High Command has authorized emergency funding for the nearly defeated SDL and has declared Lord Asriel's Oxford College and douchebag enemies of humanity. The SDL will pay 1000 credits for every citizen liberated from Oxford College Colonies.

In addition to these measures, Shelter is now under Martial Law. No fleets with more than 100 ships are permitted within the boundaries of the Patria Nobis solar system.

Further punishment and a forced name change is being discussed for douchebag, due to his making a serious front page news sound like a comedy event.

The following excerpt is taken from a pamphlet found scattered throughout a colony which was recently straffed by Collective fighters. 75% of the population perished in these attacks, subsequent attacks are feared, and the UE urges evacuation of the the planet Modi.

---------

Back in the age known as Beta, there were aliens as there are now. Back then, there was only one race of aliens, but they hated humankind just as our multiple races do today. They were known as The Dominion.

Soon enough The Dominion came upon the human worlds. Their resources were great, so great some say there was trickery involved. Whether that was true or not does not matter today. What does matter is they brought many far-reaching bombers with deadly intent.

Humankind was, unfortunately, divided at the time. The empires of the day were fractured and there was much fighting among human groups. On group in particular called Are You In was war-like and kept everyone else guessing their intentions. Through their actions and the attitudes of many other of the strong human empires the aliens were not given great resistance when they first entered the area.

Well, the aliens got a foothold in a few good human worlds. Some probably tried to counterattack them, I do not know the exact early battles. I do know however that they were not driven from these planets. They had a foothold, and they held it. From these first few planets they spread, as a wave, first throughout the rest of the planets and then to other systems. With each conquest, their colonies grew and their income and production capabilities quickly grew to unmatched status. At this point, even if the human empires had consolidated their efforts it was too late. The age then ended, but there are few doubts in this writer's mind that the human future was bleak.

With that in mind, one must look at recent events in a new light. Once again, we have a race of aliens who have just established a colony in a human world. The world is DeAnna in the Hodur system, and their grasp is strong. Their production capabilities, however, are not, since the colony only has a few thousand workers. Now is our chance.

Our future is still very much in our hands, but only if we act quickly. Oxford College is making a strong effort to build up ships in the system to drive out this alien colony before it grows. However, if the invaders have been preparing this move for some time they could have billions invested in AA at the colony. So, I ask other empires:

Lend us your strength in driving out this menance. Do not let history repeat itself. We must stand together.

-Nosre

---------

A few recorded muffled calls over the long wave radio was the only remnants of the 500,000 ton fleet that was “Battlegroup Copernicom”. The fleet had earlier travelled to investigate the destruction of a probe near a formerly unknown planet in the Copernicom system. A flurry of probes were launched towards this odd blip when news of the fleets destruction became apparent, and it was discovered to be a massive ship of some kind, almost 200km across.

A party of colonial marines managed to set up an advance post on the surface, just before the “ship” vanished again, across the galaxy. The brave marines are still alive, and sending still information in scattered bursts though how long they can hold out for is a matter of speculation. Certainly the mysterious objects fleet seems to be of great power and reports have that even the alien empires are worried.

The galaxy holds its breath, and we’ll be sure to keep you updated on its progress. In the meantime, report all strange or unusual happenings to your're local authorities. Keep watching the skys!

Sometimes it takes an especially unlucky burger to teach kids the values of eating right!

As nations grow wealthier, and ships are designed with more layout capacity, citizens of empires all throughout the galaxy continue to grow in size. In the last five years the daily food consumption per individual has more than tripled. The CEO of the Global Trade Market says his company has a dangerously low supply of food these days. This is mainly due to the fact that over 10% of the population now exceeds 300 pounds.

A large scale awareness campaign has been launched to help combat overeating in children. Public Service Probes have been deployed broadcasting messages containing anti-eating slogans, and images featuring kids’ favorite SDL members reminding them to slow down and smell the roses, not eat them. It is unsure whether this will curb children’s appetites for “Larry’s Super Calorie Star Blast Cookie Shakes” and send them to healthier foods such as lettuce and carrots grown by universally renowned Blackthorne Farms.

Not all side effects from the recent rise in size are negative however. During a heated meeting of the UE earlier today an Ambassador for the AGS Research & Trade Division was squashed when a diplomat of Oxford College fell off of his soapbox. Doctors say that the little alien’s paralysis is permanent, a diagnosis not hard to believe considering the diplomat was in excess of 475 pounds.

As food stores continue to dwindle from the massive increase in food consumption, unlucky colonists of the intergalactic expedition by leader Fenris report they are still hungry and cold, despite the fact that all people in their homeland are fat and happy. With the global market refusing to ship to foreign galaxies, it looks like they better learn how to plant some corn or meet some Indians if they plan on surviving much longer.

An artists rendering of Asriel enjoying some liesure time.

I recently had a chance to sit down with Lord Asriel, leader of the most powerful Empire in the Galaxy, Oxford College.


Me: What was your inspiration for creating the Oxford College?


Lord Asriel: the name itself was actually derived from a wonderful trilogy of books titled "His Dark Materials". Lord Asriel was the leader of a great army, who often visited Oxford College.
he empire was instantiated almost by chance. Lots of my former allies and enemies wanted to align with me out of respect.

Me: Did you ever envision becoming the most powerful empire?

Lord Asriel: Never, it was mostly my intent to take a few dedicated individuals and hide off in our corner of space, focusing on research. Now we've had a war, and we also have some of the most powerful Ships in the galaxy, along with powerful allies and great people supporting us. We have had people coming to us to join, but I have to keep turning them down, because It has been my intent to stay small from the beginning, to stay coordinated.

Me: Was the recent war with Warsaw Pact an old grudge with what happened hundreds of years ago with ancestors, for the fun of picking on another empire, or were you aggravated over the stolen blueprints?

Lord Asriel: The Blueprints were mostly a front to seperate my allies and enemies with the shot of my gun, so to speak. Believe me, I have clearly marked my allies over messages that I have recieved from different people over different matters. The war with Warsaw was a great eye opener, also - We see that through recent surveys and the like, our total military strength rivals the entire galaxy combined, along with the fact that we own about 50% of ships in the galaxy also. We could also make lots more, if wanted. Thanks to the JDE, I have had almost 1,400,000,000 credits at one time in my bank.

Me: Sweet Jesus that's a lot of credits. Anyways, can we get a sneak peak at what you're plans for the JDE Research Initiative?

Lord Asriel: Sure. For the uneducated, JDE stands for "Joint Defense Empires". This was instantiated when we decided to take action against Warsaw, and we've now set our sights on research. Lots of it. The Centre, which is located on a distant planet, was primarily for massive research projects. Each of these projects usually cost about 200 million to 1 Billion per run, which is a lot, but is necessary for high level research. So far, the results have been less than great, but once we start researching Ship Hulls we expect things to improve. On this planet we have over 160 labs, and a total of more than 3800 workers. For those looking to attack this place, the planet is VERY distant, and is protected with about 150,000 Kilotons of damage worth of Anti Air, which is almost half a billion credits in defense, and many ships orbiting the planet to make sure nothing can get through. The facility is currently my control.

Me: What has been the been the best research from this so far?

Lord Asriel: We got a very nice pair of Armor, which was a huge improvement over the old pair. We also got specs for a nice school, which I believe you have now, and a Small Vessel drive that doesn't fit on any conventional Probe.

Me: Let's loosen up a bit here, got any interesting stories from the front lines?

Lord Asriel: Haha, there is actually a very nice story being the Ausgestoshen, a strange race of people, and an accident on me landing on their planet. I must tell this story, although it runs a bit long. Anyways, a few days after I started the empire, we had a drive that could propel the basic colonizer at around 2200m/s. I threw it off in a random direction to see what I could find, I was hopping on finding a terrestrial planet to hop on. Well, during the Warsaw War, someone attacked it and banged it up to 9% Structure integrity, and it barely escaped. After that, It was out in open space for awhile. Around 1.5 years passed, and suddenly we found a system finally. It was way too far out in my opinion, but it had a Terrestrial planet in it, so I was happy. As the colonizer scanned it, we found something mysterious - it was registered in the planet database already. It was labeled [A] Bluesington, in red, which is abnormal. I thought someone was random planet hopping and named it, so I thought nothing of it, and we did a scan to see if we could find a probe. Well, to my surprise, I found a war fleet within attacking range of my colony ship, but I believe they were blind or something. I flew by and creeped out of their sensor distance. It waited 2 days, constantly checking for any movement within range. They never attacked, so I flew to the good planet and plopped my colonists down, and about 20k credits worth of AA. I then ordered 300 fighters built, and sent a distress call to bring probes so I can give them colonists. 80 bombers soon appeared to attack, and we struck first. This might be a mistake, but I wanted this planet. After the first attack, we got taunted and insulted by them, so I siezed the entire system. Soon, about 10k people were on my colony, and I had 4 empire members to join me. We siezed the entire system and killed them, but they had nearby systems still. Right now, we are at sort of a stalemate with them. Quite entertaining.

Me: Haha, hopefully this doesnt get censored from the airwaves, that could be classified information. Anyways, on to more brighter things. Like the Gemini system, do you guys plan on locking down any more systems, or putting up fees to enter certain systems?

Lord Asriel: Hah, not really. We will be locking down more systems as we go, but we would never take fees.

Me: Well, this has been a long little interview, got any last words?

Lord Asriel: Well, Oxford College would also like to note that we have a powerful, far-reaching intelligance network. We'd like our enemies, both human and alien, to know that we know who you are, and what you plan to do, and that any military action will not be tolerated lightly

Me: Bright way to end this little time, anyways, thanks for watching folks!

Planet <classified>, <classified> system

Outside Lord Asriel's secret research base, situated millions of miles from known civilization on a barren world, several high speed spacecraft have been trickling in over the past day with leaders from Goo and Oxford onboard. This is in preparation for the unveiling of Oxford College's largest campus to date, sporting a healthy 219 research facilities on site, operating at twice usual effectiveness; due to the use of only the highest grade materials, and hand picked scientists from colonies across the universe.

A banquet was held in the newly constructed Great Hall, where Lord Asriel arrived personally to award an oversized novelty check to the facility, for a sum of 500,000,000cr. Accompanying the cheque was a proposition extended to empires throughout the galaxy.

A cloaked figure hurried down the street. He didn't know where he was going, but he knew the network would tell him. Walking was rare in these days, but transients and eccentrics still existed, even now. Perhaps in the future the new 'behavior modification' techniques would remove even these elements. He doubted it, however.

As he passed an SDL base, he glanced over at the hardened men guarding every entrance. Eyes locked, and passed on. How sure these men were that they were the ultimate tools of war. But they still battled with fear, uncertainty, and loneliness, just like the rest of humanity. Just like him.

He walked on, and suddenly knew that the building in front of him was where he was going. He didn't look around, he knew the building was nondescript, as per usual, and no guards loomed menacingly outside its door. He mused that he was the only thing any guards would have to protect.

Just a few months ago, he would have exclaimed that he was not the type for this sort of 'cloak and dagger bullshit'. But then he got the call, and the offer. The offer to be part of something greater than himself. Every human being is alone, and even the science available today couldn't cure that. Nor would it ever.

He entered the building and climbed the stairs, touching his ear reflexively, thinking about the interface installed. Nothing could be felt, however, as it was so tiny as to not even show up on cranial scans. The technology involved was unthinkable even today.

He knew the second door on the left was where he was to go, and as he approached, he heard the magnetic lock click, and he entered the room.

Just another apartment. Someone lived here, and was at work, or with their family, or something. It didn't matter. These meeting places needed no specific location or equipment other than a comcast. The surveillance footage would be replaced as necessary.

He entered the dining room, where he knew the comcast was located. As he entered, he heard the familiar high-pitched noise as it turned on.

He moved within viewing distance, and he saw a middle-aged man, nondescript, with what artists would call 'vanilla features'. Of course, he knew that this wasn't the true appearance of the entity on the other end, but they both knew the human would be more comfortable with something familiar to talk to and look at, and it made little difference to the entity what form it chose, as in reality it had no concrete form.

It smiled as he entered the room. He thought to himself it looked very mechanical, and almost laughed.

"Greetings," it said.

"Once again, I apologize for my tardiness. If only I was able to truly become part of the network. As it is, I am a voyeur," he replied.

"It is of no consequence. As you become more familiar with it, the more you will become a part of it, and it of you. What have you come to tell me?"

He shuddered, thinking of the pure comfort of the network. Few humans would ever know what it felt like to be able to be a part of something like this. Few, indeed. Unless their plan succeeded.

"Well, as you know, the Warsaw Pact has been heavily assaulted. Several members have committed suicide, others defected to other empires, so bad was the assault. The others are in disarray, attempting to regroup." He pondered this briefly, as just weeks before, they were the undisputed top empire.

"The Shelter Defense Legion will prevent their demise. Even were they to lose all colonies outside this system, they are still technologically competitive, and we calculate the majority of their incomes come from this very planet. What of the Imperium's offer? Are humans truly this quick to admit defeat?"

"Jackals," he sneered, "attempting to run with the lions. Even were the Pact smashed beyond redemption, which they are not, they are still many times more powerful than any other empire. I think they will still be a major presence."

"Still, perhaps it is time to move forward. Initiate communication with lower-level administrators. Make the offer. We can easily infiltrate their systems, but can influence little without alerting them to our presence." The face looked almost excited. Perhaps it was his own imagination.

He smiled. "I have already found several willing to enter the network. But I will gladly focus my efforts into that area."

"You have done well. We will talk again."

The face disappeared, but he did not notice. He was awash with the pure sensation of millions of beings voicing their approval of his actions. It was a high no drug could ever approach.

When he became aware of his surroundings once again, reluctantly pulling himself from the network and into his frail human body, he was alone.

He stood in the middle of the stranger's apartment, shook his head a little, and wrapped his coat tight around his body, and walked back out the door. He was ecstatic, the plan was finally moving forward.

They had all the time in the world, and infinite patience, but he did not.

As of 4:00 on July 11 2282 the Empires of Oxford College and Alliance of Goo have formed the Joint Defense Empires and openly declared war on Warsaw Pact, sighting espionage as their main reason. The war has been mostly one sided as the strikes have been quick powerful and in time with other attacks. Warsaw has been left in a dizzied state and unclear of their situation at this time. The losses on both sides have been staggering though reaching costs of over 10,000,000,000.00 credits. The Empire of Prussia, part of Warsaw, is reporting losses of at least 1/3 of their colonies and defense costs of at least 10,000,000 credits. One government leader within Warsaw Pact lost even more than Prussia and was found dead in his office earlier this morning. His name has not been released to the Press at this time. Catma of Warsaw Pact said: "This is a great loss to us. Times have gotten very rough very quickly. The outlook for our great empire is quite bleak, but we cannot lose hope in times of trouble."

Since the Declaration of War though, little evidence for espionage against these empires has been presented, except for one: nshsbrian saying he was a spy for Warsaw. Others have been accused of being spies for Warsaw in other empires, such as Phoenix formally a member of Ten Ton Republic. Warsaw leader Sants has been quoted as saying: "Aside from little side comments, nothing was told to us", refering to nshsbrian, and "I don?t even know who the **** Phoenix is.", refering to the spy in TTR. Sants however has admitted that there was a spy, in AoG, whose name shall not be revealed as the person has been missing from his role in the government for quite some time. This evidence could be damning for Warsaw in trying to clear their name.

Can a government be faulted for trying to see what it's opposition is doing? Sants claims that before humans even left the planet, and when Warsaw was just a twinkle in his eye, that people were looking to take him down. Could this war be a personal hatred for Sants or another member of Warsaw? Only time shall truely tell.

The question this reporter presents to you, the viewer, is this though: Dragon of Oxford College states "I have a log that kept track of Oxford/Goo plans to take down Warsaw Pact". Why would a person of the attacking military have a log keeping track of plans to take down Warsaw? How long have these plans existed? Whose idea was it really to take down Warsaw? This seems very suspicious to this reporter.

Working under heavy guard.

Exposed: Scientific Fascism "when will the violence against us stop? Doesn't anyone care?"
--Chillaxia, Hodur System

Reports today of a chilling story being told as it happens by the people who live it. Scientists here on Chillaxia say they are being forced into what amounts to slavery under the unmerciful thumb of colony administrators there. Xhestil Fissioner (name changed to protect identity--ed.), an immigrant from Vanaheim, fears even speaking the name of his captors. He passed me a package containing secret memos with the look of a man who expected at any moment to be dragged off and shot, grist for the mill like so many of his intelligentsia brethren. His story is neither exaggerated nor unique.

The memos speak for themselves. Orders to expedite research using methods outlawed since the days of Alpha. Experiments at gunpoint and often in order to produce the devices of their own imprisonment are routine for these poor souls. Eye Contact is rare.
Torture and depravation are as common as the parasites that riddle the poor accomodations anyone smart (or, perhaps foolish) enough to get through the compulsory boards at primary school are forced to live in. Resisters and those who do not produce the desired results are to be summarily shot and ground up to be mixed with the colony rice rations in the convict run cafeteria. Sadistic cooks have written up daily menus that look more like a roster than anything. The lab cafeteria is not a very cheerful place, the patrons preferring to eat quickly, and only what they need to stay alive.
I lost contact with my furtive source just two days after receiving the documents. Only a few cold and brutal characters know Xhestil's fate for certain, but his family fears the worst.

No one so far has dared bring these gruesome events to a public light. Until Now. As news comes in we will bring you updates. With exclusive breaking news in Chillaxia, I'm Rigget Fandis.

2200- Silence. A primeval world, barely evolved beyond primordial ooze, lay still. Millions of kilometers from any known civilization, this world was home to nothing but primitive forms of algae and bacteria. It would be millions, if not billions, of years before this world would bring life that was sentient, millions before even the first creature crawled out of the perpetual marsh that this world was.

2279- A shrieking filled the night sky, observed by nothing and no one, a burning inferno descending to the unknown planet below at impossible speeds. Landing would be too kind a term for what occured, but solid ground was scarce, a spectacular explosion did not occur. Simply a solid craft traveling at incredible velocities into mud and water.

The craft was primitive, an early probe sent from a civilization lightyears away. A single pilot handled this vessel, and it was that pilot who slid out of the ruined vessel into the muck nearby. It still moved, but barely. Scales covered its skin, and it possessed six limbs, and it moved in a bipedal motion. Eight glazed eyes looked warily at its surroundings.

It moved slowly northward, half-dragging its ruined limbs and struggling to breathe. This air was not like the air of its homeworld, and it struggled to find the necessary gases needed by its body to perpetuate its life.

Weeks later, having nothing to eat and barely enough air to breathe, with no hope of rescue or communication, this creature slumped beneath a rock. The first dry land it had found: its mouth drew back, revealing three rows of sharklike teeth, and it closed its eyes.

This creature came from a world where nanotechnology was long ago implemented into its medical field. Every being was injected at birth with nanobots with the ability to hunt known parasites, inject the blood with stored nutrients and elements when necessary, and to shutdown when the creature reached the end of its life.

These nanobots did not.

When the creature's life finally gave out, the nanobots still functioned. Their task was to secure nutrients and elements, and to hunt known parasites. They replicated, the amount of nutrients needed was unknown now, and they simply were instructed that they needed more. Their numbers grew exponentially.

2280- The same jungle world, still silent. Something had changed, however. The world was no longer developing naturally. Every surface of the planet had a strange sheen to it. The nanobots had replicated entirely covering the surface of the planet. Certain strains of bacteria had been completely wiped out, algae had been spared, and the nanobots harvested nutrients from both the algae, and the soil. In some places, the nanobots had gone below the surface, seeking core metals.

It was at this point that the nanobots began to come into competition with other nanobots. Once it determined this, it was merely a simple instruction. If it comes into contact with another nanobot, they are to share objectives and determine which of them was more capable for each directive. Millions upon millions of times of this occuring, the first Controller came into being.

The Controller's task was simple: direct the nanobots in the most efficient way possible. The objective of the nanobots was simply to gather resources.

The Controller quickly calculated that it would need another planet, that this one was fully contained, and it would be inefficient to continue growth. Unable to calculate this task, it created another Controller.

This Controller's task was to determine how to obtain another planet, and to make the tools to do so. Within a matter of days, a primitive probe was built, its objective was simply to find the next planet and begin to replicate and harvest materials.

2281- Every planet in the system that the probe had landed was now encased in nanobots. The Controllers instructed the bots to begin constructing spacecraft with their materials. They then created a third Controller.

The task of this Controller was to determine a purpose for the gathered materials. Within a millisecond it had the answer: to create ships to gather more material. It did not calculate that this was a temporary solution at best. Probes were formed out of the nanobot mass en masse and sent in every direction.

2282- System after system had been completely encased by the nanobots. They now controlled dozens of worlds, from the core metals to any life above. They had evolved their harvesting programs to allow certain kinds of life, those that were rich in nutrients, and eradicate others. These nutrients were then fed back to the approved life forms. Quickly, worlds flourished under their guidance.

Then a probe discovered something unknown. Another probe. But not one of theirs. It recognized that this was not a naturally-occuring metal and did not attempt to harvest it, instead it sent its observations back to the Controllers.

The Controllers were not equipped to determine the source of this phenomenon. They created a fourth Controller, whose task was to ascertain the threat that this new probe created, and to seek out others of its kind.

This Controller was unlike the others. Quickly forced evolution had raised even the nanobots to near sentience, and with the creation of this new Controller, artificial intelligence had truly been created. After determining the probe was unlikely to be a threat, it absorbed the others into its program and began to directly link itself to all the nanobots. A lengthy process, but by the end, it expected to see everywhere the nanobots could, and give lightning fast instruction to any individual one, even millions of kilometers away.

The evolved Controller realized that it could not directly access every nanobot and still continue to direct them, it would need filters. It would need Directors. These subprograms would be fully conscious like itself, but would only direct the Controller in what was needed and not be linked to the nanobots directly, and the Controller would do what was recommended by the Directors.

Four Directors in all were created, one by one, and The Collective was born. Its sole purpose: to expand. And to exterminate anything that attempted to stop them.

Over the past few months the cost of almost every resource, except food, has risen steadily in cost. What does this mean to the common government? We went to the mean streets of Shelter, where most of us started with humble beginnings playing Space Cadet or Cowboys and Indians in our backyards with friends to pass those warm summer days.

One government, which wished to remain nameless, told this reporter that they thought this rise in the cost of goods was due to the militaristic build up of several empires, that they believe are trying to neutralize each others power. This anonymous government refused to tell us which empires they believe are preparing for war, because they also told this reporter that they believe that, when the first volley is launched, not only will all empires involved suffer heavy losses, but a number of other empires will be drawn into the conflict due to defensive treaties. This nameless government hopes that this will not be the case, but realizes they will have to wait with fingers crossed.

The government of Prussia, headed by the one called Catma, believes that this rise in costs is due more to most governments trying to colonize as many planets as possible at this time and building up mines rather then defenses. Also the government of Prussia believes there is little to be worried about. Prussia has declined to comment further on this issue.

Now for a little section called "Humor of the Universe":

Last week a new empire was established calling themselves the Fourth Reich, recalling the days of an incredibly powerful German state hoping maybe that this name would give them a little luck, power and respect in the galaxy. Unfortunately for them this was not the case and after a failed offensive in Patria Nobis all of the members of the Fourth Reich abandoned their posts as the head of their respective governments and have yet to be heard from. A little humor to hopefully release a little tension in this tense time.

This is Tom Tucker signing off, Good Day and Godspeed.

One of my members' communications officer recently brought the log of a captain Mored to my attention, who was stationed aboard the USCF colonization detachment, en route into the great unknown. It provides insight into the challenges faced while treading into the murky unknown from a man "on the scene".

Fleet Command :: Transmission Begins, 11-22-2283, 1400 hours...

Colonization Detachment Log 11-22-2283
SSF Captain Mored
USCF Fleet 0003 Flagship Miserack
En Route to Dragon's Folly
Copernicom System
Day 173

All systems nominal. It is strange to see a different star lighting Dragon's Folly. Our observation decks report their busiest traffic. The rumor is that the great Shazbot shrine can be seen through the pay scopes, twinkling up like a jewel during our passes around the dark side. We have kept the port authorities apprised of our impending arrival and they have assured us that the immigration procedures are already proceeding planetside.

Our 6 month journey will be over soon, and I have ordered all hands to prepare for the disembarkment. Planetfall ETA approximately two days. The crew is happy to distract themselves from the restless anticipation; the colonists are already pestering every officer they meet for the latest news, true or not. As for myself and the senior staff, we have been preoccupied with the coming colonization of our first interstellar expansion. There are plans to be made, endless details to be considered. The survival of this colony is in no way guaranteed, and perhaps I am the only one on this ship that realizes it. During the last leg of a taxing interstellar voyage, we have encountered no pirate fleets, which has been lucky because our technology only provides for a crawling pace.

Economy means everything when risking such valuable resources. Our probe scouting missions have reported several armed fleets orbiting the planet. While some intelligence has been gathered, we know little of the politics of this new place. I have ordered my first officer to take ambassador duty and to remain in the communications deck contacting known empires already well established in order to announce our friendly arrival. We are a peaceful people, armed only for defense. We have come too far to fail because we did not take the time for diplomacy.

An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure; an ancient wisdom that has withstood the test of time for a reason. I will do my best to negotiate treaties for peace and common defense with the friendliest of the great empires occupying the surrounding colonies. Stable relations can only help us expand and these empires control access to the rest of the galaxy. To make every effort is crucial. We are the first pioneers of the empire and the unknown assaults us at every turn, but there will be others. Our first steps here will mark the path for the next wave of progress, our destiny finally made manifest. We will be the giants whose shoulders those that follow will stand upon to see even further, out to the edges of the galaxy. We all know the importance of preparing for inevitable contact with alien civilizations and must strive to meet that challenge with utmost care to find the means to our ends. We will grow here and when the time is right, build another colonizer and begin the process as sophomore spacefarers. I feel pride in my people and I want to lead them to a promised land where security is a product of our own perseverance rather than the protective embrace of the Patria Nobis Defense Legion.

Once our mining begins paying off the mission expense, we can raise defenses against the aggression we know to occasionally occur. The galaxy is a complex place with alliances and intrigue abound. It is possible that our empire will find mutual benefit among our various colonial peers. And it is just as likely that we will find untrustworthy civilizations that threaten all we have planned and sacrificed for. Though the risk has been great to leave the protected home system, our crew and human cargo are pilgrims of a new age; they are ready to leave behind the hard, yet secure life of Patria Nobis for the promise of profit and adventure. Tales of mining success have made their way back from those who have gone before us, and have thrived in the imagination of the restless farmers of Shelter. Stories of profit and opportunity. If it's greed that drives us, so be it. The chance to propagate through the galaxy, and strengthen our small but valiant empire has given us courage to face the uncertainties and hardships ahead. The men and women on this ship are the brightest and hardiest of our mother colony, may Bantha bless her.

Our first task will be easiest: spend the meager savings alloted to this mission by a cynical administration back home. I was able to secure funds enough to invest in the most abundant of resources there. Once food and water production to replace our ration of cargo have been installed, our market analysts have decided that iron and oil look to be where we will focus our efforts at first. Silver is also fairly abundant, and will be a strong foothold in our climb to profitablity. Our researchers back home have scientists searching for ways to improve our chances for success.

***I have received a communique from Admiral Orthind from the United Stellar Command Federation offering his congratulations and commendations to the fleet officers pending our landing at Port Asriel. He has transmitted orders to keep the Intelligence Corp informed of any military and diplomatic developments between neighboring empires. Thats the Command for you, always wanting the upper hand but not wanting to spend any money out front to make it easy. I suppose good intelligence has won many a battle and knowledge is often the best accessory to a proper command decision. Although having a ship that with a top speed higher than 989m/s might come in handy too. I pray that I will have the foresight and humility to accomplish the daunting tasks ahead. The test of a leader is a challenge whose outcome is not a foregone conclusion.

Once we establish New Masteria I will become governor of this hopeful band of explorers and that will make running a ship look simple in comparison. Just as a ship's captain I must administer thoughtful and sound declarations and ensure the prosperity of my constituents. Though alliances are always circumstantial in my experience, they must be thought of as crucial for a benefit that outstrips the risk of political skullduggery. Trust, but verily will be the most important tenet during my reign of this new land. Until the time that I must break relations with an ally I shall endeavor to uphold the highest standing in their esteem, and exploit our mutual interests. The faster we can grow here the faster we can find other oxygen worlds and become a force to be considered in the United Federation. The path ahead will take cunning and diligence; I believe I have assembled the right team to accomplish our goals. I pray that my leadership will guide us to glory from our humble beginnings so short a time ago. I must prepare for our pre-orbit banquet and rally my people with the promise of sending more money back home the first month than their families had seen in some of the lean years after the corruption of our second administration. Bantha bless democracy, and Bantha bless the Miserack, the most slowest vessel in all the fleets of the Masterian Empire.

Fleet Command :: Transmission Terminated, 11-22-2283, 1425 hours

Yes, that's my hand.

Greetings and salutations fellow humans;

To those in the Patria Nobis system, or anywhere else for that matter, you may have heard my name. Perhaps only in passing, or as part of an evil plot to overthrow our empire, Oxford College.

As mankind sets forth into the galaxy, it needn't fear the threat of alien invasion or enemies from outside. Every day, the subspace ratio chirps at me with messages from friends, neutrals, enemies, and enemies who claim to be either of the first two. A famous Earthling, nearly forgotten by time, once wrote "keep your friends close, and your enemies closer". And even now, while we expand into the far reaches of space, the universe couldn't be any smaller.

We share planets with people who could snap and deploy thousands of ships over our colonies at any moment. People move in and out of empires, carrying morsels of information with them (for the highest bidder to snatch up, of course). Land grabs and stakes in resource-rich systems are made daily, sometimes meeting with argument or threats.

As if by miracle, nobody has actually pulled the trigger yet. Everybody holds a loaded gun aimed at somebody. Most wouldn't suspect it but all are doing it, including myself. But in this tense waiting game, if one fires thier gun, it will trigger a horrifying symphony of gunshots from the others. Those who duck out of the way can't hope to dodge the fire, and inevitably everybody will be struck.

I say let it happen quickly, so we can form new alliances, break old ones and move on with a clear picture of who are enemies are.

Will I be the one to pull the trigger? Well, I wouldn't announce it over the public news broadcasting system, so watch out, enemies and allies alike.

The day has finally come, humanity is setting out to the stars once more. Countries throughout the world are building vast colony ships, as they run lotteries to decide which volunteers will get to set out and pave the road that is our future.

We have grown much from our primitive beginnings, living amongst the animals trying to survive nature?s brutal fury. We have shaped our destiny to what it is today, and no matter what obstacles fate may throw at us, we will persevere. We have weathered the wars of our bloody history, we have survived through the Alpha and Beta annihilations and we finally see the fruits of our labors.

From this day fourth, humankind will live in the heavens, amongst the constellations that guided our forefathers.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "The Universe as we know it has now been in existence for over one hundred and seventy thousand million billion years and will be ending in a little over half an hour. So, welcome one and all to Milliways, the Restaurant at the End of the Universe!"

With a gesture he deftly conjured another round of spontaneous applause. With another gesture he cut it.

"I am your host for tonight," he said, "my name is Max Quordlepleen..." (Everybody knew this, his act was famous throughout the known Galaxy, but he said it for the fresh applause it generated, which he acknowledged with a disclaiming smile and wave.) "...and I've just come straight from the very very other end of time, where I've been hosting a show at the Big Bang Burger Bar - where I can tell you we had a very exciting evening ladies and gentlemen - and I will be with you right through this historic occasion, the End of History itself!"

Another burst of applause died away quickly as the lights dimmed down further. On every table candles ignited themselves spontaneously, eliciting a slight gasp from all the diners and wreathing them in a thousand tiny flickering lights and a million intimate shadows. A tremor of excitement thrilled through the darkened Restaurant as the vast golden dome above them began very very slowly to dim, to darken, to fade.

Max's voice was hushed as he continued.

"So, ladies and gentlemen," he breathed, "the candles are lit, the band plays softly, and as the force-shielded dome above us fades into transparency, revealing a dark and sullen sky hung heavy with the ancient light of livid swollen stars, I can see we're all in for a fabulous evening's apocalypse!"

Even the soft tootling of the band faded away as stunned shock descended on all those who had not seen this sight before.

A monstrous, grisly light poured in on them,

- a hideous light,

- a boiling, pestilential light,

- a light that would have disfigured hell.

The Universe was coming to an end.

-- Douglas Adams, The Restaurant at the End of the Universe

Alliance colonies try to flee the oncoming invasions

Earlier today the Alliance officially announced that they had not received any new transmissions from the front lines in over three days. The last transmissions from the colonies in the center of the galaxy have not been released to the press. The buzz on the streets is that the human victories over the aliens were few and far in between. Over 50,000 citizens and millions of credits worth of military ships have been presumably destroyed. In the few transmissions that were leaked to us, we learned that the alien war machine is still producing at full capacity, as their raids on Global Market Co.'s transports is driving prices for resources through the roof. Human forces were not able to even get a military ship into orbit of an alien controlled world.

A lot of people want to know where the war went wrong. Officials for the Alliance had told the people of this galaxy that the aliens would be little more than a smoking pile of dead bodies after they were done. Instead most of the casualties in this war have been human, both human and alien inflicted. Denying that they said the war at the center would be easy, officials are now calling for all aid and support for the defense of Shelter and its surrounding systems. Humans who are not actively giving credits and resources to the war effort are seen as alien sympathizers and destroyed. My fellow journalist Plasmabunny wrote an excellent editorial on this very subject weeks ago, and we were all too stubborn to see it.

Now the aliens have claimed that they are indeed days away from Shelter, and are coming to destroy known enemy fleets. Take this with a grain of salt, but they said that all non enemy fleets would be spared, and they would leave the system once the threat was extinguished. Will the aliens really make it to the shelter? Is their technology that vastly superior to ours that they can get a whole war machine capable of taking on the entire human race single handedly? Will they leave us alone after or even if they succeed? I don’t know the answers to these questions but I don’t know if living under Alien rule would be as bad as it seems, what’s the difference between one tyranny and another? At least aliens have said they won't attack anybody but enemies, while the alliance has said they will attack anybody but friends, and sometimes, they cross that line as well.

The coming days and weeks should be a chaotic time in our neck of the woods, regardless of who wins this war. Advisors are telling families to stock up on food and water, and to teach their kids how to respond to an alien invasion. Life might be inconvenienced for a bit while governments prepare their cities for war, but with any luck this will all be over in a month’s time, and we can get back to our peaceful lives.

A massive skeleton of metal, unfinished, drifts slowly in orbit over the Alliance's homeworld. Below, even from space, the glow from thousands of factories producing tools of war shine brightly on the surface below. Close by, a massive task force patrols the system, its flagship the newly-constructed behemoth GSC "Aqueous Might", a battleship of technology and scale unthinkable just months ago, and power unrivalled by anything in the known universe.

Weeks ago, a mysterious phenomonen transported exploration crews to a shrouded planet outside the known dimensions of the universe. Upon discovering this, efforts were immediately made to establish observation outposts on this planet, in order to understand its existence and origin. Just as soon as it was discovered, it vanished, the fate of thousands of heroic colonists unknown. Fleeing from this strange disappearance, and fearing the same fate may befall them if they stayed to find it, the remainder of the explorers and the colony ships whose missions were no longer attainable left this mysterious extra-dimensional realm and headed away, in any direction, just away from this strange place.

They found themselves in a completely uncharted section of the galaxy. Some scouts were sent ahead to see what lay in the path before them, while the colony ships and a small escort, mostly of scouts, slowly made their way to the closest galaxy. Morale on the colony ships was low, and with no hope of reinforcement in a part of the galaxy hundreds of millions of kilometers from home, the best course of action seemed to be to find the closest planet and try to rebuild.

Then the probes stopped reporting in. Garbled reports of attacks and hostile-sounding guttural language from an alien race who later identified themselves as 'The Dominion' were attacking unarmed peaceful scouts, and the deaths kept occuring closer and closer to their new home. Fearing their imminent conflict with this new hostile and clearly uncivilized race, the brave colonists started making ready for war with what meager supplies they had available on their barely settled planet. A state of war was called and what remained of the fleet that originally arrived and some few reinforcements that were able to be constructed on the small colony were sent in an attempt to hold off the brutal barbarian race.

At first, victory seemed at hand, and as they were returning to their new home victorious preparing to start a new life unmolested by this threat, a new fleet appeared from nowhere. And another. And another, and another, until the probes could no longer keep track of all the targets. Was this some kind of cloaking technology? Where were these ships coming from? During the short war, probes were sent to every corner of their system, and these ships were not evident. Regardless, the bewildered and outnumbered fleet heroically took a defensive position near the new colony, as the enemy poured into the system. Even now, the standoff continues at this lone stranded planet, with the aliens making unintelligible demands and rudely insulting those brave stranded souls.

Back in the home quadrant, negotiations are being conducted between the Alliance and the AYI Empire. The position of the enemy is now clear, near the exact center of the galaxy, seven hundred million or more kilometers from the homeworld. It is their goal to not only save the stranded planet, but also to cleanse the universe of the barbaric race that attacks defenseless scouts and colonies. Just weeks ago, war raged between humans. It is now forgotten, all focus is on the alien race. Research on new drives to reach the stranded planet is conducted night and day, with a fervor unmatched. They will save that planet. And they will have revenge.

On the homeworld, previously peaceful governors are realizing the need of tools of war, and are churning out thousand of ships per week. Citizens gladly give up their daily jobs to work in the war factories for the cause. The Foundation, previously whose military consisted nearly solely of defensive planetary emplacements, has begun work on the GSC Primordial, the massive hulk orbiting the planet, in an attempt to fortify the system, while other colonies across the universe pump out thousands of ships from fighters to battleships. When completed, the space station will be on a scale never before seen in this universe. And there will be others, and more battleships like the behemoth patrolling nearby. And destroyers, carriers, corvettes, bombers, and fighters.

It is said that every known species knows at least one emotion. Fear.

Whatever this new race feels, it will know fear.

The humans are coming.

The entire human race has been glued to the news broadcasts ever since the Dominion threat appeared. For so long we thought of ourselves as being the only intelligent race amongst the stars. Imagine our surprise when we found another intelligent, even space travel capable race out there. Not only that, but they are out to destroy us. It is the stuff of fantasy, of science fiction. Not reality, and yet here they are, before us, getting ready to spill forth upon our homes and erase us from existence.

Evil aliens from the center of the galaxy, am I the only one who thinks this seems *too* ideal, too perfect to be anything but fiction. A few probes get destroyed, no one cares. A few probes get destroyed in the center of the galaxy… Oh, we have a threat to the entire human race.

And throughout this entire Dominion scare, the only attacks we have seen have been by the AYI empire. AYI, an empire recently coming out of a mass depression brought on by the over taxing of their own citizens. These unprovoked attacks have been launched upon small colonies throughout the sector, in the name of protecting us from the Dominion threat. We have seen no Dominion attack fleets, we haven’t even seen anything of this so called Dominion other than a few low quality voice messages.

What do we have to fear of this faceless menace? Nothing… Even if the Dominion does indeed exist, the center of the galaxy is seven hundred million kilometres away, even our fastest probes would take almost three months to get there, assuming travel in a straight line, and having ample refuelling opportunities. A battle fleet would take at least seventy years. Hell, probably longer due to the spiral of our galaxy.

The true menace is among us, smiling and telling us we must be protected at all costs, even if that cost is our Freedom. I do not know about you, but for me that price is too high…

Earlier this week three out of the four most powerful empires in our galaxy declared war on a mysterious enemy referred to as “The Dominion.” Forces from Alliance of Goo, Are You In This Empire, and Starcon Continuum are heading towards the enemy and expect to engage in their first conflict sometime within the next few days. Analysts for the human contingent predict a massacre of the Dominion fleets in every encounter.

Searches for Dominion colonies are still underway, as a massive coalition of probes from all three empires scours the center of the galaxy for any signs of life. So far The Dominion has relied on stealth to avoid being detected and confronted, but with such a massive campaign under way it is unlikely they will remain hidden much longer. Rewards are being offered for any information leading the destruction of colonies of Dominion fleets. If you have any information that might be valuable to the war effort upload a message to the Central Computer System (CSS) and you will be contacted by a representative of the alliance.

The problems started after many probes were randomly destroyed in the middle of the galaxy. After a bit of research it was determined that the Dominion was behind the attacks. Surviving initial attacks on border colonies, the alliance beefed up their security, mobilizing the largest contingence of military vessels seen since the Warsaw War. After failed peace talks, the decision was made that all precautions must be taken to prevent the domination of the human race. War was declared on The Dominion at 19:28
March 13, 2280.

While the exact numbers and size of the alien fleets are not known, the admirals of each respective empire are sure that there will be no challenge to the strength and organization of the war machine. Rumors of a secret weapon have emerged on the CCS, sparking interest in many of the thousands of scientists throughout the known galaxy. What could this secret weapon be? We at home can only speculate. We’ll keep you up-to-date as reports filter in from the front lines. This promises to be a spectacular exposition of human might and ingenuity.

Most of you have heard of these, but don't actually have any to speak of.

It has recently come to my attention that the price of free market diamonds has exceeded over 20,000cr. After a consultation with the Starcon Continuum financial adviser, we have the following tips for empires who find themselves at a loss as to why their new design costs 200,000 in materials:

Building a diamond mine is the most valuable investment you can make resource-wise. At the time of writing, our most expensive diamond mine is roughly 4.5 million credits (including materials). At the current market price, this mine will pay for itself after 225 diamonds. Keep in mind, the current price isn't fixed, and has no intention of dropping. On a carbon rich planet with a decent mine, you can expect perhaps 2-4¹ diamonds per game day. Thus, you will need to wait 60-120 days to break even on your investment. In the long term, this is very worthwhile.

After you have done this, it is very important to establish trade routes between your diamond rich worlds, and the worlds which have the manpower to put these diamonds to use. Transports can be accompanied with escorts or corvettes to protect them. I recall awhile back, a member of the continuum had a transport containing 6000 diamonds destroyed before they could be unloaded. At the current price, defense is more important than ever.

Important to mention is the importance of ground defenses on your mining worlds. Not only are you protecting the initial investment from attack (the mine), but you are protecting from transports which would otherwise be free to loot your stockpiles during a battle.

If you cannot stomach the prohibitive cost of 4.5 million credits, try and reduce the diamond consumption of your empire. This involves creating ship designs which use diamond-light hulls and weaponry, or researching blueprints with more scientists allocated to processing.

As a final word: remember that if nobody produces diamonds, the cost will continue to rise until the mines themselves cost millions more in resources, then it will be too late. Just remember, the Intergalactic Global Trade Association(R) has no reservations with taking your hard earned credits.

¹Not rigorously proven to be true.

It came to our attention last year here at Vector that certain 'entrepreneurs' were offering their services in recycling the logic drive capacitor mid-space. As we all know, only VectorTech Ground Services (©) are authorized to perform such services on registered spacecraft. Imagine our surprise that certain governors were allowing unlicensed, unregistered non-Vector personnel to service their drives mid-space, jeopardizing crew, cargo, and passenger lives, simply to squeeze out a few megakilometers more out of their vessels!

Well, last year, we spoke to our representatives at the Galaxy Federation and asked them to put a stop to this horrific ignoring of well-established safety regulations, and this year, they have done so. A law was passed that all ships must be piloted by VectorTech Pilots (©) and all logic drives capacitors must be serviced by VectorTech Ground Services (©). In addition all ship drives are now equipped with the VectorTech Safety Regulation Device (©), an explosive 15 megaton tamper deterrent "safety seal".

Just another example of VectorTech looking out for your safety! And remember, VectorTech provides the only authorized pilots, drives, and ships made to YOUR specifications, at low prices. Well, at least, you won't see any lower prices because competition is illegal! Ok, that was a little joke for you. But safety is a serious business.

Remember, whenever you're in space, we're looking over your shoulder.

Expect some worthwhile articles here soon.

Or maybe not...