The bigger you are...
 

Feel free to critique me. Just remember the (first) two rules of fanfiction:

Be true to the game.
Be truer to the story.

Let me know if anyone is actually interested in reading this.

Oh, and this story is considered "under construction" -- I can and will change anything I like at any point.

Even if its in the first part of 20 (I've done that before, even if its a nightmare...)

Part 1

"Order the Potemkin to fall back. Ravager and Osired are to escort her." Admiral Roeding ordered, clutching at the railing before him. Sharp eyes flickered across the status boards of his own ship, and he sighed. "Flag will withdraw, November and Pegasus will fill the gap. Have Osired divert and escort us." His subordinates were a buzz of activity, swiftly shouting incomprehensible strings of number, commands, and other datum. Unable to follow some of the more esoteric jargon, Roeding still knew he heard the bitter taste of defeat.

The ship lurched under his feet as another suicide slipped through the defensive fire. The main battle-plot before him flickered momentarily before the red status light in the corner came on, indicating it was operating under emergency power reserves. A pair of technicians scrambled across the bridge to check that Battle-Comp was still online with full power.

"Admiral, the odds of defeat rise rapidly. A full 10% of the fleet has been either destroyed or terminally incapacitated. Fighter strength is down 40% and missile stores approach mandatory retreat levels." Battle-comp paused for a bare moment. "Correction, the last salvo has placed us at mandatory retreat levels. Resupply efforts underway, odds of success are 32% +- 5."

"Battle-Comp, if we fall back now we lose the Nexus. If we can't hold here..."

"Probability of defeat if we remain here is approaching unity, Admiral. Chances of success should we fall back and meet our reinforcements increase 27% +-4." Battle-Comp paused for a moment. "New data stream detected. Analyzing. Thee squared to the root of- ERROR! ERROR! Five to the fourth of negative- ERROR! ERROR! FATAL LOGIC ERROR! RESTARTING SYSTEMS FROM HARD-COPY BACKUP!" Battle-Comps string of nonsensical mathematical equations and the overlaid system announcements were suddenly silenced. The tank before Admiral Roeding displayed the battle as its relatively stupid computers ignored the gibberish being transmitted to them. The occasional visual glitch obscured his view, but for the most part the display functioned perfectly.

"Have all ships go to full manual backups." the Admiral ordered calmly. "Order the Valencian and her battle group to close with the enemy with Predator and Fisksin and their battle groups in support. Have Carrier Ops flush all reserve fighters. Prep and download a full data flush to three courier vessels, and detach them from fleet support."

Again his underlings scurried around like a kicked-over ant-hive. Manual backups were powering up -- far too slowly in some cases -- but-

A sudden shift in the almost subliminal sound of the engines accompanied a sudden heave, along with several separate alarms. "Shields have collapsed admiral, and there are at least three separate suicide craft homing in already." the ship's captain reported over the intercom. "Our defense grid is in shambles, and that last hit overloaded the engines." A sudden hissing interrupted the captain for a moment. "-ongly recommend that you evacuate the ship. I'll save her if I can, but the damage is bad, eve-" static again interfered with the intercom. "-attle-Comp online we couldn't do much. As things stand we're a sit-" a massive blast of hissing completely obliterated the communications channel.

Roeding debated with himself for a bare moment, the turned and nodded. "Ladies and gentlemen, the captain would like us of his ship." he enunciated carefully. "Let us accommodate him graciously." He very carefully didn't say "rather than at the point of a security baton."

He quickly followed actions to words slamming his hand against the hatch controls to open them. He took off at a quick jog, dodging aside from the various damage control parties he met. Most of his staff followed him, though those that worked on other ships simply disengaged their holograms and waited for him to choose a new command ship.

Another roll from the ship accompanied a new set of strident alarms as smoke began to fill the corridors, overwhelming the highly efficient environmental systems. A secondary set of tones informed the admiral that yet more problems were occurring in engineering, as the antimatter that powered the massive vessel threatened to break loose of its containment fields. A slight shiver announced the launch of the first wave of escape vessels, even as the admiral peered into a retinal scanner to unlock a hatch. After confirming that yes, this was Admiral Roeding, and yes he had authority to access the launch bay, the door's computers sent electrical surges through the metal of the hatch, causing it to fold in a predetermined geometrical pattern.

After the hatch had obediently twitched open, Roeding leapt through and clamored up the ladder to the cockpit. As his hands flickered over the control panels, bringing the engines up, two pilots leapt in and started to run the preflight diagnostics.

"Partial failures on all computers." one reported, and the other moved to the back to check.

"Disregard that." Roeding ordered. "The enemy is jamming the computers somehow, it isn't a mechanical fault." Pausing for a second, the pilot scurried back to his station as Roeding glared.

"Ship is green." Roeding declared. For an instant the pilots glanced at each other, then shrugged. It was well known that the admiral was insane; declaring the ship green when all the lights were flickering from green to red to orange and back again would simply prove it.

Though some of those reds were flatly contradictory at times, so maybe he was right about the jamming. Maybe.

"Alpha-Echo-One to command. Green for launch." one pilot intoned into the communication system. Electromagnetic clamps locked onto the boat and lifted it into a launch tube, with blast doors sealing behind the craft. "Alpha-Echo-One to command. Launching in three, two, one, go, go, go!"

Massive electromagnets stirred to life, generating energy sufficient to propel the small shuttle, with its thirty odd occupants, to nearly a tenth the speed of light in less than half a second. Then, the main engines engages and boosted it to 20 PSL, a third again the "normal" maximum acceleration of a small craft. The advanced engines twisted and gyrated as the craft maneuvered violently around outgoing fire, attempting to clear the fire arc of several engaged point defense batteries.

A sudden lurch from the craft nearly directed directly into the stream from one of the PD batteries. "[censored]!" the pilot swore as he yanked the boat away from impending demise. "What was that?"

"Partial failure on computer control for gyroscopic system 9-C." Roeding replied. "Switch to manual on all possible systems. Cease use of unnecessary unautomatable systems. Including gyros."

"But we'll lose half of our mobility that way!" a pilot complained, even as a sudden shift in course bounced them off a missile barrage. "OK, maybe our mobility won't be that badly hurt." he conceded as the ship started fighting him even worse.

"Sir! Fleet reports a decrease in incidence of computer failures," an officer reported from the back.

"Seeing as how our computers are reaching terminal unreliability, I'd say that somebody knows who we are." Roeding frowned. "Keep an eye out for suicides targeting us, and cut all computers out. Bring the engines to full manual override."

"But that'll-" someone in the back chimed in.

Roeding sighed. "We'll have to cut back to no more than 85% of maximum speed, otherwise we will overheat. And no human has the reflexes to redirect coolant flow to compensate for that. Keller! Cut the computer overrides to the engines, and splice them in to a manual station. Lock it at 85% power."

"That won't work sir -- the engines use to many computers to run, even in full manual mode." the rating poked his head in. "But if I take half the computers off their normal tasks, and go to a tell-me-thrice operating system, that'll improve our situation. Better still, I could take all unnecessary systems and use them; I may get to a 5-check or even 6-check level. That'd cut out most of what we're seeing."

"Do it." Roeding didn't even hesitate.

"Aye-aye sir!" the rating disappeared as suddenly as he'd appeared.

The flight slowly smoothed out, though it remained highly unpleasant as gravity began fluctuating violently, causing several people to vomit helplessly, and the air seemed to take on a slightly acrid smell as processors started to function less efficiently. "Keller! Did you cut out the enviro computers?" Roeding bellowed.

"Yes sir!" the rating replied. "Took them down to a tell-me-twice system, didn't think they needed to work at that high a level. I'll get the inertial dampeners back up in a jiff!"

"Get them back up right now!" Roeding replied, exasperated. Dwelling on the over-enthusiastic nature of overly competent technicians was a good way for him to occupy his mind while waiting out the last round of nausea, he decided.



An overloaded computer terminal blew out in a spectacular shower of sparks, burning Ensign Merryweather's face. "[censored]!" he exclaimed, cutting power to the terminal. A beeping sound from another terminal penetrated the haze of combat. "Bloody hell!" he swore, yanking around and dashing the offending terminal. "Battle-comp! Initialize containment field backups and reboot primaries!" he ordered. "Battle-comp?" he asked. Glancing at Battle-comp's screen, he frowned. "Those equations do not add up." he muttered, even as a shrill buzzing indicated a hard-reset. Turning back to the antimatter containment controls, he manually started the secondary containment fields, musing as he did so at the rather inaccurate term "manual".

In these days of high technology, computers could not only be found everywhere, from the lining of your shoes to the spoon you ate with, they were needed everywhere. The shoes were designed to shift shape to better compensate for terrain and needed their processors functional to be anything other than a shapeless blob. And spoons were generally single-use tools, constructed of nannite chains as occasion demanded. And in the case of advanced engines and weapons, they simply could not be run without computers.

And if the computers weren't working, well, Bad Things could happen with antimatter containment. If the magnetic bottles collapsed, the only thing between the ship and several hundred pounds of pure destruction were the backup fields. Merryweather carefully ignored the fact that the hatch that connected him to the rest of the ship was in fact an airlock, and the room he was in was only bolted to the outside of the ship. In event of a catastrophic failure such as he was facing, the entire storage compartment could be ejected, if the computers felt it needed.

And the computers weren't working anymore. "Ensign, we need you to restore anti-matter flow!" someone ordered over the intercom. "I can't!" the ensign replied. "I had to engage the secondary backups, and they're supposed to cut the antimatter stream!"

"Damn it all, Ensign! All the other pods ejected themselves on automatic. We need that power!" the voice on the other end demanded desperately.

"No can do sir. I've got at least three separate rips in the magnetic bottles, and countless flaws. If I release the secondary containment field, you won't have any antimatter at all -- or any need for it!" the ensign paused for a moment. "In fact, if the computers weren't malfunctioning so badly I'd probably have been spaced by now."

"Override the computers and resume flow! Your display has to be malfunctioning, or you would have been spaced!" the voice on the other end seemed even more desperate, and glancing at Battle-comp's darkened screen, Merryweather knew why. They weren't used to having to fight without a computer to do it all for them. They were the backups, not the other way around.

Even if on paper, battle computers were merely ship wide backup system, to catch their mistakes and run things if they couldn't. Worse yet...

"Sir, do you know what controls the ejection system?" the ensign asked, chilled to the bone.

"Automatics, of course! Now, restore power!"

"Good lord in heaven preserve your children, for we are fools and madmen." the ensign prayed in a whisper. "Sir, what do you think automatics are?"

"Devices that do things automatically, or course. Now, ensign, are you going to obey orders or not?" the voice was angry now, oh so angry.

"Sir, automatics do things automatically because they are run by computer." the ensign kissed his career -- and likely his life -- goodbye. "The secondary containment fields are perhaps the only system on the ship which don't need computers, as they consist of two things: a power input device, and the field generators. There are no half settings, no variables, so they just put power in." With a deep breath he took the plunge. "And I'm getting a lot of waste heat down here."

"So? Ensign, the captain needs you to take us off battery-backup right now. What is the point of this?" the voice snarled.

"Sir, the only reason for there to be waste heat from the secondary generators is if the antimatter is in direct contact with the secondary containment fields. Which means the bottle is breached, and I should have been ejected." a quite buzz interrupted the voice's reply.

"Sir, the containment bottle seems to be stabilizing. And the tell-me-thrice error checking is reporting a significant drop in errors. Only one in a hundred answers comes out wrong. I'm relaxing to tell-me-twice and will restore power momentarily."

"Stand by." the voice ordered.

"Computers all over the ship are restoring functionality, though Battle-comp seems to have been damaged. Report your status ensign." the captain ordered.

"Sir, the magnetic bottle's been breached in four spots; automatic repairs have finally engaged, and flushing systems are cycling the leaked antimatter back into the bottle. Computer is estimating thirty seconds to antimatter-flow restoration."

"Good. Batteries were drained accidentally by another failure. Now, I understand you gave my tactical officer some grief?" the captain's voice was extremely harsh.

"Sir, he ordered me to destroy the ship." the ensign explained calmly, without even a hint of a smile.

"He did what?" the captain asked equally calmly.

"He ordered me to restore antimatter-flow when primary containment had been breached. The result would have been the destruction of the ship."

"There is a double thickness of armor between you and the ship. That armor is meant to withstand multiple missile blasts without failure. Surely a double thickness could handle a simple containment failure! And killing you, while regrettable, doesn't kill the ship."

"Sir, you're overlooking three things. One, the containment pod is the size of a missile in and of itself, and doesn't have to set aside room for engines, sensors, defenses, and the like. Two is that the pod is set directly against the hull, rather than detonating at a slight distance. And third is that I've got an armored shell that is clamped to the hull to direct the blast into the ship. And that hull is quadruple thickness, with special clamps designed to survive anything except separation charges. Which wouldn't go off in time to save the ship."

"Ah. That makes sense. Good work, Lieutenant."

"Thank you sir!" the brand-new lieutenant replied. A harsh buzzer caused him to look back at the control panel. For an instant, he hesitated. A loud tone caused him to dash strait for the air lock, barely leaping inside before it slammed shut behind him.

CRUMP! the separation charges detonated.

"This is not a good day." the lieutenant whispered to himself.

Part 2 (Still undergoing basic construction):

"Admiral on deck!"

"As you were." Roeding commanded as he strode into the flag deck. Behind him, his staff filtered in and took up their posts. "Status on the computer systems?"

"We've identified a general locus that appears to be putting out the jamming." a hologram flickered to life. "We're going through it with a fine toothed comb right now. We expect to find a ship any moment."

"Initiate saturation bombardment. Not a heavy one, just make them know we know they're there."

"Aye-aye sir."

Re: The bigger you are...
 

You are off to a good start. http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/images/smilies/happy.gif

Do you want grammatical critiquing?

Also, would you like this added to the SpaceEmpires.net Fan Fiction Archives?

Re: The bigger you are...
 

I agree, your off to a good start. http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/images/smilies/happy.gif It was a nice read. I cannot critique you as my grammer and spelling are atrocious.

Re: The bigger you are...
 

Read it earlier in the day. I like it.

One suggestion: try not starting so many lines/paragraphs with quotes. It gets a bit repetitive as far as style goes. And -- as far as my reading style goes -- it's a bit jarring to read a bit of quoted dialog, then realize it's from a different character than was initally expected. Perhaps showing a bit more of the internal thoughts of the characters would help, to preface more of the spoken words. For example, the line:
... could flow much better by simply swapping the sentences:
At least that's what I think. I just read things, I'm not much of a writer. There are people here much more qualified to give advice on the subject.

As for the story itself... more background, please! All I get is that it's a fleet battle. Nothing of what the sides are, nothing about why there's a conflict/war going on, little of what's going on with the characters. Great on action, and has it's own variety of BLAM!, but overall, needs more substance if it's gonna keep me.

Re: The bigger you are...
 

Thanks for the tip -- real helpful stuff http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/images/smilies/happy.gif

I often fall into a rut, and need to be kicked out of it.

Don't worry, thats going to come up soon. I just needed to set the stage in the first part; the second part should (*should*) start gettting into more details about the military (at the strategic level, not tactical) and socio-political situation.


And if my grammar starts falling apart, feel free to critique me on it. Unless its an obvious "stylistic" error (I. E. I'm doing it deliberatly to form an effect) or in the dialog where its part of characterization. (I don't do that often, but it happens... "I'm fine, commander" to a lieutenant, right after the rating has been struck in the head for example...).

Re: The bigger you are...
 

The ensign seemed way too relaxed about the entire situation. And the tactical officer a bit too dopey, but then non-engineers never seem to grasp the details of engineering. On the other hand Roeding seemed to go into too much detail. Individual systems and specs on escape pods... That's a Scotty 'I know this ship like the back of my hand' type moment

Also check the italics in the UBB code I'm seeing a few
supposed
you want to uses non capitals there instead to get
supposed

One entirely personal thing, pilots on escape pods just seem wrong to me. Makes perfect sense, but I try to fit together a 'pod' with two pilots, engineering ratings and it doesn't fit for me.

However a nice load of BLAM! and a good situation to add some details too. Very interesting to see how it develops.

Re: The bigger you are...
 

"Escape pod" isn't accurate.

Its an escape *shuttle*. I. E. a shuttle craft (great big thing to ferry people around) retrofitted to work in combat enviroments and reserved for the admiral's exclusive use.

And the only points where Roeding is a technical know-it-all are the places where "everybody knows!" things go. Like everybody knows that those engines are very dangerous because of overheating, except the computers have it under control.

And as far as figuring out that you need to cut computers when they act unreliably, well, thats just common sense and brains -- and even then, he doesn't really understand, either, that you can't cut computers.

And as far as the ensign being to calm, I think I need to go back through there. I think I forgot to mention the sweat causing condensation on the suit -- and he's not sweating 'cause he's hot, the suit is AC'd.



Hm... specifics are always nice. OK, going back through this thing on the bus home... (PDAs are nice!)

Re: The bigger you are...
 

Yeah, I enjoyed it. One (very) small thing that caught my eye:

Maybe this was a deliberate gag, or an example of the "esoteric jargon" mentioned in the previous line, but surely you can't hear a taste. Not without some kind of wierd surgery, anyway.

If (understandably) you were avoiding repetition of the word taste with the phrase "Roeding still knew he tasted the bitter taste of defeat" then use a synonym: The bitter tang of defeat, bitter spice of defeat, experience the bitter taste of defeat... Hmmm, there aren't actually that many synonyms for "taste" are there? Anyone know any decent online thesauruseseses?

Re: The bigger you are...
 

Um... "bitter taste of defeat" is a common phrase; as such hearing it isn't too unreasonable. I mean, you can't really taste defeat so much as it is a bitter thing to deal with, and bitter is a taste... am I making any sense?

Re: The bigger you are...
 

Yeah I know. My point is that your characters hears the bitter taste of defeat. You're mixing metaphors.

You either hear the sound of defeat, or you taste the flavour of defeat. You don't hear the taste, or taste the sound, or see the smell and so on.

http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/images/smilies/happy.gif

Re: The bigger you are...
 

"Listen! Do you smell that?" -- Ghostbusters I

Re: The bigger you are...
 

Ok, you asked for grammatical critiquing, so here it is. http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/images/smilies/happy.gif

Quotes and the stating of who said them should be separated by commas, not periods. This set:

"Order the Potemkin to fall back. Ravager and Osired are to escort her." Admiral Roeding ordered, clutching at the railing before him.

Should instead be:

"Order the Potemkin to fall back. Ravager and Osired are to escort her," Admiral Roeding ordered, clutching at the railing before him.

You've repeated this everywhere. Only when there is a question or exclamation do you use that instead of a comma.

Also, it is generally better to say who said it in the first sentence, rather than the second. This point isn't quite necessary if I remember correctly, so don't worry too much about it. As long as it is fairly close to the beginning of the paragraph it should be fine.

Re: The bigger you are...
 

http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/images/smilies/eek.gif I knew that rule. I use that rule. WTF is going on?!

<pauses for a second.> I hate MS Word.

Re: The bigger you are...
 

It's freakin great. A great opener to a bigger story. Yeah, there are grammatical things, but it's freakin great!

[img]/threads/images/Graemlins/Dagger.gif[/img]Turin[img]/threads/images/Graemlins/icon42.gif[/img]

Re: The bigger you are...
 

Ron_Lugge said:
...I hate MS Word.

Maybe an alternative would be more to your liking? Check out Open Office.

Re: The bigger you are...
 

Proably a good idea to get a new program, but more often than not its more trouble than its worth -- Word works *great* for my essays and such.

And all I have to do is notice when its autoformat (which often saves my but) is screwing up my text. Like capitalizing *whenever* I close a quote. Or capitalizing the "i"s in my brackets.

Re: The bigger you are...
 

Guys, in addition to some pain-in-the-***-deleted(well, corrupted)-my-work problems, the story has a small element that may be a problem. One of the major players in our little drama is a "dark" version of Christianity -- think the inquisition on steriods, with the brakes taken ALL the way off (also a badly corrupted version, as... well, they don't have a very accurate version of history, much less religion).

edit:

Is anyone going to take offense at this?

Re: The bigger you are...
 

Please, please, for the sake of plots everwhere, avoid that cliche. It's been done to death, [Humour]primarily by half the wicans on the planet.[/Humour]

No, seriously, if you're going to have an evil religeon, come up with an original one. Evil druids, cultists, witches, christians and scientologists have been done to death.

Plus, you are essentially paradying a religeon. I doubt that's what you intend, but that is the end result.

The simpliest method to deal with all these problems, though, is to simply include a good version of the bad religeon. The upside is everyone knows you don't really mean it; the downside is everyone knows it's simply there to provide counterpoint.

Re: The bigger you are...
 

I agree with Narf. Apart from all the problems of pissing of Christians (admitedly probably the safest to annoy behind Budists) and unintentional parody its cliched.

Plus if you make up a religion it may involve a bit more back story but you get full control to do whatever you like without the shackles of doing an 'evil' version. Lets face it making up a religion isn't tricky. Deity, acolytes, afterlife, rituals and commandments/laws. Covers those five and the rest is detail. Eg:

The great god Bod demands you pray to him every second Tuesday and sacrifice 3 pints of milk once a month. Also don't set fire to goats on the 12th day of Sprune of you'll incur his wrath. Do all this, and listen to his most holy priests, and you too will end up in the sacred pub round the corner when you die.

Re: The bigger you are...
 

Eh, what's wrong with parodying Christianity? It could stand some parodying... and the advantage is you don't get brutally executed by right-wing religious fanatics when you do... you only have them put you on TV and publicly ridicule you, which gives you even more publicity! http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/images/smilies/wink.gif

/me thinks of continuing my game of Dom2 as Marignon again... HAH! NO ONE ESCAPES THE MARIGNONIAN INQUISITION! http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/images/smilies/laugh.gif

Re: The bigger you are...
 

LOL, good thing I already have that. And its actually part of the plot -- an outlawed rebellion against a repressive regime backed up by a VERY nasty religion. With lots of internal conflict even INSIDE the regime.

Re: The bigger you are...
 

Rebels... Repressive Regime controlling the empire... Nasty religion (slicing and dicing with high tech swords perhaps?)

Sounds oddly familiar http://forum.shrapnelgames.com/images/smilies/laugh.gif

Re: The bigger you are...
 

LOL -- I missed the connection. I *very* missed the connection. No high tech slicey-dicey glow-in-the-dark swords though. Nor any real supernatural powers... unless... CURSE YOU!

OK, now that we've given my subconsious some nasty ideas to work with (CURSE YOU!), on to our regularly shedualed show.

Part 2

"Admiral on deck!"

"As you were." Roeding commanded as he strode into the flag deck. Behind him, his staff filtered in and took up their posts. "Status on the computer systems?"

"We've identified a general locus that appears to be putting out the jamming." a hologram flickered to life. "We're going through it with a fine toothed comb right now. We expect to find a ship any moment."

"Initiate saturation bombardment. Not a heavy one, just make them know we know they're there."

"Aye-aye sir."



The Lieutenant Commander gazed blankly at his work terminal, his internal turmoil completely hidden. Probability of success nears unity. Target match at 99%. Weapon readiness check: green. Terminate target.

No! I can't! I won't!

Obedience required. Engage and destroy.

The Lieutenant Commander fought hard. Had anyone paid attention, they could easily have seen the spasmodic twitching as he and his enhancements fought each other. Except they were all used to having Battle-comp keep watch for such things, and had grown lazy and complacent.

System error: Admiral Roeding has valid ID with database match. Invalid target, a part of his computer argued.

Admiral Roeding is a threat to the state. Elimination priority: Alpha. Terminate debate. Destroy target, the voice, like all assassin programs, was utterly implacable. Further failure to comply will result in immediate disciplinary measures. Comply.

No! the commander and his computer screamed, even as he involuntarily stood and walked out of the compartment. "Gotta go check something," he explained.

No! the commander and his computer denied.

First warning: the assassin program stated. Pain washed over the lieutenant commander, wiping away conscious thought for a bare moment.

No! the commander and his computer argued doggedly. I will not do allow this!

Obey. Or I will issue the second warning.

No! the commander and his computer insisted. No way.

Pausing for a second, the assassin program slipped into a shadow, hiding the lieutenant commander's body for a few seconds. Second warning.

Electrical energies surged along the lieutenant commander's nervous system, causing spasmodic twitching the assassin program ruthlessly damped out. Do not make me issue a third warning. Electrical lobotomization would interfere with my orders.

The lieutenant commander almost snarled. Instead, he concentrated. Interface, he whispered, disengage primary wetware lock-out.

Warning, the computer whispered back. Action could cause irreparable damage to your psyche and brain. Confirmation required.

The lieutenant commander barely paused. Hotel-lima-alpha-alpha. Confirmation: nobility.

In a way that -- had it emotions -- could be called sorrowful, the computer replied. It was 'nice' knowing you.

The assassin program, noting only the cessation of resistance, strode easily through the flag-deck hatch. "Admiral!" he called, swiftly walking over to that noteworthy. Electrical impulses caused a small flap of psuedo-skin to crinkle open, dropping a T-gun into the right palm.

T-guns were an assassin's favored weapon: small, easily concealed, virtually impossible to detect, and absolutely deadly from short range. Shaped like a small 't' made of two fused tubes, it was nestled between the fingers of a fist, with the cross on the t holding it against them. When the top was pressed with a thumb, the bottom emitted an intense beam of energy. Highly inaccurate due to the way it was held, the assassin program had a special interface that allowed it to view what the gun was pointed at through four holographic sensors placed around the tip of the weapon. It didn't even bother with them.

"Yes Lieutenant Commander Wordsworth?" Roeding asked testily. "We've got a situation on our hands here!"

"Die," the assassin program stated. With inhuman speed it brought the weapon into Roeding's face and fired.



"Admiral, multiple warp point transits detected," a nervous rating announced.

Roeding peered at the battle-plot projected before him. The last several minutes had shown a distinct drop in enemy coordination and reinforcements. Additionally, the computer warfare had all but stopped.

Suddenly, new icons blossomed on the battle-plot as the enemy ships registered and where categorized. "Admiral, we're reading at least forty monitors, possibly more, with full escorting forces."

"Understood," Roeding replied with a sigh.

"Sir -- the jamming locus!" someone shouted. Roeding looked back at that section of the plot.

The ever-shrinking sphere that represented the position of the unknown ship was moving, fast. Strait for the new vessels, which were on an intercept course for it. "Well, somebody wants that ship safe," Roeding muttered. "Retarget missile barrage on lead monitor," he commanded.

"Sir, linguistics computer is getting a read on enemy transponders. Ship names only, the rest is encrypted. Sir, the names, they're..." the nervous officer couldn't finish. Frowning at him, Roeding called up the just assembled shipping list.

His jaw dropped. Osiris, Potemkin, Ravager, dozens of his ships were in that list, or at least corruptions of their names. Thor's Hammer instead of Threr's Hammer, Gaia instead of Geia, and many others. Worse, in a way, were the names that were not congruent. Equality faced down his Estate, Freedom his Tyranny. Other names were meaningless: America, Constitution, Lincoln, more. Yet some of those names were horrifying. Adams, to his Histler. "Who would name a ship after that maniac?" someone muttered behind him.

"Lets let the xenopsychologists deal with that," Roeding's voice was rock-steady as he stared at the battle-plot, his eyes unreadable. "Lets fight the battle."

On the plot, dozens of missiles were being wiped out as they flew for the enemy fleet. Suddenly, a wave of red ovoid spewed forth from the enemy fleet. "Vampires inbound!" the captain announced. "Priority targets!"

An officer noted something on his screen, and turned around. "Sir, initial armament reports are filtering in. Those monitors only launched four missiles apiece."

Roeding gestured absentmindedly at a nearby rating. "Prep a new download for our courier boats. This is valuable information. State my belief -- and emphasize it -- that the reason the enemy was willing to engage in close combat this time was to preserve the computer-combat platform. Possibilities are either a prototype device, or an expensive flagship. I'll leave that too the intelligence types." The rating nodded and ran off.

"Admiral! We're receiving a signal from the Intrepid!"

Roeding swiftly activated his com screen, bringing the message up. "Admiral Roeding, this is Admiral Harding." The admiral's face was haggard, and a vivid slash ran across his forehead, still bleeding. In the background, Roeding could barely make out showers of sparks from damaged power conduits through the smoke hanging in the air. "We were forced into retreat by a force of fifty -- I say again, fifty -- monitors. We were routed, admiral. Something scrambled our computer systems, and I lost a good third of my fleet to it. Some took friendly fire as computers mis-ID'd them as hostiles, others simply went up, apparently from their own antimatter stores. We are currently in emergency overdrive, headed directly for the homeward warp point. We cannot, I say again, cannot delay the enemy. It is imperative that you fall back to our support, or you will be cut off from home. Repeat, we cannot delay the enemy! If you do not act swiftly, they will cut you off and strike at your rear!" The communication cut off abruptly, replaced by a stream of compressed data. Roeding in whistled in silent appreciation.

Most of his commanders had managed to switch over to manual overrides, and engage error-checking routines. According to the data he was receiving, Harding's hadn't. And the results were catastrophic. For all intents and purposes, Harding's force -- half again as large as Roeding's -- was gone. Most of it would require a dockyard to repair; some of the ships were just plain scrap. And the timing of the enemy attack was quite... suggestive.

Roeding closed his eyes, and prepared to commit career suicide. His fleet was still strong, and with his heavy missile orientation he could easily cause horrific casualties to his opponent, as any Board of Inquiry would see. And monitors were slow, so he could probably do so and get through the warp point before it was sealed behind him, or so the Board would argue. His voice was rock-steady. "Cease offensive fire, and begin retreat. Order the stations to go to automatic, and evacuate all personnel. We will remain on-station until evacuation is complete, or the enemy has closed to within ten thousand kelomiters."

He felt the vibration of the deck beneath him subtly change as the vessel reversed acceleration. No longer driving forward to meet the enemy head-on, it clawed to avoid them. They wouldn't have gone to point blank of course, but reversing course rather than simply holding the range open was a big change. A difficult one for the large ship to make in the small amount of time it had.

"Sir! Incoming transmission from Admiral Svenson!"

Roeding turned back to the monitor as the data stream was decompressed. "Admiral Roeding," the aging man said gravely, "my force is in full retrerat. Most of my ships are intact, but our missiles have all been expended, including the resupply stores. We faced a force of fifty monitors. There are now a good thirty five of them in pursuit. If they detatch their cripples, twenty-five of them will be able to maintain contact all the way to the Svelt-Orion warp point. They possess a new weapon capable of destroying Battle-comps, and rendering regular computers unreliable. Engage error checking routines of tell-me-thrice or higher to counter." The bridge behind Svenson was clean and crisp, with nary a smudge nor scar. No Inspector General could have found fault with it, or anything on the rest of the ship. Which, sense Svenson had spent most of his career as an IG, was not much of a surprise. What was surprise was how combat effective his FYI transmission showed him to be. Shelving that fact for later, Roeding looked at the time estimates for each attack. The timing of the transmissions was proof enough, but his superiors would prefer it if he was thorough.

"Admiral!" an unfamiliar voice called. Turning, Roeding scowled at the ship's officer.

"Yes Lieutenant Commander Wordsworth?" Roeding asked testily. "We've got a situation on our hands here!"

The Lieutenant Commander seemed to struggle with himself, barely croaking out "Duck!" before his arm rose swiftly. At the last instant it jinked to the right, and a crimson beam touched the bulkhead with a resounding concussion.

Roeding was stunned for an instrant, both by the weapon's shockwave and shocked surprise. He recovered enough to shout, "Alive! I want him ali-oof!" as several officers tackled him, forcing Roeding to the deck even as others closed in on the unfortunate Wordsworth. Snarling in frustration, they snarled as they took him down. The assassin program, recognizing what happened, engaged the holo-sights and targeted the admiral dead center. This time the beam flew true, impacting against the admiral's chest where a small gap in the wall of bodies had appeared and impacting with sufficient force to flash burn the uniform's molecular weave.

The admiral lay still for a moment and the assassin program rejoiced -- insofar as such a program could rejoice -- even as a stunning blow drove Wordsworth unconscious, bringing the assassin program with him.

The admiral groaned at his massive headache, even as waves of heat shimmered off him. As he stirred, the ashes of his uniform flaked away, revealing a combat-grade underliner that covered him everywhere but the face and hands. His exposed skin was turning red from the heat, but the ship's highly efficient ventilation was already drawing the heat away, and dropping the ambient temperature to compensate for the unknown heat source.

Part 3

Admiral Roeding, his hands and neck still a little red despite nannite-assisted healing sat stiffly in the wooden pew. The pews always upset him, representing an unparralled luxury aboard a warship. But they were as traditional as this equally wasteful chapel. And complaining about either would be... unwise, at best.

"Oh Lord, be with us through this trying time," the priest droned on in prayer, having finished his reading. "As You commanded us 'thou shalt not suffer a witch to live', we do. Ast Thou commanded us 'slay all who woship false gods' we do, so each might 'suffer the knowledge of their wickedness forever', as You have promised. We, Your faithful, beg and beseech You to aid us against the Satanic witchcraft of our enemies, that lay low our computers and weakens our fleet. We, Your faithful renew our vow to Your Holy Crusade, to bring the light of Your love to all worlds by slaying the others who stop us. We follow You lord, now and forever. Amen."

"Amen," the assembled crew replied, loudly if not fervently.

"Servants of the Church, there was one amongst you who had chosen to turn against Him who made us all. You knew nothing, you say. How is that possible -- that one who turned traitor should hide amongst you?" Everyone held still, wondering who would pay the price this time. A mechanical cross came down out of the ceiling. Roeding, as always, restrained himself from vomiting at the sight of that terrible device. It was harder this time than usual. "It is possible you who call yourselves faithful because you let it happen! It is possible because you let evil sink into your hearts and minds. It is possible because you fools violated the Second Commandment! "Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live" He commanded. Yet ye have done so!" Roeding, and the rest of the crew, held themselves utterly still. Even a flicker of the eyes could get you labeled as 'a fellow witch' of whoever had been condemned. The Proctors swarmed down the aisles, headed straight for the unfortunate -- and highly popular -- Petty Officer Truemen. She barely squeked as the Proctors yanked her out of her seat and forced her down the aisle to the dais. Stumbling, she sobbed as the mechanical arms lifted her into the air. Inverting her, it forcibly stretched her arms out to match the arms of the cross. Her hair hung downward, and her tears dripped down its length to the deck. Mechanical pistons drove themselves through her wrists and crossed ankles. She screamed in torment, even as the arms of the cross began to stretch backwards, forcing her arms int o unnatural positions. Screaming didn't hide the hideous sounds as her bones creaked and then snapped under the pressure, and several crew members swallowed involuntarily. One looked away, and the proctors swiftly dragged him up to face the same fate. Roeding stood still, even as the rumbling around him indicated potential mutiny. He couldn't act; he couldn't not act. Entering behind him, Admiral Svensen gasped in shock and horror.

"Halt!" he bellowed. "Cease immediately in the name of the first estate!"

The priest glared at the admiral. Admiral Svensen glared back. "Your will be done... ectraverri."

"Get her down. Now!" Admiral Svnsen barked.

Sneering, the priest let the woman drop, painfully, to the floor. Svensen's eyes flashed, promising a pain filled reunion at a later date. Tapping a nearby com panel, Svensen ordered a squad of medics to the chapel -- with orders to bring a detachment of reliable security officers. The congregation hissed at the disrespect the order implied for the priest, and leaned forward in anticipation of the next order. "Hit him again!" was the prominent emotion in the room.

Svensen waited for his reinforcements to arrive, then began his next assault. "Admiral Roeding, your quarters. Now!." he barked.



"What the hell did you think you we're doing?" Svensen exploded. "No, scratch that. You obviously weren’t bothering with something as unimportant as thought." Roeding took the bellowing stoically.

"Forgive me, ectraverri." Roeding stated, dropping to his knees as etiquette demanded before the astonished Svenson.

"What kind of game do you think you're playing, Roeding?" Svensen demanded. "And we're military at the moment."

Roeding leapt to attention, then snapped a salute. "I'm not playing any games, sir. I belong to the second estate."

"Merciful Lord in Heaven preserve us." Svensen whispered, revealing his highly heretical beliefs.