Re: OT: Hell is For Heroes.
Sorry, folks, got kinda busy with other projects there, but I've still being finding a bit of time for the odd paragraph now and then. So, now that I've got something substantial done, here it is. First though, a little history lesson. It's not relavant to the following, but it will be very important later on, so I'm posting it now.
The Terran Imperium's history is made up of a series of Dynasties, each representing a significant period of time in the Empire's evolution.
The First Dynasty began with the unification of Earth and her in-system colonies and the discovery of interstellar travel. The First Dynasty lasted slightly over 15,000 years and was marked mostly by exploration, rapid technological advancement, the establishment of peaceful relations with other races, and only a few minor wars.
The Second Dynasty lasted about 10,000 years and represented the Empire at the very height of her power. To give you an idea, think of the power you wield in SE4 when you've researched the entire tech tree, control 99% of the galaxy's star systems and have colonized all the worlds within those systems. Now, multiply that by 100 and the Second Dynasty could have still whupped your behind with a single squadron of their dreadnoughts. Unfortunately, 9,000 years into the Second Dynasty, they ran into a race that was nearly as powerful as them, just as aggressive, and spoiling for a good fight. So began the Thousand Years War in which a sizable number of the Empire's worlds were wiped from existance, and the end of which saw both the genocide of the Imperium's enemy, and the end of the Second Dynasty.
This story is set about 5,000 years into the Third Dynasty. For the last 5,000 years, other races, and indeed other factions within the Imperium itself have being preying upon it, stripping it of resources, technology, even entire worlds. But the Imperium has just succefully fought back an invasion by the Taurans and managed to unite humanity's scattered worlds, though in terms of size the Imperium is only about 15% of the Second Dynasty's, and technologically it is several thousand years behind.
So now that you know, here's the next installment:
“Unscheduled tachyon spike at gate seven, Admiral,” one of the sensor techs reported calmly. “I'd put it at heavy frigate or destroyer class, sir.”
Admiral McArthur rose and walked slowly over the tech's station, using the time to work enough saliva into his mouth for him to speak. “Open a channel once they've made transit,” he said, hoping his voice didn't sound as rough as it felt.
“Transit confirmed, receiving IFF codes now. Sir,” the tech said as McArthur began to turn away. “You may be interested to see this.”
The admiral turned back and stared at the readouts on the tech's screen. ITS Defiant. McArthur crooked an eyebrow. So the Defiant was an Independent Traders Ship now? Interesting.
“Sir, the Defiant is hailing us,” reported the comms officer. McArthur's eyebrow raised itself a bit further. For a ship to hail a station was highly unorthodox, established protocol stating that any vessel was to hold position after making transit and wait for the local command station to challenge them. But not only was the Defiant hailing them, but a quick glance at the tactical plot showed that she'd pulled away from the jump gate and was blazing towards McArthur's station as fast as her engines would carry her. And the only time any ship did that was when something very, very bad had happened.
“Open the channel,” he ordered. “Full aud-vid.”
One of the communications screens flickered to life and the image of a man in rumpled, stained clothing who clearly hadn't indulged in basic personal hygiene in some time appeared before them. Upon seeing McArthur, the young man's face split into a broad grin.
“Admiral, sir, howya?” he said with a jaunty salute. “Don't suppose you have any Guinness?”
“Commander O'Shea,” McArthur replied, trying to repress a smile. “What's the bad news?”
“It's just O'Shea now, sir,” came the reply. “But that's the good news. Bad news is the Narf System has gone and blown itself up.”
It took a moment for McArthur to digest what he was hearing. “What?” he asked slowly. “Are you sure? Have you double-checked your instruments.”
Kaelan sighed irritably. “Why does everyone keep asking me that. I'm bloody sure and there's nothing wrong with my bloody instruments. You can check 'em yourself if you want.”
“Very well. You're clear to dock in bay one-four-seven. I'll arrange for some quarters for you while you're aboard. I hate to inconvenience you, but our tech boys are going to want to go over your ship with a fine tooth comb. It could be a few days.”
Kaelan chewed the inside of his mouth thoughtfully. “Well,” he said slowly. “You still allow fairer sex to serve aboard stations, no?”
McArthur cleared his throat uncomfortably and replied, “That much hasn't changed since you were with us.”
“And do you have any Guinness?”
“I believe so.”
Kaelan settled back in his chair contentedly. “Grand,” he smiled.
In the star system known as Fyron's Star, there orbits a planet known as Zellund, and on the planet's northern continent there is a city known as Portent, and in the city of Portent there is a district known as Keatchem, and in the district of Keatchem, there is a building that is not known by any name at all. Inside the nameless building, a group of nameless individuals sat around a marble table, which unknown to any of them, was named Ted.
The man at the head of the table spoke softly, his voice quiet but dangerous. “Agent Fourteen, what do you have to report.”
“Operation Severance has run into some... minor difficulties,” Agent Fourteen replied nervously. “Our transport was attacked and destroyed, along with those who attacked her.”
“And her cargo?” asked the man known as Agent One.
“Missing,” Agent Fourteen replied. “We received confirmation that it was jettisoned before the ship was destroyed, but it's current whereabouts are unknown. Ships have been dispatched to the area, and I'm waiting to hear back from them.”
“Wait until never-time,” Agent Twelve, the being sitting across from him spoke. “Ships were ours-that-are-not-ours and will be returning never. Destroyed.”
“Destroyed?” Agent Fourteen exclaimed. “By what?”
“The bringers of life brought death,” was the reply.
It took a few moments for human minds to translate the alien thought. Agent One realized it first. “Nova,” he whispered.
“Nova upon nova upon nova,” said Agent Twelve. “Destruction total.”
“But how?” wondered Agent Fourteen. “To cause a trinary star system to go supernova...”
“The how, the why and the who will be up to Agent Twelve to determine,” Agent One informed him. “Yours will be to find that cargo and ensure that it is disposed of safely. Understood?”
Agent Fourteen nodded gratefully. Failure within the organization was seldom tolerated. He began to rise from his chair but Agent One's voice froze him half way up.
“Wait.” Agent One amused himself briefly by watching to see how long Agent Fourteen could hold himself suspended above his chair before sliding a data pad down the table. “This may prove useful to you. Now go, and if you fail, well, Agent Fifteen is long overdue for promotion.”
Agent Fourteen hurried out of the room, trying not to notice Agent Fifteen grinning dryly at him from across the room.
The worlds at the furthest reaches of the Terran Imperium are generally referred to as the Outworlds, and are considered to be the limit to humankind's colonization of the galaxy. However, beyond these worlds are the Fringe Worlds, planets colonized not by the Imperial Bureau of Colonization, but by intrepid individuals seeking to forge their own destiny outside the constraints of Imperial law. There have always been Fringe Worlds, for thousands upon thousands of years, as the Empire continually expanded, absorbing the Fringers into the Imperium, often peacefully, sometimes at gunpoint, and as the Empire expanded, those seeking to live outside it were forced to move further and further away. Current IBC estimates state that the known Fringe Worlds will not be added to the Empire for fifty to one hundred years. This fact gave very little comfort to Captain Yolanda Powell. In fact, she mused as her destroyer squadron executed a tight turn, it would be really damn nice to have an Imperial Superdreadnought or two around right now. Actually, she thought as her ship shuddered under the firepower of their attacker, three would be nice. Three Imperial Superdreadnoughts. Was that really too much to ask?
“Sir!” her chief weapons officer called from across the smoky bridge. “Don't ask how but Engineering's got missile tube one operational.
“Well don't just sit there!” Powell shouted back. “Fire!”
The weapons officer relayed the message to missile control and a moment later the tiny destroyer lurched as a massive capitol-ship missile blasted it's way into space. Traveling at incredible speed, the missile sneaked through a gap in it's target's shields, slammed through a hole in it's armour and detonated right next to a heavy cruiser's reactor. There was a bright flash of light, and a split second later, the pirate cruiser was ripped apart in a cloud of nuclear fire.
“Yeah!” shouted one of the officers in missile control. “Choke on that, you bastards!”
Powell grinned. She shouldn't have heard that, but there shouldn't have been a large hole in the floor next to her chair either. “Nice work, everybody,” she said, deciding that if she shouldn't have heard it, then she hadn't heard it. “I think it'll be a while before the Scraghoppers give us any trouble. Lieutenant Liu, set a course for home, I think we've all earned a long bout of R&R.”
“Course laid in, sir,” reported the helmsman. “ETA is-”
“Sir!” interrupted Ensign Jones, who was filling in for their injured sensor tech. “Tachyon spike at twenty three point seven mark eighteen point nine, range fifteen thousand.”
“Size?” inquired Powell.
“It's- Holy Mother....”
“Ensign!” Powell barked.
“It's massive sir, completely off the scale. I can't get any sort of accurate reading, it's overloading the sensors.”
“Main viewer!” ordered Powell. The main view screen came alive just in time for the bridge crew to see an impossibly large section of space rip apart and something very big made transit from null-space into normal space.
There was a long moment of silence before Powell managed to find words suitable for the occasion. “Anybody mind telling me, what the hell is that?”
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Suction feet are not to be trifled with!
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