nUF Origins: S1 - Episode 8 - "Death Count"

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Tomyris
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Joined: Sun Apr 01, 2018 10:21 pm

Re: nUF Origins: S1 - Episode 4 - "The Border Patrol"

Post by Tomyris »

Act 4




As they raced toward the anticipated location of their ambush, the Heermann, on schedule, with the Klingon ships in loose formation around her, made a final adjustment to her course. Then, at Goodenough’s order, they proceeded to cloak. With comms silent, the final course correction to keep them together and on track would have to be sufficient to put them all in the right place at the right time, able to properly engage their target.

A few minutes Abebech came up onto the bridge, drinking from a mug of coffee. The Heermann’s commander was as calm as she could ever be as she went to half-sit and half-lean against one of the bridge railings, regarding the bridge crew sharply. For a moment, behind those sunglasses, she said nothing, and just regarded her crew.

Ca’elia glanced at the repeater at her station occasionally, trying to keep her own situational awareness current.

“Officers of the Heermann,” Abebech started softly, “I need you to be ready to act with absolute decision. Any failure will potentially lead to the loss of the slaves. The Orions are known to eliminate ‘cargo’ to hide the evidence, and furthermore there is the risk that the ill-ordered militia we are fighting with would accidentally destroy the ship while trying to cripple it. The Klingon regulars would not, but these are house troops.”

She took a swig of her coffee. Sometimes, it seemed to be the only thing that Abebech consumed. “So, here we are. We need to have an action plan to open the shields of the enemy, destroy their warp drive, in short order. We have tactical guides for most of the usual Orion fast smugglers and pirate ships of the type used to run sapient cargo. We will let our friends begin the ambush--and then we must finish it with a single blow. We need to ignore the rush at the start of the battle, and then decloak and put everything into weapons for a single precise blow. This will require careful coordination of helm and weapons.”

Abebech used her omnitool to bring a Wanderer-class blockade runner up. With weapons pods amidship and two massive warp drives, the ship looked like a sleek, fast compromise between classical Klingon and Federation design methodologies, 195 meters long, 66 meters wide and 19 meters high. “Two twin phaser emitters, two twin photon torpedo launchers. 9,000 tons of cargo and up to 1,800 slaves. Crew of 102. The premier Orion ship. Warp Factor Eight maximum cruise, more for short duration. Do we know this is what they’re using? No, but it’s what we need to prepare our battle-plan against.”

“We likely manoeuvre better, Captain, but the weapons pods, is that armament the base, or what our target has…?” Ca’elia asked from her station, eyes expressively pensive.

“It is what our target should have, L’tenant. Each pod with two phasers and two photon torpedo tubes, L’tenant. This means we must bear in mind their firing arcs when targeting them. What is the best angle to take them from, in your assessment, guns?”

Abdulmajid shrugged. “Ahh, Captain, certainly one of the aft quarters, where their warp drives mask their firing arcs and yet still allow us to fire upon our target, of course the warp drives.”

“That would also, however, keep us from directly targeting their weapons. How can we fix that to make sure that they don’t induce the Klingons into destroying them?”

“Aft ventral, ma’am, it keeps us out of the forward arcs and gives us both our primary targets, though we would not be able to strike the bridge as a result. Hmm. Directly above, then! We could hit all three primary targets!”

“It does however mean that the enemy can concentrate all of his weapons against us,” Abebech mused.

“Not quite,” Goodenough shook his head. “Captain, the turning radius of an accelerating photon torpedo is not small. If we decloak close enough in, they can only engage us with phasers, not torpedoes.”

“I can get us inside that arc, ma’am.” Ca’elia’s confidence was resolute.

“Then that’s our plan.” Abebech looked sharply at the helmswoman for a moment, and then smiled. “That you well. All right, it’ll be another two hours. Stand ready, and don’t let yourselves get bored.”






Onboard the freighter, Arterus was getting Viinerine from the replicator, setting the dish down on the table, when Fei’nur came in. He stood up again. “Colonel. Getting dinner yourself, Ma’am?”

“Remember, freighter crew.” came from her as she went to the replicator, tapping in a code and moving to sit with a mixture of unidentified meats-on-a-stick. “But I am, Lieutenant.”

“I remember, but if they’re recording inside of our mess, Colonel, we surely have more problems than some silence can help us with.”

“Heh, a true enough statement.” She moved to sit, pulling out her pad and tapping a text up upon it. “All well with the ship, then, no further messages from your cousin?”

“No, she hasn’t gotten anything else out,” Arterus answered, a bit nervously. “I wish I could hurry us along faster, but I know it is not possible. Still, our bond--and she is my rightful Empress. I could only die for her, and that would not be enough. I have a feeling that though you do not know Mnhei’sahe, though, you understand that, and its principles, well enough.”

“If the Imperium had and followed such a concept, we would be a great power.” She shrugged, and turned back to her pad. “We will make it soon enough, and we will rescue her, no matter how many I must kill along the way. I have my own rightful Woman-Emperor.”

“You do, Colonel? I did not know…. As much as I feel humbled that you think the Ruling Passion of the Rihannsu might have let you stand against the humans in your own universe. Many a Rihannsu would think so as well, but I was trying to avoid being so presumptuous.”

“We lacked a unifying force, a concept to make venal men act towards the greater good. The Supreme Warmaster tried, his student tried as well, and they could get the front to support them, but others feared and envied, and stabbed them in the back.”

“We have had such venality ourselves, many times. My family only created a true Imperial throne upon the Empty Chair because of it. We lost our throne because of it. But, I admit, though it pains me so, we have an Empire now, and you do not. The humans and their ‘federation’ certainly tried very hard to remove it from us, and in the end, had to abandon their effort.”

“We did ill things, though we would have drowned the stars in blood to survive. At the end, it was only to survive free that we were fighting. We live, however, and that must be made sufficient.” It was a quite intellectual statement which reminded Arterus of the hidden depths of the Last Spectre.

“The Rihannsu, The Declared, fled Vulcan with only a few ships, to hold to our traditions and customs. Our Empire was built by those who fled their home. Perhaps, in parts, we may have much in common, Colonel. Battlemaster.”

“You merely escaped soon enough to be able to rebuild before foes found you. The Dilgar have no such luck.”

“You will always have a friend in me, Colonel, for this day, and for the moral spirit of knowing that we might have walked the same road you did. Yet, I am Rihannsu, and long-lived. With some luck and help from the Elements, I will still be here in a hundred and seventy years. I have a feeling that I will yet see great and proud Dilgar fleets, before my eyes close and my name is given to the memory of the undying Stars.”

“Well, one can hope. Even so, that does… well, we shall see.” She had started to say something, then decided it did not have to be said, not yet. “Lieutenant.” Her plate had been demolished, and she moved to place it in the recycler. “We will be there soon enough.”

"Live fast, fly high, fight hard, die well, Colonel.” He rose, as well.

“I have no need to do the first two, and I hope the fourth waits a while yet.” She gave a small, closed-lip smile back, with a sharp nod.

“It is an old benediction of the fleet, Colonel,” Arterus offered softly. “Mnhei’sahe to you.” He stepped out for his bunk. Not much longer, indeed.






The Heermann was at stations, and most of the crew was too nervous to do anything else. They had reached their position and were standing by under cloak, with six Klingon Birds-of-Prey presumably standing off nearby. There might be eighteen hundred slaves on the ship they were waiting for--or none at all. Either way, they would send a message by taking it.

Under law, Abebech should decloak, declare that she had evidence the enemy was slaving, and demand them to heave-to and submit to inspection. She had no intention of doing that in the slightest. The Klingons were going to handle that part for her. And if they broke the rules, well… They were her allies, and she would act to protect them anyway. Enforcing the rules on Klingon houses was not her business.

“Captain, vessel detected,” Goodenough’s voice snapped across the bridge. “Approaching on the expected vector, Warp Six.”

“Helm, try to get us a bit above their projected vector.” They were the bottom of the bag, the tail of a reverse-V strung out through open space. Abebech knew there was no chance to be exact with the uncertainties involved in when they would drop out of warp under warp strafing attack from the Klingons.

“Trying to get us above their projected vector, aye aye, Captain.” Ca’elia called out, hands dancing over the helm console.

Goodenough watched intently for the first sign of it, straining at the sensor outputs. The computer delivered the result.... “Captain! Decloaking signatures…”

“Stand by to transfer power to weapons!” Abebech raised a gloved hand.

Abel’s disembodied voice came from engineering. “All power ready for weapons banks… Standing by.”

The group of six Klingon Birds of Prey collectively outmatched the Wanderer already as they decloaked in front of it. The Orion suddenly found itself moving into a trap at Warp Six, and violently de-accelerated as a swarm of six photon torpedoes converged on it. The Klingons had not even provided warning.

Abebech politely grimaced. If there wasn’t an evidence of a slave trade onboard, then there would be a considerable number of questions asked by OIG, even though this was very much the decision of the Klingons, since running silent they had had no communications and no prospect of them. She watched silently as the torpedoes inexorably spun toward their target and slammed in a slew of staggered impacts into the Orion and her shields began to collapse.

They had agreed to attack the ship, there was no worrying about it. She brought her hand down. “Transfer power to weapons, Helm, finalise position! Weapons, stand by to fire…”

The Heermann followed the Klingons into wavering into view, ‘tipping’ down from above. “Guns, pitching in two… one… now!” Helm called out across the bridge to her compatriot who would have to be ready for the attitude shift.

Guns finished locking on, and with the usual muttered invocation to Allah, Abdulmajid opened fire as the Heermann finished appearing. The battle was sudden, sharp, and over in moments. The forward batteries stitched through one of the warp drives after the first torpedoes had battered down the shields.

As they did, a second burst of fire was directed against the weapons pods. The guns of the Wanderer-class ship were still firing on the Klingons. The pulse of light from the Heermann put a quick end to half of that fire, a beam striking a Bird of Prey cutting off in mid-charge as one of the pods was squarely struck. Stitched with fire from end to end and wreathed in explosions and plasma, it was left crumpled and black.

“Good shooting, Lieutenant Mehmet, keep it up!”

The Orion ship shifted fire to the Heermann, phasers lashing out but torpedoes, thanks to Ca’elia’s sharp manoeuvring, unable to bear upon her tormenter. With shields still down from the total concentration of energy to weapons after decloaking, the Heermann lurched, hard, even from the twin phaser hits on her armour.

“Keep firing!” Abebech ordered, ignoring the damage reports, there was no time for them yet. “Shields up!”

The Heermann’s main battery lashed out again, and the second pod fell silent as it too was wreathed in plasma, the Wanderer type ship tumbling from several more Klingon torpedo hits. Ca’elia then completed a leisurely sweep around, a second lashing by the Orion phasers having been averted.

Abebech looked at her omnitool. “All over in three minutes. Goodenough, have you told the Klingons to prepare boarding parties?”

“Yes, Captain. Commander Klarak confirms that they are preparing to beam aboard.”

“You have the bridge, Commander Goodenough. L’tenant Ca’elia, with me, please. I don’t trust Klingons with liberated slaves.”

There was a momentary flash of surprise from the young Dilgar woman, before she jumped to her feet. “Yes ma’am!” She was already grabbing her service pistol and belt from where she stashed them by her station in action.

“Very good. Right this way…” She worked on her omnitool as she rose. “Lieutenant Veeringen, ship status?”

“No critical systems hit, Captain! Just a few good chunks from the armour.”

Visibly excited, the helmswoman fell in beside her both intimidating and inspiring Captain, beaming internally at having been chosen for a boarding action personally.

“Normally I’d never do this, but the Heermann only has a very small detachment on it,” Abebech explained, “In which case, I am really the least likely to come to harm aboard--and you the second.”

Corporal Gar’akh with his squad of Marines and two Security personnel, the entire complement, led by PO Annette Jervis, were formed up and waiting for them.

She would finish strapping on light body armour picked up at the arms locker on the way, a rifle slung over her shoulder, knowing time was very short indeed, before giving her “Ready, Captain!”

“Transporter Chief, beam us over!” Privately, of course, Abebech was quite willing to make sure they found their evidence. Anyone with a large ship of the Wanderer type was involved in the slave trade. But rationally, and unfortunately, it was very unlikely there would be a need.

The good news was that it had unfolded exactly as she had wished. No battle, just an execution. Short, boring, and predictable. The more often that happened, the more she was reassured that she wasn’t losing her touch.






The world of Terramka was one of the countless small worlds of the Triangle, the origin for the name was uncertain, the history murky. Settled by hardy Rihannsu farmers of ch’Havran stock, they were isolated from the Empire, and had liked it that way. They kept to their profession, and plied it honestly, trading food to other worlds of the Triangle. A few times the Empire had exerted sway over the world, but never permanently or long enough to change it.

It had many old cultural customs straight out of t’Rehu’s time. It was a natural place for Lial to have gone to ground. And now they had arrived, their freighter receiving a parking orbit and settling into it as if nothing was amiss. There was clearly just one bored ground station without much effort to establish a coordination or customs operation.

Arterus rose from his position at the conn. “Daria, how is the FEDC hookup coming?”

“Almost finished,” she answered, working with Corporal Tir’mar. The FEDC, or Field Expedient Detection Computer, was meant to hook up to standard civilian sensors. When it did, it would analyze the interference patterns in these sensors statistically, and based on information the user entered on the nature of the sensors and their specifications, the system would construction a simulation of the sensor output which was (with a high statistical probability) more accurate than the actual output from the sensor’s own processing software, turning interference into additional layers of detail.

Fei’nur leaned against a back wall, finding the lack of a command chair almost more normal for a freighter, given the few she had been on, looking nothing more than a very rough, roguish trader captain still. “You know what you are looking for.”

“I know the location of her farm, yes,” Arterus answered.

“Once you have a tactical picture, as much of one as we can get, I will be ready to beam down in five minutes.” Fei’nur pushed herself off the bulkhead.

“It’s producing data!” Daria reported. “Just another minute to home in on the location of the house and process the data there on the highest resolution that can be inferred from the ship’s sensor grid.”

“Well, not much longer, then,” Arterus answered. He stood rigidly poised, ready to go in spirit. “Colonel… What of the matter of uniforms?”

“None visible. Under civilian clothing, if one wishes, otherwise, insignia and arm-bands that may be put on if violence erupts. We are not seeking a full-scale fight, one may just find us.” Fei’nur was a very practical woman.

“Alright, Colonel.”

“Confirmed, Battlemaster!” Tir’mar saluted. “I will turn the troops out now, Ma’am.”

“Very well. I shall meet you in the transporter room. Our intention is first to rescue, second to gain intelligence, third escape, fourth, damage those who mean Alliance interests harm. Plan accordingly.”

“Understood,” Arterus affirmed.

“Colonel, we’ve got an issue,” Daria squinted at the portable holo-projector of the FEDC. “Looks there might have been energy weapons signatures in the area.”

Arterus’ face lost all expression.

“Recent?” Fei’nur had paused, her face growing still. “Lieutenant, did she have protection, or was she relying on her own weapons?”

“She was by herself, Colonel,” Arterus answered stiffly. “Let us go quickly, for I must see through one matter or another.”






Materialising on the Orion ship, Abebech moved quickly with Ca’elia at her side and the squad moving along behind her and spreading out into fire teams to cover as much ground as possible. In the end, all they did was start zip-tying Orions as they surrendered.

The Syndicate had no problems with surrendering, as long as persons doing so did not reveal any secrets of the Syndicate or cut deals with prosecution. They would guarantee cushy jobs on release and support of families in return, which was part of what made the Syndicate so hard to crack and a multi-generational threat.

In this case, it was a relief from the moment of the first surrender, because it meant they were more likely to find slaves aboard. A simple warlord transiting high value cargoes in ships would have certainly had a crew more willing to fight than the slavers, not less. As Abebech personally snapped some zip-ties into place, she switched to Dilgar to speak with Ca’elia. “Our chances of finding slaves in the hold increase. Orions are honourable to fight, unless in the Syndicate. There they know their families will be well treated; they will surrender in preference to death, but they will never give up the Syndicate’s secrets.”

“Unless the Mha’dorn do the asking, ma’am.” Ca’elia replied, her weapon in hand as she kept watch over her Captain, trying to keep in front of her when she advanced into the ship.

“You are right,” Abebech agreed conversationally. “Also, I could. Could you scout ahead, please?”

The Orion prisoner looked up in some concern. There was something in Abebech’s tone, too casual for the circumstance by far, carrying through even an alien tongue.

“Of course, ma’am.” Ca’elia crouched low, and moved forward, as quiet as she could be in duty boots as she peeked around the corner and moved further into the ship towards the cargo bays.

Ca’elia met up with the Klingons. One of them jerked up from where he had stood, repeatedly kicking an Orion down on the ground. “This cur won’t fight, Alliancer,” he remarked, spitting on the man in contempt. “They are slavers, the real Orion soldiers at least know how to fight!”

“Then it is not worth the effort to kill him. We will have someone to interrogate him later.” Her eyes were relatively pitiless. Slavers were an object of hatred of any good naval - or police - officer.

“Klingons do not bother with interrogations…”

“Then I will handle it.” Abebech caught up, as composed as ever. She was still tugging a glove back into place, though. “Thank you, Warrior, do carry on securing more Orions in your very efficient manner. Two decks down, L’tenant. Concentrate the squads there, we have the ship. You’ll want to take corridor L5R2, the other ones have been sealed.”

“Yes, Captain!” Ca’elia stiffened, and moved off to gather more members of the boarding parties to press into the cargo bays. As she stormed along with a group of Klingons and Marines, bypassing resistance and rushing their way into the bays. The time taken to gather the squads meant Abebech had caught up with her again.

They were just in time to see a massive, muscular Green Orion shoving a lithe, light human woman still in chains and tattered club dancing garments into a featureless box. He looked up with shock at their arrival, barking a command. Another Orion from further down the corridor leveled a disruptor as the first reached to throw a lever on the side of the box.

It was the first time anyone from the crew of the Heermann, let alone the Huáscar, had seen Abebech Imra actively using telepathy. The first Orion’s eyes involuntarily went wide as the hand froze, and then withdrew from the lever.

Ca’elia’s rifle spat fire, as she snapped stun fire off at the second one with the disruptor. “Forward Marines, quickly! They are trying to disintegrate the slaves!” Even as she said it, she was bounding ahead, darting like a bolt of lightning from cover to cover.

The man who had been reaching for the lever dropped to the floor and began to uncontrollably twitch. Then he stopped. Commander Imra stepped over to the console, driving a heel into his body and then rifling through his pockets for a particular chit she had already identified. She inserted that, and then raised his hand. Quick work with a vibro-dagger located in one boot severed a hand and she pressed it against the console.

Ahead of them, the remaining Orions fell back before the precipitous attack. They abandoned forcing the slaves into the disintegration chambers and turned their total attention to Ca’elia, the Marines and the Klingons. What they weren’t prepared for was the rolling series of flash-bangs which led the way with Ca’elia close enough to be rattled by them herself, but carrying on like a dancer from cover to cover as she dropped Orion after Orion.

Accessing the system with the chit she had identified and the fingerprints of the dead Orion, Abebech opened the doors to the disintegration chambers and deactivated the power to them, engaging the maintenance safety locks instead. Then she grabbed the handle on the wall which was the manual control to make sure they were not accidentally activated, and while nobody was looking, coolly ripped the tritanium arm from its brace while set in the off position.

With a sudden stop, leaving her almost confused, Ca’elia came up short at the end bulkhead to the cargo bays, breathing hard as she looked back. How have I gotten so far head…? Everything before that felt so much like a blur, as she called out; “Sweep back, secure the prisoners, get a seal on this hatch!”

“You heard the Lieutenant, move it!” Gar’akh repeated. The Dilgar and human marines spread out as the Klingons finished off their kills with their blades.

Dusting off her gloves, Abebech turned and looked down the corridor lined with slave pens. She gave a sharp, crisp nod to Ca’elia from a distance. “Smart work, L’tenant!”

“Ma’am! I intend to get the medics in and start getting them somewhere more psychologically safe!”

“Do it. Get Doctor Foru and all of the medical staff onboard to start processing them.”

The slaves were too brutalised to fight back. Barely realised they had been freed. Dazed, collared. But with a kind of clinical detachment, Abebech was quite well aware the Green Orion that she had killed and partially dismembered also had a collar; they were much better treated than common slaves, but many of the syndicate’s slave overseers were themselves slaves. Such was the way of the multiverse.

It was a way Lieutenant Ca’elia still had to learn, but for now, she had made some small shift of the cosmic scales, and that little blow against the fate Abebech was so experienced with would have to do. The woman stepped from line to line with a forced welcoming expression on her face, taking pictures to document for evidence against the living crewers as she communicated via omnitool to coordinate the beam-ins.

And then Abebech delivered a nice bowl square at her psyche, a metaphorical ball she hadn’t been expecting at all. “Once the medical staff is aboard and this area is secure, L'tenant, I want you to assemble your prize crew.”

Green eyes widened, first in surprise, then in utter, overwhelming joy. “Yes, Captain, I shall at once! Thank you ma’am!”






Beaming down to the site of the farm, Arterus was confronted by the sight of a burning barn. A small group of figures were clustered around the small estate house, and one was kneeling over another, stretched upon the ground. Then he didn’t see much more, as Daria knocked him into the ground, and just in time. The sizzling flash of a crew-served disruptor cannon tore through the air where he had been standing as the support weapon crew covering the team at the house opened fire.

Arterus grunted and dragged his rifle forward into the ready while remaining prone. “Thank you, Daria!”

“Just doing my job! Merciful Goddess, they aren’t messing around.” She edged forward on her belly, waving to the fire-team behind her, the beam cutting above them again and again. The Tal Shiar near the house had now gone prone behind cover themselves.

Then the second fire-team hit the disruptor cannon from the flank. Fei’nur had taken no chances and had made sure that the teams were beamed into separate groups providing interlocking cover for their landing positions. They might not be in uniform and this might technically be illegal (of course, so were the Tal Shiar), but the Tal Shiar wouldn’t care and they would know they were fighting professionals.

The air was rent with the tearing of disruptor beams and the chatter of the Alliance pulse rifles. A complicated squad engagement had evolved within seconds thanks to transporter technology. Daria knew that as long as that disruptor was in action they wouldn’t be working their way closer to the house. So she forged ahead, leading Arterus and the fireteam toward the cannon, so that both parts of the squad were converging on it.

This left the Tal Shiar by the house free to manoeuvre, but they had either wounded or a prisoner and so only a small group set out. In response, each time one of the Alliance marines stopped from Daria’s group, they sprayed suppressing fire on the Tal Shiar by the house to slow them down and keep them low. Taking them out right now didn’t matter, just keeping them from getting close enough to reinforce the fight around the disruptor.

“Elements, we’re really in it now!” Arterus gritted. He’d been through the basic ground combat training like all Alliance officers, but he wasn’t a tactical specialist like Daria who was making hand-signs and with quick barked orders was managing to coordinate both fireteams despite what was clearly jamming from the Tal Shiar.

“Oh, come on!” Daria laughed. “They could always have a mortar, too!” She spat a clod of dirt out of her mouth that had worked its way in when she had hit the deck a second time after rising to give signals. “We’ve got ‘em, unless reinforcements show up. It’ll just take another ten minutes. But Fei’nur…”

She trailed off. As it was, nobody had even died or been (probably) wounded in this little engagement, which wasn’t unusual, at all. Sometimes, her words seemed cursed, as they did now, for her long ears were letting her hear the whining noise of anti-gravs, and they warned her that their tactical situation was about to change, and not at all in the way she’d expected. “Goddess, we need Fei’nur.”

The source of the whine swung into view down a dusty dirt drive up to the house. It was a local vehicle, of course, a farm ute, a utility hover-vehicle for carrying cargo and people and supplying power to a winch and hoist and lights, the Tal Shiar would never bring anything identifiable with them on an operation like this. But Daria could see how the attachment points for barrels and panels of scrap steel were too cute by half, the cages for raising fowl in were cleverly pinned to the sides. It might be look like an overloaded farm hauler, but it had been carefully uparmoured as a technical using local supplies, by a professional military engineer experienced at doing such things. Of course, now that there was another figure crewing a disruptor in the bed, there was no doubt at all.

A green beam cut across the space of Daria’s head and again a tingling warming made her drop low and flat. We need to find some kind of depression to work our way through, they can almost depress to hit us on the ground! The scream and chatter of weapons fire seemed to come from every direction.

Through the grass, she could only see in fragments what happened next. The hover ute rolled up to the farm and a group of Tal Shiar rushed for it to board. As they did, a demolition charge appeared from nowhere and went tumbling through the air to land inside the cab of the Ute with its open door. A moment later a tremendous white-hot flash seared at her eyes and then the explosion followed.

They were trained to let no advantage no matter how sudden or unexpected go to waste. The Corporal leading the fire team that had the left flank of the disruptor’s position lunged up and hurled a Dilgar stick grenade into the disruptor cannon’s position. Another flash and resounding crack split the clear blue sky and then the team of Dilgar and Humans were up and lunging with their rifles at the ready, charging the distance behind a follow-up curtain of four more grenades crashing down, the fragments of their own explosions flecking off the armour worn under their civilian clothes.

As they cleared the little earthen parapet, there was no time to stop and communicate. The first of the troopers, the Dilgar corporal Tir’mar, levelled his rifle and held the trigger as a continuous stream of charges swept the Tal Shiar knocked about in the dirt of the position. A moment later nothing was moving.

Daria led her troop up and down, swinging through the grass at a dead run. By the house, bodies toppled with blood flying as an invisible blade sliced through veins and arteries and severed hands from arms, hard-by to the burning wreck of the Ute. One of the remaining Tal Shiar, throwing caution for her allies to the wind, raised a disruptor on wide beam, full-charge, at the invisible figure’s rough position.

The Agent never caught a chance to fire; there was a single, even to a Dorei barely audible, dull flat crack from the woods down by the creek. The Tal Shiar woman toppled and Fei’nur finished the remainder of their opposition.

Daria raised her hand in a universal stop gesture as one of the Dilgar started to raise a rifle to the figure that emerged from the woods with an old-style wooden stock, scoped hunting piece, the bulged graymetal tank at the back showing that it was pneumatic. A tiny tritanium tank could store plenty of air.

There was a profound silence over the little battlefield. Only the roaring of the barn fire interrupted it, and that guaranteed that any lesser noise like the moaning of the wounded, if there were any, was unheard. They had fought for easily ten or fifteen minutes without any result, and then in the space of a minute the entire thing had been decided. That was battle, farcical and cautious in one turn and a bloodthirsty feast of death in another, and then, silence. Eternities for tension, and brief moments for the killing, often absolutely lopsided when decided.

The figure that had come out of the wooded verge of the creek was now close enough to be made out. She wore farmer’s clothes and a rifle slung confidently over the shoulder, with a long wave of dark hair loosely pulled back.

Arterus let out a cry of pure joy and relief, though he did not start down the hill or otherwise break ranks.

Lial t’Rllaillieu raised her hand in a solemn salute and spoke in Rihan. “Hail, cousin! The Elements laugh with your timing, who is your fair-speckled friend of a foreign star?”

Arterus safed his rifle and slung it over a shoulder. “Lieutenant Daria Seldayiv, cousin, the Tactical officer of the Huáscar.

Daria was for a moment distracted by the fleeting remains of life in the wounded, before her head snapped around. “Your Highness. Arterus said he needed some help.”

“He did,” the Rihannsu heir agreed with a coy smile, “And I am thankful this help took the form of a squad of such crack shots. But you have a friend…”

“...It is secure now,” Fei’nur said, shimmering into existence near them.

“..With a personal cloaking device. May I have an introduction?”

“Battlemaster Fei’nur, an Aide-de-Camp to the Dilgar Warmaster,” Arterus offered.

“And your Marine Colonel,” Lial laughed, “I did read your letters. But I understand the desire not to link this overmuch to the Alliance. Shall we be going?”

“Cousin, what of your…”

“Let’s go, not enough time, we lack nothing,” she interrupted him gently.

Fei’nur nodded, looking pleased. “It is time to go. Lieutenant Seldayiv, Corporal Angusson and your fireteam, cover the rest of us.” She activated her omnitool as Daria paused, then waved her hand and moved away to create separation between the two groups.

“Seven to beam up.”
Tomyris
Posts: 69
Joined: Sun Apr 01, 2018 10:21 pm

Re: nUF Origins: S1 - Episode 4 - "The Border Patrol"

Post by Tomyris »

Act 5



Heermann returned ahead of the rest of the ships, alone. She decloaked in the outer system and broadcast her recognition codes. This of course generated some real excitement, though the ship appeared undamaged. Commander Imra moved quickly to squash it, contacting Zhen’var directly and immediately.

Captain Zhen’var fielded the message from her sea cabin. “Commander Imra. Report.”

“We found an Orion Wanderer-class ‘galleon’ type. The Klingons attacked without warning, so we followed to support our allies out of necessity. I arranged care in disabling the ship to avoid injuries to any innocents aboard. We found five hundred and sixty-two slaves on boarding, there were probably more who were disintegrated by the Orions to hide their crimes, but that will have to wait for the forensics.”

Zhen’var was straight up in her chair, eyes unblinking, expression rigid. “Where are the slaves and the Klingons, Commander?”

“Lieutenant Veeringen was able to repair her warp drive, so I placed L’tenant Ca’elia in command of a detached party with orders to bring her back, Ma’am. The Klingons are escorting with their slower warp drives. Since our main duty is defending this world, I hastened ahead to resume guard duties. The freed slaves are aboard the Wanderer, for want of any better ship for that many. We placed the captives, there are a total of eighty-two, in their own slave pens for security on transport and to eliminate the risk of a rising against the L’tenant by the former crew. Thirty-eight of the Orion’s crew were killed in the operation. We took four wounded, no fatalities. The Klingons didn’t report their casualties to me.”

“Very well, and thank you,” Zhen’var answered. She quickly brought Commander Krodak up on a split screen. “Commander, our combined forces were victorious. The Heermann supplied a prize crew for the Orion slaver and your squadron is intact and returning with her. Commander Imra just chose to race ahead in case we came under attack by the Nazi Reich, to see properly to the defence of Geisling.”

“Ah, as our best hopes!” Krodak roared. “Very good then, well fought, Commander Imra.” He clapped his hands together. “Captain Zhen’var, what of the prize, then?”

“Well, she is under one of my L’tenants.”

“But we provided the most ships for her capture.”

Zhen’var smiled toothily. “Well, here. We will meet face to face when she has arrived, and all the slaves are off of her and put safely ashore to Geisling, and then we will figure out her disposition.”

“Very well. I will trust your honour to keep the ship in the system until then. Qapla’!”

The second screen blinked off, and Abebech shook her head and the two exchanged a grin. “What exactly are you planning, Captain?”

“Oh, let me try to make it happen before I tell you, Commander.”





The little freighter returned to its home on Geisling without further trouble, though to avoid Geisling customs and biases regarding Rihannsu causing trouble for the Princess, she was beamed to the Huáscar first. Zhen’var greeted her personally in the transporter room.

“Captain Zhen’var,” the woman said. “Permission to come aboard?” She stood there, with her raven-dark hair now loose, her eyes sharp and thoughtful, her skin pale-to-olivine, wearing a farmer’s jean-jacket and an old set of pinstriped heavy riding trousers, with a blouse under the jacket that might have once been under the jacket of a Rihannsu uniform. She was medium-tall with a sharp look, making no pretence about her Vulcanoid ears.

Even dusty and with several days in the same clothes, dressed like a country farmer back home or one of those inhabiting countless of the remote agricultural planets of the Triangle, she was immensely regal.

“Permission granted,” Zhen’var answered with a sharp salute. “Your Majesty.”

“Highness, let us not pretend I have ever sat the throne,” Lial t’Rllaillieu answered. “You have my great affection for permitting my cousin to rescue me. I had hoped that would be my home for… If necessary, as long as I lived. But the Tal Shiar were not willing to permit me the peace and quiet.

“From what I understand of their reputation, they are nothing if not persistent, and a rightful title is the same, no matter who bears best claim to it.” The Dilgar woman replied, calm in the face of the rebuke. “It does not serve Alliance interests for that line to fail, in my opinion. “You have freedom of the ship, with the usual caveats.”

“Forgive me for being so blunt, Captain. I… A replicator ration would also be appreciated,” she offered. “I am not sure what I will do next, truth be told. I wanted to live with other Rihannsu to keep my spirit close to the people of my mother and father, the people I ought to rule. But it is clear I could bring to them only war and death with such a vanity.”

“There are some you should talk to, but before that… you have arrived just in time for an effort to give my crew some recreation from our operations tempo. I would be gratified if you would consent to come yourself.”

“Thank you, Captain. I am honoured.”






The next morning, the Orion prize arrived in the system. Showing the scars of her capture, she hove to after broadcasting recognition codes, and stood between Commander Krodak’s D-7 and the Huáscar in orbit.

Ca’elia commed the Huáscar to report her arrival. Elia was on the watch on the other side. “Go ahead, Leftenant.”

“Ma’am, Alliance vessel Far Star under prize crew, requesting permission to enter orbit!” The newness and excitement still had not faded. “My details are on subchannel.”

“Confirming standard orbit… Now. We are receiving subchannel,” Elia replied. “Leftenant, Geisling Central Starport transporters will be directly coordinating transport of the Liberated to hospitals and halfway houses in the capital which have reserved bed space for evaluations and caregiving. Please organise with them accordingly.”

“Understood, Commander! I will begin at once!”

“When the transports are complete, prepare the prize crew for transfer and bring the ship to standby. You will report aboard and give a full account of your independent command to Captain Zhen’var at that time.” Informally, Elia raised her hand in salute.

“Ma’am!” Ca’elia returned it reflexively, then blinked off the pickup before she could realise she’d done it.

Elia looked at the screen for a minute and smiled fondly. “That woman is going places…”







Fei’nur, Daria and Arterus were in the Mess after returning to the ship when Lial arrived. As the Captain’s guest she required permission, but Arterus rose to give it the moment he saw his cousin, and the Petty Officer in charge waved her in. She was wearing proper Rihannsu dress, practical breeches and broad-shouldered coat, for a lady of class relaxing for the evening in the company of others.

“Thank you for the kindness, officers,” she offered before moving to sit with her cousin.

“Oh, I could have let you in even if they didn’t wish it,” Arterus said with a flicker of a smile.

“Perhaps, but it wouldn’t have been wise,” she nodded to Fei’nur with a bit of an insouciant grin.

“I let the Navy defend the honour of their mess.” The colonel gave a nod of acknowledgement as flicker of amusement crossed her face, then she nonchalantly picked up another kebab.

“Well, I am a naval officer, though at the moment without a ship or a country,” Lial replied ruefully.

“One lack is easier to repair than the other, Your Majesty.” Fei’nur replied, after finishing her first bite. “Neither is impossible.”

“It’s so.” She drummed her fingers for a moment. “I’ve heard of a universe where mercenaries are in high demand, for piloting giant robots. Perhaps I should head there, though it grieves my heart to think a Rllaillieu should be selling her sword.”

“You are a naval officer. To sell your sword for venal reasons, as those people fight in their robot suits, that, if you will permit the presumption, does not seem to satisfy mnhei’sahe. Dilgar, when we were weak, had our officers sell their swords to the Centauri, to gain knowledge, wealth, what we needed to gain strength relative to others. We serve with the Alliance in our weakness now. Are we untrue to ourselves in so doing?”

“No, you are not, Battlemaster. You also seem to imply there’s something better for me. Or at least that I shouldn’t join such a company.”

“I do, and I think it would be unwise. It is a pity we cannot arrange you taking the Far Star.

“...The Far Star? Is that the Orion you took for slaving?” Lial’s eyes looked up. “A Wanderer is not a poor ship, properly handled. The repairs would be expensive. I would need a crew…”

“There are many Rihannsu on the surface of Geisling who, though the human government has reformed, still feel left out of its society,” Arterus offered to his cousin, his voice growing low and thoughtful. “You might find more, faster, than you expect.”

“I have had an idea, haven’t I?” Fei’nur blinked. “You would need to acquire title to the ship and a contract to allow repairs, if the crew can be found.”

“The Captain and Commander Krodak haven’t agreed to who gets the ship yet,” Daria remarked. “Fei’nur, do you want to tell the Captain about this idea…?”

“That I am suggesting she give up her prize money?” For a moment, Fei’nur had a flicker of horror on her face at the idea, though it faded. Zhen’var was not an old-school Dilgar captain. “I believe I should, but it will go better if she is more familiar with Her Majesty. She is very much one for personal touches, our captain.”

“Then I’ll ask for a meeting after this…” She squinted. “Was the translator broken? Steel beach party?”

“A human custom. Think of it as a gathering for the crew aboard some open space on ship. Steel replaces the sand of a party on the shoreline. There will also be loud music and the inanity of the lower deck.”

“Oh, but we’ll have to go.” She got a grin.

“For different reasons, yes. A bit yet, still. I am sure Lieutenant Ca’elia will keep a good watch over Far Star until then.”







A few days after the arrival of the Far Star at Geisling, with the security situation relaxed to Readiness Posture Delta, the Marine operations hangar deck had been radically transformed for a very special occasion. A large number of temporary partitions had been set up into changing rooms. A group of a dozen HESCO bastions had been set up. The modern kind, using ballistic ceramoplastics, were waterproof, and these were the largest size, making lovely deep-water splash pools.

There was an Xtreme Dancing holo-pad, and a band cuing up on a stage. A massive line of smokers, BBQ grills and frying pans on field kitchen hot plates had been set up along one wall, with assault transports used to delineate lines. A huge holoprojected movie was playing on the closed clamshell doors. A designated zero-G area had been provided, and a couple of rings for martial arts demonstrations. All uniform regulations had been abandoned within the space, and Chief Dugan’s ‘Temperance Squad’ of people who didn’t drink for cultural or religious reasons under Chief Héen was cuing up to serve the others beers, with a line… Presently about 300 long.

It was time for the Steel Beach Party.

Fei’nur could feel her future headache already gathering in the back of her head, as she saw the Captain, standing back and overseeing the affair. Someone had to be responsible, after all.

And then Nah’dur wandered up. She was wearing shorts and a massive T-shirt about five sizes too large which declared her to possess ‘CAT PRIDE’ in English, as well as massive superstar sunglasses. “FEI’NUR!” She waved over the budding cacophony of noise.

Oh gods… “Yes, Nah’dur…?” She kept one eye on the crowd, and the other on the young surgeon.

“...Do you want to get in the MEAT LINE with me? They’re barbequing, well, everything!” Nah’dur grinned brilliantly.

“You are far too exuberant…” Still, she moved to stand in the queue, head pivoting about to track the whole compartment.

Elia was standing with Zhen’var with this bemused grin on her face, watching it all. There were fairly large hordes of crewers in bathing suits or shorts, now carrying beers as the Temperance Squad was pushed to the limit in dispensing them. The band had struck up classical Earth rock. Several games of volleyball had started.

Elia watched for a moment and saw one of the teams was short. “..Do you mind if I take my leave, Captain?” Her civilian clothes were trim and athletic, but still up there with the Muslimahs in modesty, a habit of a telepath woman that could never leave her.

“No, go ahead Commander, I will be fine.” She smiled slightly and cast her gaze over out her crew. “They are settling down well enough.”

“It’s exactly what we needed!” Elia laughed and tipped a salute, before charging onto the matting for the volleyball court. She counted in with a raised glove, and then immediately lunged into action. Commander Saumarez was enormously physical as befit a crack batswoman in cricket, and she wasn’t bad at volleyball, either, making a perfect diving dig to knock the ball back into play and then lunging easily into the mix of the team that had needed help. She needed a warm-up anyway, the Cricket was going to start in another thirty minutes…

Zhen’var shook her head at the exuberance. It had been a very long while since she had been the same, now..

As she shook her head, around her, the tables were filling up with humans and Dilgar sitting together, eating BBQ together. Smoked fish, deep fried fish, deep fried birds, BBQ’d birds… Hamburgers and sausages galore. The Dilgar mostly had a kind of innocent wonder that they were getting such an amazing party on a warship while serving in the Navy, tucking in as they drank and the ice was broken.

Chief Dugan wandered up to her grinning, a massive pair of Ray-Bans concealing his eyes but the grin left no doubt of how pleased he was. A Chief’s intimidation factor meant he couldn’t exactly ‘let his hair down’ all the way… But instead of his uniform he was wearing a pair of blue jeans, a Stihl chainsaw branded baseball cap, and a threadbare service mechanic’s work shirt that declared he was a Certified ElecTrek Fuel Cell Tech. He was holding a Sam Adams Boston Lager bottle in one hand. “Looks like we’re knocking it out of the park, Captain.”

“Agreed, Chief. It is going very well, as long as it stays that way, we will have to make this a semi-regular feature of regular or sudden deployments.” She kept her tone professional - still always the poised Captain, even here.

“You got it, ma’am. Look, it’s about 50/50 on Dilgar and humans at every table. No clustering.” He was proud of that. The meat helped, so did the beer, but it was still happening. The conversations might in some cases be as awkward as hell, but they were conversations. The cover band had a Dilgar drummer using a Dilgar set to improvise the beat for the human singer’s valiant best attempt to pull off Sammy Hagar.

“I am not nearly drunk enough to think that sounds good, however…”

“Heh. You probably haven’t had anything yet, Ma’am,” he chuckled, and then glanced over, possibly in a bit of surprise, to see Anna Poniatowska using one of the rings to demonstrate traditional steppe sword-dancing.

“And things like that are why I will not. Carry on, Chief!” She’d use the excuse to move off, wanting all of her crew to enjoy themselves. This would be a hard enough deployment already.

And then there was quite the commotion. Humans and non-humans, people had been enjoying the HESCO Bastion pools. Jumping in, splashing around, using squirt guns, diving underwater and paddling around in the relatively small horizontal dimensions. But no Dilgar. Dilgar, generally, did not like intentionally getting wet.

Then a Dilgar woman with ashen silver-gray fur exploded out of the changing room area, dashing up to one of the Bastions and the temporary platform around it with a happy shout of delight. She promptly cannonballed into it, splashing the general area. Everyone was laughing.

Human guys were laughing and pointing. “That was awesome, look at how she ran, damn, she must love water!”

Dilgar, on the other hand, looked on in a mixture of awe and shock.

Lieutenant Ca’elia was laughing softly as she moved towards the Bastion with a far more sedate pace, a wrap around her swimsuit underneath. She grinned at her Captain as she passed. “My sister, Aur’ma, displays the usual love of an Islander for water.” Emerald eyes shone in challenge as she climbed up the platform set beside the pool and slipped in herself. “Gods, Aur’ma, how do you always get me into swimming!?”

“Because it’s fun, and you like boats anyway!” Aur’ma laughed. “Come on, sis. It’s deep, so we can dive!”

Smiling hugely, Ca’elia pushed her red hair back with a hand and dove under the surface, surfacing quick enough to launch herself back onto the side deck. It was settled; the Dilgar were in the HESCO ‘pools’ too...

Will came up to Zhen’var next. As the crew’s ‘dad’, he had put a lot of the behind the scenes effort into coordinating with Chief Dugan to organise the event. However, in honour of the festivities, he was wearing a ‘Hawaiian shirt’ someone had provided him along with his own pair of Ray-Bans. “Well, the good news is that Chief Héen doesn’t even require supervision, she’s keeping the Temperance Squad doling ‘em out by the book,” he noted softly. “Not like I really doubted that. She struck me as taking the job really seriously for personal reasons.”

“Cultural and personal both, I would say. You seem quite comfortable, Commander.” She herself was still wearing a uniform, even if it was the field rig, as comfortable as one could get while still within the regulations.

“Well, yeah. It’s an occasion I really haven’t known since…” He trailed off. Since the destruction of his homeworld, of course. In that, Will shared more with the Dilgar than other humans. “I might do some of that ‘field improvised lawn bowling’ later, but Elia’s going to kill at that, by all accounts.”

“Cricket? Or lawn bowling? Either way, yes, she rather will. I am one of the few on the ship that might be able to come remotely close, if I was younger.”

“Oh, Cricket is just hopeless, that’s really ‘Elia shows the crew she’s a pro’,” Will grinned. “I was talking about the lawn bowling.”

“Then I fall back on my ‘might if I were younger’, Commander.” The Captain smiled back, letting out a soft sigh. “Good enough.”

Over at one of the tables, Violeta was eating across from Lial t’Rllaillieu and Arterus. The two had assembled a reasonable approximation of a proper Rihannsu meal from the selection. Violeta wasn’t sure quite what to say; Sirians didn’t have Royalty.

“I confess, Lieutenant, that though I remembered my Grandaunt’s stories of the Federationers, I had never quite expected to see a sight like this, ever. I am also fascinated since the by and large calm dourness of the Dilgar in appreciating their food seems quite unlike the reputation of most felinoids here. Their Imperium was as a legend.”

“A dark legend, err, Your Highness,” Violeta answered. “This is the Captain’s way of getting the crew to bond. And I think it works well. I was used to, well, holodecks and other things you’d probably call ‘federationer’...”

“You would be correct, Lieutenant,” Lial allowed a faint bemused smile.

“...Though so, Your Highness. Well, Dilgar culture is stricter and Captain Zhen’var’s own customs more military. But there’s sincere camaraderie in this, in making everyone be together. Noisy, though.”

Princess Lial laughed. “Fairly met on both points. You were one of the famous Aurorans, were you not?”

Violeta couldn’t help a blush, even with the dark colour of her skin it showed through. “That seems excessive. Yes, I served on the Aurora. Has our story already spread that far?”

“It took only three five year missions for the first Enterprise to become a legend as few others… But her name was already known to friend and foe after the first under Captain April. So, yes, you have made your name, known to friend and foe.”

“Good evening, Your Highness.” Captain Zhen’var’s voice broke through the noise around them, the woman holding a glass of water as she made her rounds. “Is all well?”

“I would say so,” Lial looked up, resting a hand tenderly on her cousin’s shoulder for a moment to reassure or assuage him of the impulse to rise for his commander. “You have made a wonderful ship here, and a wonderful hour for your crew. I admit, I can see how these silly, wild moments lead to the beautiful grim scenes of the paintings in the wardroom, though the course is one alien to a Rihannsu conception.”

“Alien to those who knew the old ways of the Dilgar Imperium as well. I am contented to see you safely away from your foes. Was there anything else you need of Huáscar?”

“Possibly a ride to another universe,” Lial said wryly, and perhaps even glumly. “I must go further afield, it seems. I am four years Arterus’ elder and had more experience in the Starfleet, but it pains my heart sore to think of myself as a mercenary, surely that is no good fate for a woman ‘born to the purple’ as the humans would say. Your officers have said it depends on the cause, and that is wise; I will let Mnhei’sahe guide me and not fear too much about these other matters.” She paused, and decided honesty mattered. “I admit, I am a Captain, I could use a ship.”

“To take service under foreign colours in exile is no mercenary thing, Your Highness. Dilgar and human culture alike has tales of such people, some weaving very grand tales indeed. I am sponsoring another woman in a similar state to the Alliance service, in fact.”

“I would like to talk to her, if I could be introduced for a correspondence?” Lial asked. “I shall take your wisdom under advisement. That you follow Mnhei’sahe one has little doubt.”

“I shall do so, Your Highness.” Zhen’var inclined her head fractionally. “I thank you for the compliment.” She said nothing about the ship, and Lial regretted having brought it up.

“You are most welcome. Ah, but here,” she added, pushing her largely empty plate aside. “Captain Zhen’var, I do believe your Operations Officer is setting up to play her most unusual game. Arterus told me she could have been a professional in it, if the humans of her world had not prevented her caste from such occupations.”

“I shall leave you to it. Commander Saumarez is very skilled at this.” Zhen’var inclined her head again, and moved off to observe the room and Elia’s performance. So far, so good.

“Oh, I am coming to watch it too, Captain. One last request of you?”

“Yes?”

“May we meet tomorrow?”

Zhen’var quickly glanced through her Omnitool. “Yes, at fourteen hundred, Your Highness. I will put it in.” She waved, and then turned her attention to Elia.

If it wasn’t for the discrimination of the Earth Alliance, Elia could have played women’s professional cricket--that much, nobody in the audience doubted after she made it brutally clear again and again, her hair pulled back neatly under her helmet, her eyes intense, gloves ready on the bat. The game proper lasted a while, but not that long; she focused on teaching interested newcomers after that with the help of the other cricketeers, because the mismatch was too much to keep playing!

Zhen’var internally cursed the need to keep the captain’s mask up - she had always been a better bowler than striker, and possibly the only person on the crew who might not be completely overmatched by Elia, but she’d passed the years where it would have been acceptable to jump in serving on Babylon 5.

Elia looked at her chrono and then stepped away, and over to Zhen’var’s side. She was sweaty but brilliantly confident and calm. “I need to go get ready to take the watch. Abebech should be done shortly when her watch on the bridge is over.”

“Very well, you stand dismissed, Commander. Very good work there; I would not stand much chance in single wicket against you, I rather think.”

“...I think you’re being modest, Captain. I’d love to try sometime.” She tipped a salute. “I’m just glad for the opportunity.” There was real feeling in that, until she had come to the Alliance she had never played sport against Mundanes.

“Someday on leave, when there is not a rest of the crew around. Go on, I shall keep an eye on everything.”

“Thank you.” Elia headed out, with the event continuing.

A little while later, Abebech Imra arrived, in a stunning gray-blue dress with a multicoloured scarf around the waist, and her curly hair seeming to occupy a vast space behind and below her head, not high like an Afro, but hanging low and yet possessing enormous volume. She had a guitar case slung over one shoulder, and wore long white opera gloves and her characteristic sunglasses.

The Captain’s eyes had gone wide indeed, as she gave a sheepish wave in greeting. How can one woman have so much hair hidden so well normally!

Abebech waved back, and offered a slight smile, as she wandered over to a corner, sitting down with her back resting on one of the assault transports, far from the noisy stage. She soon attracted a small, curious group, and strumming her guitar with finger-picks only, began to sing. It was the first time Zhen’var could remember seeing Abebech do something that wasn’t related to her duty at some level; a pure, innocent form of enjoyment.

Quietly slipping behind one of the transports, she just listened, while overseeing the rest of the bay. Somehow, I had not expected a guitar.

“...And I think of you now, as a dream that I had long ago; in a Kingdom lost to time, the Archer is bending a bow; and I see you bring him bread and wine…” Her playing had an ethereal, haunting delicacy, which the strength of her voice overlaid and completed the song.

Oh, who would walk the stony roads of Merlin’s time; and keep the watch upon the border-line…”

She looked to Zhen’var and smiled when she finished. “I like old songs, of almost any sort, Captain.”

“That was beautiful, Commander.” She bowed her head. “A beautiful display of the bardic art, truly. Folk music, I assume?”

“In a sense. A pop-rock singer with strong connections to the folk movement from the twentieth century. Though that’s one of his.. Folkier songs. Or was. I’m not sure he’s alive in any universe, though he might be. There are a lot of universes.”

“It might be worth checking. A chance to see a live performance that never will be seen again is always a worthy thing. Thank you for coming, Commander.”

“...You are quite right. And quite welcome. It’s a lovely evening.” Abebech watched the Captain wander off, and then struck up a brighter tune on the request of one of those in her little audience. She’d just have to make sure her helmswoman didn’t know she could sing Admiral William Brown.







The Steel Beach Party lasted for about another ninety minutes after Zhen’var’s conversation with Abebech. As soon as it ended, Chief Héen organised the crews that broke out to clean up the bay.

Once everything was well in hand, with a yawn, the Captain would depart, with a wave of thanks to the Chief - she’d have to write up a mention in her dispatches for that, she thought. Zhen’var was lost in thought as she walked the decks, half on autopilot as she headed straight for her cabin. It had been a long night.

There were no more alerts, no more activities. Just a chance to rest. It was with a very grateful sigh the woman pulled off her jacket and moved to climb into her new hammock to rest, letting it rock gently as she looked off at the viewscreen that replaced a viewing port. Reflexively, though with a groan, she reached for her personal datapad. Just check urgent messages before bed, that’s all…

There were the usual messages people at Personnel or Financial or some other rear area org passed off as being important but really weren’t. You know, if everyone marks all the messages as important, they all go right to the junk folder… oh well, a fact of life, I suppose. She deleted another marked “HOT! IMPORTANT! READ!” from someone in Operations Support with a sigh.

Then she flicked the screen over to her personal account, just on the slightest urge of curiosity. So far in the past week, there had been nothing except for the birthday greetings and spam. Tonight, however, when she loaded the inbox, she saw the hokey name of her dating site in block Dilgar script. You have a private message!

With visible trepidation, Zhen’var would squirm a bit in her hammock before pressing ‘Open’.

Hi! I saw your profile and I wanted to reach out. I work in the fleet, too, at Arta’kar Reserve Depot. You seem really cute and pretty intellectual, it’s a nice combination. We should work out a time to talk soon!

Her profile picture showed a somewhat dashing looking Dilgar woman maybe a half-decade younger in mufti including a long coat.

You must be rather busy recently, then. Let me know when you are available, and I will see if I have a mutually acceptable time free. It was short, but her fingers still trembled fractionally when Zhen’var hit ‘Send Reply’.

A moment later, before she could turn the screen off, an answer flashed back. I’m about to go onto duty, but maybe three days from now at 16:00 OCT? It’s neat that you got back to me so quickly! I can’t wait to hear more about you. The Dilgar Navy still ran on Ogkharin Coordinated Time.

See you then. Zhen’var flopped back with a huge smile on her face. It’s a video date! This is so cheesy, like a holonovela!

The sun shall also rise; the quiet patrol duties of a thousand ships went on, as the day slowly resumed in an Alliance a little wiser, and a little warier, than on the day that Gersal had burned. And the ASV Huáscar swung in orbit as the Queen of the Triangle, with state rivals and slavers properly intimidated, and little children looking up at her with telescopes. Captain Zhen’var curled up and went to sleep, to wait for another day and another star.






The next day, the door trilled for her cabin. In the morning she had finally successfully deactivated the computer’s announcement feature again, but she knew who it was anyway. Lial t’Rllaillieu was standing there when she opened the door.

“Your Highness. Please, come and sit.”

Lial moved to one side of the desk, and smiled faintly.

“Anything to drink?”

“Khavas, please. Your replicators are marvelous, I am sure they do a good enough job.”

“Of course.” Her usual chai followed, and she set her mug on the desk, placing the other in front of Lial, before moving to sit. “What may I do for you? Did you enjoy our efforts at giving the crew a recreation opportunity?”

“They are a wild lot, but also honest and cheerful. I could tell that you were attempting to reconcile the Dilgar and the Humans to each other; it seemed successful, Captain,” she answered with a bemused smile. “Also rather loud, but it was exactly as you promised, the enthusiasm of the lower deck.”

“Better than it could be.” She gave a visible small shrug, focusing her gaze on the Romulan woman across from her.

“I wish to apologise again for my curtness with the titles,” Lial offered after a moment, between sips of khavas. “I was trying to offer some of the Federationer’s relaxed style toward titles of dignity and rank, out of an assumption. I did not mean to cause offence.”

“The old Imperium was… extremely focused on the externals of such things. While the Union is more relaxed than it was, we are very much more formal than the Alliance as a whole. It was not a bad assumption for any other ship in the Navy.”

“Dilgar and Rihannsu seem to have more measures in common. Certainly more than you share with Klingons,” she answered. “So, Captain, what is to become of me?”

“I am not sure. I have not submitted my report as yet, my superiors are unaware of your presence, but it is unsafe for you to return whence you came.” She idly ran the tip of a gloved finger along her desk. “I seem to have a habit of finding women in situations such as yours.”

“It is very unsafe, and I am grateful. If I had a means of carrying on my trade with some dignity, I would leave this universe to avoid causing you diplomatic problems,” she answered. “Does that… Help?”

“The last went to take Alliance service, as she had…” Zhen’var paused. “We restored her brother, but she had been on the opposing side of the war. It does help, I certainly am willing to - personally - assist you in traveling where you wish. You have personally done nothing to deserve such dogged pursuit.”

“I will take passage to anywhere reasonable, but inevitably to support myself I must become a mercenary. I should not like the dishonour of fighting for small things in one of those universes like the Inner Sphere, but I will take it if I must. Mnhei’sahe dictates as much that I am not useless as that my profession is honourable, and if the Prince I serve is a good one, it is better than taking poison. To be blunt.”

“There are plenty of good, worthy causes. Some can even afford those who come to fight for them, it is true. Humanity and the Dilgar have examples of each. Do you have any idea what sort of cause you would wish to fight for?”

“Well, I…” She opened her mouth and then closed it again. “I already owe my life to a human troubador of a sort. She arranged Arterus and I’s escape from the Star Empire. Her name … She just had us call her Charlotte Corday. I don’t think she could have been a Federationer, not in the slightest. She was dignified, brave, always had a song, and seemed possessed of some real resources. Also such unusual colouring that at first I did not think she was a human--it was not a colour I’ve ever seen on another human.”

“That is an interesting choice of code name. I also doubt anyone from the Federation would ever use it as their nom de guerre,” Zhen’var answered with interest.

“Does it have some significance?” Lial was curious, now.

“The only nation I know with a ship named after her is the Aururian Empire. When, in most histories of Earth, the French revolted against their King and aristocracy, and murdered most of them, the movement was riven. She sympathized with the moderates, believed the King should not have been executed. Jean-Paul Marat was one of the radicals, who was uncompromising in his desire to kill the royalist prisoners the republic held - so she gained audience with him, then stabbed him to death in the bath. She has been a heroine under the restorations and empires, and an enemy under the republics. It is, shall I say, an excellent nom de guerre for a royalist sympathizer.”

“That makes sense. She sang a song of Kings when she left my presence. I should like to fight as Mnhei’sahe dictates, Captain. That is what truly governs my responsibilities. I think she followed Mnhei’sahe in her own way. She had the most remarkable colouration, these red-purple eyes and wonderful ashen silver white-blonde hair.”

“Hm. I have only seen colouration like that before in Dilgar, and few and far between at that. A few rumours of another group, too.” Zhen’var took another sip of her chai, pondering that odd bit of information, before making a noncommittal noise. “Princess Fiy’jash and her people, really. Ensign Aur’ma is one of them.”

“I had thought it might be a human albino, at first.”

“Doubtful, but a curiosity, I suppose, if it was not dye and lenses. The other group I know of would never help anyone.”

“Other group, Captain?”

“They are this… horrifying group, a ruling class in another universe. They… do things to espers, telepaths, I would rather not speak of.” Zhen’var grimaced. “And they sponsor a vast multi-versal slaving network to keep up their… supply.”

“Any population, no matter how vile in the main, may yet contain the righteous, Captain. Don’t you agree?” Lial answered thoughtfully, craning her head to the side and swirling her cup, a finger setting her hair back into place.

“I do. How could anyone moral ever think otherwise? Change needs to come from within to be truly lasting, after all.” The captain was regarding her guest carefully. Is she leading somewhere…?

“Let me see if I can arrange for you to contact her, so you can at least find out, then,” Lial answered. “If she is one of those people, she has certainly moved beyond the immorality you speak of. Technically, after all, Rihannsu are espers, too.”

“I would not be un-amenable. Certainly, I am… in something of a dual role, Battlemaster and Captain alike. Thank you, Your Highness.” Smiling, Zhen-var drained the last of her teacup.

“You are welcome. ...What preparations shall I make, then?” She added, softly.

The Dilgar woman smiled, and started to rise. “Enjoy your time with your cousin, Highness. I will tell you tomorrow.”






As promised, Commander Krodak arrived to discuss the Far Star with her. He was shown in by Lieutenant Seldayiv, and strode forward in the Huáscar’s Ready Room, presenting a flagon of bloodwine. “For a successful operation, Captain Zhen’var,” Krodak inclined his head. “We have not had many opportunities to blood our young warriors since the war with the Cardassians ended.”

“And the Dilgar have had too many. Thank you, Commander, it is accepted in the spirit it is given. In turn, to honored allies, a flagon of ish’la’fran.” That it had been confiscated from the lower deck did not need to be known, it was the best of the rotgut they had aboard, and the only thing strong enough for Klingons to regard as any but water.

Ish’la’fran,” he repeated carefully, regarding it. “Honour to you, Captain. We will drink it as we sing our songs of battle. So. How shall we dispose of the Far Star, as the Orions called her?” Klingons, at least, got down to the point.

“Well, I have a few ideas. If we sell her off through the Admiralty Court, there is the matter with prize money, the same for seizing her directly, and how to divide the two. Despite her damage, she is still a good ship, and I had been speculating as to what we could do with her to most hurt our foes. I have a few ideas.”

“What shared enemies do we have, Captain? These Nazis? The Cardassians? The Romulans? Unfortunately, we did not fight side by side.” He grunted. “The house might commission her, but really, we would not want an Orion ship. The prize would be appreciated, but a blow against rivals would be better still. Tell me who and tell me how, Captain.”

For a moment, she debated building the matter up more, then decided against it. “I have a descendant of Ael t’Rllaillieu aboard. The head of that house, for that matter. The Tal Shiar keep trying to kill her, she intends to leave this universe and take up her sword for causes of honour. She needs a ship. Far Star seems a good enough start, and if she does well enough in gaining renown and power...” Zhen’var trailed off, not needing to explain further the consequences for the regime on Romulus.

“You want me to give the ship to a descendant of Ael of the Bloodwing?” His eyes widened and he laughed. “She was as few others, a legend of the stars, but the Romulans were unworthy of her reign.”

“I know two of the current generation. I think the last two. They are worthy of the name.”

He chuckled and rubbed his chin. “It would discomfit the Romulan government greatly, likely more than anything else we could do with such a ship.”

“I am glad you agree. Battlemaster Fei’nur came up with the idea, with a former lower-deck woman’s grasp of the intuitive path. We are in agreement, then?”

The Klingon Commander paused, as if he had just been outmanoeuvred and wasn’t quite sure how. Then he nodded. “The Battlemaster is a true warrior. There is no question her read is right. So, there will be no sharing--the Alliance gets nothing? But I will give the ship to this t’Rllaillieu?”

“I acknowledge the ship as taken by your warriors, you will give the ship, I will give a value in repairs and supplies equal to her base salvage so we both suffer equal loss, Commander.”

“Well met, Captain! I would have done it without the offer. You will tell your commanders it was to support my readiness while we were helping you guard Geisling?” He looked at her sharply, no fool.

“One great advantage of the Klingon system is less paperwork and bureaucracy. In a manner of speaking, it is even true.” She bared her teeth in a dangerous-looking grin.

“Ha!” He clapped a fist to his chest. “You have my word, Captain. Let us watch the Tal Shiar howl!”

“You will forgive me for not singing yljaH, Qey’ ‘oH, I hope. Dilgar vocal systems are not well designed for it.”

“I have heard your own motto is ‘Harm’s way is the valiant way’,” he answered, and looked up to the picture of Captain Grau. “Your human forbearers on Huáscar have known it well too. It has been good to stand with you over Geisling. May we meet again soon for a true battle, a great one. That, I should like to see.”

“If the Alliance continues on her current path, that will be soon enough indeed. Strike true until we meet again, Commander.”

“Qapla’, Battlemaster!” He rose, and tipped his head to the picture of Grau. “Qapla’, Huáscar!”


Tag


A young woman in the crisp blue uniform of the Alliance Stellar Navy’s Fighter Corps made the traditional request at the transporter room to the Chief. “Permission to come aboard?” She presented her identicard.

“Granted, Flight Lieutenant. Report to Captain Zhen’var’s ready room.”

“Understood!” she nearly leapt to attention to salute, but stopped herself with a twitch of her hand and a wry grin.

“Your things will be waiting in your quarters, reference ARQ-15e in your omnitool for the final assignment. Welcome to the Huáscar, Lieutenant… Hope you know, she’s the fightingest ship in the fleet!”

“Oh, I know,” the blonde woman grinned insouciantly, and headed for one of the turbolifts. Her training had become immeasurably more exciting with the attacks in the middle of it, and without those, she would still be in the middle of training, but the resumption of hostilities with the Nazi Reich had guaranteed that her class of seconded officers in the accelerated familiarization programme were put back on the war schedule and had already been passed out.

She rode the turbolift, composed and confident. This was her life, finally free of the choices of others. Stepping along the recessed walkway which served to set the actual bridge apart from the entrance to the planning room, plotting room, astrogation and the Captain’s Ready Room and Sea Cabin, she stole glances through the windows in the wall at the bridge. There set a very familiar figure in the form of Elia Saumarez. The gloves on her hands and the absence of them from her own marked the almost incomparably different cultural influences they had experienced.

Then she got to the Captain’s Ready Room and activated the door chime, bringing herself to attention.

The light shifted colour, and the hatch cycled open. “Come in.” echoed out into the corridor, the Captain looking up from her desk.

The woman stuck her face up, kept her posture proud and confident, and stepped in through the hatch. “Captain, Ma’am. Flying Lieutenant Artesia de Más reporting for duty.”

An honest smile crossed the Dilgar woman’s face, as she stood from behind her desk, and stepped over to shake Artesia’s hand. “Welcome aboard, Lieutenant de Más. It is good to see you again, and I am gratified to have you aboard once again as part of this crew.”

Artesia shook her hand back with a grin on her lips. “It’ll be an honour to serve you, Captain, on this ship which saved my people. And it’s about time I got to serve with the man who fought my brother to a standstill.”

“Oh, I would be more careful about the Chiefs. Still, welcome aboard. He will slot you into the wing, we will be heading out again soon enough, a deep-range mission. Anything you need while we are in ‘civilization’, go ahead and get it now, for it will be replicator rations once we cast off.”

“Captain? A deep-range mission? Well, I’ll make my arrangements then. I’m still getting used to the idea of that meaning more than Jupiter with the hydrogen fleets.”

“Not only another universe, but then following a long-cold trail of an evacuation fleet from a dead Earth. Expect to get a lot of flight time on CAP, Lieutenant.”

“With pleasure, Captain. Thank you for having me aboard.” Her blue eyes gleamed. “Do I stand dismissed?”

“Unless there is anything else, yes. Go ahead and get settled. I am sure Commander Saumarez will also be pleased to have you aboard.” So I think, anyhow. She misses what she had back home.

I don’t really understand the culture of Newtypes back in your home universe she grew up in, but I did take to heart her lessons in how to communicate, Artesia cast back with a jerk of surprise at the clear thought intended for her. So, hopefully it will be a nice surprise.

I hope so. Welcome aboard, Huáscareño.
Tomyris
Posts: 69
Joined: Sun Apr 01, 2018 10:21 pm

nUF Origins: S1 - Episode 5 - "Big Iron"

Post by Tomyris »

Introduction

Captain Zhen’var had particular beliefs about what should happen when an Admiral came to visit her ship. At the news that Admiral Davies--the Vice-Chief of Naval Operations--was arriving for an inspection and meeting, she had turned the ship out from top to bottom. Chief Dugan had turned the punishment details to double-time, laying down the knife-hand as he had driven the lower deck into a disciplined frenzy of effort. Stasia had arrived in her field uniform with a Sam Browne belt over her flight blues and manned the brooms to clean the aviation spaces. Elia had started going around all of the ship except engineering to do white glove inspections, and of course Anna had done the same in engineering.

The Dilgar crewers were actually utterly terrified of the inspection, and had thrown their backs into preparing the ship. They had briefly reached 100% operational readiness for the cleaning drones, and they had broken out the mops and rags anyway. A few of Fei’nur’s Dilgar marines were sporting black eyes with no story of a fight and the deck could be eaten off of in the marine spaces. When the flight deck was clean, the Mongeese were polished and the kill markings touched up. All was in readiness. The band was assembled and waiting on the deck of the shuttle bay, and the entire crew were in full dress whites except the Marines, wearing their dress greens and the flight personnel, dress blues.

The officers couldn’t help but exchange grins. They fully expected to impress, and the Warrants and NCOs surged with pride as well as the bay doors opened, the atmospheric screen glimmering within as the shuttle made its approach. The band was ready to play Hail to the Spirit of Liberty, since the Sousa tunes were well in evidence with the preferences of the founders of the Alliance.

Captain Zhen’var stood at the head of her officers, stiff-backed as the shuttle glided in, knowing that the lines of her crew were ruler straight, the entire ship ready for an Admiral’s inspection.

The shuttle settled down to the deck, and once the post-flight and cycling on the airlock were complete, the ramp extending smoothly, the hatch opened. Admiral Davies stepped out with his staff and two guards trailing behind. The band struck up Hail to the Spirit of Liberty. He started down the ranks to Captain Zhen’var.

She held at attention, managing to suppress the urge for her hand to want to shoot up when he came within speaking distance. “Admiral Davies, sir , welcome aboardHuáscar!”

“Captain Zhen’var. I see you’ve turned her out smartly,” he answered, coming to attention. She could see his own hand pause. “Reminds me of home, in fact. Prepare the crew for review.”

Sir .” She turned her head precisely. “Bugler! Atten-tion!” Three short notes blared out across the hangar deck.

The ranks snapped to inspection order. Admiral Davies watched for a moment, and then started down the lines of the assembled. His inspection was sharp, precise, and serious. Divisions stiffened as he passed, rippling spreading down the bay around the Admiral’s party.

The Admiral checked uniform fittings, proper wear of medals, observed the correctness of the sailors and officers of all ranks. Then he returned to Zhen’var. There was a grudging admiration in his look. “Captain, you have turned your ship out like a proper vessel of a regular military. Good show. You may dismiss the party.”

“Admiral, sir. Bugler, Assembly, Dis-miss!” The crew broke out in dismissal order as Davies watched.

“Captain, if you would come with me, and have the senior officers ready for a briefing in thirty minutes?” He glanced down to her, his eyes flicking for a moment across the assembled ranks.

“Of course, sir. Commander Atreiad, please assemble the full command staff in thirty minutes.” Zhen’var gave the order simply, then stepped to Admiral Davies’ side, two steps behind.

“Yes, Ma’am.” he turned to the other officers. “Senior Command and Department Heads to Assemble in Conference Suite One in thirty minutes,” Will repeated to them, stepping away.

Davies made time with his staff at Zhen’var’s side, and then paused by the turbolift. “Commander Travis,” he addressed the ranking woman in the group, “go to Conference Suite One and get ready for the briefing, I’ll be meeting with the Captain privately of course.”

“Sir.”

The Dilgar woman was keeping her fluttering stomach tightly in rein, concerned about whether or not they had really done well.

As they got into the turbolift for her Ready Room, Davies smiled faintly. “You have turned out the ship really quite well, Captain. She represents the kind of pride and military bearing that I would like to see in all the ships of the Alliance Stellar Navy.”

“Thank you, sir. The crew has come together well, and we of the Union are exceptionally keen to comport ourselves in a way to bring honour to our home and the Alliance as a whole.”

“I admit this was not an experiment I supported at first, but you have proved yourselves anyway. Admission to the Alliance is a foregone conclusion within the next year, Captain.” The turbolift arrived, and they stepped across the bridge to key into her Ready Room.

“I am grateful to hear it, Admiral.” Her eyes darted around the room for the moment - even in here, she had arranged everything perfectly for an Admiral’s inspection.

“I will be honest about something else,” he said as the door closed, moving to sit first. “My first response to Admiral Maran granting you this command was ‘this is the most nuts thing he’s done yet’.” A wry smile. “You have certainly proved your competence and stability, Captain. That matter is closed.”

“I understand how it may have looked, Admiral.” She returned the smile, equally wry and small as she sat after him. “We are not a conventional crew, nor I a conventional captain, but I believe we serve well enough.”

“What I saw out there looked a lot more like a conventional crew than I had expected, or that I see elsewhere in this Navy, frankly, Captain. You have my appreciation for it.” He glanced to the picture of Captain Grau. “The Huáscar is a true fighting ship.”

“The blood of the old Imperium, turned towards liberty, alloyed with the enthusiasm of the rest of the crew is a potent mix, Admiral. I am proud to lead them, sir, as we build a tradition of this name under a new flag.”

“As you should be. You know, Captain, the Alliance wasn’t something any of our nations wanted. It was forced onto us by grim necessity, to control and direct the application of this technology, and prevent the utter horrors of its proliferation… Which we are still experiencing in some real measure.”

“We conquer or perish, sir. We may find ourselves compelled to annihilate all the oppressors in the multiverse to find peace and freedom, I confess myself starting to believe.”

“Endless war is not healthy for democracy, Captain. It demands a kind of attitude and sacrifices which may keep us safe, but will excite resistance from many areas. Realistically, there has to be a better way for us to find, something which doesn’t entail a perpetual armed camp. It might be possible for many of these risks to be managed by efforts less than war. I don’t pretend to have the answers there, nor should we even necessarily discuss them, but I do ask you to bear in mind that many of these greatest threats are the result of species, intelligences much beyond on our own. You know that already from the Vorlons and Shadows. These threats, the powers they evidence, are a unique challenge to democratic equality and have proved themselves to underlay the fleets we have faced.”

“I agree with those points, sir. What we wish, and what happens, may differ, but if we stand together, the Alliance can come out stronger from the crucible. That I believe, I have to.”

He grinned. “I’ve certainly learned that you are a practical woman. Your support for the repatriations to Psi-Corps showed it from your first mission. Well, how do you see Dilgar society settling in to the Alliance? The Union’s story of survival is certainly one of the more remarkable events in the Multiverse.”

“At least for a while, sir, we are going to be a combination of the Ghurkas and the Quarians. That is to say, we will volunteer in large numbers to be seconded into the Alliance service, but I also believe the Dilgar talent at reverse-engineering and making items of wildly disparate technology bases work together is invaluable, once it can be demonstrated. That, however, requires our economy and population to recover, which turns back to the first point.” She grimaced at having to be so blunt, but it was true . They had survived, but not with any real power, not on a galactic scale.

“You are proud and honest. It is enough. I hope practical considerations will drive us closer together. And, your work in the fleet has been excellent. You seem prepared to set an example as we move to implement more regular military discipline in the future.”

“We would be honored to be an example to other ships, Admiral.”

“Well, let’s get over to the conference suite,” he answered, rising. “This mission is an interesting one, and should be challenging enough for your talents.”

“You will please forgive if that phrase does not fill me with confidence it will be an easy one.” Zhen’var replied smoothly as she followed to her feet. “After you, sir.”

“Right-o,” he chuckled as he stepped out of the ready room, though he pitched his voice lower. “You know, Captain, not many of us actually like the crew of the Aurora. They are in an almost extra-constitutional position, able to influence the government despite nominally being low ranking. Really, they should have all left their ship and entered politics after forming the country. But they didn’t, in part because we didn’t want them to be leaders either. It was a complicated, frankly terrifying time. The fate of multiple entire universes was held in the hands of a small group of inexperienced young people who were recklessly disseminating technology and threatening wars. The Alliance was created as much to rein them in as to fulfill their vision.”

“Perhaps, sir. What has been unleashed on the multi-verse cannot be arrested now. I fear we must hope that their good intentions will fuel good deeds, as they gain both experience and restraint.” She chose her words carefully, trying to stay neutral in tone towards fellow officers.

“Certainly so. You have certainly come out winners in the events they unleashed, though. We will see about all of us. We will see.” He stepped forward into the briefing room, watching with approval as the Huáscar ’s officers snapped to attention. “Ladies and gentlemen,” Davies began, “I first want to congratulate you on a very successful beginning to the Huáscar ’s story in Alliance service,” he allowed, giving Zhen’var a chance to reach her own place at the table. “You have set new standards for our service.”

Zhen’var sat, then, and gave a quick sweep of the room with her eyes. Everyone was in place, and now they would find out just what new mission the upper command echelons had for them.

“Welcome to Universe F7S4,” he said, bringing up an image of a battered, gray and yellowed Earth, though it still had seas, which dominated the surface. “Approximately four thousand years ago it went through runaway global warming and was swept with disease. We found small descendant remnants of isolated and indigenous groups with stone-age development only, as well as a dense satellite belt and some evidence of Moon and Mars bases. Most interestingly of all…”

He brought up an image of an immense carved pyramid. “There are two of these, one on the location of Chicago and one on the location of Beijing. They contain pictographic star maps pointing to the Cyrannus Star System.”

Will jerked in his seat. “Admiral, Sir, you mean…”

“This universe may have also seen the same events which led to the formation of your people, yes, Commander.” Admiral Davies agreed. “Except different, of course. No Gersallians, no Dorei, no Coserians. And Earth is not completely lifeless. But the problem is we imaged the Cyrannus star system,” the next image showed gravity sensor outputs.

“What we found is that the Star System contains five main sequence stars, not four, and that it has multiple additional stars which do not match any known sequence. These stars … May be artificial.”

“Artificial stars, Admiral?” Fera’xero’s vocoder flashed in obvious astonishment. “The only star which may be artificial is that within the Dyson Sphere the United Federation of Planets found, and the conventional hypothesis says it is natural.”

“Commander, we don’t know yet, but it is a possibility. One we need to investigate. That kind of technology could radically alter the balance of power in the universe, and could be used for all kinds of nefarious as well as beneficial purposes.” He brought up the next image. “And here we have the final piece which makes this interesting. We have definitive evidence of an anomaly originating from the system in subspace which looks like it may fundamentally interfere with the operation of conventional FTL technologies. So after two weeks at high warp to get there, you’ll have to spend a month working your way in-system with impulse. Interuniversal drives should still work, however, if you need to escape in a hurry. Your objective is to thoroughly survey the system, find any survivors of this universe’s humanity, and understand the source of the FTL interference and the possibly artificial stars. Due to the distance and logistics constraints involved you will be operating with complete latitude, independent from comms to headquarters.”

“Of course, Admiral! We will need to load additional supplies, we should be ready to depart within two to three days - several longer, if we require off-ship fabrication of certain spares.”

“I would like you underway within the next five days,” Admiral Davies answered. “Priority will be given to the Huáscar for supply of spares.”

“Then it can be done, Admiral, and we shall do so.” Readiness for inspection and for a possible multi-month deployment were different, but they would make Davies’ deadline. They had to, to keep the reputation they were slowly starting to earn.

“Excellent. Well, Ladies and Gentlemen, I have every confidence in the success of Huáscar on this mission. You stand dismissed.” He nodded to his own staff, who rose and assembled with him. He gestured to Zhen’var to step closer, though, as the others departed.

“Captain, I just wanted to say that I do also appreciate your legacy of following a hard, honourable course in complicated situations. It gives me confidence that you will make difficult choices correctly in the future. We are beset with many powerful enemies, metaphysical ones, outside of the realms of mere starships and guns. I appeal to you to stick to your guns and remember the hard decisions you’ve made in the past if you are ever confronted with new hard decisions in this service.”

“I do not intend to change, sir.” Zhen’var replied, her posture reflexively stiffening. “It is the duty of kshatriya to fight, and fight wisely and bravely when we do.”

“Good. We cannot predict the future, but if we maintain the right comportment, we will face it calmly when the storm comes to call. You stand dismissed, Captain. Thank you.” With that, he departed with his staff, and left Zhen’var to prepare for her mission.






Undiscovered Frontier: Origins

Season 1 Episode 5

“Big Iron”
Tomyris
Posts: 69
Joined: Sun Apr 01, 2018 10:21 pm

Re: nUF Origins: S1 - Episode 5 - "Big Iron"

Post by Tomyris »

Act 1

When they arrived at the Earth of this universe, now designated F1S4, Elia looked below at the sand-blasted plains on the viewscreen from her position in the Huáscar’s command chair. The oceans had not boiled off, and ultimately had helped stabilize the planet’s climate. With the abandonment of the surface by technological civilisation, the oceans had stabilised. They were still almost totally barren of many forms of life, dominated by squid and algae. On the land surface, immense jungles dominated what had once been the Great Plains; further south, in a huge band around the equator on both sides, nothing lived. The Pampas was home to the largest group of surviving humans, cultivating cassava root where the verdant plains were now an immense jungle in the south.

In the northerly climes, in Baffinland and northern Greenland, small, primitive farming communities growing wheat and maize crops remained, mostly the descendants of Inuit and some caucasians. On the Tibetan plateau, descendants of Nepalis had migrated to grow crops on the extremities, around the arroyos formed by the total melting of the glaciers, with complex cultures descended from local peoples in the western part of Yunnan on the high peaks. This group was totally isolated from the north, just as the groups in the south were totally isolated as well, including the utterly fascinating culture which as far as the first contact groups had ascertained, had been descended from a mix of Maori and indigenous Australian peoples who had taken boats to Antarctica.

The tales they told to the strictly controlled anthropological teams were wild, of the aeons ago when great ships had spanned the stars and an alliance of two nations had dictated the fate of the Earth. The dying Earth that they had abandoned, leaving the undesirable populations, the forgotten minorities, the sick and the infirmed, behind to die. Instead, with the typical aplomb of humans, the indigenous Amazonians had migrated south, the Aymara had adapted to cassava and moved further into the Andes above the plateaus to grow it on verdant tropical slopes above blasted sand plateaus, the Inuit had integrated the Danes and Canadians and began to practice agriculture, the Lapps some remaining Scandinavians and migrated to Franz Josef Land and Novaya Zemla, and the indigenous Australians and Maori had sailed the great Southern Ocean to find a new land to live in. Human life was tenacious, and Elia was proud of it.

Violeta, coming off shift, paused by her side. “Commander, it’s quite remarkable, isn’t it? This is the worst-case scenario for a Hothouse Earth and we’re looking at it, what, almost four thousand years after the greenhouse gas emissions were stopped?”

“Something like that,” Elia answered. “Our ancestors were such utter fools, but it’s amazing to look back on the documents of the time and think that people seriously believed it would scour the surface and render humanity extinct. We’re too much like rats or pigs for that. And Mother Earth is as resilient as all hell.” She winked. Elia didn’t mind the young helmswoman, even if she sometimes wore her culture shock on her sleeve.

“What’s the population?”

“The surveys aren’t sure, just upper and lower bounds--somewhere between one half and two million in all the little isolated cultures.”

“Is that because of the restrictions on contact?”

“Yes, just highly sanitized anthropological teams that aren’t using modern equipment,” Elia nodded. “No detailed scans so far. It’s being debated on whether or not they should be provided assistance. I think it’s ridiculous of course, so does Nah’dur. She’s already written this long missive up through medical command citing a few hundred references to indigenous community medicine and how to provide medical and technological assistance at a pace and in a fashion respectful to indigenous communities. She doesn’t understand why we don’t just learn their languages, open clinics, and started working with their traditional healers to begin integrating modern medicine.”

“Any concerns about the consequences of contact? Granted, not like I’d ever expect the Surgeon-Commander to be worried about such things.”

“Not from me, to be honest, Lieutenant. We’ve just got to recognise that the local people have the first right to everything, including how to use the technology we give to them--to reject and adopt it in their own time, regardless of what we think is best for them. That’s the key.”

“Hnnh.” Violeta looked at the planet.

“Ask Chief Héen about it,” Elia answered. “She gets boiling mad about the prospect of just letting generation after generation of people live and die without modern technology on planets. The key is to offer it as a gift, and let people decide themselves what to do with it and how much of it to take, rather than impose our own moral judgements and constraints. That’s why I’m hoping the very skilled rules lawyers in the Alliance manage to win the case arguing that since they were an interstellar civilisation, they still count, that their current condition is artificial, not natural, and so we can implement those protocols. Of course, then we’ll have to fight to save them from the opposite direction, you know. But some of the anthropologists have already been in contact with the Alliance Indigenous Rights Advocacy.”

“It’s not quite so cut and dried as the Federation Prime Directive, I know,” Violeta answered, thoughtfully.

“The Prime Directive is moronic,” Elia replied emphatically. “This is about letting indigenous, undeveloped peoples make their own decisions. The idea that we should be protecting them from technology they haven’t developed on their own is racist, frankly, or speciesist, depending on the circumstance. We need to let them choose what technology they want, and let them choose how to use it. Stone age, iron age peoples aren’t any less intelligent than we are. Just look at Anna. She went from steam engines to warp cores.”

“You’re right, Commander,” Violeta said after a moment. “You’re right. There’s nothing else to it. I hope we succeed in winning that court case.”

“Well, the AIRA,” Elia grinned. “We’re officers of the Government, we can’t lobby the Senate.” A wink.

“I’m sure we had nothing to do with it!”

“Precisely. Enjoy your rack-time, Leftenant. I’m sure this world will sort itself out. We’ll help, but as long as they’re in the driver’s seat, it will be fine.”






The ancient space station hung in orbit of Jupiter. The interior was covered in slogans of Chinese and English. They had been inscribed into the walls, and now were marked by archaeological survey tape. Dr. Fanaru, the Alakin archaeologist leading the team, greeted Abebech and Commander Goodenough as they drifted in.

“Commanders,” he said. “I apologise about the lack of pressurisation, however, if we brought up the pressure on this station up, it would likely explode. The neutron brittleness from almost four thousand years has completely eliminated all strength that it has. To be honest, we are lucky we arrived when we did; not much longer and the gravity tides of Jupiter and Io would wrench her apart. The sulphur scouring on the hull has already opened numerous voids.”

“I’d assumed as much, don’t worry about it,” Abebech answered through her suit comms.

“Like a rotted wreck in Neptune’s grave,” Goodenough murmured. “So what’s the situation with the coordinates? I understand there’s a second station orbiting Europa?”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“Are there any additional findings to what’s already been found, Doctor?” Abebech looked around the haunting age of the abandoned toroidal space station. It had been a receiving and transfer point for gas and Ioian exotics--fuel products, in short.

“Just the content of these messages,” he answered, gesturing to them on the wall of the station.

Goodenough followed his message. “Forward, to our Universe.” He shook his head. “Rather bloody enigmatic, isn’t it, Ma’am?” He offered to Abebech. “Like ‘Croatan’, bloody near.”

“...Heh, I suppose you are right. It is rather like ‘Croatan’,” Abebech answered with a bemused smile. “Now that’s an old story.”

“Depends on what universe you’re from, Ma’am.”

“Near to three hundred years dead, even in your’s,” Abebech replied mildly. “Still, you are quite right. So, Doctor,” she turned her attention back to the man, “you’re confident the references add up to directions to the Cyrannus Star System?”

“Absolutely, Commander. I put that forward in my report.”

“Well, yes, but I just wanted to see it for myself and make sure that report accurately reflected your beliefs,” Abebech responded, looking around at the layout of the station. Unfortunately, it wasn’t familiar as she had hoped, but she still had her suspicions.







Will was in Primary Astrogation, the facility that Arterus usually operated, with both the Rihannsu Lieutenant and Commander Fera’xero, looking over long-range passive sensor data. Anna Poniatowska was with them, doing calculations in the back. The Heermann had docked and the Huáscar had started off toward the Cyrannus Star System, cruising at Warp 9. The standardized scale for the Alliance differed from the Federation’s to remove problems with the growth of warp speed capabilities in time. At that speed it would take them twenty-seven days to cover the approximately 1,800 lightyears to Cyrannus.

Anna was interested in the outputs because operations at that speed would overtax multiple components of the warp drive. Nominally the speed was a maximum cruise, but the difference between maximum cruise and regular cruise existed because regular cruising speed was at the bottom of the inflexion point in the speed/energy ratio of a warp drive, whereas maximum cruise was dictated by the power output of the reactors. In theory the ship could supply the energy to the drives for maximum cruise indefinitely, but in practice they were forcing almost ten times as much power into the warp coils at that speed as they did at normal peacetime cruising (Warp 8) even though the difference in speed was much smaller. At Warp 8 the Alliance scale synchronized with 8,000c; at Warp 9 they were pulling more than 24,000c, but the energy consumed was ten times greater. The speed advantage of Darglan drives was noticeable, but not extreme; the sustained cruising speed of a brand new Federation Intrepid was 6,000c. At maximum warp the difference was actually less.

Running at maximum warp, the drives rapidly burned through components and suffered brittleness from bombardment from exotic energies at the subspace interface. This was Anna’s main interest. She was charting subspace with Fera’xero to try and figure out how much wear would be inflicted on the drive, and therefore what their actual optimal cruising speed was. If they had to stop to replace parts before they reached the system, for instance, it might have actually made more sense to just stay at Warp 8.8 or some figure like that for the journey, keeping them below thresholds at which they would need to replace components and thus eliminating the time at impulse spent doing so. Though even maximum sustained cruise was a misnomer. Between refueling and navigating around subspace anomalies and regular, non-bombardment based wear and tear, the average speed on extreme long duration missions would average out to about half of the nominal cruising speed. That was why galactic exploration with warp drive was not viable on the timescales of a human lifespan.

“Alright, Sector Delta-four-niner?” Anna glanced up to where Fera’xero and Commander Atreiad were talking.

“Getting you the results now, Commander,” Fera’xero answered. “There you go.”

“Thank you.” She started plotting the subspace conditions and matching them against drive wear and impacts on velocity. “So, Will, still trying to figure out if this matches at all the stories of the migration of the Twelve Colonies?”

“Yes, to see if they conflated Kobol with Earth and Kobol was really just a stop along the way,” Will answered, looking up from the star charts he was looking over with the Quarian science officer.

“Any luck so far?”

“Not in the slightest,” Will answered. “Beyond the fact that this Earth isn’t scoured, there seem to be a lot of differences.”

Anna started running her latest tabulation on what was a glorified spreadsheet capable of quantifying and executing linear algaebra operations. She rose and went to the replicator. “Want some coffee, Will?”

“Sure,” he chuckled, stepping over, too. “Back in a minute, Fera’xero.”

“Oh, it’s fine, there’s several other things to catch up on,” the Quarian answered. “I wouldn’t keep you from the magic black drink which appears necessary for human life.”

Will laughed. “I guess it’s true. I tried to keep from getting addicted, and I failed.”

“There is nothing more civilised than coffee and wine,” Anna smiled as her selection appeared, and she handed Will’s over as well. “It must be hard for you, Commander, the revelations that have come out, I mean.”

“That the Cylons are related to some kind of fanatical Gersallian religious terrorist group?”

“Yes, that one,” Anna agreed. “Of incredible age, too.”

“I don’t understand why they did anything. A lot of people are saying much of our history is built on a lie, now, but I don’t know about that,” Will answered. “It’s incredibly disruptive to our efforts to build Colonial society. To be honest, I’m glad I’m not there.”

“I feel the same way about the Mickiewicz regime,” Anna answered. “The reasons are very different, of course.”

“The problem is his agents can go to the Alliance Senate and insist he is a democracy that needs help,” Will answered.

“He might just succeed, it isn’t completely false. But there’s no religious or ideological tolerance in his democracy. Honestly, I mean, I am a supporter of the Republic of Both Nations and the Intermarium,” Anna sighed and pulled her Huáscar baseball cap off to run a hand through her hair. At least Zhen’var had relented on the wearing of them when it was clear the SS remnants weren’t as much of a threat as thought. “So if we could reestablish that geography of cultural tolerance, it would be a great lesson for our homeworld. But what we’re going to do about the Orthodox Population in central Ukraine and Smolensk? Forcibly convert them to the Greek Rite? The Republic of Both Nations was also completely tolerant of Jews. Officially, of course...”

“But practically, you can’t stop the fire you’ve unleashed.” Will looked at the sharp, practical woman who had survived revolution and Siberian exile, and put himself in the shoes of her people, who now choked on a feast back home. What they shared was the fact that both societies’ efforts to build themselves into something new had been disrupted.

“I’m worried about the future,” Will’s face scrunched into a frown and he turned back to Fera’xero’s map. “We’ll lose our religion, and our culture, and be swept away. Suffer almost as badly as Stasia’s people or the other indigenous Americans. Already, people are asking if our entire religion is a lie, our entire society a joke.”

“Would it matter?” Anna took his hand impulsively, then released it with a wry smile. “Friend, it is hard. But would it matter? The Poles did not stop being the nation of Piast the Wheelwright when his descendant and heir Mieszko King converted us to Christianity. Stasia’s people are Orthodox, but she seems nothing of Russia to me, and little of America. Your people are too distinctive to be swept away, you are your own tribe and now that you have finally settled far from your enemies, you may yet rise from small numbers to great fame. Such has been the story of many peoples, also.”

Will sighed, and smiled. “You know, Anna, you might be a democrat now, but you still have a Royalist conception of History. It’s poetic. Thank you. I needed that, the debate has been stressful, especially this far away from where it’s actually happening.”

“Well, it’s not like I gave up being Szlachta of the Poniatowscy,” she answered with a laugh. “Just because we are a Republic doesn’t mean we lack a nobility, that’s always been Poland. Come on, let’s see if we have some results. Sometimes, as much as the psychs hate to admit it, the best cure is distraction.”







The usual work of maintaining the health of the crew of a starship was, if not boring, then at least routine, and Nah’dur dealt with it as a kind of autopilot in which training, experience and talent handled most issues by rote, with her mind focused on other things and her senses keyed to notice anything out of the ordinary. When a real challenge existed, she usually noticed it, focused on it, and dealt with it. This allowed her plenty of mental time to keep up to date on the computer programmes and lab samples she had running,

Of all of her side experiments, some required of her, and some she’d taken up voluntarily, the most interesting was the one that Urdnot Wrex had requested she execute. The most irritating part of it was accepting the money he sent for equipment so she could use reimbursable funds for procurement outside of the normal lab fit on a cruiser; the paperwork had been onerous in the extreme. The interesting part was pitting her wits against a collection of long-dead Salarians.

She had already made recent progress in improving the overall birthrate, but Nah’dur was uncontent with such measures. She wanted something much better to show Wrex than that. And so she had kept working, and now she had the beginnings of something.

“Personal Log, Surgeon-Commander Nah’dur. I continue to work on the solution for the genophage. The Salarians were, in certain respects, clever. They made the genophage self-reproducing from any cell in a Krogan organism. However, the mechanism of effect is itself clumsy and primitive, essentially weakening and thinning the protective extracellular matrix of Krogan embryos so that they fail primarily in the blastula stage.”

A pause, as she reflected on the situation. “Essentially, my objective is to either harden or replace the blastoderm. It’s clear that hardening is the preferred method, which requires genetic modification--but that modification will be relatively trivial as it is focused entirely on the female reproductive organs. The problem is this: If I harden the blastoderm, I must account for the fact it separates into and forms the nervous tissue, blood vessels, and intestines during later stages of embryonic development. The Krogan KDH4 protein causes differentiation between procursor neural cells and precursor epithelial cells. I will use this protein to control expression of my genetic modification; this will leave the neural cells intact. Note that the entire blastoderm will not be hardened. It will simply reduce the statistical probability of failure. Because during gastrulation the ectoderm forms the primary protective layer we approach fifty percent of the previous Krogan rate of viability, with a limited continued risk through the blastopore. This should increase the Krogan birthrate by a factor of fifty to sixty, pending final tests. A factor of one hundred and forty would be required to restore the Krogan pre-genophage birthrate, but this is not strictly necessary for Krogan survival and will require more effort.

“The risk is in subsequent failures in growth in the embryo because the skin lacks sufficient elasticity to allow for normal embryonic development. I am solving this by incorporating a deactivating protein into the mesoderm, so as the mesoderm is created it will progressively come in contact with the outer embryo layers through the blastopore development phase. The protein will then migrate slowly to the surface of the precursor epithelial layer as it is designed for cellular diffusion through chemical gradients. I believe this process can be made seamless enough that it will prevent re-introduction of risk.”

She stretched, making a soft noise of pleasure at the sound of her muscles tensing and relaxing. “In conclusion, I’ve begun accelerated testing with the samples Battlemaster Wrex has provided to me, and we’re two months at most away from having a test sample for use on a Krogan female. To improve long-term Krogan chances of survival I am preparing a Kroganised copy of the Universal Vaccine for integration into the genetic therapy retrovirus.”

Nah’dur began to compose the written report based on the verbal log when a slow clapping came from the door to her office. She jerked around to look. “Commander Imra. You were listening.”

“I was listening,” she agreed, and stepped forward. “You know that many in Universe M4P2 will try to kill you to keep this from seeing the light of day, don’t you?”

“Being on a heavily armed and armoured war-cruiser which randomly changes universes and has a regiment of Marines onboard with a Spectre leading them is my first line of defence,” Nah’dur answered matter-of-factly. “I have several others of course.”

“No doubt you do.” Abebech leaned against the doorframe. “I have a request for you, daughter of the House of Dur.”

“Yes?” Nah’dur’s eyes narrowed at the precise sort of address.

“I gave you genetic samples.”

“That’s correct, you did. That’s part of our agreement. And I have kept doctoring your medical files, just as we agreed.”

Abebech’s eyes shot up to the ceiling, but Nah’dur laughed.

“Don’t worry, Commander, I have things set up so in my office the recordings are not accurate.”

“So it is. You’ll like the challenge, then.” She extended a secured medical transport vial with a nano-refrigeration pack. “This is a genetic sample from a telepath who assisted Psi-Corps personnel during the late siege of Tau Atris. I’d like you to compare it to my own. It may make a recent event more coherent.”

Nah’dur took the vial and looked at it. “So that’s all? Just a comparison?”

“In particular of the telepath genes.”

“Oh-ah, I see where this is going. The hypothesis that telepathy is impossible to evolve on its own.”

“Correct.”

“You’ll have it. Maybe even by the end of this mission. They say it will last a while.”

“Thank you, Surgeon-Commander.”

“Oh, it’s not a problem, Commander Imra. I like you.”

“From you, I take that as a compliment,” she answered, and turned away.

“Good.” Nah’dur had her own suspicions about the Commander by now; but she knew the Commander had her own about her, and so, to Nah’dur, the best outcome was companionable silence. She finished writing up her report to Wrex and sent it out.

Next, she turned her attention to her inbox. As they traveled further off the comms network, communications outside of the Huáscar would become more and more spotty, and she wanted to check up on the last activity from her felinoid advocacy group. The last ‘net video had twice as many views as the first, and Princess nar Sihkag was already proving to be an entertaining friend. Her connection there had led to some interesting dissemination of technology; the Bloodfang would make a nice replacement for their old Centauri models and Thoruns, now that the Kilrathi themselves couldn’t build it anymore, but the Union certainly could.

Speaking of, you should get back to Teras Rimasi’s message. Nah’dur brought up the information from the Alacan woman. She was part of the small ‘Survival Fraction’ who had responded to the offer from Warmaster Shai’jhur for medical assistance with their reproduction (the rest would rather die than accept help from the Dilgar, and it was quite controversial), and Nah’dur intended to make a point about felinoid solidarity by restoring their complete viability. Anything mother did, I can un-do.







Violeta was standing her turn as the Officer of the Watch as they approached the Cyrannus system. She was drinking coffee from a handleless Navy mug of the type that had become ubiquitous on the Huáscar. The gesture hid her nervousness. They didn’t really understand what the subspace interference band was, nor its exact range of effect. Everything about it had been informed speculation from long-range passive sensors.

And they were rapidly approaching that barrier, whatever it was and whatever example it would take. “Reduce speed to Warp Three,” she ordered Ensign Wilkins at her own normal station of the helm.

“Reducing to Warp Factor Three, Ma’am,” Joanne Wilkins answered. “Warp field contracting…” The ship shuddered. “We’re having problems stabilizing the Warp Field!”

Violeta tapped the comms open to engineering. “Engineering, this is the Bridge. Can we stabilize the warp field?”

Lieutenant Ker’ohk answered. “Bridge, Lieutenant Ker’ohk, we’re having trouble maintaining coherency in the Warp Field. If we reduce velocity but maintain power I may be able to force it to stabilize, but it will completely collapse above Warp Three, that is fact.”

“Go to Warp Two with the power consumption of Warp Three and configure the field as you see fit,” Violeta answered, feeling her fingers uncomfortably pressed into Captain Zhen’var’s granite boards for armrests.

“Aye, Sir. I’ve summoned Commander Poniatowska to Engineering control.”

Zhen’var arrived on the bridge a moment later. Commander Imra was on her heels. They must have been having their weekly dinner together, Violeta mused for a moment as she rose. “Captain on the bridge!” The military call had become familiar for her by now.

“At ease,” Zhen’var rejoindered. “Leftenant, report.”

“We’ve entered a region in which we are suffering degradation of the warp field. It occurred shortly after we slowed to Warp Three as planned. We should be able to maintain it without the subspace matrix in the focusing crystals but we’re having trouble with a field even here and are only holding Warp Two. There was a shudder when we entered the field.”

“I noticed, Leftenant. Sound Condition Yellow.”

“Condition Yellow,” Violeta answered, activating the alarms. “All hands, this is the Officer of the Watch. Be ready for unexpected subspace turbulence. Set MC Yoke throughout the ship.” She tapped off the comm as the alarms howled. “Captain,” she continued, “do you want the ship?”

“No, Leftenant, you have the ship,” Zhen’var answered, and gestured to the science station for Commander Imra, who followed her there. Ensign Oulata, the Alakin science officer of the third watch, was on duty.

“We’re having more and more difficulty holding even a field at Warp Two stable, Captain,” the Ensign reported.

“How far out are we?”

“About twelve hundred and thirty AU from the innermost star and closing rapidly. The system resembles almost nothing of Cyrannus, Captain, Commander, there’s an extra primary and there’s… Lots of tiny stars that shouldn’t…”

“Enough of that, Ensign,” Commander Imra said, softly, but firmly. “We have a bigger problem right now.” Abebech tensed. “The subspace gradients.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” He brought them up quickly.

“There, look,” she pointed.

“You’re right,” Zhen’var agreed, though her subspace physics were shabby at best, so she activated her omnitool. “Commander Poniatowska?”

“Captain?”

“Interface with the Bridge Science Console. What do you see?”

“The subspace equivalent of shoal water, Captain! We can’t hit that, it will break continuity of the warp field!”

Zhen’var watched them rapidly approaching the line. It looked to be located at about 1,225 AU from the white star at the centre of the system, and they were now only four and a half minutes from it. “Leftenant, when I give you a mark, you will bring the ship out of warp with the utmost alacrity.”

“Captain,” Violeta affirmed, and rose again to stand by her helm ensign. “Ensign Wilkins, stand by to execute.”

Zhen’var raised a hand. “Stand by… Stand by… Execute!

“Drop out of warp,” Violeta ordered.

“Zero-Zero!” Ensign Wilkins answered and the powerful drives of the Huáscar de-powered their warp fields, the ship flinging to a relative stop. There was a rolling shudder through the hull.

Zhen’var and Abebech exchanged a look. Zhen’var tapped her omnitool again. “Commander Poniatowska, report.”

“We nicked the edge of the field. It was within the ability of the drive dampers to deal with it, Captain.”

“Thank you, Commander.” Zhen’var looked at the displays. “They’re communicating.”

“Definitely, Captain,” Ensign Oulata replied. “We’ve been picking up more and more evidence that. There is a complex, interplanetary civilisation. Interstellar if you want to be technical, it’s spread through the entire cluster. But not with us. There is some evidence of supralight communications capability.”

“Despite the jamming field?” Zhen’var expressed some surprise.

“Yes, Captain, it..”

“Check the Iota band of hyperspace,” Abebech said. “If my idea is right…”

“Yes, it looks like they’re punching hyperspace comms through there, Ma’am,” Oulata agreed.

“Curious and curiouser. So far your hypothesis has been spot-on, Commander Imra. You had some experience with similar technology back at home, I am inferring.”

“Correct, Captain,” Abebech replied modestly. “Which means I know what to do next, since it is our priority even to the exclusion of first contact.”

“Agreed on that point,” Zhen’var answered. “Go on.”

“We can charge the Chambers coils on the warp drives and see the beginning of instability, then power down. We can keep repeating it on an arc from our current position. Use the shuttles, too. Once we’ve inscribed the approximate circumference of the arc from the angle of the field, and we have two discrete points along the arc…”

“We’ll know the exact spatial location of the field generator and can set our course at impulse toward it,” Zhen’var finished. “Concur. Leftenant Arterria, take your best guess for the next field position assuming an arc congruent with the system’s dimensions as our first guess. Move to the next position and charge the Chambers coils.” She tapped her comm and briefly explained what was going to happen to Anna.

“Well, Captain, I may need to replace the coils by the time this is done. Even with the automatic interlocks powering them down, the disruption field is serious.”

“Do we have replacements?”

“Yes, enough for two failures a drive. But we only need to charge two drives at once, Captain, not all four.”

“Excellent point. Leftenant, did you hear that?”

“Yes, Captain. We’ll configure the drive for two nacelles at a time.”

“Very good. Let’s start to get to the bottom of this mystery.” She looked at the system plot and the overlaid comparison of Cyrannus, and shook her head. “And what a mystery it is… Leftenant, take personal command of the helm, please, I want my best helmswoman for this. Commander Imra, you have the bridge.”

“Of course, Captain.”







The pilots and GIBs of the Wing were filled with rumours about what was going on as they made their long sublight burn in-system. In that sense, Artesia found them to be identical to the pilots on the White Base. Major Lar’shan, however, was adamant that they could launch at any time. With the Wing on alert, there was no booze and they were sleeping in bunks near the hangar. However, ten percent of the Wing was being released at any time to eat in the Mess or Cafe Varna, and it was Artesia’s turn. Her bank account kept filling up with credits--her brother made sure she was getting a stipend--but she didn’t really feel motivated to spend them, so the Mess it was.

She found Commander Elia Saumarez curled into two Dilgar wearing Mha’dorn pins that matched her own. The three were all clustered into something of a pile in a booth. In front of them was a large basket of something that looked sincerely good.

“Leftenant,” Elia greeted. <Come have a seat?>

<Thank you,> Artesia answered. Communicating telepathically was still an experience that she struggled to adapt to. “What you’re eating looks really good,” she offered.

Va’tor, the mental hygienist, smiled lazily, which could be ominous in a Dilgar, except that she signified gentle welcome as Artesia sat across from them. <It’s called Chicken 65. It’s the Captain’s favourite, and it’s really good. Help yourself.>

Artesia sat across from them and tried some. It was very good, and also very spicy. Her eyes widened for a moment. <Yes, good, but I need something to drink.> She got up and had the replicator get her a big glass of Mare Rosso, the soft drink popular in Spain, and some buttered garlic bread, since she wasn’t a carnivore, and returned to the table, offering the later to Elia.

<Mmn, Carbs,> Elia grinned.

Combat Master Gha’tir, from the fresh Marine company that Colonel Fei’nur had received, blinked dramatically. He reached over to Elia. <El’sau, you are ridiculous. That is not food.>

<There’s a part of me that feels you’re right,> Elia agreed, and had more chicken. “It happens,” she added for Artesia. “Gestalt with aliens, start thinking you’re a carnivore.”

“I admit, it’s not an experience I’ve had yet,” Artesia answered, carefully. “You all seem close.”

“She’s been among us Mha’dorn now long enough for her mental flavour, if you will, to overcome the sense of her being alien,” Gha’tir explained.

“Just like we might be shipmates long enough for you to get used to my bare hands,” Artesia offered to Elia, brushing her hair back.

“...” Elia blushed. “Artesia..”

“Yes, yes, I know it’s serious. Still. The Dilgar have bare hands.”

“Covered in fur,” Elia protested, but she was smiling now. “I admit, it’s hard. Our culture says: ‘Oh merciful God, cover them up.’ But I know intellectually it’s something of an enforced disability. Also, in my case, a sign of identity and pride, as it is for many of us.”

“Telepaths in Zeon don’t have a culture distinct from Zeonic culture, of course. And we still are generally calling ourselves Newtypes, though it’s all from me following things on the ‘net. I won’t pretend to be heavily involved with it, I’m not really sure I want to be.”

“I would consider that a blessing, Artesia. Maybe now Zeon can find its way in peace.”

“That’s the plan,” Artesia laughed softly, and had more of the chicken. It really was quite good. “What do you think about this mission?”

“Another usual display of wizardry on the part of Anna and Abebech,” Elia answered. “Now we’re heading at sublight toward the source of the distortion, and how they localised it was just utter brilliance. I may be a good operations officer, but I am far behind on the science, and I know it.”

“I think almost all of us feel that way,” Artesia admitted. “It was neat to think about how Minovsky Physics fit into the schema of the Multiverse, but it also pushes the limits of what I understand.”

<Oh look, they’ve started talking science,> Va’tor declared melodramatically.

Artesia heard it that time and waved. <Guilty as charged.>

<I suppose enough of that. Anyway, Artesia, it’s healthy for me to learn to respect different kinds of telepath cultures. Commander Imra sort of spoiled me with those spectacular gloves she always wears, even if they wouldn’t meet regulation in the Corps.>

<What is up with her? Other telepaths from her home universe don’t wear gloves. I’ve seen images.>

<To be honest, my working hypothesis is that she’s a human-Zigonian chimaera. They exist to enhance human telepathic powers. She’s strong, and an incorrect number of digits on her hands could be hidden by custom gloves, and she never lets anyone see her eyes. But she’s tall and her proportions are normal, which isn’t the case with normal hybrids. So I’m not sure.>

<Huh. Well, she is polite, but reserved.>

<It’s the reserved part that’s hard. I know you weren’t raised with other telepaths so you’re not used to it yourself, but the bonds formed are hard and fast,> Va’tor explained. <Probably we Mha’dorn are some of the only Dilgar really comfortable around aliens because of it. And it just seems odd that Commander Imra isn’t the same.>

<Respect her difference, too?> Artesia ventured with a shrug. She felt the tug of loneliness, away from her brother, away from Amuro, but she had dealt with it, and expected she would continue to deal with it.

<I’d be terrified not to!>







Will was standing watch as the Huáscar powered further into the vast system, the days slowly passing by as more details of the system were revealed. Some of the stars looked hauntingly familiar, the stars of his people. But this was not the Cyrannus he had grown up in. It was something else, now with a single new star and the orbits perturbed to be organised around that single great Type A star with more than twice the mass of Sol. He recognized that as Helios Alpha -- Sun A, literally, in his native language, proof of the artificial means by which they had come to exist in Cyrannus. There was Helios Beta, Helios Delta, Helios Gamma, the four suns of Cyrannus. But in the outer system was a blue star which did not belong here, and a half-dozen lesser suns glowed, strange proto-stars that Fera’xero was still aggressively analyzing. The system was a wonder.

An artificial wonder, their onboard scientists began to suspect. From start to finish it seemed engineered. That left Will with the unsettling question of whether or not Cyrannus itself was engineered. Maybe they just got more ambitious here. The comms staff was still trying to break through to the Iota band that most of the communications worked through. They were coasting at c-fractional velocities now, having reached a speed which could carry them across the expansive system in fifteen days. There was no need for further engine power that would cause more time dilation and diminishing returns that would make it harder to slow down.

Abebech’s reconnaissance method had already proved that the jamming effect was not actually centred on the system, not even close to it. Instead it stood well off in one quadrant near one of the proto-stars. That was the current destination of their course, cutting at an angle across the system.

It was Lieutenant Richards at Ops who gave him the warning. “Commander… We’ve got a force of seventeen ships of varying tonnage and design burning to intercept us. They’re moving in from the outermost proto-star, and we won’t be able to evade while continuing toward our target.”

Will’s face tightened. He had hoped for a hail or some other kind of friendly communication as they worked to decode the communications of this system. Hopefully ones familiar to his own tongue. Instead… “Open contact.”

“Sir, standing directives from the Captain for this operation were to maintain comms silence…” CPO Bor’eri reminded him at comms.

“They clearly know we’re here, Chief.”

“Sir.” A moment later, the answer came back as what his gut had feared it would be: “No response, Sir.”

“Again.” He activated the control on the command chair which sent the Condition Yellow signal throughout the ship. “All hands, this is the XO speaking. Condition Yellow, set modified Zebra throughout the ship.” He killed the comm, knowing it would bring Zhen’var running from her sea cabin moments later. “Lieutenant Richards, shields up, weapons to standby, but do not bring batteries to full power or energize targeting sensors. Chief Bor’eri?”

“Aye-aye sir,” Richards answered.

“Still no response, Sir,” The Dilgar Chief confirmed.

“Again.”

This time, Bor’eri decided he would use a tight-beam laser instead of conventional hailing, since the Commander clearly wanted to talk to the potential enemies, and the comm hails weren’t working. That produced a much more immediate effect.

Sir,” Richards frowned. “They’re adjusting their course and increasing thrust. Intercept heading.”

The doors to the bridge from the Captain’s Sea Cabin and Ready Room opened. “Will, what do we have?” Zhen’var looked as fully composed and ready as ever.

Commander Will Atreiad shook his head. So much for a peaceful contact with a people I thought might be my closest cousins. He popped his knuckles. “The locals have found us, Sir, and their idea of a welcoming party is burning hard on a sublight intercept vector.”
Tomyris
Posts: 69
Joined: Sun Apr 01, 2018 10:21 pm

Re: nUF Origins: S1 - Episode 5 - "Big Iron"

Post by Tomyris »

Act 2


“Very well. You may keep the conn, Commander.” Zhen’var had a pensive look on her face as she moved to stand behind her chair.

“Understood, Captain.” A moment later his omnitool chimed. Since they were holding their parasite craft in reserve, here so far from home, not wanting to give away their full strength, Commander Imra had taken secondary command.

“They are on an intercept course,” Lieutenant Richards confirmed. “Not a single one of the ships is identical. I think they’re all armed merchants, but some show very high power-mass ratios. It’s also going to be fifteen minutes until they’re in weapons range.”

Daria had reached tactical and took over, the Dorei’s fingers skittering over the board as she completed a review of the situation. “Charge on cannon banks good, shields nominal, Sir.”

“I’m going to go to Condition Red in another five minutes, Captain,” Will rested his hands on the granite. It was comfortably warm; he had discovered Zhen’var’s heater setting under it. “Ops, do we have a visual?”

RIchards tightened her baseball cap lower on her head and shifted the controls. “Yessir. Bringing it on.” Following the principle of directives, not orders, the answer to Will’s question was not simply a yes or no, but a solution to the implied, or desired, outcome.

The image that came on the screen was of a rag-tag collection of interplanetary ships. Some rusted, some were relatively new, all were heavily modified, many with massive additional thrust-blocks.

“Do we have mass assessments on them?” Will asked, frowning. They looked like a rag-tag band of pirates, really. One could see where the guns had been added.

“Yes, Sir; they’re all under seven hundred kilotons.”

Will nodded and looked at his chrono. It was time. He flipped the control over to the outmost setting. The bridge lights went red and the klaxon howled. “Condition Red, General Quarters! All hands, man your battlestations! Set MC Zebra throughout the ship!”

“Captain has the deck.” Zhen’var spoke softly, stepping forward as the klaxons sounded. Combat was in the offing, and she would be the one to give the order.

“I stand relieved, Ma’am.” Will rose and stepped to the side chair. All the presumptive enemy ships were still thrusting toward them. Behind him, Elia assumed her position at Ops, having arrived from sleep just in time for the closing of the bulkhead hatches and spacetight doors.

“Three fighter squadrons on Ready Five, the rest of the wing is standing to ready ten and will be there in six minutes,” Elia reported. “All compartments secure, full military power available, all weapons charged and ready. With Commander Imra at Secondary Control, we have the Heermann at Alert Ten under Goodenough.”

“Begin escalation of force procedures.” Zhen’var moved to sit, strapping herself in. Shout, show, shove, shoot to warn, shoot to kill. Divine, but they are going to take it to the last.

“We have already cleared the first S. De-accelerate rapidly to show our ability to dictate the terms of engagement,” Will told Violeta.

Violeta keyed in the commands for a complex set of manoeuvres while violently de-accelerating. As planned, the ship didn’t feel it internally, but as they reduced from their ballistic trajectory, they opened the time to weapons range with the prospective enemy and showed that they weren’t a dead, unresponsive barge, but a responsive and handy cruiser. The enemy responded by coming about to correct for the engagement parabolic.

“Second S down… they’re continuing to present a hostile posture. Continue warning them off and set course directly for them. Warn them that we have the right to transit this open space,” Elia explained. This was, to the Alliance, interstellar space and anyone could be in it, though she felt this immense system was treated as one whole by those who lived in it.

“Shove?” Violeta asked.

“We’ll do it literally if we come into tractor range before they open fire,” Will answered. It was a truly by the book interpretation of the book for a starship. But they were far from home, and wanted to give every opportunity to de-escalate. “Captain, they really don’t seem like a regular military force. They’re not holding formation and there’s no sign of communications yet.”

“We still haven’t cracked the encoding of the high band network comms in this system through hyperspace. They might be using that to communicate,” Elia speculated, “but we’re not going to have enough time to make sure. Tactical,” she addressed Daria, “plan on it being a ruse d’guerre.”

“Understood, Ops. Approaching tractor range in one minute.”

“Expect the worst.” Zhen’var interjected. “This looks like a charging horde.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” Will stared at the image, continuously updated to the changing size with distance, deceptively making it look like the ships weren’t gaining on them. Enough of that. It’s bad for tactical picture. “Ops, get us something better.”

Elia brought up a three-d rectified tactical plot on the viewscreen instead. “Fifteen seconds. They’re holding fire or they don’t have the range, Captain.”

“Standing by with tractor beam…” Daria sang out. “We’ll bump the largest. Ops, brace for impact.”

“Sound collision,” Elia noted and activated the controls. Five sharp blasts cut through the intercom.

“And… Pushing.” Violeta activated the tractor beam with steadily ramping force. Tractor beams were not meant to be used against onrushing objects regularly, but Zhen’var had insisted on drilling to use the tractor beam as a weapon in its own right, and in particular as a less-than-lethal weapon for a starship. The issue was the shock this could cause to the using vessel, which would after all have to accept the change in momentum.

But the Huáscar was much larger than her target. The cruiser shuddered and bucked beneath them, and the engines screamed to briefly counterbalance the surge of momentum against their course. The target went flying, bodily pushed back and tumbling out of the loose, disordered formation of the other sixteen ships.

“Shove,” Elia murmured. Ahead of them, the remaining sixteen vessels still came on, and despite the lack of a coherent formation, the seventeenth brought her engines up to full power and boosted hard to catch up, as if completely unaffected by the blow. As she did, though, the others started to spread out in an englobing manoeuvre.

“Warning shots, expect this not to work, we may be moving quickly to firing in earnest.” Zhen’var’s voice cracked out as she tightened her restraints.

Daria quickly planned an impressive barrage, and sent the guns to peak recharge while they were not being fired upon. She activated the pattern and sent fire from the main and secondary batteries lancing around the ships in a display designed to shock and awe them with coordination, precision, and the energy in the beams. It was far more than just warning shots, it was a deadly warning of just what the Huáscar’s batteries could do.

Every single one of the unknown ships went to full thrust, coiling back in like a flower closing back up. As they did, they opened fire.

“Tactical, you are fire free, helm, evasive action!” The Captain watched the repeaters as the weapons flared. Are they suicidal?

The Huáscar’s ship’s power flickered. Elia’s face turned baleful as she leaned down toward her console. “Very precise weapons fire. Directed EMP burst packets--those weapons are intended to disable, not destroy. I’m adjusting the shields to compensate to avoid those pinpoint surges.”

Violeta was spinning the Huáscar through a series of tight snap-rolls to try and evade the incoming fire, but the swarm stayed with them, their weapons never missing against such a massive target. They were optimised to engage much smaller ships and that made the Huáscar a sitting duck… Except for the fact that the energy shields were like nothing they had encountered. The EMP weapons were directly draining them, but the sheer power of the naqia reactors fronting them made this no easy challenge.

Daria chose to open fire with energy weapons only. They were far, far from home, and if this entire system went hot against them, they needed to conserve torpedoes except for the direst of emergencies. She selected the full banks of Model 1 and 2 Plasma Cannon and Pulse Emitters and directed the fire of fifty-four energy weapons against the biting globe of gnats which surrounded them.

Daria didn’t waste time diverting fire among many different targets, either. She used the computers to concentrate the batteries on one per primary arc, and then opened fire. The eruption of pulses and bolts of plasma cannon fire at relatively short ranges turned the space around the Huáscar into a continuous sheet of energy. As it did, three of Daria’s four targets failed to evade.

The ships struck were carved viscerally by the concentration of fire. Mostly converted merchantmen and without shields, they had no resistance. Flames from the venting atmosphere igniting under the enormous heat of the plasma rippled along shattered hulls and bulkheads and in one case a reactor detonated outright, completely destroying the hulk.

“Shields holding at ninety percent, Captain,” Elia reported. “Captain, one of the largest just kicked her engines to full burn--collision course!”

“They are trying to board. Ops, helm, evade!” This makes no sense…!

A second ship thrust forward as the second was caught with tractors. She was going much too fast than even to board. Daria opened fire with every weapon that could bear to port, including torpedoes this time. The first ship, caught in the tractor beams by Elia, was bracketed in tremendous explosions, and despite being larger than the ships destroyed before, and better protected, perhaps a real warship, started to come apart as forty torpedoes detonated along her flanks.

The second ship was taken by the energy weapons in a massive bracketing of fire which ripped down her flanks, but even as a burning ruin she plunged on. Venting vapourised hull plating turned to plasma and atmosphere burning as flame before it dissipated into space, the ruin carried on and bodily slammed into the shields of the Huáscar. The shock through the hull, striking on the lower part of the shields, was transmitted by the generators and sent her rolling to port on her beam ends as a massive explosion of the reactor overcharging in the wreck and detonating with the fusion of her fuel supplies spread along the shields, the energy barrier distorting the explosion down the length of the cruiser, and catching on the curve of the shields bucking her back up to level as Violeta fought to keep her under control.

Daria grimaced as she rocked against the straps in her chair, and the batteries were firing again, she managed to destroy another to starboard as these two had gone in, and now there were only eleven… And moments later only eight as again her heavy guns spoke.

“Primary and secondary shields have failed, Captain! The EMP bursts are now severely disrupting cohesion of the remaining shield layer,” Elia reported crisply. She didn’t bother to report the casualties or the damage to the primary shield generators’ mountings, Nah’dur and Anna would respectively handle those and they weren’t important to Zhen’var’s tactical picture at the moment.

“Helm, get us some distance if possible. Colonel, stand to, the order is repel boarders. Weapons, do your best to keep them off. We are facing suicidal fanatics.

“Marines standing by to repel boarders,” Fei’nur’s voice echoed.

“Tac, watch those ones coming in close,” Will called as he looked at the tactical plot. They swooped in, and Daria only nailed two of them. The massive batteries of the Huáscar were still sufficient to send them straight to hell at point-blank range.

The other two opened fire with plasma cutters, mining ship equipment for chopping up asteroids… Point-blank, but enormously powerful because of their limited range and recycling energy configuration, they tore at the Huáscar’s deranged shields as they de-accelerated only tens of meters from the hull.

This is about to get far worse. “Evasive!”

“Helm, break to port!” Elia called as she shifted controls. Violeta instinctually followed her, because it seemed like Elia had a plan, even though that brought them even closer to the two ships, as the shields suddenly surged with over-power through the tertiary generators and the shields slammed into the active plasma cutters, driving a massive energy feedback into the systems of the two small attackers. As they did, there were two enormous explosions along the port aft quarter, shaking the Huáscar like a bone in the mouth of a dog as both of them detonated from the impact and energy feedback tearing their thin hulls to pieces.

“We were going to lose the shields no matter what, Captain, better to take them with the generators,” Elia justified herself simply.

“Ops, stand by to transport,” Daria called out, her ears flexing as she hastily began arming sequences. “Captain, we can finish this before they board.” The starboard cannons finished another as the rest concentrated to port. “Stand by to transport torpedoes aboard.” Just like against the Daleks…

“On it!” Elia answered. This was Crew Resource Management at its finest, as Violeta kept the ship shifting through her manoeuvres. They didn’t need orders to act. Zhen’var’s little Intent revolution was actually bearing fruit.

“Torpedoes armed. Mark!” Daria called out.

Elia activated the transporters remotely and then watched the confirmation lights go green. “Fire in the hole!”

Daria pushed the remote detonation override. The attacking swarm vanished in bright white flashes of energy from within. Clouds of debris and plasma were overcome by the spreading light of reactors detonating and exploding and the spreading energy of the torpedoes. As it faded, only the two largest remaining ships were still extant, both of them with big gashes in their sides, tumbling and disabled without main power.

The battle, as sharp as it had been, was abruptly over.

“Local tactical picture?” Zhen’var’s hands clenched her armrests tightly. “If clear, stand down for damage control.”

“Two cripples, all other ships destroyed,” Elia confirmed. “No ships detected in local sensor range. Permission to lead one of the boarding parties, Captain? There are survivors on both hulks.” She reduced the ship to Condition Yellow -- damage control stations -- MC Zebra still set to permit isolation of damage.

“Let the marines go first, but I can take one of the prize crews and Commander Saumarez the other,” Abebech offered from secondary control.

“Permission is granted. Full protective measures, medical and tactical, Colonel. No-one sane acts as they have.”

“Understood. One platoon against target should be sufficient to suppress even fanatical resistance,” Fei’nur answered back. “Full armour and rebreathers.”

“The life-forms do read as human,” Elia noted cooly as she rose to report to Transporter 1 and handed Ops back over to Lieutenant Richards.

“Then let us find out just who has attacked us…” Zhen’var would say, as Elia entered the lift.







Of all the things that Bikie might have expected on boarding the crippled enemy ship, the abrupt full-throated attack on his platoon took them all and doubled it. They held nothing back; they were hideously scarred, sore-covered monsters in a mixture of rags and armours, with skin dirtied and blackened, screaming hideous screams. And they attacked to capture. With a moment, his command squad was in a fight for its life.

“SHOVEL, this is BIKIE, Platoon Hotel Company A, under heavy attack!” His gun screamed with pulse fire and he went silent for a moment. “They’re fanatics who keep attacking with incoherent screams even when half of them has been blown off!”

“SHOVEL copies.” Fei’nur turned to her command team. “Send in the mines first, clear the TZs, full weapons release. Deploy heavy squads, now.”

Autonomous mines were sent forward into the mass to detonate, giving time for each ship to be reinforced by a squad of marines in power armour. Their heavy weapons chopped through a mass which could not get purchase on them, though it was instantly a fight in melee conditions despite the initial clearing, so fast were they on them.

Abebech’s voice came over the comms. “Shovel, this is Ray-ban. I believe Leather and I can be of material assistance to getting prisoners and intel in this circumstance.”

“If you wish to go into that, Commander, let me at least get them out of melee with my Marines!”

Down in the transporter room, Elia, listening to the conversation, grimaced. She was sure to some extent that Abebech was right, speaking from another transporter closer to secondary control (the ship was still buttoned down), but even in armour with a carbine and rebreather she questioned facing down these man-beasts. Still, she understood what Abebech meant. They could telepathically disable the enemy.

“Your discretion, Colonel,” Abebech replied mildly.

“Stand by, you’ll have five seconds. Bikie, call for the Mha’dorn as soon as you have a TZ for them.”

“Rought. On it, Shovel.” He waved his hand forward. “Squad, move out! Provide covering fire for the parms!”

Using the power armoured squad as the frontal force, his command squad provided rifle fire at range around them, risky in the confined space but needed. The energy weapons scoured the hull but did not bunch through, and that was good, because the buckled plates were as thin and weak as hell, and they were using their bottles due to reduced oxygen as it was, beyond the risk of disease.

Behind them, three more of his squads bunched up around their heavy weapons to keep the ground they’d already gained.

Covering and fire in turn, the squad of Power Armour, split into two teams of four each, rolled down the two corridors. Occupying them shoulder to shoulder, they fired pulse cannon in fire boxes down the corridor, slaughtering their attackers and pinning them in place.

As they advanced, they used special shaped charges to open the bulkheads between them for intercommunication. The rifles behind them did precision shots whenever they had an opening. Discipline began to tell on lunatic fanaticism, even as again and again attackers flung themselves onto the close-combat nano filament blades of the power armour. When they reached the next set of cross-corridors, they halted.

“All right, Shovel, this is Bikie. We’ve got the TZ open and clear. They can’t handle a disciplined power armour advance.”

On the second ship, the effort was duplicated, even if the different configuration meant that a main internal lift was being used as the secure point; the rocket thrusters on the power armour suits letting them jump from floor to floor to secure it. Lieutenant Ke’ter confirmed her position ready a moment later, as well.

“Ray-Ban, Leather, teleporting in five, four, three, two, one, mark.” Fei’nur’s voice was clipped and sharp as she tried to coordinate this unexpectedly difficult pair of boarding actions.

Both women, on hearing the plan and Fei’nur’s interpretation of it, had only been able to steel themselves and be ready for imminent combat. The Dilgar Battlemaster’s objective was overwhelming speed and total disorientation for their enemies.

The moment the two went in, the wounded were beamed out, transferred directly to sickbay. Nah’dur had everything ready for them and went to work stabilising and evaluating immediately.

Fei’nur would be following shortly, as soon as she could be in the fray without having to use her blades herself. “Keep pushing forward, Marines! Commanders, these are worse than Drazi!”

The reinforcement squads were simply overwhelming the enemy with raw numbers in small ships that were not heavily crewed--and had taken casualties--to begin with. It was also a truism that any force of barbarians could not stand against troops in regular order, and now with more than a full company deployed they had two hundred personnel on the ships.

Communicating by omnitool, Abebech and Elia had agreed that main engineering on each ship was their principle objective, and they’d peeled off squads in that direction. It was obvious to both women that the main threat was of a detonation of the reactor, even though both ships had lost power and their fusion bottles weren’t actively fusing.

The markings on the corridors of the ships, though in poor condition, were legible, a strange mix of English and Chinese that was still obvious enough to point them toward engineering spaces in ships that showed, as they moved through them, increasing scenes of horror. Human and animal bones were everywhere, piled into strange decorations, skulls hanging from ropes, pelts and human skins displayed as trophies and as simple piles of blankets for sleeping.

Even the Dilgar found it to be… disconcerting, and any hesitation the boarders felt was long since gone.

Everyone, that was, except for Abebech Imra. She coolly advanced at the head of the squad, several times shooting down their attackers with quick off-angle shots that showed how precise of a fighter and killer she was. She gazed through her sunglasses a few times at the vicious, barbaric artwork and then carried on.

At main engineering on the ship she was boarding, the ship’s crew tried one more rush as the Alliance marines burned through the defending bulkhead doors. Breaching was always a dangerous activity, and Abebech ordered the Dilgar corporal back. “It’s quite all right. I’ll mind it,” she answered. The timer on the breaching charge reached zero and it exploded. The door collapsed inward, and Abebech turned, utterly unconcerned, just in time for the surge of attackers to reach her, stepping over their fallen comrades who had been knocked down by the falling blast door.

The squad stared as she picked one up by the neck with a whipcord motion of one of her gloved hands that was almost too fast to track. It screamed hideously and clawed at her, but Abebech continued to lift it, easily two feet off the ground, her black leather clad hand compressing like so much of a hydraulic vise until the struggling began to stop. Behind them, the others pressed in, just to halt abruptly. Vibrating in place, they dropped their knives and cudgels and began to fall, trying to resist with their muscles and unable, to their knees. Twelve of them.

“Secure prisoners,” Abebech snapped. She cocked her arm back and then flung the struggling former human flying through the air over his telepathically disabled comrades to slam into the far bulkhead of the engineering spaces with a sickening crack.

The Marines didn’t hesitate after hearing that tone of voice from Commander Imra, and they pushed in to truss up prisoners, hand and foot, and get muzzles on the same.

Abebech brushed off her gloves and then adjusted her sunglasses. “I’m going to the bridge.”

“We’ll get you an escort, ma’am.” the Dilgar Marine NCO near her growled, marking off four armed figures. “Even if I’m not sure you need it, Commander.”

“That will do. Thank you.” A trace of a smile touched her lips. “My only concern is for Commander Saumarez and the other ship.”






At that moment, Elia was finding herself in the fight of her life. Pressing on to engineering on the first ship, she had found herself under full assault by a large group of the monstrous not-humans. She had been trained for this! Rigorously drilled to use her telepathic abilities in combat.

She was strong enough that as a skilled telepath she could make real use of them too. Groups of the Reavers would rush her, seeking to take her, to rape her, to maim her, to kill her, to plunder all that she was and eat her. She would shut down their motor functions, and the Marines with her would exploit. Again, and again. Her pistol fired over and over--it was almost automatic--and she p’heard the scream of the open-shut door, for even these beasts had souls.

But the sheer horror that she was experiencing was distracting her. These creatures contained the memories of a human, memories in which every kind of nightmare and atrocity had been inflicted upon the old and young alike, on captured soldiers and little children. Nothing was spared, except for the rude structure of order that their dominance fights imposed on their society. And yet, inside, they were still human beings.

The problem with the fight, why it was a fight for her life, was the sickness she felt with each contact with their minds. Skin perpetually green and flushed clammy with cold sweat, she tried to keep from screwing up again, and again. And each time she had to enter their minds, to disable or outright in a few cases to destroy, while withdrawing in time, in the midst of the frenzy of fire, to keep from being in contact with the monstrosity of their souls as they died. The idea of doing a necroscan on one of these creatures revolted her more the longer she was in contact with them.

Around her, the Marines advanced to seize Engineering. She shifted to help take the bridge. The fighting began to die down. There was a blur of weapons fire, of Marines coming to give orders. “Yes, follow the Chinese symbols for sector eight there,” she’d tell one Dilgar, “and reinforce Zeta Platoon.” But the words barely wrote to her memory. Finally, Elia dropped to her knees and threw up on the deck below the bridge. The overwhelming feeling of sickness and horror pounded into her until the entire blurry parade of fighting seemed like a picture that someone had dumped black paint over.

There was a confused sense of something happening, as a figure dropped to a knee beside her, a hand clapping firmly on her shoulder, a mental shout, met with an audible, hissed whisper. “El’sau. El’sau!

El’sau, Elia, looked up and blinked widely. A steady, determined face looked back. A Dilgar face. “...Fei’nur?”

The grizzled old Colonel leaned in close. “Are you all right? These monsters have to be hard on a Mha’dorn.” She was already fishing through a pack on her hip.

“They kill, maim, rape, eat everyone, from the old to the young, perhaps if you’re very lucky in that order,” Elia rasped. “Their victims call them Reavers and they call themselves the Fearless.”

Fei’nur simply continued to take the hypospray out and pressed it into Elia’s neck, before putting a hand on her shoulder. It was a struggle for Fei’nur to feel compassion toward humans, but with El’sau it was easier than all the others, even Ka’var.

The drug began to work immediately on her brain, and with a look of ready thanks, El’sau extended her gloved hand to Fei’nur. “Thank you. Gods, thank you.”

Fei’nur took it, and squeezed. “I doubt you want the flask right now. Afterwards, at least. As soon as you’re ready to go, El’sau. These monsters have to be put down, if we won’t get anything from it, I’m not going to worry about taking any.”

“I already must have helped take at least thirty prisoners. We scarcely need more. They’re on the bridge? The rest of the ship is clear?”

A quick check of Fei’nur’s tactical display led to El’sau getting a nod of affirmation in response.

“Well, if we’ve got them isolated, I suggest we do one better. We do take prisoners. The easy way, Colonel.” She activated her omnitool. “Leftenant Richards, this is Leather.”

“Ma’am?”

“Beam every single life sign on the top deck of the ship directly into active cells in the brig.” There was a particularly savage look on Elia’s face. “The only thing I hate more than keeping them alive right now is the idea of playing fair with them, Colonel. They’re all in one place, no need for target differentiation.”

“Do it. And alert Medical. This is not normal. Full isolation protocols in the brig, Lieutenant.” Fei’nur added.

“Full isolation protocols in the brig,” Richards confirmed. Rumours were already spreading like wildfire and concern was in her voice.

“Don’t worry, Leftenant, we’re quite all right,” Elia assured her.

“Understood. Transports complete, Commander.”

Elia nodded. “Go ahead and breach the bridge entrance at your leisure, Ma’am,” she said to Fei’nur. Her omnitool crackled with noise. “Rayban to White, we have our prize.”

Elia tapped off her omnitool as Fei’nur had returned from giving the order to her breaching team. “Colonel… I don’t think Commander Imra was fazed in the slightest. She sounds as calm as a peach. And she’s a stronger telepath than I am.” Elia was quietly shaking her head.

“Long experience, I think. I’ll let you know when I have the bridge, Commander.” Standing, Fei’nur stalked ahead, to lead her Marines through the last bulkhead.






Somewhat more than three hours later, the senior officers had gathered in Conference Suite 1. Daria had the conn for the meeting. Elia was sitting quietly at the table, pouring cream over a scone and drinking her tea. She had an intensely blank expression on her face. Across from her, Abebech was quietly sipping a demitasse of coffee. The two women didn’t look at each other, but they didn’t seem tense, either.

Nah’dur paced by the holo-projector like a nervous bundle of energy. She barely stopped when Zhen’var and Will arrived, but she did stop completely when Fei’nur arrived. Still wearing her medical coat, she looked like so much of a professor.

“Good afternoon, everyone. Can anyone provide some more information on just what or whom we have encountered, please?”

Just as Nah’dur was about to start, the doors opened again. Commander Poniatowska came in with Chief Dugan following her. She was in her engineering overhauls, streaked with grease, and so was he. The only way to tell the officer apart from the Chief was that she had taken the time to toss her Engineer’s vest on; they both had coffee. “Sorry for being late, Captain. I was responsible for detaining Chief Dugan. We had to finish jacking one of the shield generators off the shock mountings and replacing them. It took a bit longer than I expected when I said it could make it. Full shield power has now been restored.”

“Excellent, I am glad to hear it. Be seated, please. I am hoping to get some more information on just who or what has attacked us.”

Nah’dur began to raise her hand, but Elia spoke first, and Nah’dur paused and slowly lowered her hand. “Captain,” Elia said, “They’re called Reavers. They terrorise the planetary systems of ‘The Verse’ with rape, plunder, cannibalism and murder.”

“They thought we were a new kind of Government battleship coming to intrude upon their territory. They suffered grievous losses some months ago in a hard-fought engagement with a large Government fleet which they almost defeated, when beforehand they had been ignored by the Government, which is strong in the inner systems, as they terrorised the outer systems,” Abebech added after a moment of uneasy silence. “After the destruction of this group, there are very few left. When the Government won its doubtful contest, it made sure none escaped.”

“So there is some central government, with very weak control over the outer systems, and these are… cannibal… pirate monsters.” She slowly blinked. “There being very few is a clearly good thing, then.”

“Ahh, but Captain,” Nah’dur addressed Zhen’var directly, “They’re not natural cannibal-pirate-monsters. The moment one of them arrived I had it transported to sickbay in one of my isolation chambers and got to work. I already have an answer.”

Do… go on, Surgeon-Commander.”

“Their brains were exposed to a hydrochlorate chemical of a unique composition I haven’t seen before,” Nah’dur said, bringing up a set of chemical charts on the holoprojector and stuffing her hands into the pockets of her lab coat. “As it happens, this is a very complicated chemical which, when crossing the blood-brain barrier, destroys most of the brain pathways that are triggered by chemical release from the adrenal glands. In short, it should in principle make most humans cease to function and die within a period of days or weeks. All well and good!”

“However, the individuals in question--once I saw what had happened to the first I took samples from the others, which we’re keeping sedated by direct neural-electrical inhibition, since nothing else will work--are all sociopathic, or at least have the genes for it. Those neural pathways were unaffected and in fact the chemical remains permanently concentrated in those areas of the brain, serving as a sort of saline distribution channel for adrenaline. In short, it’s like all normal emotional impulses are destroyed and the subject is receiving injections of continuous synthetic adrenaline into the centres of the brain primarily responsible, with their genes, for narcissism and dehumanisation of other sapients. Really, the only curious thing is why someone went around exposing a large population to exotic hydrochlorates for no good reason. Or for completely daft reasons, anyway. I can’t think of any good ones.”

“By how they act, Surgeon-Commander, they are likely amongst the first victims, and whomever ordered it would likely prefer that it never be known.

“Some of them are turned by the others by absolutely hideous tortures I don’t want to repeat,” Elia interjected. “How does that fit?”

“Probably by ritualised cannibalism,” Nah’dur answered promptly. “There are many cultures which engage in ritualised cannibalism of their own dead, if they chose someone to become one of them--perhaps they can smell humans who have sociopathic tendencies, pheremonally--then they could begin the conversion process, and end it with an initiation ritual, for instance, which requires eating the brains of their own fallen. Their society certainly results in a high turnover rate, no need to murder their own, the wastage from, well, reaving, would be quite enough! But it’s certainly not contagious in the conventional sense.”

Elia looked nauseated. “She’s not wrong, Captain. In fact, I think she’s right. I saw far too much of them, inside of them.”

“I saw as well,” Abebech confirmed simply.

“I… see. This system is… horrifying. Will, I am very glad this does not appear to be some mirror of your people.”

“Well, what is this Government?” Will was frowning. “I mean, we don’t have any history of such a thing in Cyrannus. In my Cyrannus. But what is this government? We have evidence of the use of descendants of English and Chinese?”

“Correct, Commander,” Elia agreed. “I’m not sure. Some of the … converted … Reavers might, though.”

“OH! Speaking of which,” Nah’dur leaned forward on the table. “I actually think we can stabilise them. I mean, they do communicate, and have enough of a hierarchy to control starships. They’re still sapient. A Mha’dorn should be able to reprogram their personality to make them respond to adrenal signalling differently, perhaps as panic for instance, and then we can control the panic with normal anti-anxiety medication. We might actually be able to make one of them into a communicating being again, and then interrogate it. I’d like to try it, Captain.”

A few of Zhen’var’s officers were given each other looks ranging from confused to mildly concerned across the table at that point. Arterus in particular looked rather baleful. Elia’s lips were firmly pursed, though.

“That Mha’dorn must volunteer with full knowledge of the risk, and I want you to assemble an ad-hoc REC to review before proceeding, Surgeon-Commander. You are flirting with things on the edge… Commander, you have something to offer?”

“Well, actually, as uncomfortable as it makes me, I think she’s right. I could p’hear their deaths just like anyone else’s, I could p’hear the screams of their minds and see them go … beyond, just like a healthy, normal person,” Elia explained. “Commander Imra?” Elia looked across the table for support. She had never gotten it before, and many people at the table were a little uncomfortable at the description of the lived telepathic experience.

Abebech leaned in and set her cup down. She’d changed to a pair of long white gloves. “Commander Saumarez is correct,” she said, surprising Elia most of all as she continued. “Their minds are those of the living, the essence of their reality is much the same. The Surgeon-Commander’s proposal is, quite frankly, the first time anyone has proposed a cure, in the minds of those I have seen. Even if her youth means she presents it in a way that comes off awkwardly, the intention can only be described as good. I am not really sure it is worth living after you have done such things, even when you cannot help it; but unless the Surgeon-Commander is allowed to try, we might as well shoot them all, for their own sakes. They are living beings, and they deserve more compassion than Nazis, for their crimes were committed under profound mental impairment.”

“Have our Mental Hygienist on stand-by, then. If the REC comes back positive, which I think it will, you may proceed, Surgeon-Commander. That was good, original thinking.”

“Thank you, Captain! I’ll be right about it!”

Lar’shan leaned in from his seat at the table. “Captain. The government that did this… Organization, agency, terrorist group, whatever we have. We’re going to find them, aren’t we?”

“That is the goal, Wing Commander. We are our own little island of the Alliance here, and Divine, but anyone who ignored this, much less condoned or caused it?” Disdain coloured her voice as Zhen’var spoke, eyes flashing with restrained anger.

So Say We All!” Will declared, standing up. One by one, and then in unison, the others rose, and repeated it. “So Say We All!” After months of gelling together, all alone in the night, the Huáscar’s officers spoke with one voice.

And then the bridge comm trilled. “Captain, this is Lieutenant Seldayiv,” Daria’s voice came over the comm, crisp but urgent. “There’s a ship heading for us, a small, fast merchant type, on a course at a transect to those of the attackers.”

“Move to intercept. I want answers from someone who has not been turned into a mad, psychopathic cannibal.”
Tomyris
Posts: 69
Joined: Sun Apr 01, 2018 10:21 pm

Re: nUF Origins: S1 - Episode 5 - "Big Iron"

Post by Tomyris »

Act 3

As they departed the Conference Suite to head to their stations, Elia hung back with Abebech for a moment. “Thank you, Commander. I know it was hard for you as well and I know that you normally don’t talk about such things. But it meant a lot for you to confirm and support me on this issue. It must have been very hard for you. Or perhaps it would have, once upon a time, at least. I know you have seen much.”

“Thank you, Commander Saumarez. That is correct. There was a time when this would have badly disturbed me. I hope, in the main, there was a time when this would have badly disturbed anyone. However, I am fine right now, and the only wisdom I can offer is that by remaining utterly focused on your moral objectives, the principles which drive you to endure these sights, you will, in time, handle these matters more calmly.”

“That’s why you’re as scary as hell to a lot of people, Commander,” Elia smiled wryly. “Most people think that…”

“The characteristic of a fanatic, I know.” Abebech actually smiled back. “The difference is that I still have a sense of humour and make--or at least keep--friends across the aisle. But the objective remains the same. Commander, you’re a brave and capable woman. The memories of others are an ultimate form of dwelling in the past. The future is clean and pure, unwritten for anyone. Dwell in the future, and the memories of the past will fall off your mind like water off a duck’s back. They can’t hold purchase over someone who is optimistic about the future. It is an attitude which takes a virtual lifetime to develop…”

<But you have it, Abebech, so you’re clearly rather old.>

Abebech grinned before she turned away to head to the Heermann. This time, she actually answered. <A bit older than the norm, you’re quite right. But I promise I wouldn’t be offering advice you couldn’t use.>

<Well, I’ll try to take it, but it may require a grace greater than any I’ve had before. I also never expected you to join in a ship’s cheer.>

<Oh, come now. These things matter to people. Unity of strength and purpose make for a better crew and officer corps, and my privacy does not prevent my heart from stirring with my comrades.>

With a dry wave, she left, but for a change, Elia felt much better about it.

Abebech, as silent and reserved as ever, got in the ‘lift and called up the Heermann dock. As it traveled, she pulled a builder’s plate out of her pocket that she had taken from the captured ship, and looked long and hard at it, cupped in her gloved hands.

Weyland-Yutani Corporation.

“We Build Better Worlds.”

Heavy Shipbuilding Division

Union of Allied Planets Navy

Enforcement Cruiser Ioannis

Laid at Londinium Geostationary Dockyards

Oct 14 2510.

Gripping it tightly, she put it back in her breast-pocket as she left the turbolift.





The Huáscar hadn’t suffered appreciable damage. The nature of the battle had been such that only light autocannon fire had hit the hull, and the armour had easily rejected all of it. The only internal damage had been from shock, and the repairs to those systems had been completed, with the re-mounting of the shield generators having been the most aggressive effort by Commander Poniatowska. Despite the seriousness of the attack, they had suffered only eleven wounded. The nineteen wounded during the boarding operations were also mostly minor; armour helped.

The great ship came about to intercept the new contact with alacrity. Redlight muted the environment of the bridge, and everyone was at stations. They were taking no chances now… They would have to make an impulse burn for twelve hours to escape the warp interference area. Doctrinally that left them hideously vulnerable to attack even as the great shining hull suggested a power and energy which nothing they had encountered in the system so far could match.

“Comms, Hail them.”

Tor’jar was at his station and sent the signal. “Unidentified vessel, this is the Allied Systems Cruiser Huáscar. We wish to make peaceful contact.

“They’re turning away and increasing speed,” Elia reported with almost a sigh.

“Pursue. Get them to pay attention to us,” Zhen’var directed.

Violeta brought the Huáscar up to full power and watched a kilometre of durasteel steadily build her speed onto her speed. The massive vessel she controlled was something like an armoured cruiser of the early 20th century, capable of fighting in the battle-line, conducting independent operations, and transporting a division of troops. Never had one of the class been this utterly alone before, a month from resupply or reinforcement, and this sorely tested by a situation that defied understanding. But when Violeta brought the drives to power, the ship’s staggering ability reinforced her status as the biggest, most dangerous thing around. Within seconds they had leapt from a distant image to a looming giant to the crew of the unidentified ship.

“This is the Allied Systems Cruiser Huáscar, please identify yourselves. We wish to make contact.”

“Alliance ship,” a man’s voice finally came back on an open comm channel, “are you detaining us or not? If not, we’d like to be left alone.”

Zhen’var barely stopped from putting a palm to her forehead. Of course, the names of the central government here and our own government are so similar the Captain thinks we are a Government ship. And he is an outer systems man this far out, who isn’t particularly interested in the government. Maybe even opposed to it. She activated her own interface to the line. “Commander unidentified vessel, this is Captain Zhen’var. The Huáscar serves a foreign government to your system.”

“Captain Zhen’var,” the voice came back, “Don’t play games with me. There is nothing beyond the ‘Verse.”

“Captain, that’s emphatically not true. You came from Earth.”

“Earth-that-was. It’s dead, just like the name says.”

“The reports of Earth’s demise have been exagerrated,” to put it mildly, but I need to get them to sit down and talk before revealing everything! She muted the channel. “Leftenant, pull us ahead of them at point-blank.”

“Captain,” Violeta acknowledged and brought the Huáscar’s drives to power again. She grew nearer and nearer to the tiny independent merchant. The vessel repeatedly tried to evade, but Violeta stayed on her tail and then overhauled her, keeping formation with her evasive manoeuvres and looming massively over the cockpit windows of the small transport, casting her entirely within the shadow of the kilometre-long star cruiser.

“Commander unidentified vessel, does this look like a ship of your central government?”

“No, but I reckon if they could build it, they would. It doesn’t matter, though. I would say I am in a position where I have to listen to whatever you want to say, Captain Zhen’var, so go ahead and say it.”

“We will bring your ship aboard and meet. There is much to discuss between your humanity and the Allied Systems, Captain… May I have your name?”

There was a long and pained hesitation, but the Huáscar had his ship dead by rights, and if they wanted him, they’d have him. “Reynolds. Malcolm Reynolds.”





The ship, it turned out, had a crew of five aboard, three women and two men--and one of the women was carrying a newborn baby with her. The leading man, rather obviously Captain Malcolm Reynolds, looked exhausted, and his crew stressed and pushed to the limit. They also gazed at her with the obvious suspicion of people not in isolation suits confronted with someone who was.

All of that changed when Nah’dur completed her medical scanning and pulled her helmet off, shaking out her shoulder-length bob of red hair, the honour guard drawn up in full pressure suits. “There’s nothing air or aerosol transmissible of consequence, the bay air will be switched to general circulation,” she ordered via her omnitool, and then addressed the five. “I am Surgeon-Commander Nah’dur, welcome to the Huáscar on the behalf of Captain Zhen’var.”

Mal’s shock was evident on his face. Then a rather accusatory look fell across his chiseled features. “You told me you were from Earth-that-was!”

“...Maybe cat people took it over after humans died out there?” One of the shorter women in the crew, in simple spacer’s overhauls, was staying wide eyed as she blurted it out.

“Oh, neither. We said we knew that people had survived on Earth--which is true, there is a small remnant population. We also have humans aboard -- from several places. But half the crew is my species, the Dilgar.”

A dark-haired woman who looked a bit like mother-Ka at a younger age, the same ethnicity anyway, took a hesitant step forward, understandable because of the child held in her arms. “And the Captain is as well?”

“You’re very observant with our names. Yes, she is,” Nah’dur answered matter-of-factly. “Please, this way, we have a conference suite.” She watched the second man stay close between the two shorter women, his eyes tracking everything, wide and thoughtful. Nah’dur knew another intellectual when she saw one. “Sir…?”

“Oh. Doctor Tam, Surgeon-Commander Nah’dur,” he answered, and hesitated to put out his hand.

She reached forward and took it anyway. “A pleasure to meet you, Doctor Tam. We actually have much to discuss. Well, if you’re a medical doctor, that is. Other people will be interested if you’re a Doctor of Laws, and I suppose someone will even want to talk if you’re a Doctor of Art History, though I don’t know who off the top of my head.”

“Oh, no, I’m a medical Doctor. It sounds you’re the equivalent?”

“Yes, though Surgeon-Commander is not exactly the same. But I do also have a doctorate in Genetics.”

“All right, all right,” Mal held up his hands. “We’ve got a lot of ground to cover, Surgeon-Commander, and it’s not about genetics.”

“As you say, Captain, but most of your questions will be answered momentarily.” With something of a sigh, she led them into the conference suite.





The presence of four Dilgar, one Dorei, and four humans in the conference suite left little doubt. It would be absurd to imagine the Alliance intentionally faking this; they had no reason to. And the power of the ship was testament enough to it as well.

Will started the explanations for the crew of the ship they had already learned was named the Serenity, with a heavy use of holo-slides, because he hadn’t had the time to do anything better than steal the standard Public Affairs template.

But as he spoke, with the others entranced, River Tam was staring across the table at Abebech and Elia. It didn’t take long for the two of them to be totally focused on her.

<Why can’t I feel her mind at all?> River was musing out loud, and both of them and then Hygienist Va’tor could feel it as well, the Dilgar woman also turning her attention to River.

<She doesn’t want anyone to,> Elia answered automatically.

<That doesn’t stop me other ti--> River cut off abruptly and looked sharply at Elia. <You just talked back.>

<I’m a telepath, and so are you,> Elia answered.

“They’re like me!” River suddenly exclaimed about as loud as she could in the meeting, looking with eagerness and surprise over to her brother. “They’re like me!”

Will stopped talking. Simon looked at River. “River…”

“I would assume that by logical induction, your sister is a telepath?” Nah’dur, holding a cup of stimulant meat broth looked to Simon. That so matter-of-factly completely derailed what he was about to say.

Simon’s expression froze. He stuttered.

<He’s an awesome brother but it gets ridiculous sometimes,> River said matter-of-factly to Elia and Abebech and Va’tor. <So, who are you? I think we’re very alike?> She looked very hard at Abebech. Elia caught that it meant something more than telepathy.

<A private person,> Abebech answered. <And you have been cruelly ill-used, River Tam.>

Her eyes flared, and her lips pursed, and River looked for a moment almost like she wanted to cry. Elia reached out. <Abebech’s got her own way, River. I’m Elia, and I was raised in an entire society of other telepaths. We’ve got people here who can help you.>

<We need to understand what the Alliance is doing,> River answered. <I was going to have Simon put me in an induced coma to recover my memories I can’t access. But I think you can help me.>

The third of the minds at that table following the conversation p’spoke smoothly, with the alien tones of her mind. <I certainly could,> Va’tor offered simply.

“So, telepathy is a normal, established ability in the wider multiverse?” Simon finally recovered.

“Emphatically so. In my universe Espers have a history of thousands of years, in Commander Saumarez’s, hundreds; telepaths have manifested in others, too, like that of Leftenant de Más,” Abebech answered for the others, leaning back. “Doctor Tam, we are considerably advanced in knowledge of self-control and discipline of the mind in telepaths, and psychosurgery techniques and cybernetic enhancements which could be of material benefit to your sister.”

Simon looked to River, who smiled faintly. “Abebech is really standoffish, but Elia is nice, and Va’tor sounds like she knows what she’s doing. I don’t think either of them is lying. They can help us without putting me in a coma, too.”

“As a matter of fact, other than a lack of training and what I suspect is physical damage to the structure of the mind, I don’t think she has any mental health issues,” the Dilgar Mental Hygienist explained matter-of-factly. “Doctor Tam, we can be of great, material assistance.”

“We’ll need a brain scan to figure out the exact treatment plan,” Nah’dur interjected, “but there shouldn’t be any true issues. What’s this about putting her in a coma, though?”

“She has memories of her time in Alliance captivity, they experimented on her,” Simon explained, “and there’s information we need. In an induced coma, it can be recovered with the technology that we have, but she can’t consciously access it herself right now.”

“There’s no need at all for that, Doctor Tam,” Nah’dur answered matter-of-factly. “Hygienist Va’tor can handle accessing blocked memories straightforwardly, indeed, it’s quite likely Commander Imra or Commander Saumarez could as well. Here, we’ve covered the particulars of the Multiverse, so let’s all decamp to sickbay and while your sister is treated we can talk about this damned ridiculous exotic hydrochlorate I found in your star system.”

The entire table slammed to a screeching halt again, metaphorically. “You found Pax?” Simon stared. “So you’ve already encountered the remaining Reavers?”

“They found Pax? Well then they know what the Alliance is up to,” Mal countered. “...Do you know what the Alliance is up to?” He asked Zhen’var a moment later.

“We fought the Reavers. We have sixty of them as prisoners aboard and we secured two of their vessels as prizes,” Zhen’var answered. “And Pax… Peace.”

“The original function of the hydrochlorate!” Nah’dur exclaimed. “Oh brilliant, these people were idiots!”

“You have Reaver prisoners on your ship?” Kaylee looked aghast, horrified, and a bit terrified.

“We have stun weapons,” Elia explained laconically.

Still. They’re as dangerous as all hell, Captain, and if you know a thing or two good for your crew, space ‘em right now,” Mal almost shouted, getting half out of his chair. “They’re the result of a failed experiment by the Alliance to create a truly peaceful utopia. You can see the consequences.”

“A totalitarian’s utopia, I take it,” Abebech remarked. “Captain, it appears we have our suspect.”

“Do you have any proof, Captain Reynolds?”

“Proof?” Mal laughed. “Yeah, I got proof. You better believe I got proof--and I already beamed it to the entire ‘Verse. That’s how our current troubles started…”

Zhen’var’s eyes got a peculiar glint. “Do tell, Captain. Maybe I can help.”

“Right, but first, I’ve got a problem you can help me with.” He gestured to the infant. “Little Emma’s mother was taken prisoner by the Alliance in her hospital bed. And I want to get her back.”





A few hours later, the Huáscar’s senior officers had assembled in Conference Suite 1, back close to the bridge. Zhen’var’s expression was particularly grim. Will was sombre. Abebech looked coldly reserved, and Commander Goodenough exchanged a look with Lieutenant Ca’elia as they both arrived from the Heermann, the ship having finally stood down to Condition Yellow, Modified Zebra again.

“Comrades,” Will began. “The Union of Allied Planets.” The holo-projector stabilized on the vast expanse of five true stars and six Solformed Brown Dwarfs. “Seventy habitable planets, all but two of them terraformed without prior ecosystems. A single system with as much habitable groundside as the Earth Alliance--with terraforming companies almost as good as those in the Aururian Imperial Federation and an ability to cause solar ignition of Brown Dwarfs which has never before been documented.”

Ancestors,” Fera’xero looked perturbed. “That is technology far beyond us.”

“And yet they use primitive sublight drive systems,” Will answered. “They are also a form of totalitarian democracy, a regime which has nominally free elections in the central planets, but rules the colonies with an iron fist, and actively represses its people through a sophisticated propaganda structure and corporate/deep-state control of the outcome of results.”

“In short, just like the Earth Alliance back home,” Zhen’var added dryly. “It is the next part which presents justification for a posture of direct hostility. Commander?”

“Quite.” Will wiped his sandy blonde hair off his forehead. “Seven months ago, during the ‘Battle of the Universe Moon’, a major pirate broadcasting centre transmitted detailed, authenticated documentary evidence of what happened at the remote planet Miranda, at one of the outer Brown Dwarfs. The population of the planet was used as a human experiment for exposure to the Pax chemical, which was supposed to eliminate aggression from humans.”

“We are the priests of the Temples of Syrinx; all the gifts of life are held within our walls,” Chief Dugan muttered down at the end of the table.

Abebech pointed and smiled grimly. “Exactly, Chief. The ruling clique in the Alliance regards the Solar Federation of Syrinx from the inestimable Rush song as something of a desirable end state for human civilisation, and is willing to commit crimes equal to those of the Nazis to achieve it.”

“Fucking abominations,” Violeta hissed, trembling. She was angry. Why the hell is the rest of the multiverse so screwed up?

“Calm, comrades, calm,” Will spoke smoothly, leaning down to brace his hands on the table. “Let it burn, let it burn nice and hard. This story isn’t over, but when we understand all of it, we’ll know what to do.”

“Exactly, Ladies and Gentlemen,” Zhen’var affirmed. “They also experimented on, and are currently experimenting on, telepaths. We have a young lady aboard our ship right now, that’s where Commander Saumarez and Surgeon-Commander Nah’dur are presently, operating with Hygienist-Commander Va’tor to restore function to her, because an experimental program to induce telepathic abilities involved, among other things, the severing of all connections between her amygdala and prefrontal cortex.”

“That’s why all the indigenous peoples survived on Earth, isn’t it, Captain?” Stasia abruptly interjected. “Because they were abandoned by the forefathers of these bastards?”

“Possibly so, though we don’t have evidence of that yet, Chief Héen,” Zhen’var answered sympathetically. “But let us continue. We know they have an experimental program to conduct tests like that--proving telepathy by intentionally damaging the brains of children and then observing how telepathic abilities bridge the damage to allow a modicum of continued functioning. We also know those tests are ongoing, in addition to the massive chemical experimentation on entire colonies. The Reavers resulted from the later; the Pax drug worked on 99.9% of the humans on the planet, the other 0.1% became Reavers and have brutalised the outer colonies ever since. There was a rebellion against this government by the outer colonies--unsurprisingly--but it was crushed seven years ago. There have been signs of a renewed incipient rebellion since the Universe broadcast, as one might expect if there were anyone sane or brave here.”

“And the crew of the Serenity, which includes some former rebels from the last insurrection,” Will added, “were the ones responsible for saving River Tam from human experimentation and getting the evidence of the Miranda experiment out to the entirety of the so-called ‘Verse’, this expanded system. They’re with us now, except that one of their crew-members who experienced complications giving birth has been seized by the Alliance on a nearby medical station that serves an asteroid mining community while receiving medical treatment.”

“Captain Reynolds’ price for cooperating with us is simple,” Zhen’var smiled, and it was very catlike. “Since his First Mate is incapacitated, he requested asylum on her behalf, and I have sufficient evidence to declare that the seizure of any individual for detention by the Alliance represents a sufficiently serious risk of human rights violations to allow us to act. We’ll be going in to recover Ms. Washburne. Fei’nur!”

“Captain, Ma’am!”

“Prepare your troops for station assault!” The smile was still on Zhen’var’s face as she folded her hands together. “We will call the ship to stations when the medical procedure for Ms. Tam has been completed, so as not to distract what may be a delicate operation.”

“Ma’am!”

Stasia leaned across the table as they broke to that militant note, and made a savage grin to Violeta. “Attention all planets of the Solar Federation, we have assumed control…!

Chief Dugan started laughing. “Hell yeah.”

“Not quite so fast,” Zhen’var interrupted as she rose, and before the others had left. “While we are launching this operation immediately to gain the trust of our allies, we will withdraw immediately after it. We still have no good answer about the subspace jamming field, and I want it disabled before committing to general action. As soon as this action is completed, we will resume our original course, and rendezvous with our prizes which are still burning for it, albeit considerably more slowly.”

“What are we going to do with those floating charnel houses, anyway?” Will asked, as they finally headed out together.

“Oh, they’re clearly of no use to us. These Browncoats, on the other hand, certainly can’t afford to be picky. I suppose we’ll just have to leave them abandoned in space.” She folded her hands behind her back as they walked. “As for the Reavers, the REC came back favourable, so we’ll let Nah’dur try her best. I think Fei’nur’s brig practices and the sedatives are perfectly adequate for now, the sincerity of Captain Reynolds’ advice notwithstanding.”

“A risk, but a calculated one.”

“We’re in the business of calculated risks, Commander.”





In sickbay, Nah’dur had gone in first. Once she had reliable imaging of what had happened to River Tam’s brain, she had gotten very quiet for a moment, and then matter-of-factly reported the details and the inevitable conclusion to the Captain. Then she had gone to work. Nah’dur’s ability to come up with a surgical plan in the space of a few minutes as good as if she had spent several days preparing for the patient let her perform on a rush basis surgeries as complex as most surgeons would undertake on patients with substantial planning.

The plan for how much functionality Nah’dur expected to recover for River was carefully coordinated with Va’tor, and she explained at the correct level--the moment she had ascertained the sophistication of Simon’s medical training--the details of what she was going to do. The positronic implants she used were carefully and precisely grafted along the lines of most intact tissue, using micro-transporter surgery.

Once that was done and the appropriate drugs to avoid brain inflammation were administered, Va’tor and Elia went in gestalted together. They worked on separate tasks, but with a unified awareness to avoid damage to the psyche. Va’tor’s objective was to integrate the new circuitry and assist the recovery of full function by pre-priming the brain to use it, while directing backup pathways around the direct connections that would augment the less effective cybernetics and guarantee a full recovery.

Elia, since that fell within her training, focused on the removal of the memory blocks from River and the reintegration of the memories of her time being experimented upon, as she had requested. The experience left her amazed at how highly functional River actually was; through a combination of telepathy--which wasn’t insubstantial, she was a P-8 or maybe even a weak P-9--and natural resilience, she had integrated horrifying memories, including interfacing with the Reavers as she engaged in something very much like Centauri precog to fight them, which indicated her telepathy was tantalisingly broader than that of the human baseline for her own universe. The girl was a natural genius, maybe on the same level as the famous Jarod of the Aurora--an actual Pretender--and the combination was amazing, spectacular. Elia felt joy at having her in her little community. And River Tam badly needed a community.

Outside in the waiting area next to Nah’dur’s office, the Dilgar Surgeon-Commander returned in uniform and a lab coat, carrying a massive bucket for the crew of the Serenity. “Chicken,” she announced. “Salt and Pepper Chicken, in fact. I assume it still exists here.”

“Xièxiè,” Kaylee responded automatically, and reached for some the moment the bucket hit the table. “I was really famished, Doctor…”

“Surgeon-Commander,” Nah’dur corrected automatically, but felt bad at the woman’s blush. “At any rate, I had assumed so. Dilgar are preferential, but not obligate, carnivores and I have been browsing my way through human food using the replicator.”

“Matter reorganisation into food.” Inara was thought. “It seems like magic.”

“I have heard that several times, but it is science, if absurdly profligate of energy,” Nah’dur replied.

“Well, then, we’re glad for the treat. Of course, we’re all worried about River, Simon most of all,” Mal nodded his way.

“Oh, I think I’m doin’ some of the worryin’ for him,” Kaylee insisted, and got a faint smile from her beau.

“Well, Va’tor is one of our best mental hygienists..”

“That name sounds rotten,” Mal countered. “Wasn’t exactly the best part of this, even if she seemed decent.”

“Well, sometimes things are lost in the translation from alien to human languages, Captain, and I do admit, the Dilgar Imperium was a totalitarian state for quite a long time. It was my mother who reformed our survivors--on the outer colony of Rohric. We are like your own Independent Planets types, those who valued independence enough to live on a world where spores would make you cough up your lungs on a regular basis. There are other Dilgar, refugees from Omelos, in the Union these days, but it is very much the spirit of Rohric which infuses our culture and government.”

“You lost your homeworld as we lost earth?” Inara asked.

“Yes, though rather more comprehensively, as it turns out,” Nah’dur replied, munching on chicken, and occasionally glancing at Inara.

Mal noticed that and started frowning, but Simon spoke first with a question. “Surgeon-Commander? I’ve been thinking about a rather significant issue since I’ve had access to your databanks.”

“Go ahead and ask, Doctor.”

“Your records suggest Earth-that-was was destroyed about thirty-five hundred years ago by runaway climate change. But according to our own records it was only four hundred years ago, at most.”

“I assumed it was due to the fact that you stopped counting time while you were all in suspended animation,” Nah’dur replied.

“We were supposedly still so close to Earth-that-Was that suspended animation wasn’t required,” Simon answered, feeling uncomfortable.

“...Interesting. You’re eighteen hundred lightyears from Earth. Did you know that Commander Atreiad also comes from a version of this system? It’s called Cyrannus there, and his people are also humans who have a deeply flawed and incorrect history of how they came to be there, forgetting that Earth was even their homeworld. But it’s much more minimalist than you system; twelve primary inhabited planets with four stars. Now, six of your stars are artificial, but the fifth of the natural ones shouldn’t be in this system. Someone moved it.”

“All well and good, but what about River, Doctor?” Mal interjected.

Simon turned away, deep in thought.

“I can’t speed it up, and to be honest, I should just stay out of the way. Psychosurgery is not my speciality. There’s lots of other things to attend to, anyway.” She glanced to Inara again.

“And why do you keep lookin at the Lady?”

Nah’dur rose. “Oh, that. Miss Serra, could you accompany me, please? I would like to speak privately.”

Inara smoothed down her clothes--she had ditched her dresses for spacer’s gear in the circumstances of their shared exile, but she had an inner dignity about it all--and rose. “Of course, Surgeon-Commander.” There was a hesitancy in her step, and Mal was frowning, but she carried on and followed Nah’dur into another part of sickbay.

Mal shook his head as he watched them go. “Do you get the feelin’ that Doctor is too smart for her own good?”

“I haven’t woken up from the part where she’s a catwoman,” Kaylee answered.






“My sniffers detected the very high end drug you brought onto the ship,” Nah’dur said matter-of-factly to Inara as she entered the consulting room, activating one of the screens and authenticating through to load a chemical sequence file. She turned to Inara. “Would you like to talk about it?”

“No, I wouldn’t, Surgeon-Commander,” Inara answered coolly. “I don’t think I’ll get the choice, though, and choices have become an increasing problem for me of late. The ones I make have left me with fewer and fewer others. Once I was a Companion, and now, at long last, I am a rebel, though I did not ever think I would call myself that.”

“Sometimes, in the end, all you can do is die with honour,” Nah’dur answered levelly. “I am not unfamiliar with the concept of brilliance caged by circumstance, though I wouldn’t consider it to apply to me in the slightest.”

“It certainly doesn’t. You have a brusque bedside manner, you know,” Inara smiled more gently. “I know where this is going…”

“Do you? The fact that the drug in question is normally used to treat Kylarn-Syraxi, a sexually transmitted disease in S0T5?”

“That’s what it is,” Inara agreed. “The drug prolongs life, and allows me…”

“To keep your profession,” Nah’dur nodded simply. “It is the foolish, uncaring, unknowing infected clients who pose the risk, yes, I understand how this goes, though among my own people prostitution was banned as being contrary to the dignity of our race. With other species, it was attended with the death penalty. We were once great believers in blood purity like that, I can see that at least your government is a little more sensible.”

“Enough about that, Surgeon-Commander. I would not expect you to have the customs or laws, such is the way of living. The disease. Why does it have the same name in two universes, I wonder?” Inara pressed.

“I don’t have the slightest idea,” Nah’dur answered, shaking her head. “But it’s most assuredly not native to Old Earth, so it shouldn’t be shared at all. But it’s here. And I have a much more high-end treatment from Solaris that can remove it from your body.”

Inara sank back on the examining bed. This brusque know-it-all young catgirl had also just calmly and matter-of-factly offered her life back. She could return to the Core, alive, with a long life ahead…. And she didn’t want to. Mal was too important now; they were lovers, and lovers they would remain.

It was very appropriate of the way the wheel of dharma worked. She had been led down the path she was meant to walk long enough to encounter a miracle in the form of a starship; when the blessings were dispensed, the one thing that she would have done with them for most of the past two years, she no longer wanted.

But a life with Mal, she very much did want.





The two returned to the waiting area, just in time for Elia to come out, with bloodshot, exhausted eyes. “Doctor Tam, Captain Reynolds,” She leaned against the bulkhead. “You can come see her now. The surgery was successful--both surgeries were.” She turned back in, at their eagerness, to where Va’tor was gently brushing River’s forehead.

“She’s still sedated?” Simon asked as he moved up to the other side. “Your non-invasive techniques for the physical portion are amazing.”

“Not sedated, but encouraged to sleep. Sedation may be required, though,” Va’tor explained. “Also months of rehabilitation to make full use of the work that was done tonight.”

“We can handle that,” Simon Tam smiled, and glanced to Kaylee, who was grinning brilliantly. “We can handle that.”

Elia gently waved for Mal and stepped over to a quiet corner of the ward. “I have the information. There’s hundreds of them, in fact, and the experiments… They had genetic samples for telepathy; I’m not clear on how. This was part of a broad-based effort to enhance human thought in many cognitive areas. It involved torture and experimentation which led to brain damage of countless children. There’s a few dozen success stories who are alive and in various stages of experimentation or utilization.”

“Utilization.” The word twisted up Mal’s face. “Yeah, that’ll do. Especially with your help. How long until we get back to the station, Commander?”

“Two hours,” Elia answered. “I’m going to get some rack time. Turn in all-standing, frankly. Try to catch a caulk yourself, Captain. But we’ll get your Mate back. Huáscar fears nothing.” With a sad smile, reflecting the inner pain she felt from River’s memories, Elia stepped out. She had to be ready to face them. And she would be. Because they were all in it together.

Behind her, Mal turned to look to Inara, who was smiling warmly. “So… Where are our guest quarters, anyway?”
Tomyris
Posts: 69
Joined: Sun Apr 01, 2018 10:21 pm

Re: nUF Origins: S1 - Episode 5 - "Big Iron"

Post by Tomyris »

Chapter Note: So as Act 3 reveals, this is set during the Firefly/Serenity follow-on comic Leaves on the Wind which was written by Whedon's brother under the Dark Horse banner in 2014.
Tomyris
Posts: 69
Joined: Sun Apr 01, 2018 10:21 pm

Re: nUF Origins: S1 - Episode 5 - "Big Iron"

Post by Tomyris »

Act 4





As the crew of the Serenity returned to her in the main bay, they could see the incredible intensity of the action as the Huáscar prepped for combat. Officers and warrants in their new light blue aviation uniforms with white and silver trim with Sam Browne belts oversaw an operation to prepare, after a long time on standby alert, the entire wing prepared for launch at the same time the assault shuttles were prepared to reinforce the landing effort, most of the working parties in overhauls and the ammunition handling and refueling teams in anti-spark gear.

A tall woman with very light brown skin wearing the ubiquitous CE7 Huáscar baseball cap with a simplified image of the ship in gold on a black background and her hair tied down in a braid below it headed over. She was in regular uniform but wearing a heavy pair of work gloves to pitch in as required. “Captain Reynolds?”

“Miss…?”

“Chief Héen. I’m the Airboss,” she introduced herself, yanking a hand out a glove and presenting it. “We need to get your bird into the parasite bay. That’ll clear the space for full regular operations. I’d like your help striking her down on the elevator. The Heermann will be casting off in a few minutes and I want you on the elevator when she does.”

You’re jacking her up on gravity sleds!?” Kaylee exclaimed.

“You bet I am, ma’am,” Stasia replied tightly, but there was a grin. “Cheng?”

“Cheng…”

“Chief engineer?” You’re her engineer?”

“YES! Now stop!”

“Can’t do that. We’re not supposed to launch you, because you could get left alone facing the enemy if the situation goes south,” Stasia answered readily. “But I can let you supervise.”

You want me to supervise your soldiers? Awh, but… ” The abruptly panic-stricken look on Kaylee’s face was met be a wry look on Stasia’s.

“Normally I’d tell you to get the hell out of my operation, ma’am, but it’s kinda like loading a semi-truck on a ferry. Unlike the car drivers, that trucker definitely knows how to handle his rig better than you do.”

“Didn’t think you people had anything like that with your fancy tech.”

“I’m from a planet you’d be able to look down on, and a town most of the ignorant bastards on said planet look down on too,” Stasia laughed. “Used to own a fishing trawler, ended up in the Navy when I was down on my luck. Come on, Miss…”

“Just call me Kaylee.”

“Right then. Let’s get your rig spotted.”








On the Serenity, it was just Mal, Kaylee and Inara. They were capable of handling the ship with that small of a crew, but it rubbed Mal wrong, anyway. He felt overwhelmed, tired, of course, and about as in over his head as he had at the Battle of Serenity. The Huáscar was a giant complication from his way of thinking, even if he could also see how it might be their only chance to stop being fugitives.

The bigger bother at the moment was the reality that Zoe’s rescue was dependent on the kindness of strangers and the actions of a eight-million-metric-tonne behemoth a klick long which was from another universe. They were very much just along for the ride, and Mal didn’t like that at all.

Kaylee was cleaning up from having assisted with the ship’s move onto the elevator. She was smiling. “So, we’re gonna get Zoe, and the Surgeon-Commander will get her fixed up, and we’ll leave with full tanks, full oxygen bottles, new recyclers and seventy metric tonnes of food.”

“Assumin’ that’s the way it’s gonna go,” Mal answered, looking at the gray walls of the bay through the windows of Serenity ’s bridge. “And that’ll fix us for a while, but the entire Verse will be completely different by then. We might not need it. Captain Zhen’var might just go straight to Londinium and dictate terms at the point of the gun.”

“Do you really think she will?” Kaylee frowned. “And if they leave again afterwards, won’t that just make things worse?”

“Yes, and maybe,” Mal answered -- and so did Inara. The two shot each other a look. Then Mal continued. “Well, anyhow, she’s got a pretty big iron for this fight. I’d do it, in her place.”

“And what would come of it, Mal?” Inara, the Inner Worlder, who had once supported the Alliance, and still was queasier about facing them than most of the Serenity ’s crew, asked sharply.

“A chance,” Mal answered, “for those people who are gonna die the next time the Alliance tries to perfect Pax, or whatever it is they get in their heads next. A chance.” Outside of the Serenity, the klaxons began to howl. It was time.







The Huáscar was coming in at 0.7 c when the engines kicked up to full power in deacceleration. The magnetic baffles redirected the thrust ahead and she rapidly began to slow. The tactical plot was projected on the bridge, and the Heermann was standing by under cloak, with the Wing at Ready 5. The long-range sensors, however, showed only two tower-and-arc, strangely shaped cruisers, together they massed as much as the Huáscar, so it scarcely mattered.

Zhen’var looked at them for a moment. “That is not a design whose first objective is combat. Long range scans?”

“Two different variants,” Elia answered. “Matching the Serenity ’s recognition database as Tohoku-M and Tohoku-D types, the M is more of a mothership while the D has an enlarged engineering section for greater sublight turn and increased firepower.”

“Have they detected us yet?”

“No evidence,” Elia shook her head. “They have a gunboat CAP, but they’re large enough for us to engage with secondary batteries. No shields. And no sign of armour, either.”

Huáscar continued to slow to match vee with the Hospital satellite, as the station was called. As they did, the lightspeed limited sensors of the two Tohoku class ships finally alerted on them, and a panicked cascade of emergency gunboat launches began.

The presence of the cruisers did create a real situation. Zhen’var was intentionally stretching regulations. It was true that the Alliance had a right in its own laws to protect someone who had requested asylum, and it was true that an incapacitated person’s legal guardian could request asylum for them. But the law said asylum requests had to be made in person, precisely to prevent someone like Zhen’var from using them as an excuse. They hadn’t envisioned a situation where someone’s legal guardian requested asylum for them at a remove from the person it was being requested for. It was a tenuous legal loophole that, in the circumstance of the horrifying human rights abuses of the Allied Planets, Zhen’var intended to drive a truck through and then use a fig leaf.

She figured Maran would back her right up to the hilt. Either I’m getting court martialed or they’re going to fix the regs after that. But it was a contented smirk. “Comms, hail those cruisers. Keep it neutral at first.”

This is the Allied Systems Cruiser Huáscar. Please respond. This is the Allied Systems Cruiser Huáscar. Please respond. ” Tor’jar repeated the hail.

“This is the Allied Planets cruiser Yuzhao ,” a voice answered immediately. “What kind of joke is this? There isn’t any ship in the fleet lists named the Huáscar. Allied Systems? Transmit your recognition codes immediately!”

Zhen’var nodded to Tor’jar. “Improvise, Leftenant.”

A Dilgar grin matched her own. “We do not have valid recognition codes. We are from a different universe,” the comms section lead replied matter-of-factly.

“Nothing exists outside of the Verse, this is ridiculous. We have a legal right to fire upon you if you do not transmit recognition codes, Huáscar !”

The gunboats began to look. Zhen’var glanced back to Elia. “Do you actually think they’ll fire first, Commander?”

“It would make our lives a lot easier if they did…”

“Repeat, Yuzhao , we have no recognition codes to transmit.”

A new voice came on the line. “Commander Yuzhao to unregistered vessel, if you have no recognition codes, you are hereby instructed and commanded to heave-to and prepare to be boarded, Huáscar.

Zhen’var pushed the button on her command chair that overrode the feed personally to her. “Commander Huáscar to Commander Yuzhao. No.” The gunboats continued to rush toward her, bracketing the Huáscar perfectly, but despite the risk, it was more sure this way to stay within the letter of her orders, so she didn’t give the order.

Huáscar, this is your last warning to comply!”

“Commander Yuzhao, we are a foreign warship and you have no right to force us to heave-to.”

This time, the Yuzhao answered with a burst transmission to her enforcement gunboats. They immediately dropped a large brace of EMP depth charges around the Huáscar,aiming to disable her. The electrical power on the bridge flickered.

“Captain, shields at fifty percent,” Elia reported crisply. “They’re far more powerful than the directed weapons.”

“You may fire when ready, Daria,” Zhen’var ordered. “Helm, let us pass between them!”

Daria triggered the secondary pulse cannon and emitters. Moments later, sheets of plasma erupted from every quarter of the Huáscar, tracking the large enforcement gunboats the Alliance preferred. For their doctrine and role, they were excellent small craft, but they were ill-suited for the task at hand. Abruptly seventeen of the gunboats exploded in fire as the batteries of the Huáscar tracked them on their courses. They were too big to evade, and too small to resist.

Violeta was already bringing the Huáscar about and preparing to run between the two cruisers ahead, impulsors flaring as the ship’s acceleration and vee kicked up steadily again. As she did, she left the other Government gunboats behind. They hadn’t the g’s to keep up.

“Ops, those EMP burst weapons might be strong but they are very short range and we need to confirm the location of our subject. While we’re between the gunboats and the cruisers, stand by to drop shields and transport the boarding teams to the station.”

“Sending alerts now and standing by,” Elia worked furiously on the synchronisation of the transport programs. She had to coordinate the successive beam-outs of the power armour troops who would secure the outer part of the TZ and then the regular Marines that would follow them in.

“At your discretion, Ops!” The huge tower-ships loomed ahead, each half the mass of the Huáscar.

Elia dropped the shields and began the beam-out patterns to seize the station. The cruisers had wised up pretty well. As she did, they opened fire with their directed EMP weapons, and Elia sucked in her breath and continued the beam-outs.

The first of the EMP bursts hit the unshielded Huáscar, causing system failures and surges around the ship. Elia fought a private little war with the assistance of the computer banks, shutting off and shunting power in different sectors to keep the transporters from suffering potentially deadly surges.

“We’re losing major weapons system power, Captain.” Daria reported urgently. “This disabling weapons are doing a number on the charge capacitors.”

“Ops…”

“Almost, Captain.” Gloved fingers whipped across the board as she checked the status of putting two companies of Marines on the Station. Four hundred and fifty troops were on the station a moment later, but the power on the Huáscar ’s bridge went down and flickered away as emergency backups came on-line.

“Ops!”

“Transports complete… Tertiary shields responding and cohesive, Captain.”

“But we’ve lost weapons power?”

“Yes, Captain,” Elia answered, the main screen flickering on to see the tower ships closer, their EMP weapons continuing to fire.

Daria’s hands flicked across her own console. “Captain, I am adjusting the torpedoes to launch at one meter per second cold vee,” she explained, “I can use local emergency power batteries to bring up the torpedo launchers. Torpedo motors will take over at that point but it will be almost a zero-zero launch so we’re going to need to hold course and speed to avoid hitting our torps and they’ll be sitting ducks for defensive systems. We’ll need to be at point blank.”

“Good thinking, tactical. Ops, how are the shields holding?”

“Eighty percent on the tertiary banks, Captain,” the mildly flustered Elia answered. “Continued degradation is occurring and the enemy is charging plasma batteries.”

“Hold course and speed.” Zhen’var next activated a comm line to Fei’nur on the station. “Colonel, do you have our subject?”

“Captain, we do, but there is a hostage situation.”

“Still good enough. Tactical, full power for the torpedoes and stand by.”

Both of the cruisers in front of them now opened fire with their short range plasma weapons. The Huáscar buffeted and buffeted again.

“Captain?” Violeta glanced back. “Evasives?”

“I want us right between the two ships,” Zhen’var answered levelly. “That’s the priority.”

I have discretion as long as I can put us there, Violeta reminded herself. She constructed a corkscrew skewing motion to the Huáscar that would steady out with one of the cruisers on each broadside and activated it.

“Anna, how long until we have restoration of full power?”

“Four minutes, Captain!”

“Very well. We have our plan, stick to it.” Zhen’var had a neutral, level calm.

“Tertiary shields at forty percent,” Elia updated her report. “Battery power to the torpedo launchers is stable. Shall we have the Heermann decloak and engage?”

“Our situation is not dire yet, let’s not play our trump card,” Zhen’var answered. “Weapons…”

Interposition with the enemy formation, Captain! ” Arterus reported from the nav console.

Violeta sharply straightened the Huáscar’ s course, level and on line with the two cruisers on each beam.

“Fire,” Zhen’var ordered.

With that single word, forty solar torpedoes were fired against each torpedo on the torpedo launchers fronting to that beam, in ten round bursts from the launchers. The point-defence weapons on both cruisers immediately opened fire, ripping through the torpedoes.

The torpedoes might be accelerating slowly, but they also had a short distance to go as the two cruisers pulled away from each other and the Huáscar, trying to open the range and give themselves manoeuvring distance.

The Tohoku-M managed to shoot down thirty-three of the torpedoes. Against the unarmoured and unshielded hull, the remaining seven wrecked it. One of the massive towers went spinning away, arcing with plasma. Gun mounts flew into space. Massive craters ripped through the annular ring of the lower hull and shattered it in one place that, without the cross connections, would have sent the strange tower ship drifting in pieces. All power flickered away from the windows and position lights as the main reactors went down.

The Tohoku-D shot down thirty-seven torpedoes. Three slammed into it, coincidentally all reaching the one largest central tower from behind. The front explosively blew out as the lights went dark across the upper part of the ship from progressive power failures, gun emplacements decoupled from massive shattered hull sections of the seven hundred meter high tower, and the atmosphere blew outwards and flamed over before the remnants condensed to ice. With it were no small quantity of bodies.

MY GOD, ” the open comm line to the Alliance ships exploded with a new voice. It was the Yuzhao, her thrusters firing as she started to come about under secondary control. “You’ve just killed two thousand civilians! Unidentified ship, stand down, stand down!”

“Bring us about, Helm.”

Violeta paled “Captain?”

“Bring us about, Helm.” Zhen’var flipped the comm over to transmit. “Commander Yuzhao this is Commander Huáscar. Do you strike, Sir?”

The Huáscar continued a lazy swing to starboard.

Elia looked up from her console. “We are still receiving fires from the cruiser, Captain. Tertiary shields holding at twenty percent. No hull damage, but we’re going to be down to bare armour in another six minutes at this rate.”

“Tactical, lock solar torpedoes on target and stand by to fire on my mark.” Again the comm. “Commander Yuzhao, Commander Huáscar. If you do not surrender, Sir, when we come about, we will deprive you of your life, Sir.” She flipped to the intercom. “Engineering, I need weapons power now.”

“I’ve got you a few shots of the forward Mk.I’s from the batteries, Captain. That’s all I can do right now.”

“That will be enough, thank you, Engineering.” Zhen’var quietly cleared her throat. “Tactical, all available weapons, stand by to fire.”

“Captain. ” Daria’s eyes squinted. Was this moral? Of course, the officer on the Yuzhao might be lying as a ruse d’guerre. The Huáscar shook around them.

“Shields collapsing, Captain. There’s no more I can do to keep them cohesive,” Elia popped her knuckles. “Seconds, Captain.”

“Commander Yuzhao, this is Commander Huáscar. Yield now or die.” Leaving the channel open, she pitched her voice. “ Tactical, lock forward batteries on target, maximum firepower.”

The officer on the other end of the comm could hear them, and spoke in Chinese, but the autotranslator rendered the words into English. “ My body may be broken, but my name shall live true in history.

Zhen’var closed her eyes. “Romance of the Three Kingdoms, Chapter Seventy-six. Guan Yu retreats to Maicheng. Tactical, Fire!”

For a brief moment, eighteen blazing shafts of light interconnected the two ships, and then the shattered tower erupted in flame, and vanished in a tremendous explosion of the main reactors. Silent in the vastness of space, the spinning debris and burning atmosphere scattered around the Hospital station.

Elia broke the silence on the bridge with her perfectly collected British accent. “Mains to nominal, Captain. Instructions?” The prompt was all Zhen’var needed, she didn’t linger on the moment further.

“Helm, pursue those gunboats.” The Huáscar surged ahead. “Tactical, take them down.”

It was like a shark pursuing minnows. With their EMP charges exhausted, they had no weapons which could threaten the Huáscar. They were quickly taken under fire by accurate, precise weaponry of the highest power. Within a minute, it was clear that the gunboats couldn’t do anything other than die.

So they did what good, brave officers did in that circumstance. Each one was a witness, each one had the same sensor data. Each one set a course toward a different point in the civilised parts of the Verse. Then they spun their drives to full power and burned hard for it. The Huáscar could only go in one direction at once.

Her weapons were hideously long-ranged by the local standards, though. The gunboats were also slow, half the acceleration of the Huáscar herself despite the fact they were the fastest things in the System. Again and again the Huáscar ’s secondary batteries fired, sending another gunboat to hell.

“Captain, we’re not going to get all of them,” Elia said simply. “We’ll need the Heermann to decloak to get one, and even then we might not manage the last.”

“I don’t want them knowing about the Heermann, Ops. Anyone.

Elia’s fingers danced through the controls, regardless of the gloves. “Full spectrum jamming established. Distance is sufficient there shouldn’t be a visual sight from the Hospital Station, Captain.”

“Very good, Ops. Send the signal to Commander Imra.”

They were accelerating in pursuit of another of the gunboats, the great impulsors straining as the vee doubled and doubled again. The other two of the remaining three gunboats looked like they would get away scot free. Then the Heermann shimmered into view. Commander Imra did not hesitate. A burst from the pulse cannon combined with two solar torpedoes, and like a leering bird of prey on the bounce, the gunboat vanished into a quickly glowing dust of plasma.

That left one, and even with the Heermann now in pursuit, she might well make it clear. Might, that is, if a larger version of the Serenity had arrived within sensor detection distance on an intercept course.

Though a freighter, she quickly proved herself armed as the Huáscar, dispatching her last victim, turned about to begin the long-shot of pursuing the final gunboat. Instead of maintaining the pursuit, they had only to watch as their quarry died to the autocannon and missiles of the interloper, leaving the only Alliance forces the ruined Tohoku-M drifting off the Hospital station.

“That made things unexpectedly simpler,” Arterus murmured. “Captain, they were certainly laying in wait based on their vector and velocity. They probably saw some of the battle and then chose to intervene.”

“Well well. Our new interloper seems to be opposed to the Central Government as well.” Zhen’var stretched her dew-claws against the granite armrests. “Hail them.”

“Hailing..” Tor’jar looked up. “Finally a friendly response, Captain. They identify themselves as the New Resistance and request permission to approach.”

“Grant it. Ops, give them a vector.”

“Aye Captain.”

“Stand down to Condition Yellow, maintain MC Zebra.” Zhen’var forced her claws to retract and tapped through her selection of comm links to interface with Colonel Fei’nur’s. “Colonel, status report?”







Securing the station had been the easy part. The hard part was facing down the Alliance troops who were holding a woman in a hospital bed hostage. Zoe Washburne had given birth to her daughter, and the complications had almost killed her beyond the ability of Serenity ’s simple medbay to assist. And so had begun the trap that theHuáscar had fortuitously saved them from, leaving Zoe to be captured by the Alliance, and also her life saved by the doctors of the Hospital Satellite.

Mal’s deal with Zhen’var had been straightforward, but it came to Fei’nur to true it. Fei’nur and her troops. Simon had provided the rough area of the hospital she was certain to be in since she still had to be under care. Elia had provided the sensor data on the fly for the corridors.

During the risky and damaging lowering of the shields she had elected to risk to guarantee they kept their end of the deal, the Huáscar ’s Ops officer had systematically beamed power armour strike teams down to close off approaches to all of the Transport Zones. On arriving, they had sprayed the area around them with heavy automatic fire and flechette grenades to suppress any immediate resistance. Most of the collateral casualties were in this phase. Fei’nur and Elia hadn’t mentioned that to the crew of the Serenity.

Once safely on the station, they had taken up positions to cover the arrival of the two companies of regular Marines. Storming from position to position under the cover of flash-bangs and with weapons set to stun, they had systematically picked apart all possible resistance while their Corpsmen took over for the doctors they had stunned to avoid more civilian casualties. The plan was methodical, and Fei’nur tolerated nothing but the execution of the plan, mindful of trusting her noncoms and junior officers to be smarter than the ones she had fought with in the Dilgar War.

The Alliance forces and security personnel for the Hospital Satellite barely amounted to forty armed individuals in all. They had been suppressed within five minutes, while the Huáscar was still in her hard fight. Then the problems had started, or rather the single salient problem: An Alliance officer had a gun to Zoe Washburne’s head.

Network-centric warfare has been around since the wireless telegraph was invented. More and more effort was devoted to the coordination of troops, which mattered much more than individual capabilities. Or, in this case, the speed of datasynching and transmission was the only variable for how long it took the hostage crisis to be resolved.

Each squad reported to each platoon that they had secured their objectives. The information was collated and delivered to the Colonel’s command post. The particulars of the hostage situation and the demands of the hostage-takers were related to the Colonel’s command post. This process took about two minutes, most of which was Fei’nur’s verification of the reports from each unit; it took Fei’nur another forty-five seconds to confirm with her subordinate commanders that they didn’t need her for anything. Then it took another three minutes for her to physically reach the ward that Zoe Washburne was in. Arriving and doing counterchecks with the outer security squad, they used their taclink to alert the others.

Thirty seconds later, Fei’nur had finished activating her cloak and walking up alongside Lieutenant Rodgers. This was the kind of situation Warmaster Jha’dur had createdSpectres for, among others. In the pristine canned air of a space station, there was nothing to give her away. The squad of Government police fronting his standoff with the Marines were alerted only by the expressive exhalation of air which marked the noise of a man dying to a blade driven deep through lung and heart.

Fei’nur had already grabbed the gun, and with cybernetically enhanced strength, guaranteed that as the Lieutenant died, he sprayed his own squad with fire. Men screamed with wounds. Fei’nur flung the body forward and dived below the bed as a burst of stun fire swept from her troops across the remaining security police. The combat had taken seventeen seconds.

Sometimes the Personal did matter. Fei’nur’s cloaking device deactivated. “Leather, this is Shovel. Tagging subject for immediate transport to sickbay.” At the same moment she said that, she tapped the transporter transponder to Zoe Washburne’s shoulder.

“Leather copies. Confirming with Ginger… Confirmed. Transport commencing.”

“I just got rescued by a giant cat? What drugs did…” Zoe flashed away from the table.

“Not just any giant cat,” Fei’nur sniffed. The human had been correct, however; Fei’nur was much larger than a typical female Dilgar. From start to finish the operation had had the character of an execution rather than a battle, just the way she liked it.
Tomyris
Posts: 69
Joined: Sun Apr 01, 2018 10:21 pm

Re: nUF Origins: S1 - Episode 5 - "Big Iron"

Post by Tomyris »

Act 5



An hour later, Mal and Simon arrived for a conference that Zhen'var had requested, Inara following; Kaylee was taking care of Emma. They came into the Conference Room to see Zhen'var, Abebech, Fei'nur, a young woman with short black hair and long coloured blue bangs, and … Jayne Cobb.

"What're you doing here, Jayne?" Mal bored straight in on his one-time crewmate to the exclusion of the others.

"Came to help out," Jayne answered. It wasn't particularly convincing.

"Some introductions might be in order," Abebech observed mildly, cutting off any potential continued questioning.

Jayne looked over at the sitting woman. "Why the hell you wearin' those sunglasses on a spaceship anyway?"

"Because my Doctor said I could," Abebech replied.

Jayne was perturbed by the nonchalant nonanswer, but there was something about Abebech Imra… "Well, yah look like some kinda … Secret agent, with 'em on."

As a matter of fact, it wasn't off the wall as a lot of things Jayne said. Mal himself had wondered about the commander of the Heermann. He reckoned he knew a predator when he saw one, but the attitude wasn't unique to secret agents. He'd seen a few good light attack ship handlers just like her in the past. They were dead, like most everyone else from the war. The point remained.

"Well, I think we've all been introduced before, Commander," Mal broke the briefly uncomfortable silence, "except for this young Lady who came in with Jayne, it seems."

"My name is Bea, Captain Reynolds. I came to ask you to lead the New Resistance. I wanted you to be our symbol, the promise of a renewed challenge to the tyranny and evil which allowed Miranda to happen. Instead, I saw you had already taken action, with these powerful friends of liberty you have discovered."

Mal froze. After a moment he raised his hand, then he frozen again, and lowered it. Finally, he settled for bracing them on the back of a chair, still standing. "Now listen here, Young Miss. You're barely an adult. You come wearing a brown coat and you haven't fought yet. I woulda been as angry as all creation to see you without the Huáscar, because like as not you'd have been followed and I'm sure Jayne is just helpin' you."

Bea's expression tensed into a frown.

"Listen good, y'hear. Wars need more than symbols. This cruiser could go a long way, you're right, but if we were going to try and carry the war to Londinium, millions would die. They would use the fact we're allied to outsiders and aliens to rally popular opinion in the Inner Worlds. The students protesting against the government would turn into volunteers. They'd seed lies about our friends and turn our own civilians against us. And for all their kindnesses so far, I had 'em attack that satellite to save my First Mate, not to kick a war off. You think their own government is going to support that for the years it takes? Best people in the world, and will they want to see their daughters and sons go off to die here at the end of what I hear is a month-long supply line? You're startin' with less than the Independent Worlds had. A lot less. Without this cruiser we wouldn't even be havin' this conversation. No offense intended, Captain Zhen'var." He finally moved to sit down.

"None taken, Captain. You are the man on the spot, as it were.."

"Of course, there is the possibility we could end the war in an afternoon," Abebech added calmly. "Captain, I would encourage full disclosure about the destination we have been trying to reach. We have powerful evidence these people are not a threat to us."

"Of course, Commander Imra." She turned her gaze on the locals that were present. "We are currently heading towards the source of a powerful jamming field that prevents faster-than-light travel. It is artificial, and before committing to action, I wish it neutralized."

"There's a jamming field that prevents the use of your FTL drive across the entire system?" Simon looked fascinated. "I wonder if this is why FTL experiments in the Alliance have never gone anywhere…"

"Correct. Not centralized, but in a far quadrant of the system, near one of the near-stars. Communications punch through to a non-effected band." She would tap at her omnitool, and bring up a display of the system.

"Close to Miranda," Mal said. His voice grew soft. "We'll help yah go for it, if there's any way we can be of assistance. It'll get us away from here. Can you deal with any Reavers that are left?"

"We can. The particular method will depend on whether certain experimental treatments prove successful, Captain Reynolds."

"God help 'em if they can ever realize what they've done."

"Can we stop with all this crazy talk?" Jayne interjected again. "Just kill the Reavers. That's what a warship this big is for."

"We will keep our own counsel on those issues," Abebech dismissed, a glint of light on her sunglasses flashing. "I would suggest the New Resistance concentrate with us. We can take your ship, Captain," she addressed Bea, and then looked to Mal, "And your's, with us to explore. You can assist. We'll clear Miranda and use it as a base for your New Resistance. The Alliance won't believe that for quite some time, I expect."

"It isn't my Resistance, Commander," Mal answered. "But it is a good plan."

"We have a start, then. I should leave you to discuss matters. This is your home system, after all."

"I can make the arrangements to bring your ship aboard for the fast transit to our intended destination," Abebech addressed Bea as she rose with Zhen'var and Fei'nur. "Heermann will remain deployed and your troops provided quarters aboard, though it will only be a day.

"Thank you, Captain, Commander." The young woman looked at them both, and then focused on Mal.

Inara smiled faintly, and moved closer at the table. She saw a need for her own judiciousness.

As the Huáscar's officers filed out, however, Abebech paused and glanced back in the room. "Just as a point of fact, Mister Cobb, you should probably learn to better suppress your surface thoughts around telepaths."

"Hey! Just what'd you see in my…" Jayne trailed off, the door having already closed. He moved to sit back down, looking nervously from side to side.

"Got somethin' to hide, Jayne?" Mal asked.

"Don't worry, Captain Reynolds," Bea offered. "I made sure at gunpoint he didn't pull a double cross. My associates are quite familiar with Jayne Cobb. We came in clean."

"You think you came in clean. Now, look. I'll help you run this little rebellion of your's, get us settled on Miranda. But I am not the leader. I am not your symbol. I am just a man with a ship and a gun, and a man who sure as the devil doesn't ever want to see what happened there come again. So I'll fight. But I don't want you putting my name out there."

"Mal, it's too late for that. The Alliance does it every day with their wanted posters. You can't hide anymore. And for those people who hate or fear the Alliance, those wanted posters are symbols of hope.

"No statues, and no turnin' me into someone they make statues of! He's got a statue," Mal wagged a finger at Jayne, "and look at him. I am a free man, and I am in this so that I can remain that way."

Outside, the little knot of Huáscar officers briefly congregated. "I apologise for pushing my plan so assertively," Abebech offered. "I'll make the arrangements with Chief Héen and then return to the Heermann, by your leave, Captain."

No need to apologise, Abebech. "Worry not, I do expect initiative. Go ahead and arrange matters, Commander, leave is so granted."

"Thank you, Captain. If Fera'xero's last calculations were correct, we'll be there in twenty hours at a more leisurely pace, fourteen if we push it. I recommend taking a bit of time. We have a great advantage in sublight turn, and the crew has been pushed hard and could use the rest. We'll be thankful even for the chance to sleep in our bunks on Heermann. For that matter, Colonel, your Marines have already fought two boarding actions, and this could turn into a third."

"Or worse, yes. At least a solid shift of rest will be incredibly useful." Fei'nur replied, as Zhen'var pursed her lips. "Let Cafe Varma open for a single half-shift, relax Condition Zebra long enough to let the crew have a proper rest with some circulation."

"I'll let Elia know. Thank you, Captain." With that, Abebech thrust herself up one of the ladders going through a tiny emergency hatch that were the only way for them to move out of the immediate vicinity of the docking bays. Among other things, relaxing their MC posture would just make it easier to get anywhere in transit. Including possibly to bed.





As the crew from Bea's New Resistance ship was processed to temporary quarters, including the troops aboard, one man of middling age and strong, dark features fell in wearing the same uniform. He was scanned through by the crew of the Huáscar and they assumed he was part of the crew of the Resistance ship.

The crew of the Resistance ship around him assumed he was part of the crew of the Serenity. He didn't bother to correct them. They didn't matter one way or another after all, under his prior plan they would have all been dead. But now he needed a better one, so he was going to make it for himself.

The new vessel, being military and properly secured, was intimidating in its own right, but there were ways around the security protocols, ways to overcome sensors. And he was not going to fail at his one chance for revenge and redemption; it would be Jubal Early who took the credit for bringing Mal Reynolds to his knees.





The cruiser which had previously been orbiting over Sihnon was now burning hard for the outer system. Aboard, a young dark haired woman in typical nondescript Alliance uniform dress sat in a grand, cathedral like hall aboard the ship. She was absolutely composed and silent, until the transmission came through.

She faced a half-dozen men and women. She knew who they were, but they didn't reveal themselves, and that was right and proper.

"Operative Kalista," one of them began, "What is your assessment of the attack on the Pacification Force?"

"They are operating in conjunction with the terrorists on the Serenity, of course, which means the interloper vessel has detailed information on our Government corresponding with the knowledge of the crew of the Serenity and access to CORTEX."

"Thank you. After completing the attack they withdrew into the extreme outer system limits. Why?"

"They can only have one destination. They use FTL," Kalista said matter-of-factly, "and it almost certainly dictates the layout of their ship. By simple rational inference they plan on the strategic advantages of its utilization. Object Sigma is therefore protecting us from the interloper vessel using the full extent and range of its strategic advantages against us."

There were quiet looks around the table. Kalista felt it likely that her rulers, the real rulers of the Alliance, were mildly horrified. A vessel which had slagged two cruisers without apparent visible damage-the recordings had been pulled from the Hospital Satellite after the withdrawal of the interloper's forces-and was clearly extra-system. They were still debating on where it came from, but that was not important right now. They were not pleased to realise the implications that the situation could, in fact, get substantially worse.

"If Object Sigma is protecting us from the interloper's full strategic advantages…"

"Their reason for withdrawing into the outer system is obvious. Their destination is Object Sigma. Prepare the personnel there to ambush them on arrival with everything they have. I am already mustering fleet assets to the full authority permitted me under the law; send more. If the enemy proves able to neutralise Object Sigma, then the entire System will open for them to operate in at will, including bringing strategic reinforcements into the System much more easily than they otherwise would. As it stands now that vessel is operating without reinforcement. We have no guarantee that will remain true if Object Sigma is neutralized by their firepower. The strategic assessment is that they will destroy the Alliance Navy in an afternoon if they can use FTL in the System-or we'll concentrate the entire fleet in one mutually supporting mass over Londinium or Sihnon and watch as we lose the entirety of the outer system and half the Inner Worlds. We must stop them from doing so."





Simon had been reluctant (and that was a modest way of putting it) to leave his sister overnight, but he had needed rest, and Kaylee had finally pressed him into taking a bunk. The next morning had two days since her procedure, and in physical terms the healing that River had needed was minor; completely non-invasive micro-transporter surgery meant even brain surgery was something you only needed two nights of rest and recovery from to be up and walking around, at least if you were an otherwise healthy teenager, and naturally Nah'dur had a carefully prepared cocktail of drugs to eliminate complications, which she injected in extended release form in a self-dissolving capsule under the skin.

It was still an emotional surprise to see River up and walking around. She was dressed in crisp all-blacks with gloves that matched Elia's perfectly, and the woman had a confident expression and an arm around River's shoulders as she helped her walk. She also had a big pair of wrap-around sunglasses. "Good morning, Captain Reynolds, Doctor Tam, Companion Serra," Elia greeted. "...And…"

"Call me Kaylee, I don't know where you're goin' with all them titles," the Serenity's engineer flipped back, holding Emma Washburne.

"Commander Saumarez. The Surgeon-Commander is letting her up already?" Simon's face lit up. "Meimei"

"Yes, though she might be sensitive to light for a while, thus the shades…"

Simon, you have no idea of what she's been able to do so far. Her and Hygienist-Commander Va'tor. They've made it so I won't have flashbacks anymore and taught me how to block out the thoughts of others. Isn't this cool? We can talk without anyone hearing us. Except other telepaths.

Simon Tam was brought up short for a moment. Then he grinned. Yes. Yes it is. There was no stopping him from hugging River, then, the gesture completely unadulterated by anything except joy.

Elia smiled fondly. "She's got one hell of a brother, you know."

"There's somethin' to be said for their family loyalty, you got that right," Mal replied. "Why the gloves, Commander?"

"It's a cultural expectation of human telepaths in the universe I come from. Actually, a legal one, too. We are segregated and marked with gloves and badges, the gloves on the theory that they prevent accidental scans, which is only sort of true; the badges on the principle of marking us as servants of the government. But in the case of the former, we treat them as a matter of modesty, and in the later, as a matter of pride. The organisation is called the Psi-Corps and it is a home for eighteen million of us."

Are you comfortable with all of this? Simon asked River as they embraced.

"You make it sound like you're slaves," Inara said, staring hard at the gloves. "Was that really the lesson you wanted to teach her?"

Yeah, they know a lot more than I do so I'm learning a lot. These uniforms are nice and scary.

"It's about community solidarity and pride now, Ma'am," Elia answered. "An oppressed people, but we are not slaves. River will have to make her own choices, but in the meanwhile, what kind of woman would I be if I didn't give a naked girl in the street clothes? That's simply my culture. I might add the Allied Systems regard the actions of my homeworld with hatred and disgust. The Earth Alliance will never be permitted membership because of it. I myself am an exile because my stand against genocide would have required my termination if I returned home, for violating the laws against telepath participation in politics. The Earth Alliance and your Alliance of Planets share many similiarities, none of them good."

"You have my condolences…" Mal seemed sincerely happy at seeing River receiving treatment, even if Elia could sense a bit of concern, a reasonable one.

"It's fine. I have a family here in the Mha'dorn, and it's their pin I wear. The guild of the Dilgar telepaths," she added. "River has perfect free will and freedom under our law. I merely wanted to give her an opportunity to know the living of her cousins, however distant."

"Is Commander Imra from your world as well?"

"No, and I don't actually know why she wears gloves. Espers in her home universe don't."

"Huh." Mal looked at Elia for a moment. "Well, how's Zoe doing?"

"Oh, well, I can offer more good news, then," Elia smiled. "One of the medical orderlies is taking her up to Café Varna in a hover chair. Would you like to all have breakfast together?"

"Would we?" Kaylee looked like she was going to shriek in happiness, and Inara hastily took baby Emma from her.

"You bet we would!"

Elia grinned. "All right then, let's go enjoy service with a surly grimace and utterly delicious food…"

"You have a restaurant on a spaceship?"

Soon enough they were all seated at one big table at Café Varna. The looks that Zoe got when she was rolled up were absolutely spectacular. Elia could feel the relief everyone felt. Their community was complete.

Complete, with the awkward question mark of Jayne Cobb sitting by himself at a table five paces away, occasionally trying not to look at them. Elia could feel the tension.

<Jayne's very treacherous, but Mal never gave up on him before. I think his leaving to go back home to his mother when the rest of us were in hiding was sorer than the times he tried to double-cross us,> River explained. <And it was a big risk, if you weren't here, his showing up with Bea could have been a lot of trouble.>

"How are you feeling, Zoe?" Mal was asking.

"Gettin' better, Sir. Good to see my daughter. No offense to ya but they got one heck of a sickbay here, Doc," she addressed Simon.

"None taken. I can only hope I live long enough to understand everything Surgeon-Commander Nah'dur has been telling me.

<Is that trouble you could have really avoided?> Elia asked in her own conversation as the other one continued across the table.

<We were trying,> River answered innocently.

Jayne finally got up. "Mind if I join y'all?" He asked as he stepped over.

"Don't think it's my business to stop you from sittin' down," Mal answered.

Zoe was holding her daughter. She took a measured look at the Serenity's hired muscle.

"Good to see yah both out of the hospital," he offered to River and Zoe. "Kid's Wash's, or...?"

"...You got any other idea about who's it could be?" Zoe fixed a Stare on Jayne.

Jayne stiffened. "No. Looks like 'im." After a bit more of uncomfortable silence, Jayne made a shadow of looking at the menu. "What's all this stuff on here? It's all got funny names."

"It's Bulgarian food," Elia shrugged. "Probably didn't survive as a culture in this universe."

"Y'all already order?"

"Yeah, there's enough for ya, Jayne," Mal said. "We let Elia order, she knows the food. She's also payin' for us, since they don't use the same currency. For which I thank you again," he added, addressing her.

Elia couldn't help but smile at the fact that she'd gotten close enough to them for Mal to use her first name. "Oh, you're quite welcome. I don't mind. I'm optimistic about getting my trust fund back someday."

"You had a trust fund? Why'd you lose it?"

"I was a Lord's daughter, you'd say," Elia answered. "When my telepathy manifested my parents left me a trust when they rendered me over to the Corps. But the government froze it after the Tira crisis, which is why I am here. And for the moment, as broke as you are. Well, not quite true; I've been collecting a government paycheck for a year without really spending it on anything. I can afford a treat for River's family."

"Don't have much use for Lords," Mal answered, "but most of their kids wouldn't know what to do without their dad's money. You've made pretty well for yourself, so I'd count you a cut above the rest of 'em."

The food showed up. Strong black coffee, boza, and tea. "Princess" sandwiches, press-grilled bread with minced meat on some and egg and cheese on others, with fresh tomato quarters on the side. Banitsa pastries, and mekitsa, served with jam, honey, yoghurt, and cheese in little trays.

"Thank you, Alexandra," Elia offered.

"It does look like she makes some mighty fine grub," Mal remarked, impressed with the spread.

"You see us all as River's family?" Zoe asked.

"I think it's pretty obvious, and I'm thankful and want to encourage it. Telepaths are usually abandoned by normals, mistrusted, mistreated, turned against. One of the reasons we hew to the Corps so strongly is the risk of pogrom and genocide," Elia levelly met their eyes. She saw Jayne turn away and then meet them again, uncomfortable.

"By the time the Alliance was done, following the course we discovered, I fear that people like River would have become symbols of horror and terror in the Verse. Enforcers of totalitarianism. We have a chance to stop that, and maybe, your culture can accept them as mine did not."

"That's what they're training everyone for," River explained. "Enforcement. That's why we're all girls, because telepathy is passed through the mitochondria so it makes sense for the initial telepathic subjects to all be female."

"Well, one more thing we're gonna try and stop," Mal met Elia's eyes levelly. "You're right. She's part of our family."

"What am I then, Mal? We gonna settle that?" Jayne sounded aggrieved and almost hopeful all at once.

"A man who made a choice, Jayne. And I'm not sure you or anyone else can undo that. But right, I'll tell yah what. I saw the way you looked when we found out what happened on Miranda. Now's the chance to get back at the people who did it. And you don't have any other good option. They won't stop huntin' for you, not now. Not once they tie you to what happened to those cruisers. I may not much like your choices, but if you can stay loyal in a fight we'll need plenty of people who I may not much like the choices of."

Jayne was silent for a moment and then jerked his head. "Ai'right. I'm in."





Once aboard the ship, it was clear that he couldn't linger long with the Resistance troopers in the regular bunkings, normally used for refugees but comfortable enough by the standards of the Outer systems for regular use. They would be content that he was a crewmember on the Serenity, but someone would check with them eventually. Finding the replicator in the quarters incredibly useful, he feigned replicated someone that looked like vomit and feigned illness so the others would take away. For two nights he kept it up.

Then, the scuttlebutt in the crew that the Resistance fighters were repeating was that they were nearing their destination. He got up, but instead of following them to the communal mess for breakfast, he split off in another direction to familiarise himself with how the markings of the ship were laid out and to find an armoury.

Finally, he walked past an armoury, clearly indicated as such by the guard. The man was attentive enough to follow him with his eyes as he walked past, and so Jubal kept on going. Fortunately, the Union had plenty of options for dealing with that kind of situation. They specialised in the use of disabling and jamming equipment. Jubal doubled back until he found a grate which was loose from a repair to some shock damage or such after the late battle. Using a penlight he confirmed that the arrows showed a power mains conduit heading in the direction of the armoury. He activated the EMP grenade and tossed it inside, then quickly covered his head with a mesh bag-the charge was powerful enough it could disrupt nerves at that close range.

There was no dramatic explosion or noise, just a peculiar, uncomfortable heat, and power through the entire sector went down. He lunged up into the grate, kicking off the wall to gain access to the equipment crawlspace above. There he retrieved the expended grenade and re-attached it to his belt, then resecured the panel from above so that it would not look like it had ever been loose.

While the monitoring and detection systems were down, Jubal systematically disconnected them, crossing circuits to guarantee a positive response in the system when it came back up. With an armoury in the sector, the engineering response was prompt, and the systems were back up twenty minutes later, but Jubal's work was already done.

Muttering to themselves about the fault, the engineers left, and Jubal dropped back down to the deck and re-secured the panel. Then he headed back toward the armoury. The watch had just changed for the morning; perfect. The guard was settling into his routine and distracted confirming to the security computer that he was on duty.

This trivial administrative task cost him his life. Jubal whipped out a knuckle-duster punch to the back of the head which drove him into the wall. The second strike brought the brass on the side of his hand down against the man's neck and snapped it.

Then he used his hand to authenticate the door while it was still warm. Time to get some gear. Even if his plan to draw the Union down on them didn't work, seizing the bridge would certainly help.





It had been two days out in the Heermann. She was comfortable enough for the first four or five days, but the novelty of the cramped habitation spaces wore off after that. Still, they were in action, instead of docked aboard and waiting, and that mattered. They were the point guard and they were proud of it, in this strange system, where there was a threat at every quarter.

Two nights out from the Hospital Satellite, she was presently leading the Huáscar under cloak. They were finally approaching their original objective, though the lack of energy readings outside of the jamming had made resolving the target difficult. It was painted dark and in the circumstances, distant from any star, it initially seemed like a battered asteroid. The bridge crew were as quiet as a tomb as it slowly resolved into something more, and Commander Imra leaned forward, chin masked by two gloved hands pressed together.

"I'm picking up a debris trail," Goodenough reported a moment later. He turned from his console, swiveling his chair to face Abebech. "Captain, micrometeorite impacts consistent with three thousand years in position."

"That makes sense," Abebech replied, barely above a murmur. "Range?"

"Four thousand kilometres," Mehmet sang out. "Still no power readings."

"Zero-zero. Can we resolve the target?"

Ca'elia's steady hand on the helm brought the Heermann to a 'relative' dead stop vis-a-vis the position of the object.

"Yes, Captain, coming in now… My God."

A colour-corrected image blinked onto the viewscreen, artificially enhanced, none of which took away from its power.

Ca'elia growled softly.

"Abdulackbar," Mehmet whispered.

Goodenough tore his eyes away from the screen, to the command chair where Abebech had made a visceral grunt and sank back into the cushions.

"Commander," she cleared her throat, and for a moment Goodenough thought that something caught in it. "Laser com back to the Huáscar everything. They need to see this. Captain Zhen'var needs to see this."





Back on the Huáscar, Elia blinked at the transmission. This isn't good. "Captain, laser burst from the Heermann coming through now." Abebech wouldn't break comms silence for nothing.

"Let me see it on my small screen. Keep on alert, if the enemy knows why our course is shaped as it is, they will be waiting..."

Elia sent the message over. As she did, she watched it herself, and felt a chill starkly cross her skin.

It was a ship, with something of the form of a squared rocket, tapering toward the nose. Two great squared oblong deck clusters thrust up from the main hull, and what might have been the track of a mass driver lay along the dorsal hull. The armour was thick, immensely thick, twenty metres or more, and was gouged and torn in every place. She hung in space, a ghost ship of an ancient battle.

She was three kilometres long, massing twenty-seven times the Huáscar if the sensor estimates were remotely relevant. Huge areas of the hull were opened to bared skeleton of her frame, charred and blackened, massive sectors of plates twisted and rent. Massive firepower had torn and rent her, and yet she was intact.

"Divine, what is that…? No match in the database, of such an ancient wreck, I assume and that is the source of the FTL interdiction field?"

"Yes, it is, Captain," Elia answered quietly. "No question. At this range we can localise it very precisely."

"Take us closer, then, very slowly. I want a swing around that… beast of a hulk to clear all sensor shadows before we enter weapons range." Zhen'var forced her hands to rest on the arms of her chair.

"Long range sensors now suggest it still has an atmosphere across at least half of the internal structure," Fera'xero reported.

"Captain, shall we prepare our Marines to assault the hulk?" Elia asked. "The New Resistance ships could be launched as well and we could stand off on guard covering the entire hull."

"Tell the Colonel to prepare her companies, but be cautious. I do not like the looks of this, that thing puts me on edge." Zhen'var tried to pin down just what had her so worried.

Suddenly, Elia's senses flared with danger, threat, warning. All from behind. She spun toward the entrance of the bridge to see an African man with a UAS type pulse pistol drawn, aimed at Zhen'var. Elia had no time to make a decision about anything, and fear for her best friend in the multiverse drove what she did next. She knew intimately how terrified, privately, Zhen'var was of being taken prisoner on her bridge again. At times at dock when the bridge was empty or she had control at secondary control, she had even drilled it. Elia reached out, more on instinct than thought.

Zhen'var felt the intense, all-encompassing feeling of Elia's warm closeness to her, the telepathic equivalent of a bear hug of her mind. Elia's reassurance came even as she triggered the muscle sequence and plan that Zhen'var had drilled. This was faster still than simply assuming control of her; within her friend's mind she found the plan she had trained to execute, and had her rolling from chair, pistol in her right hand as her left slapped a button on her belt.

The infiltrator's gun spoke, even as an iron hand lunged out from the man to wrench Fera'xero from his chair. And Elia, for a horrifying moment balanced on the precipice of not knowing whether or not her effort had worked, refused to draw back, even if it meant she followed her friend to The Door.



To Be Continued….
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Re: nUF Origins: S1 - Episode 5 - "Big Iron"

Post by Shroom Man 777 »

JUBAL EARLY! That great man! Amazing!

I'm amazed that Zhen'var's militarism makes Davies of all people come off as the laid back type. And I guess what strikes me is how... gung-ho Dilgar Zhen'var is now. I've just skimmed the previous chapters but this one has Firefly in it and more Imra, and Imra is awesome. But like, I guess it's just seeing Zhen'var so abruptly changed compared to how she was on Tira. It seems like her development has been completed already here, with the fully formed severe captain? But my picture may be incomplete.

Also, since this isn't the Aurora or Mamiomedes, everyone here is such a hardass! :P

I do like the combat scenes, I love their meticulousness (akin to the combat engineering and bridging scene in the attack on Nazi Earth). The boarding of the Reaver vessel. The massacration of the Alliance ships... did the Dilgar troops just start spraying and chucking flechette grenades upon transporting to the station? That's... GRU-like :P

...and I previously didn't know that the Alliance had star-ignition tech. Woah.

Imra though. She's soooo badass. She Darth Vadered those fooken Reavers.

BTW, the only "hybrid psion program" in S0T5 is the Apexai-Human one that created Solarian psions (Apexais being the grey alienoids and in my head canon for nUF are another-verse incarnation of the Asgard, who focused on mentallic might as opposed to ultratech). Espers in the Fracture are separate and preceded 'em. BUT misconceptions and crackpot theories resulting in "hybridized with Zigonians for psychic powers" and "Imra has LIZARD HANDS and LIZARD EYES" is awesome :D (Zigonians are the lizard hippie people ala that lizard monk in Steve's story)
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"Sometimes Shroomy I wonder if your imagination actually counts as some sort of war crime." - FROD
Tomyris
Posts: 69
Joined: Sun Apr 01, 2018 10:21 pm

Re: nUF Origins: S1 - Episode 5 - "Big Iron"

Post by Tomyris »

I'd actually say that it's the opposite, that Zhen'var's being a hardass is a direct result of the traumatic experience of her mutiny and is not the end of her character development--but rather a realistic if sometimes problematic reaction to her trauma.

Also please read the other episodes more! I put a lot of effort into developing the characters y'know, I want ya to like 'em. And there's more humour than Steve has!

And yes, the Dilgar just opened fire the moment they materialized on beaming onto the station to suppress resistance in the transport zones.

As for the Apexai/Zigonian thing--exactly. I rely on the unreliable narrator a lot.
Last edited by Tomyris on Sat Jan 05, 2019 11:19 pm, edited 2 times in total.
Tomyris
Posts: 69
Joined: Sun Apr 01, 2018 10:21 pm

Re: nUF Origins: S1 - Episode 6 - "Meta Incognita"

Post by Tomyris »

Introduction

“Are there any additional findings to what’s already been found, Doctor?” Abebech looked around the haunting age of the abandoned toroidal space station. It had been a receiving and transfer point for gas and Ioian exotics--fuel products, in short.

“Just the content of these messages,” he answered, gesturing to them on the wall of the station.

Goodenough followed his message. “ Forward, to our Universe. ” He shook his head. “Rather bloody enigmatic, isn’t it, Ma’am?” He offered to Abebech. “Like ‘Croatan’, bloody near.”





“Helm, break to port!” Elia called as she shifted controls. Violeta instinctually followed her, because it seemed like Elia had a plan, even though that brought them even closer to the two ships, as the shields suddenly surged with over-power through the tertiary generators and the shields slammed into the active plasma cutters, driving a massive energy feedback into the systems of the two small attackers. As they did, there were two enormous explosions along the port aft quarter, shaking the Huáscar like a bone in the mouth of a dog as both of them detonated from the impact and energy feedback tearing their thin hulls to pieces.

“We were going to lose the shields no matter what, Captain, better to take them with the generators,” Elia justified herself simply.






Abebech, as silent and reserved as ever, got in the ‘lift and called up the Heermann dock. As it traveled, she pulled a builder’s plate out of her pocket that she had taken from the captured ship, and looked long and hard at it, cupped in her gloved hands.

Weyland-Yutani Corporation.

“We Build Better Worlds.”

Heavy Shipbuilding Division

Union of Allied Planets Navy

Enforcement Cruiser Ioannis

Laid at Londinium Geostationary Dockyards

Oct 14 2510.

Gripping it tightly, she put it back in her breast-pocket as she left the turbolift.






Will started the explanations for the crew of the ship they had already learned was named the Serenity, with a heavy use of holo-slides, because he hadn’t had the time to do anything better than steal the standard Public Affairs template.

But as he spoke, with the others entranced, River Tam was staring across the table at Abebech and Elia. It didn’t take long for the two of them to be totally focused on her.

< Why can’t I feel her mind at all?> River was musing out loud, and both of them and then Hygienist Va’tor could feel it as well, the Dilgar woman also turning her attention to River.

< She doesn’t want anyone to,> Elia answered automatically.

< That doesn’t stop me other ti--> River cut off abruptly and looked sharply at Elia. < You just talked back.>

<I’m a telepath, and so are you,> Elia answered.

“They’re like me!” River suddenly exclaimed about as loud as she could in the meeting, looking with eagerness and surprise over to her brother. “They’re like me !”







“Shields collapsing, Captain. There’s no more I can do to keep them cohesive,” Elia popped her knuckles. “Seconds, Captain.”

“Commander Yuzhao, this is Commander Huáscar. Yield now or die.” Leaving the channel open, she pitched her voice. “ Tactical, lock forward batteries on target, maximum firepower.”

The officer on the other end of the comm could hear them, and spoke in Chinese, but the autotranslator rendered the words into English. “ My body may be broken, but my name shall live true in history.

Zhen’var closed her eyes. “Romance of the Three Kingdoms, Chapter Seventy-six. Guan Yu retreats to Maicheng. Tactical, Fire!”






Back on the Huáscar, Elia blinked at the transmission. This isn’t good. “Captain, laser burst from the Heermann coming through now.” Abebech wouldn’t break comms silence for nothing.

“Let me see it on my small screen. Keep on alert, if the enemy knows why our course is shaped as it is, they will be waiting...”

Elia sent the message over it. As she did, she watched it herself, and felt a chill starkly cross her skin.

It was a ship, with something of the form of a squared rocket, tapering toward the nose. Two great squared oblong deck clusters thrust up from the main hull, and what might have been the track of a mass driver lay along the dorsal hull. The armour was thick, immensely thick, twenty metres or more, and was gouged and torn in every place. She hung in space, a ghost ship of an ancient battle.






Suddenly, Elia’s senses flared with danger, threat, warning. All from behind. She spun toward the entrance of the bridge to see an African man with a UAS type pulse pistol drawn, aimed at Zhen’var. Elia had no time to make a decision about anything, and fear for her best friend in the multiverse drove what she did next. She knew intimately how terrified, privately, Zhen’var was of being taken prisoner on her bridge again. At times at dock when the bridge was empty or she had control at secondary control, she had even drilled it. Elia reached out, more on instinct than thought.

Zhen’var felt the intense, all-encompassing feeling of Elia’s warm closeness to her, the telepathic equivalent of a bear hug of her mind. Elia’s reassurance came even as she triggered the muscle sequence and plan that Zhen’var had drilled. This was faster still than simply assuming control of her; within her friend’s mind she found the plan she had trained to execute, and had her rolling from chair, pistol in her right hand as her left slapped a button on her belt.

The infiltrator’s gun spoke, even as an iron hand lunged out from the man to wrench Fera’xero from his chair. And Elia, for a horrifying moment balanced on the precipice of not knowing whether or not her effort had worked, refused to draw back, even if it meant she followed her friend to The Door.






Undiscovered Frontier Origins : Meta Incognita
Season 1, Episode 6


Act One


Time itself seemed to have no meaning as the shot ricocheted off the deck. Zhen’var rolled to her feet with her pistol levelled. But Elia could not fire through Zhen’var’s body, wouldn’t inflict that knowledge on her friend. She released her instead.

Arterus already had his pistol out, also aiming at the man. He had one hand on a tube across the front of Fera’xero’s suit and another on a gun aimed right back at Arterus as he slowly moved closer to the console.

Stop where you are.” Zhen’var’s voice was flat and cold, her pistol leveled as she slowly started to creep to open the angle between her line of fire and Arterus’.

“Reckon this man is in a suit for a reason,” Jubal Early answered. “So you probably don’t want it open on the bridge. Or anywhere. Reckon you don’t want that pointy-eared fellow dead, either. Might take another of you using this man as a shield, too.”

“I have faith in my sister.”

“Is that so?” He snorted softly. “Where’s your sister, Captain?”

Suddenly, the tenor of his eyes changed. Relaxed, unfocused. His mind bowed under an intensely precise telepathic assault which first removed motor control. The finger on the trigger moved away. The fingers on the tube relaxed.

Fera’xero delivered a tremendous kick downwards to Early’s foot, slammed an elbow into his chest. He toppled away, the gun clattering to the desk, as the Quarian took cover.

But Early didn’t rise. Instead, shaking with some kind of seizure, he rocked on the deck, as with measured footsteps, Elia advanced on his position. “Right. Fucking. Here.” Elia marched off each word. “When it comes to Zhen’var. Right. Fucking. Here.”

Reaching Early, she stared down with her dark eyes fixed. Inside of his mind, she lunged and plumbed. You. Will. Tell. Me. Everything. Legal niceties quite aside, they were thirty-five hundred lightyears from relief. Elia was going to know exactly what they were up against.

Zhen’var’s omnitool interrupted the terrible quiet of the bridge. “Captain, this is Secondary Control,” Will’s voice spoke, “We have control. Are you able to respond? May I launch the assault force?”

“We have control of the bridge, but keep the conn, Commander. Launch the assault force, but be alert for anything. Do not let our guard down. Please call Security to the bridge, we have an enemy infiltrator to place in custody.” She replied, before looking to the Quarian on the bridge. “Are you all right, Commander Fera’xero?”

“Quite well, Captain, though being the convenient hostage is getting a lot for me,” Fera’xero answered with a laugh, a shaky laugh, but a laugh nonetheless.

“Launching the assault force,” Will’s voice echoed back.

Then the situation began to get worse. Elia suddenly jerked. “Captain, countermand that order, please!”

Recall assault force, prepare for ambush!” Barked sharply out of Zhen’var’s mouth, her eyes going wide. Only one thing would make Elia say that so urgently.

Unauthorised transmission,” Tor’jar reported from the comms station… “Localised to the parasite hangar. Doors are closing… Interrupted.”

What the hell is going on, Elia?!

“The New Resistance Ship. That’s how he came onboard. He hacked all of their systems. He was going to kill everyone aboard, but a better opportunity presented itself. They thought he was from Serenity, the crew processed him through as one of the Browncoats. He murdered Spacer Michaels in the Security Detachment, that’s how he got his arms,” Elia spoke in bursts, tight, controlled, still inside of his mind, ripping it apart from top to bottom. “He programmed the ship’s computers to send a burst transmission to the Alliance of Planets. It contains data on us and … On the Heermann running ahead under cloak.”

Zhen’var didn’t even pause as she dashed to her command chair. “White to Ray-Ban, emergency priority, your status and position are compromised by treachery! Secondary Control, the enemy has our measure!”

The bridge crackled open with the running report from Secondary Control. “Captain, we’re detecting a Government squadron. They were hiding behind the wreck. FiveLongbow -class patrol cruisers, six Trebuchet class cruisers, ten combat corvettes, two ECM ships. Sublight sensors heavily jammed and we’re having trouble with the subspace sensors this close to the interference wave, too.. Captain, they’re firing on Heermann, broad-band dispersal patterns, trying to find her with gunnery… Damn it,Captain, direct hit as she was decloaking! The Heermann ’s shields aren’t coming up, they knocked them out before they could be raised!” The Alliance’s tactics had been brutally simple, extrapolating a straight line ahead of the Huáscar, with the Heermann running as beam-bait, and then opening fire on a predictor barrage pattern.

Huáscar had already commenced long-range fire, her heavy cannon chewing into one of the Longbow class cruisers as it appeared. The class was a purpose-built military version of the largest of the Reaver ships, which had been converted military transport versions of the same hull. It had almost twenty percent of its weight in mass as armour, unlike the Tohoku -class cruisers, but the Huáscar was concentrating full main battery power on her. Distance was too close for the Oculus -type ECM ships the Government navy had to prevent passive visual targeting with unerring accuracy.

Security arrived on the bridge, led by Janice Richards herself, who snapped a full hog-tie set of stuncuffs on Early; she scarcely needed to, as his mind was in no state to function by the time Elia had finished with him, now turning back to her Ops console.

“Launching full deck strike!”

The Heermann was firing, too. Damaged and lamed, Abebech’s attacker came smartly about and fired into one of the Longbow class ships as she was launching her wing of Warhammer fighters and Foxbat general purpose interceptors. The torpedoes detonating in the opening bays from Mehmet’s well-placed shots triggered a rippling chain reaction down the flank of the ship which sent her tumbling into a corvette which the Heermann promptly finished with forward cannon fire.

“Captain, Secondary Control.” Will’s voice came through firmly, recovered from the initial shock of the situation. “We are holding position to complete launch of the strike. Seventy-two fighters, thirty-six bombers, twelve war-fit runabouts. Are you prepared to reassume control? I advise proceeding to Heermann ’s support with our fully formed wing.”

“We are. Captain has the conn. Helm, move us to support Heermann at best possible speed. We have our enemy, cover our attacker!”

“Captain, the Heermann ’s been hit hard,” Fera’xero reported from his science console. “Readings consistent with Naqia reactors being scrammed.”

The Huáscar began to surge forward as the wing continued to launch. Zhen’var had elected to go straight in, and Lar’shan simply shrugged and set about modifying his attack. He understood why Zhen’var wanted to get in close at the expense of taking the time form up the wing. And the Heermann didn’t have much time…







“We’ve got battery power for a few shots, that’s it, Captain,” Abel Veeringen’s voice echoed across the smoky darkness of the red emergency lighting on the Heermann ’s bridge. He was down in main engineering, keeping the situation under control, as best as he could.

“Not enough thruster power to come to a stop before we hit the wreck, Captain,” Goodenough added grimly. The ship violently shuddered under them as another group of heavy autocannon took aim along the length of her self-healing armour.

“Helm, bring us about! Four-one-five mark six. Thrusters only.” The thrusters were exotic hypergolics that self ignited, they didn’t need power for them. Abebech’s voice cut the smoke as calm and cool as a computer even under those circumstances, perhaps only the slightest of inflection as she gave her orders to indicate the direness of the situation. “Weapons, target that cruiser we’re bearing on and give them everything.”

The young helmswoman tapped at her controls. “Four-one-five mark six, thrusters only…” Ca’elia was proud her voice didn’t shake as she shifted their attitude in the face of almost certain death.

“Firing.” Lt. Mehmet was steady on his controls as bursts of firepower raked the armour of one of the enemy cruisers and four, then six torpedoes followed them home. ALongbow was a long, narrow ship, never designed to face this kind of firepower, even though it had real armour. The main cannon tore massive chunks from the armour in scoring lengths of blackness down her hull, and then the torpedoes plunged into them and erupted in brilliant flashes of white. The savage glee of watching the ship break up into two pieces was met by a quiet smile from Abebech.

Then the world seemed to explode again around them, the ship tumbling and shaking as sparks leapt from the controls. Even the emergency batteries failed, leaving only the compressed air lines allowing Ca'elia to manually turn thrusters on and off.

“That was the Warp Drive, Captain!” Abel's voice called. “Twenty seconds to impact with the wreck.”

“Steady lads, steady,” Abebech answered, and finished reconfiguring her omnitool to power the visual sensors. They flickered to life on Ca'elia's console showing the looming hull as more autocannon rounds stitched their armour. It would only last a minute before draining, but they only needed a minute.

“Helm, see that bay door at nine o'clock high, port? Use thrusters to redirect us for it.”

“I intend to attempt to survive the landing, ma’am.” Ca’elia replied, grim but with a hint of a death’s head smile, as she started to use her thrusters to their fullest extent.

“Don’t worry, just do it--Sound collision!”

Goodenough found an emergency alarm control that still worked and the sharp blasts on the klaxon rent the fading air of the battered attacker.

Abebech smiled to him and let Ca’elia do her job. “Goodenough, how handy are you with a cutlass?”

“A cutlass? Well enough to do the job, I expect.”

“Pistols?”

“Perfectly good shot, ma’am.”

“Quite good then.” There was something sharp and predatory in her eyes as she watched the bay doors loom. As they did, a brilliant, dangerous smile began to spread to Goodenough’s face, too.

Boarding is getting a bit ahead of ourselves when I still need to let us survive the landing… Ca’elia thought, as her eyes stayed locked on the fading sensor display, hands moving across her console to leverage every possible bit of impulse from the thrusters.

Then there was a dull, sharp crumple as they slammed into the bay doors and carried through them. Somehow, Abebech had known, sensed, or guessed, that it wasn’t a primary armour door but an internal vacuum-excluding door, thin and light. The Heermann stayed intact through the door, and the rending of metal served to cancel their momentum.

Abebech smiled. “Good work, Leftenant. Take us down.”

“Taking us down, Captain… save a pistol for me, ma’am.” With more space, she was more confident, as she slowly brought Heermann to a stop, with screeching metal.

“All hands, this is the Captain speaking,” Abebech called, using Goodenough’s omnitool on his kindly extended arm. “We claimed three of the enemy despite being surprised and ambushed, good show, Heermann. Our current situation in this--we have landed in one of the primary hangar bays of the unidentified wreck. We have guns and arms. As always, following the first principle of our ship, we have one objective: To find the enemy, if present, and take the battle to him. Viva Huáscar ! All crew except engaged medical personnel and wounded are to assemble at airlocks one through four in three minutes. Doctor Foru, you are to report as well, and give me a report on all wounded at that time. That is all.”

She looked up, and smiled to her tiny bridge crew again. “What was it Nelson said at Cape St. Vincent, Goodenough?”

“Westminster Abbey or Glorious Victory, Captain.”

“...Very good then.” She chuckled and walked to her sea cabin, forcing the doors. “Get all the emergency packs, get your suits, we have no idea how long we’re going to be here or what condition the wreck is. And take up arms!”







As part of the order to launch the landing force, the Serenity had been underway out of the parasite bay when the order was countermanded and the doors began to close. Seized by the state of emergency, River had jammed the throttles wide open for a full power burn, sending them blowing out of the bay before the doors closed. They had caught the transmission from the New Resistance ship moments later.

Shaking his head, Mal could guess exactly what had gone down. Jayne, you idiot ! But he didn’t say it out loud. He had Jayne on his ship again, and he needed him, right here, and right now. River proved just as adept at piloting the Serenity as Wash had been; she quickly pulled them around and clear of the area the fighters were mustering in to avoid collision.

From their position outside of the main fighting, they watched with increasing grimness the struggle of the Heermann and the Huáscar standing into danger with her wing accelerating up and around her from behind, weapons streaking and flashing across the void with energies greater than any he cared to think about.

“The Heermann ’s going down on the wreck,” River said, and then added, dimly. “Abebech could use our help.”

“Goin’ down, they …” Mal stopped, paused, fully digested what River had just said. Oh, yeah, he didn’t want to feel helpless anymore. He also hadn’t ever seen a concentration of Government warships like this, except at the Universe battle. But the Huáscar was already tearing into them.

“You’re sayin’ we should head for that wreck ourselves?”

River paused, like she was still digesting what, exactly, she was saying. Then she nodded. “Yes.”

“Commander Imra’s been good to us. All right. We’ll see if we can get them off. River, if we can make an approach from the front of that ship, it’s pretty chewed up. The Feds masked themselves behind that leviathan, we can too.”

“On it. ” Manoeuvring thrusters worked, and again, Serenity ’s main drives burned, worked by hands that were still wearing the gloves that Elia had given her.








“Captain, we’ve lost the Heermann, ” Elia said very, very quietly on a hushed, taut and grim bridge. The Huáscar was undamaged and standing into action against a force it had already sloshed around, brutally. That still left them feeling no pride or confidence, and the loss of Abebech’s ship was the reason why. “She impacted with the surface of the wreck.”

“Commander, I do not think one as lucky or skilled as Imra is gone yet. We would have picked up emergency beacons from even a partial abandonment if she thought the loss of her ship upon her. Colonel, prepare your assault teams.” Zhen’var was clenching her hands hard enough to score the stone on the armrests of her chair.

Elia sniffled softly and clenched her teeth. You will be strong. Abebech may not yet be gone. “Yes Captain.”

“Confirmed,” Fei’nur echoed on the intercom.

Huáscar was standing off, pummeling the enemy, with her group now formed up, overtaking her and going in.

“I want a sensor probe launched after Heermann’s ballistic trajectory, Ops, to guide Colonel Fei’nur. Keep us on the attack.”

“Understood, Ma’am. The enemy fighters and bombers are forming to attack us. They number at least four hundred,” Elia answered. “Unlike the ships, they have the turn to force battle.”

But the ships were already suffering. Huáscar ’s main batteries had held the range open, beyond the effective ability of the enemy to reply, for more than five minutes now. They had disabled or destroyed five enemy vessels, about one a minute, in that time. The only risk was running out of torpedoes. It was obvious that the enemy had realised what was happening and was taking active measures to try and embroil the Huáscar with their fighters , otherwise it might take some time and be logistically inconvenient, but they would be destroyed.

Or so it had seemed. Fera’xero raised the alert first. “Captain, our sensor readings are resolving a major wave-front of energy emissions from the Alliance fleet. Hypothesis: Long-range missile salvo. They have localised us with sublight sensors sufficiently well to rely on seeker-heads for final approach; Heermann was also jamming their sensors. Time to our position: Twenty-seven seconds!”

“Alert the wing, Tactical, Helm, Ops, you heard him!”

“Withdraw to increase time for interception, Captain?” Implicitly in Elia’s confirming question was the concern about how long it would take to ultimately close the distance and find out about the Heermann. Violeta laid in one local evasive and one distant. “Major Lar’shan confirms his fighters are intercepting.”

“Torpedoes and tertiary cannon reserved for anti-missile use… Resolving intercept trajectories,” Daria was working the mathematics--at sublight, actually relatively straightforward--and torpedo-on-missile intercepts. Of course, depending on how dense of a pack it was that might be very useful or pointless.

“Ten sub-waves of approximately three hundred and sixty missiles each, Captain,” Fera’xero updated as the sensor picture resolved. The dots of the missiles now populated the tactical display, showing velocity, acceleration, and position relative to the strike-wing.

Zhen’var grimaced sharply . “... Increase the range.” Her voice was soft, as she took the decision to prioritize Huáscar over Heermann’s crew.

“Coming about four-four-one mark one!” Violeta called out as the Huáscar spun to show her tail. “Engineering, utmost power to the impulsors.”

“Utmost power,” Anna’s voice answered with a steely calmness. Violeta watched as the drives peaked through their rating thrust and then increased it by almost half again, hitting 145% of design thrust. The ship’s impulsors began to scream in a way that could be heard through the deckplates, a shivering vibration straight up into their acceleration couches.

“Captain,” Anna’s voice came to Zhen’var next, “We have overloaded the engines by more than forty percent. They are holding.”

Daria held fire with torpedoes. The fighters engaged.







Artesia de Más--a woman variously known as Artesia som Deikun and Sayla Mas in previous identities--held the controls of her Mongoose tightly. Her first engagement in the fighter was going to be against something that a normal telepath could not sense: Missiles. Despite that, she could in a dim way sense the pinpricks of electric fields rapidly closing. They provided a peripheral awareness as her HUD focused in on them.

The Mongoose was, truth be told, not a fighter she was completely pleased with. The integral photon torpedo launcher wasted weight and increased volume. The wing hardpoints were what really mattered for carrying small missiles. The bombers continued to close with the enemy under Lar’shan’s plan.

Now she selected her missiles. Interlocking lobes on the sensor dish converged twenty-four targets at once, and she didn’t remotely have the missiles for all of them. Six hardpoints had been considered adequate. They aimed for the heart of the waves, the missiles resolving themselves into clusters based on launching.

“Aim for the gaps between the clusters with your fighters after counter-missile launch, then match vee and engage with guns!” Lar’shan was used to his universe’s schema, using fighters to support anti-missile ops; Zhen’var was treating it as a matter of course.

“Independent action,” Artesia directed to Wildcat Four, her wingman. Close formation on missile intercept duties just risked accidents.

She then flipped the switch inboard on her console and watched the final target resolution. As it completed, a sharp pulse of the thrusters swung her fighter about to face behind it--toward the enemy fleet--as she killed main engine power. “Wildcat Three, good tone, taking shot.” The trigger salvoed the missiles in unison.

The moment they were gone, she followed Lar’shan in with thrusters burning and course shifting, as the missiles spread out, their group of four fighters one of countless many of the seventy-two the Huáscar had launched. Around them, the micro-torpedoes fired by the runabouts began to detonate, tearing holes in the cloud of missiles.

Again, she brought her nose around, now because she was in the midst of the missiles, and using her cannon, tore through a brace of them. A flash of her senses, disembodied in space, warned her of the approach of one of the heavy anti-ship missiles toward her course, and the fighter skewed hard to right and she fell in behind it, claiming a third with guns.

Distantly on sensors, the Huáscar could be seen putting distance between herself and the salvo. Twenty-seven seconds had turned into more than a minute as her drives flared to maximum power and, from the enormous radiation spike, far beyond. It was a battle of blips which felt bloodless.

Still, it piqued her memory of combat. “ Form on my right !” Lar’shan’s voice echoed, meant for his wing. She slid to the left until the indicator lights of friendlies were glowing in position. “All runabouts, this is WC50 Actual, head for home. Fighters on me, full thrust.”

He led them in to overtake the bombers before they were set upon by the enemy’s wings, now burning out to pursue the Huáscar. Artesia closed up in a classic ‘fingers four’, eyes scanning brightly ahead. “Wildcat three, this is Wildcat four. Forming on you.”

She confirmed her wingman was in position. “WC50 we are in formation.”

“Roger that.” Artesia’s quick look at her sensors suggested they were outnumbered by about five to one and going to be in the thick of it in one minute. Business As Usual.







“Lead wave at point blank range,” Elia didn’t look up from her console, not at this point.

Daria’s finger firmly depressed the activation button on the automatic anti-missile systems. They worked too fast for sapient involvement beyond that point. Tracking and allocation between the dozens of light anti-missile pulse cannon that the Huáscar had meant that space simply came alive with fire as they allocated their fires by computer against a metric of greatest threats and targets with the highest kill probability.

The missile waves were tightly spaced, and the Huáscar’ s batteries pivoted and tracked, aiming at points of space where the missiles would not be then, but instead the microsecond beyond required for the energy to cross the distance to its target. Everything was a prediction.

Space rippled with blossoms, and the energy was mostly delivered by the Huáscar ’s cannon, not the detonations. Her drives straining under their feet, now the missiles began to hit the shields. A rippling sound like rain on the hood of a car was all they felt or heard as the shields were impacted.

“Ten to one ratio of octo-derived chemical bursting charges in rocket-driven armour-piercing warheads and NuDets,” Fera’xero reported. “Only one-tonne shaped bursting charges on the former, but the rocket fired penetrator can slip through the shields at missile body disintegration and impact the hull with considerable kinetic energy..”

“Not going to be enough for them to compromise us unless we’re knocked down to tertiaries,” Elia answered. Huáscar caught a nuke, but her shields shrugged it off. “Captain, may we come about?”

“Please, with alacrity.” The Huascar ’s captain barely showed the strain and worry she was feeling at the fate of her attacker, but she was showing it.

Violeta worked the helm. The engines thrummed in the deckplates. The order for utmost power had not been countermanded and with the impulsors roaring in the hull, theHuáscar ’s powerful gravimetric impellers and thrust vanes redirected momentum and thrust with a flaring of waste heat from the drives, glowing cherry-red as she completed the turn. “ Zero-zero !”

From the moment she called out the conclusion of the violent turn, the Huáscar ’s impulsors were driving her back at the hulk with growing and redoubling speed.

“Major Lar’shan is engaging the enemy wings,” Elia shook her head, wondering what the tremendous engine noises she’d never heard before truly meant, as ops she had a better view than most, and the power had skyrocketed in the impulsors to almost 150% with the warp drive down and cold, but the details of the systems with their design load well exceeded and what was being done to them in that moment was in the hands of Anna and her engineering team alone. “They allowed the bombers to pass through to focus on carrying home their own attack, so the Kestrels are making their runs, Captain. They are also adjusting course to intercept us on our new heading.”

“Give them something to think about aside from lining up on perfect attack vectors, Tactical.” Zhen’var replied, eyes flicking across the displays she could see.

Daria took the pulse cannon Mk.1 and Mk.2, the large anti-ship mounts, and quickly reconfigured the normal firing pattern. Instead of pulsing at a single target, she had them jerk around while firing a burst, to create a pattern barrage. “Elia, tell Lar’shan to target the outside wings, we’ll take the inside!”

“Confirm,” Elia answered and brought up Stasia. “Block off fighter operations against the inboard enemy wings relative the wreck, Airboss.”

“Confirm, Ops. Concentrating fighter operations outboard.” Stasia hastily began ordering squadrons to shift position to concentrate their effort against part of the attack force while the Huáscar concentrated on the other part. When she was satisfied she’d deconflicted, she activated the comm again.

“Ops, PriFly Actual. You are clear to fire.”

“Tactical, you are fire-free inboard! Confirm deconflicted trajectories and open fire at your discretion!”

Daria blinked tracer-lines across her tactical plot showing the firing arcs of her predictor barrages against the operational area designated to Lar’shan’s wing. She pointed, exactly like they’d trained. “Trajectories confirmed deconflicted! Opening fire.”

Come on, come on, Imra is likely in trouble… Zhen’var could only mentally curse at the enemy for being so utterly uncooperative.

Huge shafts of energy rent the night as the main batteries and secondary batteries fired on the enemy. They had little chance of hitting fighters, but the predictor dispersed patterns corrected that. It forced the enemy to keep moving, jinking, dodging. It bought them time. Time Abebech Imra might not have.








“Weapons check?” Abebech Imra stalked down the line of the Heermann ’s crew of seventy-eight effectives from a crew of ninety-two, verifying their armament and readiness, assembled in spacesuits outside of the ship. “Very good.”

“All in order, Captain?” Goodenough asked, fingering a pistol.

“Yes, all in order. Go ahead and secure the airlock.”

“Aye. Come on, First Platoon!” With one squad of security personnel or marines in each ‘platoon’, Goodenough lead them across the ruins and age of the hangar bay. The shattered remains of fighters, the collapsed girder trusses. Stil, it was only a hundred meters.

There at the bay personnel doors, he drew up short. There was a symbol etched into the metal above it. The swords were crossed upright over the top, the laurels of victory completing a rough diamond from the bottom. A crown occupied the space between the two sword tips, and inside of the diamond shape were four interlocking circles in black and white; the bottom had a Germanic eagle, the two to the sides showed the two hemispheres of Earth, and the top one that surmounted them showed the Eye of the Illuminati. A banner twirled around the laurels of victory, declaring Mes Werke, damiu que mon Leutle ne soit esklaven sind. The language, he knew not, but that it was human and European, there was no doubt. God…

A minute later, leading the second platoon, Abebech came up with Ca’elia at her side. “Commander, is it locking you out?”

“No, Captain, I … Was trying to figure out where this ship was from, Ma’am. It’s clearly the original.”

Abebech looked up, and smiled wryly. “Well, there’s no time for that now, Commander, but that’s simple. This seal means it’s a battleship of the Earthreign.”

“Merciful God,” Goodenough muttered. “You must feel like you’ve just cracked open Pharaoh’s tomb, Captain. What does the motto mean?”

“Oh, it’s Old New Fraconian,” she laughed. “‘ My work, all so that my people shall never again be slaves. ’”

“Doesn’t sound much like what I’ve heard of the Earthreign,” he replied, following her as she had started padding toward the airlock.

“The histories are written by the Normals, Commander. The Earthreign meant something different for Espers. Haiti was a massacre or a liberation depending on who you ask back home, was it not?” That question made the point succinctly, in a conversation between an African and a self-identified mulatto.

After the exchange, Abebech pushed up to the airlock. The outer door opened. She stepped in. “Atmosphere beyond,” her words crackled over the short-range intercoms, the squad of Marines insisting on following her in before it cycled, lest she be cut off. Quickly, the rest of the boarding party followed, removing their suits and stacking them in the dust-covered lockers beyond. The ship had partial lighting.

“Three thousand years and the lights still work? Djinn like as not,” Abdulmajid shook his head.

“Nuclear emergency batteries,” Abebech explained, “though… We might also consider…”

“That the Alliance has restored some power,” Commander Goodenough finished grimly.

Lieutenant Ca’elia’s eyes were wide as she looked around. “More like as not, I’d say by the ambush. I think I’m the quietest scout we have, Captain, Commander. Just like prepping a tac op back on New Eden.”

“Leftenant, you understand the risk?” Abebech looked sharply to her.

“There is nothing certain in one’s life other than that you’ll lose it, ma’am, but I’m the best one for it, and I’m volunteering.” The young Dilgar shifted with her rifle slung over a shoulder.

Abebech looked at the young Dilgar officer for a long moment, and then nodded. “All right. So the enemy doesn’t know we’re moving, see that two character symbol like so on the airlock? Duplicate it as your mark for your trail. They should think it’s a regular shipboard marking. But it’s only on airlocks.”

Narrowing her eyes, Ca’elia nodded. “Understood. Anything else, Captain Imra?” Not eager, but determined, the helmswoman was shedding her pack and all non-essential equipment for this. “Objectives?”

“Find the bridge. It will be called the Passrelle. If the design is anything like that of the custom of follow-on ships from successor states, it will be buried into the keel,” Abebech explained. “Scout the enemy position as much as you can and determine their numbers and strength. We will begin advancing to contact.”

“Understood, Captain.” Ca’elia saluted properly, and began to move off rapidly, determined and sure, even if the idea of finding the bridge in a 3-km long ship was utterly daunting. She loaded the nearest derivative of New Franconian her Omnitool had, knowing it would not be completely the same but would assist with visual recognition of what she was looking for.

“She’s a bloody brave one,” Goodenough shook his head. “Was it right to send her off alone?”

“She is the only woman we have trained for it. Sending someone untrained with her would be worse than sending her alone,” Abebech replied. “All right, platoons. Forward!” Keeping her rifle cross-chest, barrel-down in a commando carry, she advanced in the front herself. From the stories that the crew had been circulating in the past few days, nobody thought to suggest that she take a safer position.







The Huáscar ’s fighter wing was swirled into action, pitting seventy-two Mongeese against almost four hundred Warhammer-type fighters and nearly a hundred Foxbat-type bombers that they were escorting in to attack the Huáscar herself.

WC50 had an enormous acceleration advantage over the enemy, as great as the one Lar’shan had possessed over Char’s forces or the forces of Zeon at A Bao a Qu. The problem for their enemies was that the Government forces didn’t have any pilots to compare to the Red Comet. Or even the Crimson Lightning.

Artesia, flying the second element in Lar’shan’s lead flight, watched the vast arrays of enemy fighters, burning hard for the Huáscar. At full thrust, they had the smallest chance to overtake the Huáscar if she did nothing but run; but their hour of running was over. The Huáscar was standing back into action. It was time to win.

They had already exhausted their light missiles engaging the enemy anti-ship missiles. That meant they had torpedoes and guns only. They were outnumbered five to one.

“All squadrons,” the Dilgar Major’s voice cut sharply. “Stand by for full power acceleration on my mark. We are concentrating against their left. Huáscar takes the right. Go after the bombers, we want the bombers first!”

“Donkey, on my mark!” Tactical plots flashed through the link, and Artesia acknowledged and swung in behind WC50 Lead. They never got flattering callsigns, her’s included. Suddenly the acceleration force of the Mongoose pushed her back into her acceleration couch.

They surged ahead, transiting the battle and de-acclerating, before Lar’shan’s voice gave them a sharp “break right!” and Artesia surged her engines until black spots appeared at the edges of her vision again. The flock of fighters banked back to the right, toward the Huáscar ’s fire, but cut out at the last moment as an ambush of fighters formed up to block their run on the Foxbats.

Their sharp de-acceleration this time wasn’t followed by a new order. It put them directly behind a group of the Warhammers that was still adjusting to them. The fighters of the Government could barely match the acceleration of one of the ASN’s capital ships. “Select your targets and engage!”

“Acknowledged, Camel,” Artesia answered dryly. “Greenthumb on me,” she called to her wingman and sighted the first of the fighters. She flicked the lever outboard and opened fire, a stream of energy pulses tearing through the first target. Bucking left and outside she pivoted her nose past the spray of debris and fired again. Another of the Warhammers exploded.

To her upper left she saw Lar’shan’s Mongoose scream past her. Four Warhammers were left exploding in its wake. A tell-tale feeling of warning kept her nose tracking to the rear even as momentum carried her forward. She saw a group of four Warhammers bearing down on Lar’shan from behind and selected her torpedo launcher. The brilliant energy of the torpedo in flight spun away from her fighter under power. Activating the selector, she chose remote detonation and watched the anti-ship weapon annihilate the tight enemy formation.

That feels like cheating to become an ace so easily, but then, it was no different than what Char had known against the Federal forces. That roiled her stomach as she pivoted her nose back ahead and selected the throttle levers, the fighter surging ahead to catch up with Lar’shan again.

“Sharp shooting, Donkey. We’ve taken down a squadron ourselves,” came his encouraging voice. “Now let’s go for these Foxbats!” They had blasted open their own approach route, and the plots flashed from Lar’shan’s computers to her own. The Huáscar, an immeasurably distant object, was still visible beyond by the continuous flashes of long-range fire against the other half of the formation.

She angled for a group of the bombers and selected her guns again. A brief pang of longing for something like a Mobile Armour surged in her heart, but the Mongoose was what she’d been issued and she’d make it do. Grabbing the control levers, she used thrust manoeuvring to drop herself in an abrupt lunge behind one flight of bombers. “Camel, I am going in with guns.”







The stale air of the shattered remains of the ship had soon shown evidence of someone else having been here since her demise. There were the bulkhead doors which had been opened with hydraulic overrides, sometimes footprints in the dust on the floors. Abebech tread lightly, like she were walking in a tomb.

From her historical perspective on the Earthreign, Goodenough rather fancied she might be thinking exactly that. This had been the crew of a ship whose culture she had started her life studying, apparently. A people now erased from the multiverse by their own hubris and the mysterious formation of the Fracture.

They didn’t have any of the fancy drones that a proper ground force would to scout ahead. It was just eyeballs. As time went on, Abebech’s insistence on staying quiet and moving quickly were exhausting a crew that after all were the bedraggled survivors of a crashing ship, not an elite invasion force. The initial surge of adrenaline at the prospect of carrying on the fight had faded away.

It was then, at the slump in their energy, wanting to stop and eat, that they heard noises ahead. Abebech raised her left hand. The rest of the group, their two crude scratch platoons, ground to a halt. “Commander,” Abebech’s eyes never wavered from looking ahead. “Turn out the troops, quietly, to the flanking corridors.”

With that, she started to walk forward again. Goodenough closed his eyes for a moment. Her voice suggested that she did not expect to return. What the hell are you gaming at now Commander?” But he activated his omnitool at a whisper. “Squads Epsilon and Gamma, turn out to the left. Eta and Delta, right flanking corridors. Use any debris you can to dig in.”

Abebech had advanced out of sight, and for a moment Goodenough felt an intense wave of melancholy. He liked the woman, liked his Captain, and didn’t want her alone. They settled down, assumed their positions, and waited. When the gunshots started, they never had the chance to advance.







The Alliance troopers mustering were suddenly introduced to a hurled grenade. It detonated in their midst as rapid-fire from a pulse rifle split the air. The grenade shook the corridor, and six of them fail. Another four fell to the gun as Abebech turned the corner.

Another group of troopers advancing on her down the corridor froze in place--no less than eight at once as an inexorable power locked down their muscles. “What are you doing defiling one of the ships of the Terran Reich?” Her voice echoed down the corridor distantly, laced with bitter power.

A third group turned a corner and were swept by her gun. Her accuracy was inerring and the second group of frozen soldiers did not, could not take advantage of any distraction in her. Twelve soldiers laying dying ahead, ten behind, eight frozen like statues as she lankily, lazily walked past them.

Then an entire different kind of threat flung herself around the same corner, with a gun barking. She kicked off one of the walls and lunged for Abebech, going for her sword. Abebech tracked with her own carbine and fired, and fired.

Stunned by the resistance, the woman in the straight, black wig flung herself to the deckplates against the thin cover of an open access hatch into wiring in the bulkhead. For a moment, there was a standoff between the two, pistol and rifle, telepath…

...And telepath.

“I see River has found some new friends,” the woman-child remarked, staring at Abebech in almost wonder. “And what friends they are.”

“Your name is Kalista, and you are the new generation of Parliamentary Operative,” Abebech answered matter-of-factly.

< Get out of my head,> Kalista answered.

< Get out of my ship,> Abebech countered.

< The crew of this ship is our foremothers; and they have been dead three thousand years,> Kalista answered, pitting her strength against Abebech. She found the contest shockingly inequal. For a moment, the female Operative faced defeat.

Then she did something ruthless enough that Abebech seemed to be unprepared for it. Kalista knew, in a heartbeat of realisation, that she was outmatched. Immensely outmatched. Only savagery would turn the tables on the power pressing against her mind, and it had to be fast; within microseconds. That left one option. She shot her own troops that Abebech was in the minds of, controlling, freezing. The headshots were fatal, and as Abebech felt the open-shut nature of The Door taking souls, she froze in a strange state of horror… And ecstasy.

Kalista took advantage of the distraction, and lunged forward in a single, all-or-nothing effort, and plunged her sword deep into Abebech’s chest. Dark red blood gently drizzled from the wound, strangely oozing like ichor, and Abebech whispered as she toppled back against the wall. “You’re good.” A smile was locked in a rictus on her face.

“Thank you. Why didn’t you expect that?” The blade was straight through the woman’s heart, she’d be dead in a moment, still Kalista was intensely curious about this outlander Telepath and the strange ship she had come in on.

“I try to think better of people than that,” Abebech replied, oddly composed, and slumped against the wall.
Tomyris
Posts: 69
Joined: Sun Apr 01, 2018 10:21 pm

Re: nUF Origins: S1 - Episode 6 - "Meta Incognita"

Post by Tomyris »

Act Two




Fei’nur had made sure that even the single squad of Marines on the Heermann was properly equipped; in fact, she had insisted on giving the Security personnel the same equipment as well. That meant Goodenough had two squad support weapons at his disposal when laying out his position in the corridors.

There was nothing like the savagery of tight, confined quarters fighting, but the Government troops attacking them, the ‘purple bellies’ according to the slang of the out-worlders, were anything but motivated. Their caution suggested they had run into more than they had expected, and it made Goodenough’s throat go dry. He figured that would be the attitude of what was left of them after whatever Abebech had done; but they would have made sure Abebech wouldn’t be coming back.

Well, she did it for us. Not going to waste it now, are we, Johnny? Pistol pressed into hand, smoothed up against one of the great ribs of the ship, the squad weapon near his position fired and fired again, scouring the old, cracked adhesive from the structure of the ship. Charge bursts tore through ancient, corroded bulkheads, too, and the lights failed. But mostly, they kept the heads of the Government troops down.

They were in contact at two places, rapidly becoming four and then five as the Government troops drilled their way through bulkheads into rooms to try and flank the main positions of the Heermann’s crew. They retaliated by an aggressive use of stun and plasma grenades to drive them out of cover, the explosions automatically flipping lenses to full polarisation and sending thunderous booms worthy of a Ship of the Line’s broadside howling down the corridors.

Abdulmajid came up to him. “Sir, can we make a push toward the Commander, God Willing. We have completely stopped them. I have my reserve squads.”

“We don’t know how many there are,” Goodenough answered. The conversation was abruptly interrupted by some of the Government troops lunging, trying to take advantage of the figures visible in the corridor with the approach of Lt. Mehmet’s squads. But they fired on automatic from the hip, two squads worth, and filled the corridor. Two of the purple-bellies toppled as Goodenough leaned out and joined in with his pistol, though he certainly didn’t hit them himself.

“Doesn’t matter,” Abdul shrugged. “She’s over there. Come, Commander, what is Heermann without the Abyssinian? There’s none finer.”

“You’re right,” Goodenough muttered and shook his head. “But we might get ourselves all killed.”

“We must at least try, the rest is up to the Will of God!”

“...You’re right. Dear Lord. All right.” Goodenough looked at the slight Turkish man, who was shaking with emotional intensity. Abdulmajid was such a private person it was sometimes impossible to figure him out, more alien than an alien at times frankly, but now his emotional commitment to the crew of the Heermann was as clear as Goodenough’s own.

“Squads, form for attack!” Abdul held his hand up.

Goodenough stepped out a minute later. “Forward by covering and fire!” Advancing behind hurled grenades, the lead squad pressed down the corridor first.

Mehmet’s reserves followed. The purple-bellies seemed astonished at their attack. There was a fitful sputtering of their defensive efforts, before they retired. “Come on, forwards!”

Retreat in this kind of situation was the most deadly act of all. As the Government soldiers tried to fall back, the weapons of the Heermann’s crew spoke without pity. Bringing their squad support weapon forward passed the bodies of a dozen of their foes, they turned left to follow the route that Abebech had gone, the squad weapon covering their right as the manoeuvre also served to flank the Government troops to the enemy’s right flank.

They must have carried on a hundred meters of corridor, the entire right of the enemy attack collapsing, when they saw it. The piles of bodies, dozens, maybe thirty, sprawled across a corridor and one access room. It brought Goodenough up short.

There was no sign of Commander Imra, but… Abdulmajid tore at his hair in frustration.

“God have mercy,” Goodenough muttered. “We know she did this, but if she isn’t here, and they were here…”

“Not yet, Commander! Don’t even say it!” The tactical officer’s eyes lit with a wild fury. “Come on, Heermann! We will continue to attack!” A mass of reinforcements coming up the corridor for the Government defenders stopped short to see their enemies this far forward. Abdulmajid threw his hand up. “Fix-bayonets!”

Oh Christ, he’s not stopping for anything. Goodenough raised his own pistol. “Covering fire! Fix--bayonets! We’ll give them cold steel!”

The crew of the Heermann had expressions on their face of a mixture of rage--they were terrified for Abebech--and confusion, horror, even. Two men from the mid-19th century were about to order them to execute a bayonet charge in the decks of an old abandoned wreck of a warship against an enemy of unknown strength.

But they now brought one of the squad weapons forward and had set it up, the crew throwing themselves to the ground and checking the charge as the magnetic clamps engaged on the tripod, then firing a clear burst into the purple-bellies who were still taking cover. The sight of four of their enemies toppling under the heavy and accurate fire gave the Heermann’s crew some confidence.

Abdul grabbed his utility whistle from his belt, normally intended for getting people to stop doing something unsafe in high noise environments. He glanced sharply to Goodenough.

“Squads forward!” Goodenough dashed forward himself, firing his pistol wildly, but aiming low.

Abdul blew his whistle as loud as he could. At least three squads, twenty-four armed, participated in the charge.

What they faced was a most peculiar cultural artefact of the Verse. Cold Steel had a particular reputation in the Inner Planets; it was why the Operatives still carried and practiced with normal, traditional swords. When they saw that compact mass surging down the corridor with the support weapon pinning them in place until the last minute, the purple bellies got intimidated.

They never really came to a clash. Instead, the Government troops began to stumble and fall back. Again, the position yielded and retreated. Goodenough and Mehmet surged ahead until they came to the next cross corridor. “Bring the squad gun up!” Goodenough roared. “And bring the rest of our troops forward, we’re getting too strung out! By God, we might just take this ship!”






As the fighter attack came on against the Huáscar, her wing struggled to attrite it. Again, and again, the attacks Lar’shan had directed were focused on providing fires against the bombers. They made slashing attack after slashing attack with their greater thrust, rather than mixing themselves into the mass of the immense numbers of Warhammers. More than fifty bombers had been reduced to six.

Artesia snapped another sharp de-accelerating roll to descend into the bombers. Behind them an entire squadron of Mongeese provided cover. They were Winchester on torpedoes as well as missiles now, but they had their guns and Lar’shan led the way.

“Donkey, take your shots!” Lar’shan blazed across the field to the left, canting the nose of his fighter off-angle to engage a squadron of Warhammers, adding more cover. A blossom of an explosion noted yet another kill.

Artesia watched her sight turn green as tone lock sounded in the cockpit, sliding into place behind the bombers. She triggered her forward cannon and one of them was torn apart, not exploding but chunks flying off until the crew ejected. Her stick shook and shields shook the fighter, warnings sounding.

“Donkey, you’re taking debris!” Her wingman warned.

“No time to worry!” She answered. The Foxbats cut thrust and spun about on their manoeuvring thrusters to engage, not having rear-facing guns. This slowed down their time to range, another form of virtual attrition. Captain Noa, would you trust me with a Gundam now? Artesia wondered. Her sight went over to green again and a second bomber went to pieces.

Now they were firing at her again. She dropped below their formation by kicking her tail up with the manoeuvring thrusters and firing the main jets, wingman following her through her paces. Lar’shan had already cut back from the left, which meant that he caught them as they were rotating to face an enemy no longer there.

Lar’shan’s guns chattered and a third bomber disappeared. Artesia, looking up through her bubble cockpit, realised the other three were gone as well. Other squadrons had claimed them. The entire left flank of the bomber formation was gone.

The right flank, having powered its way through the dispersal-pattern firing of the Huáscar, was continuing to close, preparing to use their point-blank EMP depth charges to take out her shields, better yet to disable her. It was the only chance the Government fleet had.

“All squadrons, come about. Right group is our’s now!” Lar’shan led a shimmering spearpoint of drive-tails, Artesia grabbing the throttles to throw them forward, main engines burning bright as the Mongeese raced across the battlefield. As they went in, the Huáscar ceased to fire on the fighters and shifted fire to the Government fleet again, directing torpedo salvoes at range against the remaining cruisers, the bright lights of the solar torpedoes racing across the battlefield around her.

“Camel, this is Donkey,” Artesia spoke into her microphone. “What’s the plan here?”

“We’ll regroup around the Huáscar and take them head-on. There’s not much time left.”

“Head on, Sir?”

“We’ve got the range for our guns and the targeting systems. If each remaining fighter selects one target and destroys it, we’ve finished their attack. And the bombers are beginning their runs now, we need to support them.”

“All right, so we’re going straight into it, Sir.”

“There won’t be any other way to get the job done.” He switched to broad beam comms. “All squadrons, prepare to engage head to head, your targets are the bombers, again, get the bombers first.

She keyed on the open channel herself. “When you get past them, use your jets to come about, you’ll get one more chance!”

“You heard the Leftenant,” Lar’shan chuckled. “On my mark… Mark.

The wing tore ahead, accelerating past the Huáscar again, the gleaming gray ship left behind as their thrusters burned to full power. Artesia activated her targeting sensors, showing the great host of two hundred fighters and bombers still coming in against their home.

“All squadrons, watch your formations, parcel out to meet them, one to one.”

The long range sensors on the Mongeese resolved their targets as they rushed in against them. Even with the jamming from the great wreck on the supralight frequencies, they had resolution in their sublight sensors much superiour to that of their enemies. The targeting recticule went green. Her left gloved hand, ensconced in spacesuit, snapped down to the throttles. One second, two seconds…

She pulled the trigger, and a rapid set of particle pulses lanced forward. As they did, she slammed the levers into full recursion. The baffles snapped across the engine thrusters, diverting thrust ahead full as she called for max reverse thrust.

Slowing rapidly, the inertial dampers were overcome and she felt, for a split second, close to twenty G’s pushing her forward. Her flight suit was designed to compensate and the harnesses kept her fixed rigidly into her acceleration couch. Her fire continued locked right on target, a target which was flashing and exploding before her eyes. She snapped the left throttle back into positive thrust, the baffles dropped, she canted hard to the left and with a tap on her stick sent the manoeuvring thrusters throwing her broadside under the exploding bomber.

Then she snapped both throttles to neutral, preventing herself from spinning out of control. In front of her, and now tracking behind as her nose continued to follow her stick even as the fighter raced ahead with its remaining conserved velocity, she had another bomber in her sights. Again she pressed the trigger down as she got tone lock. As the bomber came apart, she flung her nose back around to face the enemy fleet and slammed the throttles forward.

All fighters, form up. We’re covering our own bombers now. Those Warhammers won’t be able to catch up with us in time!” Shooting clear of the enemy formation, Artesia couldn’t help but see that they only had fifty-four of seventy-two fighters still in action. They had destroyed the bomber attack on the Huáscar, and with her advantages in range, that might be decisive; but it had come at a grim cost.

Already well familiar with that from the One Year War, she glinted in her cockpit, settled herself in place as the gravity pushed her back. Burning fast and hard, the fighters moved to defend their own. The bombers were commencing their runs. There was no time for worry, and less for regret. She was only eighteen, and she had been an ace in the Federation service, let alone now.






“The fighters are starting to retreat, Captain,” Elia said from Ops. “The attack has disintegrated. I’m charting a course for the helm around the wreckage so that any cripples don’t try to ambush us with EMP charges. Our bomber attack is now developing.”

“Understood, very well done to the Wing. I want to get the Colonel onto that wreck as quickly as possible, still.”

“They still have a large number of gunboat-type vessels hanging back in formation,” Fera’xero noted. “They could intercept any assault landing.”

“Wait for the outcome of the bomber attack, then? We’re still dealing serious damage to their capital ships,” Daria asked. It felt rather murderous; they were receiving no answering fire at all at this range. But the wing was carrying home the attack, and it was for the preservation of their lives that she felt comfortable continuing to hammer the enemy cruisers.

“I dislike waiting this long, our attacker crew needs assistance. The very moment it is clear, understood?”

“Understood,” Violeta said sharply. “Course is laid in.”

Elia pursed her lips as another cruiser tumbled out of formation dead. She'd seen the Serenity go in.







River had piloted the Serenity into position against one of the docking collars that had an active light. It had taken some time to secure themselves, but now they were in, armed, and ready to go.

“All right, the plan is to find the Heermann’s crew and pull them out. We can accommodate all of them for long enough to get back to the Huáscar. Zoe, you’re still not fully better, so you stay behind and guard the ship with Inara.”

“You sure, Sir?” She had shown up in the bay with her short carbine. “I think you need every hand you can get.”

“You’ve got …”

“A newborn? Yes, I do, Sir. The Alliance doesn’t care about that, Sir.”

Mal opened his mouth and closed it again. “All right. Kaylee, you’re staying behind with the ship.”

“With pleasure, Cap’m!” It wasn’t like she much liked leaving Serenity, let alone for a prospective fight.

“We’re all really just there to cover her, ain’t we, Captain?” Jayne gestured to River.

“Yes,” River answered, still dressed in the black uniform she had been given, and now sporting one of the Huáscar’s charge rifles. With that, she walked through the airlock.

And to keep Simon safe so he can help anyone who’s wounded,” Mal hollared, and started off after her.

There was something sinister about the enormous logo that greeted them as they stepped onto the dead hulk. It was etched like a memory, a tombstone, of a long ago trauma. Mal looked at it for a long time. “Those look like Operatives’ swords,” he remarked to the image of the crossed blades surmounting the laurels of victory.

“Was this one of the interstellar cryo-ships?” Zoe asked.

“Whatever it is, it’s as old as hell,” Jayne muttered, stalking ahead to keep up with River.

“No, it’s more than that,” Simon explained. “With that jamming field, it has to be capable of FTL. So it’s not something that came with us from Earth-that-Was.”

“Then what was it?”

River turned around for a moment at the front of their little column. “One of the last survivors of a destroyed people,” she answered. “There’s suffering in every bulkhead.”

The other members of Serenity’s crew exchanged an uncomfortable glance. That was the kind of tone that River usually used when she was serious--and right.






The Huáscar’s three squadrons of Kestrel bombers sectioned themselves in ten flights of four. Each targeted a separate ship. The lead of Bomber Two, Captain (courtesy Major) Vanessa Carter, brought her tubes green. They replaced the multi-function ground attack rotary with a set of two angled-downward launch tubes. Each one held ten solar torpedoes packed in nose to tail, being electrically fired; something like an old MetalStorm weapon, the chain firing of the torpedoes produced a massive salvo against a single target--or two, but no more.

Morale had been dubious as they forged ahead despite the lack of escort, taking long-range fire from the cruisers, with the Government gunboats rapidly closing on them with a pincer movement. That changed, and for the better. “All craft, this is Bomber Two Lead. The Wing’s coming back in. Hold steady against those gunboats. All craft stand by your missiles.”

“Missiles standing by.”

“Target them and fire on lock,” she clarified a moment later, activating her own auto-track targeting pod and selecting missile control.

“Hey Boss,” her GIB, Michael Ginty, piped up. “We’re taking missile tracking sweeps now. They’re trying to lock on.”

“All birds, missile engagement. Dump decoys and activating jamming pods! Get your anti-fighter salvoes off first!” Her pod sounded tone lock and with anti-fighter missiles selected, she depressed the trigger, salvoing eight of them off the rails toward the incoming gunboats. With nuclear-scale warheads they were far more powerful than anything they’d faced from the enemy so far.

“Bomber Two, break left and reacquire targets on the forward part of the enemy fleet!” She banked as the decoys flew on ahead, and then brought thrust up to full power. The squadrons to the right went right as their decoys stayed on ahead as well. The trick from that was that while it split them up into two groups, it would look to the sensors on the incoming gunboats like there was still one formation that had just launched decoys to each side, a typical decoy deployment pattern.

The gunboats fired their missiles and began evasives against the incoming fire. Chief Ginty punched the control that began to vent plasma from the warp drives, useless at the moment anyway, to create an anti-laser tracking screen. The bombers swept under the missile fire, tracking with the decoys. Those that turned against them failed in final homing.

Their own missiles had considerably more luck. Their seeker heads were simply designed against a much greater level of opposition than the Government Navy was used to dealing with. Several of the gunboats nailed by multiple impacts exploded.

That created the perfect chaos for Lar’shan to lead the fighter wing in. Selecting their targets they dove with guns onto the gunboats in a series of blistering passes more like strafing heavy targets than fighting fighter to fighter duels--some of the gunboats were huge, several thousand tonnes.

As the fighters took over handling the gunboats for them, the bombers finalised their approaches to their re-selected targets. “We’ve got tone lock, boss!”

“Pickle the load!” The Kestrel surged and bucked as the launchers heaved ten rounds each in the space of a second. It was like ten Huáscars had fired full torpedo broadsides simultaneously.

The enemy ships actually had excellent anti-missile defences, and the torpedoes fired from bombers never reached the same speed as from the rapid acceleration tubes of a starship. Enough torpedoes still got through to slosh the enemy capships about, destroying one, two, three of them outright. Others were tumbling out of control with misaligned engines from shock damage or thruster banks not responding to bridge commands.

The bombers pulled away, leaving the burning gunboats in their wake that the fighters continued to attack. They were the last threat to the Huáscar, and they were falling fast.






In the midst of the enemy fleet stood only one Trebuchet and five corvettes, now. The Huáscar approached by a circuitous route, recovering her bombers as they approached.

“The remaining gunboats are fully engaged by the wing, Captain,” Elia’s voice bubbled with energy. “We’ve got a clear lane for landing the original landing force. They don’t have enough firepower left to stop us.” Another furious group of forward torpedo salvoes and PPC shots punctuated the disparity, driving deep into the hull of one of the corvettes.

“Land the landing force, then, and keep us close to cover the attack! Give that squadron fire to dissuade them from interference.”

“Land the landing force!” Elia relayed to Fei’nur. They each knew what was meant for them.

“Coming about to port,” Violeta affirmed, putting the Huáscar between the landing vectors and the badly attrited enemy. Now, Daria began to give fires to starboard.

Zhen’var watched the display warily - this had already been a more difficult battle than she had hoped, and the situation was fluidly, concernedly uncertain.

“Captain,” Fera’xero’s voice betrayed his concern as his vocoder flashed. “We are picking up indications despite the interference, on long-range scans, of thrust byproducts. About fourteen hours out if it’s a squadron of local technology vessels, which I believe it is.”

“Then time is short. I want to know whose vessels those are, soon enough to make hard decisions, Science.”

“Understood, Captain. If we can detail two runabouts to triangulate, I can have the answer in about ten minutes.”

“Granted. The wing has been hard pressed, but additional escorts would, I think, not be out of place if it is possible.

“It'll have to be bombers, Captain. We have no fighters back aboard yet except casualties,” Elia interjected.

“If they can turned about with missiles, to salvo and run if there are hostile fighters, let it be done, otherwise get the runabouts on the way with all possible speed.”

“PriFly, arm those first two wings of bombers with missiles if you can,” Elia directed.

“Confirm, Ops. Slinging missiles on the bombers,” Stasia answered. She shook her head and looked around at her people. “One more nutty thing to do. Get on it, guys.” There were far too few fighters in the air than she cared to think about, now.





Ca’elia had pushed her way deep into the heart of the ancient ship. At times it seemed like extensive repair work had been going on. Other times, she broke into sectors where there was nothing, just the dust of aeons. Finally, she approached the keel, where a cluster of heavy transfer lifts ran the length of the ship inside of the massively armoured structure, accessible through hatch-secured doglegs.

There was no gravity here, and she had kicked her way down into the transfer tubes. It was just in time to encounter a group of twenty or more purple bellies mustering to come out with heavy squad support weaponry. Something was up, and clearly, the area Abebech had identified as the bridge was occupied.

Situation desperate, but not serious! Analysis: Attack! Ca’elia’s thoughts seemed to slow. Her hand shot out to grab a railing and change her vector as the young Dilgar’s rifle snapped up. “Chew on this, you pus-filled boils!” A fusillade of shots cracked out, the sheer insanity of her decision still suppressed by the adrenaline surging into her veins.

The purple-bellies, struggling with their guns under the zero-gravity conditions, stared at her in shock as she sprayed fire across them. The shots were near enough to be aimed that several of them tumbled away, wounded or slain. The squad weapons followed, let go in the chaos, as several of the troopers struggled to gain one of the hatches and use it as both cover and a position to brace themselves to fire back from.

A leg kicked out to keep the Lieutenant moving forward, twisting to keep a line of fire on the Government troops. The small part of her brain that was still rational was screaming at her about doing such a thing, but her eyes were cold and pitiless as shots spat from her rifle. As the distance closed, Ca’elia tried to gauge the point at which going for her pistol and omniblade would be called for.

Her enemies didn’t know what to make of the precipitously conducted attack. Four of them clustered around one of the hatches finally brought their rifles into action. Rifles. Slugthrowers. Of course; she was tearing through them because they couldn’t fire at all in the circumstances, the recoil was just too great, without some kind of bracing. A few of the shots pang’d off metal near her and violently ricocheted down the tube.

With a sharp flip, her legs kicked out, catching one of the handholds on a wall opposite and sending her at right angles to her previous vector, diving for cover in another of the access hatched that branched off the access tube.

The Dilgar’s fire raked into one of the purple-bellies who had managed to open fire. He spun off, bubbles of blood floating away from charred flesh. The other three shifted fire and again engaged with her, as another small group tried to push and kick their way to the hatch.

They had almost made it when fire came from above, and a moment later the three men at the hatch when spinning down into the centre of the tube. Following them was Mal, bracing himself on the hatch grab-irons as he opened fire on the group pushing toward them.

River followed, her Alliance rifle almost comically oversized in her hands, but she didn’t use it. Instead, several of the purple-bellies went limp as she stared at them. Jayne followed, and finally Zoe, covering Simon. With the considerable increase in firepower the fight was over in a minute.

Mal couldn’t help a grin. “Well, looks like you needed a bit of help, Lieutenant…”

“I don’t think she did, actually,” River called up from where she was idly tumbling in the midst of the tube, her victims now asleep.

“Ca’elia, sirs and madams. The bridge of this derelict is ahead, Captain Imra sent me forward to open a path to it. Your assistance, furthermore, is gratefully acknowledged and appreciated.” Green eyes shone as she looked further ahead. “I should push on, the enemy’s designs are best frustrated by aggressive action.”

“We were supposed to help them evacuate and then get the hell out, Captain,” Jayne reminded Mal. “What’s in it for us?”

Hanging onto the grab-iron, Mal regarded the sharp looking, well-spoken Dilgar. He was going to answer when he saw that River had already started off. “River!” Simon exclaimed.

“...She needs us…” River answered, floating down the immensity of the keel-tube, leaving Mal to stare at Ca’elia. Then he shrugged. “Jayne, if you end up in Hell, it’s mighty fine advice to keep going.

“So I have heard.” With that, the Dilgar woman kicked off once more, moving quickly to build speed forward.







“Get her into the stasis tube,” the female Operative was ordering, the CIC complex of the great old warship alive with communications as they tried to coordinate both the battle outside of the ship, that they were losing, and the battle inside the ship, that they were starting to do better with.

“Into the stasis tube?” The Alliance doctor looked up from his wounded. “Ma’am, this woman has been stabbed through the heart. It’s pointless. Why’d you even have her brought back?”

“Doctor, she’s not dead,” Kalista answered. “And if she wakes up, we are quite likely to all die.”

“The hell… What do you mean by …” His words were cut off in mid-breath as gloved hands flexed and shattered the cuffs restraining them. The hog-tied and trussed form of Abebech Imra was no longer unconscious, ropes cracking and snapping under the raw strength displayed. One of those hands snapped up in a blur of motion, then, and grabbed the Doctor and yanked him down, turning him at once into a human shield with a terrifying iron grip.

“Too late! Guards, everything at her!” Kalista felt a chill cross her heart. It had been so close before, and… She rallied her defences to a sudden power descending across them.

At least six purple-bellies spun with their rifles to respond to her order. She felt the crushing assault on her mind, hideous shapes in splashes of red and blood, strange beasts of Hell with their skin turned inside out and organs on the outside, monsters with cthonous limbs scrying, screaming, ripping at her mental defences. The open-shut of the Doctor’s death from friendly fire completed the effect.

Kalista's own defences were the rudimentary ones of a telepath trained by mundanes, in a mundane school to create the perfect assassin. With River’s disappearance some effort had been put into creating a mental defence for the new generation of Operative, but a matter of mundanes teaching telepaths was insufficient. This woman was as strong as an ox, as skilled as a scalpel. The defences that Kalista put in her way melted under an assault that was as psychologically draining as it was effective.

She collapsed under the assault, and it was her gun that spoke first, firing at her own men. Her aim, her training, her discipline, and her speed were all precise, and as she fired, Abebech leveraged herself up, with the remaining chains snapping. She pointed her hand at once group of advance purple-bellies and in a blur of blue and black shimmering energy wreathing half of her body, entrapped them into a singularity. There were screams at that.

Kalista’s troops were falling left and right. More powerful bursts of energy were directed from Abebech’s body as her sweat glimmered red. Abebech, in complete control, fired a gun in her off-hand as complement to the biotic attacks, one elbow jabbed into the limp warm body held against her, and forced Kalista to use her own gun against her own troops as they screamed in confusion and, yes, outright fear. <Your assessment was correct since I have more than one heart, though the outcome would have been worse if I did not. However, it neglected the fact that I was never unconscious at all, Kalista,> the voice that owned her, that possessed her, that had puppeted her body spoke with deliberate calmness.

<The second one was installed to make sure that people like you were kept safe from people like me,> she continued cryptically. Men screamed at her resurrection, as wrists and ankles bloody, she snatched one of the unneeded rifles and opened fire. Kalista was made to turn in time with her.

Groups lunged for her, but they were more than inadequate on the attack. Several purple-bellies at once would find their motor-neurons misfiring, others die as their brains instructed their hearts to stop. Seizures dropped more. Abebech was pitiless, finishing even those that fell to make sure that none rose again. Her snarling mental monsters stood like guard dogs over Kalista’s shackled consciousness.

Kalista could see in her own eyes, even as they were controlled by another, what Abebech’s looked like, her glasses removed, finally opened.

They were red. Solid crimson-red, no white, no other colour, except for the utterly huge black pupil. Abebech shoved the Doctor’s fallen corpse aside--she had been holding it pressed close to her as a shield the whole while--and fired another sharp burst. The last of the purple-bellies in the room fell. Just like that, the entire thing was undone.

<A ruse!? You let yourself be stabbed through the heart for a ruse!?>

<You are a descendant of the blood of the Terran Reich, put in you by hideous violation of the remains of those who struggled, fought and died. That’s why you’re going to survive. Of course it was a ruse. You haven’t the power to take me, but I couldn’t help my crew to win without showing them things I could not let them see.> She gestured toward the inner bridge, and inexorably Kalista found herself forced to walk in measured steps.

<Perhaps if you’d been trained from birth by the Psi-Corps or another experienced organisation, that would have been different. But you have been a Goddess to the Mundanes in this system -- you didn’t know what you were missing.>

<What. The. Hell. Are. You?> She cried in desperate wonder, defiant anger, as Abebech slammed the circular hatch shut and dogged it.

<An Esper. Just like you are.>

<Like Hell. You’re something more.>

<I am an Esper. I’ve never let the rest define me.> She made steady, measured steps, almost reverent, to the command chair, and sat into it, the old cushions breaking up from the age as weight was put into them, but they would do well enough for now.

“Code de Zugangs Alpha Sigma Nought Zeta Epsilon Tau, Beginnen l’Authentifizierung neuronschnittstelle.”

“Authentifizierungssequenzaet commencat,” the computer spoke, and Kalista gasped.

They had not made the computer speak in the decades of the project. One of the reasons for her creation had been that the scientists of the Alliance had concluded the ship functioned on telepathic interfaces. She had been brought here months before to test it, and failed.

Abebech spun the chair around to face her. As she did, a metallic probe extended out from it into her neck. Her eyes rolled back into her head. Kalista steeled herself to lunge.

<Forget it. I’m still in full control. Come here.> The command was inexorable, overwhelming. Kalista began to walk to the command chair.

<I just needed someone to get me to one of the neural interfaces,> Abebech explained with a kind of smirking bemusement evident through her mind Kalista’s, as the panels on the bridge lit up around her. Across the ship, bulkhead doors began to close again, snapping into place and trapping scientists and troops alike into their positions, as information flowed through computers, still functional after three thousand years.

And then she reached out, and dragged Kalista against herself. <Now, child, forget me. Remember them.>






“Captain,” Elia jerked on the bridge of the Huáscar. “There’s a power surge on the derelict.”

What?” Surprise suffused Zhen’var’s voice, she couldn’t help it. Power, from that wreck, that could be… very… problematic.

“Captain, it’s going live across the boards,” Fera’xero affirmed. “Subsystems power transmission across at least eighty percent of the intact hull is going active. I’m detecting reactor power signatures… This is like nothing we’ve seen before, Captain. It’s generating a hyperspace band signature. The reactor is.”

“Record everything, stand-by to retreat if necessary!” We are in far over our heads…

“They’re hailing us,” Bor’erj at comms craned his neck to the Captain. “Wait, no, it’s Commander Imra…” he just activated the bridge circuit anyway.

“Commander Union of Allied Planets squadron, you are Instructed and Commanded to surrender. Boarding forces from the ASV Huáscar have full control of this vessel’s electronics and will commence fire with the main batteries at our discretion.” Abebech’s voice was colder than usual, so much of pressed vacuum.

Captain Zhen’var froze, barely keeping naked shock from crossing her face. They had done what!? Captured the derelict and… somehow gotten the weapons to work?

Elia was grinning about as wide as her mouth allowed. “Captain, the surviving ships of the enemy squadron are signalling their surrender.”

“... Redirect our Marines to take the ships and get them under control, then…” Shaking her head, Zhen’var marveled. I am going to have to put Imra up for promotion again.
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Re: nUF Origins: S1 - Episode 5 - "Big Iron"

Post by Shroom Man 777 »

Tomyris wrote: Sat Jan 05, 2019 11:09 pm I'd actually say that it's the opposite, that Zhen'var's being a hardass is a direct result of the traumatic experience of her mutiny and is not the end of her character development--but rather a realistic if sometimes problematic reaction to her trauma.
Ah, yes I did get that Zhen'var's hardness is due to the events of her prior command. I'll look forward to how it continues then.
Also please read the other episodes more! I put a lot of effort into developing the characters y'know, I want ya to like 'em. And there's more humour than Steve has!
I shall, and with this ep I'm finding the prose much easier to get into. Maybe I'm adapting to your style or your rhythm's developed or both (as both writer and reader gets used to the characters)? The espers' development, from Elia to Irma, is great (and it's a different and interesting parallel to the other nUFverse stories involving espers/telepaths). I've been binging on Earthsea so I need to squeeze in the time. Obviously I'm prioritizing episodes dealing with settings I have bias for :P
And yes, the Dilgar just opened fire the moment they materialized on beaming onto the station to suppress resistance in the transport zones.
Yeesh. Tough customers. Very Vympel or Alfa.
As for the Apexai/Zigonian thing--exactly. I rely on the unreliable narrator a lot.
I actually did like that. It adds to the kookiness. And it's not unreliable narrator but an unreliable character speculating wildly which makes great sense as character banter - Tarantino-esque!
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Re: nUF Origins: S1 - Episode 6 - "Meta Incognita"

Post by Tomyris »

Yep. In the real world, people don't always have their shit together. You can actually see if you detail read the sequence of events in this story too that sometimes the decisions the characters make result in the situation getting worse. During the hostage crisis on the bridge Will took charge from secondary command and decided instead of waiting for the situation to resolve that he needed to avoid disrupting the ops tempo and so began launching the assault anyway--which was what triggered Early's automated message to the UAP Naval force. He couldn't have known, sure, but he wasn't playing it cautious either.
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Re: nUF Origins: S1 - Episode 6 - "Meta Incognita"

Post by Shroom Man 777 »

Haha, poor Jubal. What a chump but that's part of his charm - getting taken out in all sorts of underwhelming anticlimatic ways.

Imra is nuts. She's the best. ...and, oh no. :(

...and oh shit. What the hell? What the fucking hell... she even threw mass effect stuff at them! Sweet god. Incredible.

And Jesus an Earthreign vessel! So it has hyperspace but can stop warp across an entire mega-solar system? That's... oddly appropriate.

...and the Alliance used Earthreign remnants for psionic genes?!

You're a bloody genius! I am so honored. Holy hell.
Tomyris wrote: Sun Jan 06, 2019 6:19 pm Yep. In the real world, people don't always have their shit together.
Ah, yeah. And I skipped chapters and for a lot of them there's we get less internal monologue-ing or POV-ing? The espers for some reason, perhaps due to their nature and how the narrative has to depict the mental aspect, seem to get more internal monologue. And in your case, you also allot more space for the military technical details, whereas Steve would use that space for a larger dose of character-y stuff such as Robert's angst over being a goodie two-shoes in a love triangle while having Chosen One-titis (I kid, Steve :P ) :P
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Re: nUF Origins: S1 - Episode 6 - "Meta Incognita"

Post by Tomyris »

I think part of it is that my humour is focused very intensely on actual military humour, because I work for the military as a civil servant these days (so a non-unified military employee). It may be a little hard for a non-veteran to get at first, esp. from another country.

++https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bWwQNU3OD2E
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Re: nUF Origins: S1 - Episode 6 - "Meta Incognita"

Post by Tomyris »

Shroom Man 777 wrote: Sun Jan 06, 2019 6:26 pm Haha, poor Jubal. What a chump but that's part of his charm - getting taken out in all sorts of underwhelming anticlimatic ways.
That is like the point of Jubal Early, man.
Imra is nuts. She's the best. ...and, oh no. :(

...and oh shit. What the hell? What the fucking hell... she even threw mass effect stuff at them! Sweet god. Incredible.
*giggle* We haven't fully touched on her, either.
And Jesus an Earthreign vessel! So it has hyperspace but can stop warp across an entire mega-solar system? That's... oddly appropriate.

...and the Alliance used Earthreign remnants for psionic genes?!

You're a bloody genius! I am so honored. Holy hell.

Thank you, thank you. I decided to start revealing drabbles of what, exactly, the "Origins" we are talking about are and the Earthreign ship is the first step -- gonzo features of how it operates are not yet revealed...
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Re: nUF Origins: S1 - Episode 6 - "Meta Incognita"

Post by Tomyris »

Act Three



The scene when the crew of the Serenity and Ca’elia arrived was nothing short of apocalyptic, with bodies by the dozen strewn around the bridge in the apparent violence of combat. The outer support spaces around the heavily armoured command deck had been turned into a charnel house.

This is worse than anything I’ve seen before… Ca’elia thought to herself, darting from cover to cover in quiet rushes. This isn’t the crew… or is it? I’d have been challenged by now, I would have thought…

“Did your shipmates do this, Lieutenant?” Mal asked, having stopped the others to set up a perimeter, except Simon, who fitfully checked for survivors and shook his head a few times.

“I confess to uncertainty, Captain Reynolds. I do not believe so.” Ca’elia kept pushing ahead, checking her omnitool fitfully, as she pushed for the bridge.

“Well, whomever it was learned the purple-bellies pretty good.”

Ahead of them was the final pressure bulkhead, armoured, for the main bridge. As Ca’elia approached, the handle spun and the door began to open, as though of its own accord.

Eyes widening, the young Lieutenant dodged sideways for the nearest cover she could find, waving behind her for the crew of Serenity to do the same. If they’re who did this, I hope they’re friendly…

“Leftenant, stand to.” Abebech strode out of the door, a different pair of sunglasses on, and a UAP uniform jacket pulled over her own blouse. She looked levelly to Mal. “Captain Reynolds.”

Captain, ma’am!” Stiffening sharply, Ca’elia spun on a heel in utter shock, rifle at the ready as she turned to cover the way they had come. But, how, what…?!

“I activated the internal defence mechanisms. The automatic cannon did this,” she said, quietly. “Leftenant, Captain Reynolds. This ship is from my home universe, if very old. It recognised me as a valid commander--for a few reasons. Where’s River Tam, Captain?”

“She was…” Ca’elia trailed off, eyes quickly scanning the last place she had seen the young woman.

The girl wandered back in, looking calmly at Abebech. “What happened to the Operative?”

“Her name is Kalista. This way, please.” She turned back to the bridge. River padded over to follow her into it.

“Just the two of us,” River added a moment later, and closed the hatch again.







“You bright sons of Mars who stand on the right,

Whose armour doth shine like the bright stars of night,

Saying, Willy, dearest Willy, you’ve listed full soon,

For to serve as a royal Enniskillen draggoon,”

Goodenough was singing, with pistol at his side and rifle slung over his shoulder. He whipped his braid behind his head and cut off when he saw Mal. “Well, Captain Reynolds. Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Didn’t expect to make it this far, Commander,” he replied with a laugh. “They’d bust you back to private for singing as a purple-belly, you know.”

“I suppose that’s why they lost. L’tenant,” he turned his attention to Ca’elia. “Where’s the Captain? Captain Zhen’var says she’s taken control of the ship.”

“On the bridge, sir, with Miss Tam. I believe they have taken the Government Operative prisoner.” She gave her report stiffly. “I met Captain Reynolds while seeking to make it to the bridge, his crew assisted my efforts in doing so.”

“Well, you made it. Quite good work, L’tenant.”

Abdulmajid turned the corner with another of the squads. “Commander, where is she?”

Goodenough laughed and pointed. “In there, controlling the ship, as fine as a dandy.”

Abdul stared for a moment, and then shook his head and started laughing. “Sometimes I think she’s djinn, but I don’t care, I’d still follow her! God be praised.”






River and Abebech regarded each other behind the blast door for a quiet moment. Kalista was strapped into one of the subordinate chairs, her skin shock white, but breathing steadily. Abebech gestured around her, and finally began to speak.

“River, this ship is a deeply significant discovery…”

<That you know all about already?>

<Yes,> Abebech answered. She didn’t attempt to hide it, and River's prompt bluntness made her smile with uncharacteristic warmth. <That I know all about.>

<I’m still not really well, but I understand that this ship is something deeply important to you. It’s obvious. At an emotional level, not just militarily.>

<It is one of the last surviving vessels of the Terran Reich, what modern people in my home universe call the Earthreign. A society of Espers, created in a revolt against our own genocide, by the unfathomable fragments of malicious alien intelligence, which can reprogram reality itself. Espers were the only part of humanity that could see what was happening. We fought back against our own extermination. And, we came to rule the great bulk of humanity in the Terran Reich. It was inevitable, perhaps, in the circumstances, that mundanes were left with no rights… The peasants of the civic nations of telepaths. Thus, long after it is gone, it is reviled.>

<You talk like you were a part of it.> River’s eyes narrowed and she took a step forward, before starting to look around.

<It’s hard to explain because you don’t have a culture, a tapestry of oppression behind you. In the modern day, Espers are again mistrusted, and in some societies, as reviled as they once were. There’s just one crucial difference. Before, we were told it was our own fault, that we were insane, evil, and there was no answer. But after the Terran Reich? My dear, every Esper at least remembers when we were Kings.>

<Is that why you didn’t kill Kalista? It was all you, wasn’t it?>

<Yes. It was all me. And yes, of course that’s why I didn’t kill her. Espers don't kill Espers. Not where I came from. She is your sister, my niece, really; a heir of the Reich, just like you are. Your genes, River, were taken from the corpses of this ship. I saw it in them. They modified you from embryos in the assisted fertility clinics of the Alliance. You share enough genes with your blood family for convincing purposes, but substantial parts of your genetic material including most of your mitochondria are based on selected samples recovered from mummified corpses on this ship. Of course, the databanks of the Francesco de Trier are badly corrupted, but mostly confirm what I thought from the start. This system is artificial.>

<Artificial? Your crewmates did postulate that.> River walked from console to console, quietly taking in the readouts, the condition, even the ergonomics. <Who could create an entire system?>

<They didn’t create the components. They moved them. They were trying to create a refuge from a great war.> Abebech turned back to the old command chair, and gently lowered herself into it. <And I don’t think their genetic resurrection was an accident.> She reached into her pocket and fished out the nameplate for the Reaver ship.

Weyland-Yutani

River stared at it, and a flash of memories of contractors, scientists, researchers in the Academy, flooded back into her. But this time, Abebech was there, gently, sure, and patient. She stabilised the girl through the memories, the flood of information which confirmed precisely what Abebech had thought. The firm had been intimately involved in the development of Telepaths for the Union of Allied Planets.

She slowly regained herself, to find that Abebech had risen to embrace her, with the calm confidence of a mother. She smiled, gently tugged away at Abebech’s arms, and took a step back to turn and face her, looking up. The smile remained on her lips. <Thank you. So what makes Weyland-Yutani special?>

<They also existed in my home universe,> Abebech said simply. <The statistical probability of the corporate formations and mergers existing in precise sequence in multiple universes steadily approaches zero. It was an important defence contractor to the Terran Reich. It was created to engineer the society of the settlers of this system.>

<An interesting supposition. In probabilistic terms, I can’t disagree with you. It is the most likely explanation.> River looked around the bridge again. <So I’m a chimaera myself. Partially the River that was supposed to be and partially a crewmember of this vessel.>

<If you’re a chimaera, everyone is.>

<That counterargument is also like saying I’m my own mother, Abebech.> Her eyes shined with bemusement as she glanced back Commander Imra’s way.

<We are all a little bit our own mother,> she replied. The bemusement carried in her voice even if it was masked behind the ubiquitous glasses. <I can control this vessel in part because it recognises me. That was supposed to be Kalista’s job--or before her, you. But it’s more than that. You need encrypted thoughts to be recognised as a valid commander of this ship. As it happens, I carry the necessary encrypted thoughts to not merely be recognised as a commander, but to appoint other officers. They are a more valuable archaeological artefact than any physical thing, I assure you.>

River’s eyes flashed and she twirled. <And you’ll give them to me? Just. Like. That?>

<Captain Zhen’var’s valiant courage in the defence of her values sometimes borders on the recklessness of Captain Arturo Prat, the commander struck down on the decks of her ship’s old Terran namesake. She will do what is right--and count no cost for herself. But I play a longer game, River Tam. I serve the Alliance for a purpose, a true one I might add, but a purpose. The hour is not yet at hand. Zhen’var would take Huáscar to Londinium and end the government at the point of a gun.>

<And just like Mal said, the people of even the outer worlds would turn against us for siding with aliens and outsiders, and they would fight. They would resist your superior technology with the same guerrilla tactics that we would use against them.>

<Correct,> Abebech said, going back to sit in the command chair. <However, if the computers of the ship recognise you as the Captain of the Francesco de Trier, though she is old and lame and half a ruin, Malcolm Reynolds will have a base from which to lead the New Resistance to victory against the Alliance. A clean victory, fairly won, with only ruins discovered in your own system to aid you, not foreign allies.>

<It’s a great idea,> River answered. <But we still need to rescue my sisters, and that means the Huáscar.>

<I am sure that can be arranged. Now, I ask you… Come here. Let me give you the birthright of a mother you never knew. The Last Argument of Telepaths: The command codes of a Vengeur class Dreadnought.>

River took one measured step after another, and stopped, as Abebech reached out. Took her hands in her own, glove to glove. <Once, we were Kings,> the dark woman p’spoke emphatically. It trembled with emotions of incredible age.






“Well… At least Commander Imra survived,” Will said as he stepped to Zhen’var’s side on the bridge, the ship down to Condition Yellow, watching the assault transports board the ships of Government Navy that had surrendered. “We’ll need to figure out the condition of the Heermann and get salvage and support teams over there. That ship was in better shape than we thought, though I don’t have the faintest idea how.”

“It lasted this long, that speaks well for the original quality, but even so…” Zhen’var glanced to the display again. “It makes me rather wary. Try and get us close enough to pick up personal comms from any survivors, do you think? Abebech left us precious little information to work with.”

“Get us close enough for short-range comms,” Will directed to Violeta. “And, science, try to determine where the Heermann went down on the surface.” He looked at the three remaining UAP ships that had survived to surrender, along with many fighters. “This is going to be a mess to handle. Do we … Have any information on where that ship in front of us came from? It has to be connected with the colonisation effort.”

“No, I do not think so… I do not have any proper suspicion of it, Commander, but something about that ship feels, looks… different, even with post-colonization regression. It does not match the stations in Sol.”

“I believe there used to be a unit crest in the shape of a shield on the bow,” Elia interjected, bringing up an image of a battered and scoured section of the hull where, faintly, colourful markings might have once been.

“It doesn’t tell us much, but whatever it was, it was human,” Fera’xero spoke, stepping down to show Zhen’var a display of isotope analysis. “The hull’s material was forged in orbit of a star matching Sol with ninety-nine percent certainty. As for the Heermann,” using his omnitool he shifted the viewscreen image forward until he focused in on a crumpled set of docking bay doors, and then adjusted it to increase magnification as the Huáscar drifted gently alongside the dreadnought that had twenty-seven times her bulk. “She was put down gently inside one of the hangar bays.”

“Commander Imra remains a marvel and a prodigy at commanding ships… there will be survivors, Commander.” Zhen’var moved back to her chair, already feeling better. “The rest is a mystery, but perhaps one that we will have time to explore once our crew is reunited.”

“Then I’ll go ahead and organise parties to locate the crew and Commander Imra,” Will answered. “Though, just for a slightly longer-term problem; we do need to get the Heermann off the ship, especially if we’re forced to withdraw. We can’t let the UAP find an interuniversal drive. With the ship crippled, how are we going to pull her back into her bay? I’ll try to think of something… But we do need to be cognizant of it.”

Zhen’var had a rueful look on her face. “Let Engineering know we need another miracle.”







About an hour later, Abebech and River emerged to an antechamber bustling with activity. Goodenough, Mehmet and Ca’elia were organising data-acquisition systems, by using the systems of arriving personnel from the Huáscar to pirate the connections that had been created in painstaking decades of research by the Government research personnel.

“Take the Operative in the secured bridge to quarters XC-1010,” Abebech said to Chief Hernandez. “Full guard, but she won’t wake up for another ten hours or so with what we did to her.”

“Are you sure of that, Captain?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

“Captain!” Goodenough turned to her. “Attention on the deck!”


“At ease,” she shook her head. “It is quite all right.”

“No, Captain, it is not. We thought we lost you, Ma’am!” Abdulmajid exclaimed.

“Oh, come now. No need to be sentimental. It was just that the easiest way to gain control of the ship was to let myself be captured. Too risky to risk telling you, of course. You might have stunned me.”

My God, Captain, you let yourself be captured? That’s how this happened?” Goodenough exclaimed.

“Oh yes,” Abebech nodded simply, adjusting the fit of her captured UAP jacket with a shrug. “It was a calculated risk, and reasonable, too; the Operative is a telepath, but she is neither as strong nor as well trained as I.”

“What if there was more than one? Ma’am, that...”

Abebech raised a gloved finger. “Jonathan, I appreciate the concern. However, I did know the mettle of my foe before executing the plan. I had what I need to control this ship from the start. She’s a vessel of the Earthreign…” She glanced at her omnitool. “And I suppose I will be explaining to Captain Zhen’var as well. Though depending on her preference I may field this in private.”

Huáscar Actual, calling Heermann Actual, Huáscar Actual, calling Heermann Actual

Heermann Actual,” Abebech answered. “Captain, I am in the antechamber of the bridge of the dreadnought, and we continue to have limited control. What are your instructions?”

“There is an unknown force of local ships approaching, scouts are out to attempt to identify them. We have taken heavy fighter losses. I do not wish to be pinned here. Are you able to drop the jamming field?”

“Yes, Captain,” Abebech answered promptly. “That won’t be a problem.”

“Please do so. What do you require from Huáscar if we must get under-way?”

“I don’t think that’s an advisable course of action, Captain. The Francesco de Trier is too important to abandon,” Abebech answered after a moment’s pause, her voice almost faltering at the name of the ship.

“Understood, Commander.” Zhen’var had paused for a long moment and the tone her normally unflappable subordinate was using. “Then we will hold, as we must.” She looked up and glanced about the bridge. “I trust Commander Imra. We are staying.

“Well, of course, Captain--she knows the name of the Ship? A human name?” Will asked.

Abebech, on her side of the comm line, walked back into the bridge, activating a console and interfacing with it. A moment later, Fera’xero, who had returned to his board, saw the jamming field disappear like a rubber band being snapped.

“A matter to be discussed later, Commander Atreiad. I believe she has some keen interest in distant history. If the mains are back on-line… how long to charge the warp coils, Helm?”

“Ten minutes to complete re-start checks,” Violeta answered after confirming with Anna. “Four to charge.”

“Captain,” Abebech’s voice came back on the feed. “May I speak to you in private?”

“Get on it, Helm.” Zhen’var had a pensive look on her face as she pondered how strange her attacker commander was acting. “Commander, of course. Stand by. Commander Atreiad, you have the conn.” She called behind her as she started walking briskly for her ready room.

“I have the conn,” Will repeated formally.

Abebech waited a minute. “Captain… I need a team of scientists, engineers and security personnel under Protocol XCJ-15.”

Imminent risk of unauthorised Interuniversal Technology Proliferation.

Zhen’var’s face paled from where she’d tapped into comms as soon as the hatch closed. “... I understand. Protocol XCJ-15, invocation recorded and understood. Can you explain anything else on this channel?”

“Captain, Yes, so I will be plain with you. The Francesco de Trier, hull number CS.1178, was built at Sol in 2908 at the Chantier auf d’Gammelon, Terran Reich Starfleet Ship Procurement Command. Captain, this is a vessel of the Earthreign.

“Arey?! Ye lajawab hai… a vessel of the Earthreign? Wait one, Commander.” Zhen’var swallowed. “Captain to Engineering, Security and Science, Priority Override, conference comms.”

“Captain?” Anna sounded confused and irritated.

“Ma’am,” Janice Armstrong was in charge on the Huáscar was Fei’nur handling the boarding operations.

“Captain, is this about the conversation with Commander Imra?” Fera’xero asked from the bridge.

“XCJ-15 has been invoked. I need teams from each of you aboard that derelict. They will take direction from Commander Imra. I will explain more later. The matter is one of of fundamental Alliance security. Expedite.”

There was a chorus of affirmatives, for it was clear Zhen’var intended obedience in ignorance, and the situation brooked nothing else.

The Captain’s expression was still pensive and showed real hints of strain when she returned to the bridge. “Captain has the conn.” The Earthreign… an artifact of it, a ship as intact as that, here…? “Give me running timers on my screen, to warp capability and to contact with the unknown squadrons approaching.”

“Aye, Captain.” Elia brought them up.

Abebech was still on the line. “Captain, I have two neutron cannon and five turbolaser batteries responding to computer control.”

“Understood, Commander. We may need them. I have teams on the way to you now, we will stand to and defend your position.”

“Thank you, Captain. I have six dead, and seventeen wounded. We will be arranging transport of all to the Huáscar’s sickbay.” That was an ugly cost, more than 25% of the Heermann’s crew, though it included both the battle and the boarding action after. Of course, the Huáscar herself had lost eleven pilots dead in the action, out of one hundred and fifty-two engaged.

“Of course. We will be standing by for your casualties. I will have warp drive in some minutes.

“Thank you, Captain. de Trier, signing off.”

Only Abebech could go from crashing an attacker to commanding a battleship thousands of years old that should not exist. “Alert Sickbay, six dead and seventeen wounded from Huáscar coming in via direct teleport.”

“Alert sent, Captain,” Elia affirmed. “We are five minutes from having warp speed up to Warp Five at your command, Captain. Longer for higher speeds, there’s been some issues with the crystal alignment, but we can bypass them at low warp to run direct off the naqia reactors.”

“We should not need more than tactical warp. Should. Now, are these incoming ships friendly, hostile, or a third party…?”

“Hostile. It’s a UAP Government fleet,” Fera’xero supplied. “I’ve been able to match enough of the signatures to be confident in it, Captain. Keelah, there’s fifty ships, too. Now twelve hours out.”

“Yet we have tactical warp once again…” Looking at the display, Zhen’var looked pensive. “Sent once they knew our destination, do you think?” A gloved finger traced the vector line. “We have a fixed point to defend, and twelve hours to prepare to do so. Comms, begin preparing an IU burst to command with our current situation. I will review and edit before sending.”

“Understood, Captain.” Chief Bor’erj was at comms. “We won’t have an answer back for at least sixty hours because of how far out we are, Ma’am.”

Elia brought up a tactical plot. “They can’t run their fighters very far ahead because of short fuel supplies, Captain. We’ll have at least eleven hours of peace. Resting the crew might be ideal, but whatever Commander Poniatowska comes up with for recovering the Heermann may be an involved operation. And the Resistance Leader, Bea, wants to speak with you. Apparently Captain Reynolds is on the … Francesco de Trier.

“Stand the crew down for what rest we can, let Engineering know of the deadline and attempt to rotate crew through so everyone gets at least some chance to recover. I will meet the Resistance leader in my ready room.” Zhen’var replied, having thought for several seconds. “We have our deadline and our goal, let us be about it.”

“All right, Captain. I’ll send her in.”







A few minutes later the young woman with long coloured bangs and short hair arrived in her browncoat, fringed with chainmaille sleeve-ends, the symbol of the old Independent Planets. She looked stiff-necked, perhaps hiding some nervousness.

“Sit, please.” Zhen’var had a steaming mug of chai on her desk already, as she looked up at the new arrival. “You wished to speak to me.”

Bea moved to sit. “Yes, Captain. First of all, my apologies for the failure of security that led to Jubal Early sneaking aboard my vessel; we screwed up, you paid the price. I would go further and say we’re amateurs, and it would be true.”

“Yet you are the ones who will need to lead this system forward, Miss, once we pass our current, admittedly, somewhat severe situation.” The Dilgar woman replied after a moment’s silence.

“We do have ships converging on this location ourselves. They include Government-trained naval personnel. I understand that the Government ships will arrive before they can however. But, Captain, with your interstellar drive now operational, could you transfer enough personnel from those ships, as well as my own, to bring your three prizes into the line? We know how to operate all of the systems. We could assist you in defending the hulk.” She had the youthful eagerness of a twenty-year old, ruthlessly smart and yet leading an incipient rebellion at an age much too young.

“It is possible, but it would also reveal that our faster-than-light drives are operational, eliminating the tactical advantage we would gain from surprise. I will strongly consider it, however.”

“Well, we could at least bring one of the ships operational with the people from my armed transport. It is some kind of extra firepower. This fleet you are facing is a very substantial part of the Alliance’s garrison in the outer planets, Captain. The only ships that will be left if it is defeated are the Tohoku-type police cruisers.”

Drumming gloved fingers on the desk, the other woman gave a single nod. “The ships are yours, Miss.” If we can use runabouts going to warp in the sensor shadow of ourselves and coming out in the shadow of the Resistance ships, that might work… I will have to inquire if a method can be found.

“Thank you, Captain. You will be of inestimable help to the freedom of the Independent Planets and the downfall of this regime,” she answered. “I will prepare my men immediately.”

“I shall keep you updated if I decide to retrieve additional crew from your incoming ships.” Now you’re truly into it, overthrowing another government.

“Thank you, Captain.” Bea rose, and tossed a salute. “Free we are, and free we will remain,” she said softly, as she departed.




Anna was long into her coffee, eyes bloodshot. “All right, that’s enough talking,” she said, looking around the table. “Fera’xero, Chief Héen, thank you for your input. Let’s rack and stack.”

She turned to the holographic projector and used her interface pointer to start drawing on the schematic of the Francesco de Trier and the Huáscar in position. “Lieutenant Ytash,” she gestured to the Alakin woman, “thinks we should use the industrial replicators to generate tow cable. Advantage? Force can be transmitted against the structure of the de Trier. Disadvantage? Friction generated failure, enormous energy demands for matter replicators, may not finish in time.”

“Next, Fera’xero wants to just repair enough of the thrusters to get the Heermann airborne. Advantage: Certainty. Disadvantage: Time.” She took another pull of her coffee and glanced to the Quarian.

“Yes, it is a weakness,” the Quarian science officer agreed, “but, keelah.

“Commander, I know where you’re going with this,” Arterus remarked.

“Yes I am,” Anna agreed, and plotted out the next option. “All right, number three and it’s what I favour. Chief Héen,” she glanced at the Tlingit woman, “is fairly experienced in these kinds of applications which don’t come up often in space. So, the advantage of kedging our own tractor beam is that it’s that it’s a matter of geometric simplicity, and it’s quick. Disadvantage: It’s never been done before. But what happens if it fails?”

“We could burn the tractor beams out, Commander,” Lieutenant Ytash, one of her engineering officers, reminded her. “We could also have the Heermann underway when it fails, leading to another collision or damage.”

“At very low speed, Ma’am,” Stasia answered, having been silent as she listened to the rundown. “And if she has enough velocity to escape the bay, then we can grab her again as she crosses the verge with another operational tractor beam. We have more than two projectors. Ma’am.”

“Am I clear on how this is going to work?” Violeta asked, grabbing her own interface for the sketch. “So we’d aim one of our forward tractor beams as close to the Heermann as we could, grabbing part of the bay wall just inside the verge, after using low-power phasers to cut the rest of the bay doors off that she crashed through. Then,” A click. Violeta raised her own coffee for a moment; the situation had overcome any preferences. “We activate an aft tractor beam on the stern and grab our own tractor beam, with the interaction between the beams bending the beam at an inflection point where the two meet, sweeping the first beam into the bay at an off-angle. We aim by varying the power between the two beams. Is that right?”

“Yes, that’s correct,” Stasia nodded vigorously. “A tractor beam is just a tensor field, and it obeys Newtonian geometric addition and subtraction of forces--all we need is two force vectors so that the resultant from their merger at an inflection point grabs the Heermann with a positive force, and we’ll be inboard hauling and running for open sea. Basically we have to make the Heermann move parallel to the Huáscar, that means that, say, we project one tractor beam at a 45-degree angle and then one at a 90-degree angle--call that ‘y’, as long as the forces balance we will cancel the ‘y’ components and have only ‘x’ force--straight aft from the inflection point.”

“...” Anna scratched her head, visualising the vectors. “So, we need the aft tractor to be on repulsion to bend the forward one in the correct direction, yes?”

Stasia looked at her sketchpad and frowned. “Yes, Commander. Look, I’ll be honest, I got the idea by thinking about how you dock a wet boat with a spring line.”

“Hah!” Anna laughed. “I think I’ve seen that done with a barge on the Irtysh. Yes. We’ll do it, if Lieutenant Arteria is confident that she can pull off the coordination from the helm.”

“Commander!” Violeta grinned. “Of course I can.” She reached for another breaded chicken tender, shaking at just how dramatically the unending alerts the Huáscar often found her in had disintegrated her diet. “Shall we bring it to the Captain?”

“Do we have consensus first?” Anna’s gray eyes made eye contact with each person at the table in turn, or eyeplate in the case of Fera’xero. “I want us all united. We only have time to try one strategy to salvage the Heermann.

One by one, they assented.





It was Anna who went up at the head of them, to personally brief the Captain. It was a considerable group of officers that followed her, and Chief Héen. “So, Captain, we’ve come to an agreement about how to proceed.”

“Very well, Commander.” Zhen’var sat at her desk, datapads of reports piled neatly before her. “Is the risk calculated, and is it likely to succeed?”

“Yes, it is a calculated risk, and we favour it because it may be tried multiple times even if it fails the first time in the allotted time, whereas any of the other solutions are likely to result in our being unable to salve the Heermann before the enemy arrives in a single attempt, let alone trying multiple times. Chief Héen originated the proposal. It involves using one tractor beam on repulsion to bend another tractor beam to reach inside of the de Trier’s bay. Varying the force of the two beams would very the angle to allow us to steer.”

“Very good..” She nodded to the Chief, as Zhen’var trusted her crew, and knew that these were the experts. “Proceed when ready, then. I have full faith and confidence in your collective judgement.”

“Thank you, Captain,” Anna answered. “We can make our first attempt now with your permission.”

“So granted, Commander. May you meet with success, even if I can only look on in confusion at the idea of tractoring a tractor beam.”

“Think of it as being like a sheer crane, Captain, just with all three parts formed by two tractor beams instead of one beam and two sets of ropes,” Anna replied wryly.

“I mostly understood that… very well. I hope it works. Chief Héen, I am going to need the runabout squadron head here, I am going to need to discuss a plan with them. I will not impose further on you with the salvage operation looming.”

“Major Tu’vert will be up momentarily, Captain,” she answered after briefly speaking into her omnitool, and then going to take one of the spare stations on the bridge. Violeta had already spelled one of her subordinate helmsmen and was starting to move the Huáscar into position.

“Thank you. I will leave you to it. Ops, Science, my ready room, please. I need to discuss a runabout operation. Commander Poniatowska, you have the conn.”

“I have the conn,” Anna repeated, as Elia and Fera’xero peeled off to follow Zhen’var. She moved to sit in the command chair of the Huáscar’s bridge. Daria and Stasia linked their boards to start coordinating the tractor beam operation. The trust that Zhen’var put in her Polish Chief Engineer, and how casual it was, too, was intensely meaningful.






Elia and Fera’xero entered to stand before Zhen’var in her ready room. “Ops and Science, reporting as ordered…”

Zhen’var turned to sit, and return to her ever-present cup of chai. “Major Tu’vert should be up shortly. Make yourselves comfortable, Commanders.”

“Thank you. Commander Saumarez, could I impose upon you…?”

“Dextro fruit smoothie?”

“Please,” Fera’xero’s voice held only amusement at the casual use of telepathy.

Elia materialised it in the usual sealed bulb alongside her own cup of tea and then moved to sit alongside the Quarian with both.

“There is something very strange to be able to casually have a custom replicated meal while a hostile fleet is bearing down upon us. Fera’xero, you have a better understanding of the native sensor technology of this system by now?”

“Yes, I have been monitoring their performance,” he answered, sipping the smoothie through the attached self-sealing straw.

“Do they suffer from mass-shadowing, or require line-of-sight in resolving small contacts?” It was an idle-sounding question, but her entire nebulous plan required one or both of them to be ‘yes’.

“Yes, to both, at least in parts. Their sensors are also slower than light. The only risk is neutrino detection, which can pass through certain objectives, is fairly well refined. But the emission rate is very low and… A heavily armoured capital ship will block them.”

The door chimed. “Major Tu’vert, Flight Wing,” the computer introduced the Dilgar officer in its usual voice. Zhen’var’s last work-around to make it stop announcing people had been overridden and no longer worked on the new software update. So far nothing had fixed this.

There was only a slight twitch of her eye at the computer insisting on overriding her preferences. “Major Tu’vert, welcome. Make yourself comfortable and get what you’d like from the replicator.” She hadn’t met the Major aside from in passing before, and she took a moment to study her, a slightly darkish-brown haired Dilgar woman with green eyes who presented herself at attention before going to the replicator for some Ytar.

“Of course, Captain,” Tu’vert answered solicitiously.

“The Independents have ships converging on the area. They will arrive after the Government fleet on the way. They have offered to put prize crews aboard our captures and bring them into the line if we can retrieve the personnel. I wish to do so without alerting them that our warp drives are operational. That is where our runabouts come in, Major. If you go into warp drive while in our sensor shadow, and come out in the Independent ships’... I think that should work, and improve our odds in the looming battle for the fate of the system?

“They only have sublight sensors?” The Dilgar woman asked.

“That is correct,” Fera’xero responded. “The only concern would be neutrino emissions, and still operating at lightspeed.”

Tu’vert looked to Zhen’var. “Leaving, we can do. The problem is the coordination with the Independent ships would be functionally impossible. Each pilot would have to put themselves into place without coordinating with them, Ma’am.”

“Then the question is whether we can contact them to coordinate the matter, or whether it is even worth attempting to be covert at all.” Attempting to keep multi-universal technological schemata straight in her head was taxing the Captain mightily.

“The way one of their sublight pulse drives works, they have to de-acceleration to a relative stop to change direction before spinning up to high speed again,” Elia explained, “to avoid violating causality with their their mass-lower systems. So their courses are extremely predictable. I’d say the Runabouts can warp in and drop out on an identical course and velocity with low risk of collision.”

“If they do not open fire, we can use the runabouts as subspace anchors to let their commanders speak with them, and explain the situation, then?”

“They know we are their allies, ‘else they would not be coming,” Elia noted. “It’s at least a calculated risk there, too.

“I agree,” Tu’vert said after a moment.

“Then I wish to attempt it. Do you require anything else, Major?”

“No, we’ll get all of the runabouts for this, Captain, properly fitted. Is there anything else…?” As a Marine officer, her expression was almost serene. She was part of the new generation of Dilgar, but Dilgar both they were.

“Actually, there might be,” Elia interjected. “Those two prizes we took from the Reavers. They’re in horrible shape. We had to put Dilgar crews aboard because, well, with the charnel house, foetid atmosphere aboard, nobody else would have agreed to serve in the prize crew. We offered them to the Resistance but to be frank, I don’t think they want them, they’re in horrible shape, and they’d cause poor morale. And all the custom mods make them obvious as Reaver ships, so, bad propaganda image there.”

“Commander, what are you proposing..?” Tu’vert frowned.

“Fireships,” Elia said. “We pack them full of solar torpedoes, beam the crews off at the last minute, and use them inside the formation of this fleet coming against us. If we’re giving the Resistance the prizes we took from the Government Navy, this works out very well.”

Very good thinking, Commander.” As long as nobody mentions the Blood Wind... “It should create real confusion in the Government fleet if we can get them close enough.”

“That will require a steady hand and the runabouts to stand by to beam them out, since the Huáscar will have her shields raised in action,” Tu’vert shook her head. “It can be done, it’s just a great matter of risk.”

“We should provide a backup plan, then, if the runabouts are hard pressed and unable to extricate them, can we extemporize a solution in time?”

“They could stand off far enough not to be involved in the battle,” Elia’s face scrunched in thought. “Or we could launch shuttles for that purpose.”

“The enemy uses a great many fighters, and we are already reduced… can we keep the shuttles covered in such an operation?” Zhen’var was looking dubious.

Elia picked up her cuppa and drank to centre her thoughts. “We only need a very small crew on each one, so we only need a single shuttle for each ship. It is a risk, but it also might win the battle for us, Captain. I volunteer to lead the detachment.”

“Your request is noted, but I do not believe I can spare my Operations officer during such a large-scale action, Commander Saumarez.” Zhen’var replied, wary at the idea.

“Then I would say of the other officers available that Leftenant tr’Rllaillieu would be best suited, Captain.” Elia looked levelly at Zhen’var, but refrained even from considering surface thoughts as she did.

A pensive look crossed the Dilgar Captain’s features, and she gave a slow shake of her head. Volunteers only. “If you think it worth doing, the operation is yours, Commander. We will make do.”

“Thank you, Captain. Honour and Glory await us. I’ll ask for volunteers.” She rose, and nodded to Tu’vert and Fera’xero.

Be careful, El’sau, please…







Anna Poniatowska sat in the command chair, eyes level, expression stiff. Truth be told, she had settled on the idea, but she wasn’t sure it was going to work. She just felt it had the highest probability of success out of a set of what were probably bad options.

Huáscar Actual, this is Boatswain,” Goodenough’s voice repeated over comms. “We have cleared the bay.” Moving the casualties from the Heermann in case anything went wrong had been accomplished earlier by the Huáscar’s transporters, but the simple task of clearing the bay of the Francesco de Trier still took time.

Huáscar Actual acknowledges, Boatswain. We are commencing the attempt.” She didn’t say first out loud, by any measure. “Helm, begin precision station-keeping relative to the De Trier.

“Precision station-keeping, aye.” This part was Violeta’s challenge. She had to use the thrusters and engines to take absolute care that the ship would not move relative to the massive Earthreign Dreadnought. The traditional aiming of the tractor beams would be impossible once they locked on, only the ship would steer the Heermann, and initially, any steering at all could be disastrous.

She took a breath and committed herself, locking in the programme. This required incredible patience and precision, skill at not moving. It was completely different from combat. The Huáscar was barely a twenty-seventh the mass of the de Trier, a third the length. One had been a roughly spire-shaped thrust block, one was a graceful starship. Now they were locked into place with each other only by the precision feedback of the sensors giving Violeta positional data.

“Ship is stable relative de Trier,” Lieutenant Belzac, the Ops officer on watch now, reported, his plumage rustling as he looked to Anna. “Commander, we’re in the clear.”

“Leftenant Seldayiv,” Anna’s fingers gritted against the granite of the command chair’s arms, “Get us the Heermann, please.” She immediately brought up the power routing monitors on the interface of the command chair to observe supply to the tractor beams. The ship was all-nominal and nothing should be an issue, but she wished to leave nothing to chance.

Daria flexed her ears and flashed a grin to Stasia, who flashed her a thumbs-up in return. “Bringing up tractor No.3…”

The Huáscar shuddered gently as the tractor beam latched onto the much larger ship, the de Trier. Daria looked through her tactical display as the centre of the tractor beam crept along the inner docking bay approach, basically a giant divet in the side of the Dreadnought, continuing to adjust it toward the target, which had been put on the hull of the dreadnought by a maintenance drone that Anna had sent over from the Huáscar, using actual paint.

“Thrust angle at forty-one, forty-two…” Violeta called off the degrees angle, adjusting the ship’s station-keeping steadily as the force on the Huáscar, even at just ten percent power on the tractor beam, altered through the continual motion. She couldn’t let the ship be jostled even a centimetre by it.

There was no room for the normal computer control. They were just using their nominal target at the moment, the de Trier, as a reference point. Daria was working to align the tractor beam with a spray-painted mark, using a tiny 10% load as a reference feedback.

Stasia’s fingers rested on her own board, waiting for the mark, watching with a baited breath. The coffee had come before this one, even if in reality it didn’t make if your hands shook, it felt like it would.

“On target,” Daria said emphatically. The tractor beam centre was locked onto the spray-painted mark.

Violeta made the final station-keeping adjustments. “We are zero-zero relative, Chief.”

“Bringing up Tractor No.5,” Stasia reported with a gentle shake of her head. Here goes nothin’. And it had been her idea, too… She pointed at the indicator “Confirm repulsion.” To set it to attract would be to ruin everything by a single setting.

There was a second shudder in the hull. “Twelve percent… Fourteen… Sixteen-five… Sixteen six-six…” Stasia called off, matching sines and cosines. And then… She pointed again, as something to do with the massive grin on her face. “Forward tractor beam angle is due aft.”

Commander Goodenough’s voice echoed over the comms. “Huáscar Actual, Boatswain here. The Heermann is straining against the deck! You’ve got a lock.”

Anna slapped her comm on. “Laser level on the bridge, please.” The Heermann was precariously balanced at a twenty-degree angle on one of her shattered warp drives and the other intact one. Only by a report from Goodenough’s crew could she know for sure if the beam was currently pushing the Heermann down toward the de Trier’s hangar deck or upwards.

“Up four centimetres, Commander,” Goodenough answered.

“Thank you!” Anna frantically referenced the table she had had the computer prepare. “Helm, Z-positive two metres relative.”

“Z-positive two metres relative, aye,” Violeta restrained herself from shaking her head. She was creeping a starship more than a kilometre long up by a mere two metres relative to the massive bulk of the de Trier. The thrusters were continuously burning now, mostly counteracting each other to hold her steady but letting her alter pinpoint position on the fly. The ship’s sensors were continuously, on high energy pingbacks, referencing her position to the de Trier with millimetric position, making the Huáscar into a futuristic equivalent to a drill-rig ship. Stasia had helped her find the programs for that; Violeta had modified them to work with the Huáscar’s controls software.

Huáscar Actual, Boatswain. Heermann’s moving forward at about two centimeters per second. You have a good lock!”

The Attacker was now being influenced by the tractor beam whose angle had been modified by the formation of a ‘virtual crane’ by the interlocking beams. The final adjustment had served to pull the Heermann up just enough to overcome the force of the de Trier’s artificial gravity holding her to the deck. Once enough of the surface of the ship’s nacelles had been pulled up by the thrust of the beam, then the static friction was overcome and she was now sliding along down the deck. With the beam on target, she had started to pull forward toward the open bay, where the remnants of the vacuum doors had been cleared away by charges set by the teams on the de Trier.

Now, Violeta was sweating rivets. She had to keep the Huáscar perfectly still, because any movement of the cruiser would be magnified through the arm of the tractor beams and whip the Heermann against the deck of the de Trier.

She held steady until the moment the Heermann began to clear the plane of the hangar. At that point, the gravity of the de Trier no longer influenced part of the mass of the Heermann and the ship began to buck upwards. When she bucked up, in theory, the contact point of the tractor beam would go down and this would compensate. And it did… Too far. The Heermann bucked up, and then bucked down.

Up four metres, she guessed on raw instinct and the relative forces involved, and sharply activated the necessary thrusters. The Huáscar notably punched her crew down against the inertial compensation in a sharp kind of shock as the thrusters then kicked on the dorsal surface to keep her from rising too far. Down at the end of the two tractor beams, it had the desired result; the Heermann jerked upwards again. Now, though, she was clearing the plane of the hangar, and she jerked upwards and kept going up.

Huáscar Actual, she’s lost the beam and out of control!” Goodenough’s voice strained with urgency for his ship. Violeta could already feel it, groaning in frustration. Daria let out a screech. But in a real sense she had already done it. Already succeeded. The Heermann was well out of the plane of the bay.

“On it!” Stasia shouted, she didn’t even bother to adjust the settings on Tractor Five, she brought up Tractor Six and locked it on now--and from that angle right aft, conventionally.

“Thank you, Chief,” Daria sighed and sank in her seat. “Merciful Goddess of Light..”

“Boatswain, report!” Anna called out.

Heermann is under control but you’ve got a risk of an aft collision with the verge of the bay, Huáscar Actual!”

“Ahead one-gee on thrusters!” Stasia called out. She had no right to give an order, but she needed it right now.

“One-gee aye!” Violeta snapped anyway. It made sense. With the thrusters coming up, the Heermann’s stern gently missed the de Trier by six metres clearance.

Huáscar Actual, you’ve done it! She’s rolling free and clear!” Goodenough’s excited voice was near to shouting as the Heermann, free and clear, was now being pulled back into position aft to be lined up with her dock aboard the Huáscar. They had done it. They had done it!

“Santy-anna gained the day!” Elia’s voice cut from the back of the bridge.

Violeta and Daria shook looks behind them to realise that Zhen’var and Elia and Fera’xero had all come out of the Ready Room and were watching them. They blanched in a bit of shock.

Oh god, nerves would have been too much if I’d known! Violeta thought.

But Stasia just laughed and caught the second line. “Away, Santy-anna!

“And Santyanna gained the day…”

“...All across the plains of Mexico!”

The days of stress, facing an immense nation and fighting them all by themselves, without relief, without communication, weeks from support, had finally come down to this in their little triumph. Elia raised her fist into the air. “He gain'd the day at Molly-Del-Rey!”

And this time Zhen’var joined Stasia in answering the call. “Away Santyanna!”

Fera’xero came from a long Quarian ship tradition and he didn’t know the lyrics of the song, but he knew the ship’s cheer, and raised his own fist. “Viva Huáscar!” The song stopped then, there was no more need for it, for the rest of the bridge crew joined in with him.


“Viva Huáscar!” Win or lose the Heermann was out of the fight, she wouldn’t be repaired in time to help against the Government fleet, but the moral victory of her successful salvage had raised everyone’s spirits. They were in, an innovating, hard-working team, with mutual responsibility for their success. And their voices made the call and held their pride because of it. They would face the foe ‘with united strength’.
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Shroom Man 777
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Re: nUF Origins: S1 - Episode 6 - "Meta Incognita"

Post by Shroom Man 777 »

That's nice - Zhen'var saying Santyanna :D

Yeah, her loosening up and becoming close to this crew would be so <3
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Re: nUF Origins: S1 - Episode 6 - "Meta Incognita"

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Well, she's close to Elia! And she went on leave with Fei'nur...

And c'mon, no comment about the fact that Earthreign ships are controlled with encrypted thoughts?
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Re: nUF Origins: S1 - Episode 6 - "Meta Incognita"

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Tomyris wrote: Tue Jan 08, 2019 3:45 am Well, she's close to Elia! And she went on leave with Fei'nur...

And c'mon, no comment about the fact that Earthreign ships are controlled with encrypted thoughts?
Oh I found that quite cool, though Zhen'var having a moment of unsubdued humor was more astounding :P

So if Imra has encrypted thoughts then... sheesh she's either the only effective Ministry of Fate agent (since she's not waving around a non-lethal Dildo of Pain and divulging her alignment, right Steve? :P ) or something even worse/more-amazing. How one can find Earthreign-era THOUGHT CIPHERS is... who knows.

(For nUF are you retaining Earthreign employing astronomicons/psionic WMDs/population-controlling Neuromonger mutant esper Dune-navigator-style slugmen?)
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Re: nUF Origins: S1 - Episode 6 - "Meta Incognita"

Post by Tomyris »

Shroom Man 777 wrote: Tue Jan 08, 2019 10:02 am
(For nUF are you retaining Earthreign employing astronomicons/psionic WMDs/population-controlling Neuromonger mutant esper Dune-navigator-style slugmen?)
There's a couple different periods of history in the Earthreign, of course. The Late Earthreign had, as one of its objectives, the ability to completely integrate on every level telepathy and computing/technology applications. So the creation of psi-integrated computers using cloned lines of human telepathic brain cells was implemented. Before that point the Earthreign had used heavily cyber-augmented individuals to access, maintain and control computational intelligences and large computers--these people were subjected to regular invasive scanning reveal their innermost thoughts. Basically the objective was to eliminate the security risk that Espers couldn't read AIs by ultimately fully meshing the two technologies.

One can say those telepathic CIs of the late Earthreign are directly analogous to your slugmen. Nobody noticed they were slugmen though because they were brains completely encased in a computer mainframe. Their control of the population was a function of the comprehensive memetic enforcement of the culture and society of an individual House of telepaths, though. (there may be a surprise buried in there about the origins, too, when you consider the full nature and power of an esper as someone who can transfer thought--but it will be a while since that will only be covered in sequels).

I've been working with Chris to prepare a prequel novel set during the early/mid-Earthreign, and that the Earthreign's culture and society were organised on the principle of Austromarxism (though its economic system was laissez-faire capitalism or even a kind of hyper libertarianism) -- basically, because of telepathy, culture and society are now no longer geographically associated. The early Earthreign allowed telepaths to self-organise based on their preferred culture and society according to principles inspired by Austromarxism (even though the integration of the American Empire with the Franco-German Union and the relocation of the World-Capital to Aachen guaranteed a neo-Carolinian Empire state ideology after the Esper Revolts--the Supreme General of the Ruling Council's daughter was married to the leader of the revolt and they became the Imperial House, but after the first century of Imperial rule they became less and less relevant as the Perpetual Senate gained control). The idea is that, because of the ability of telepaths to transfer memetic information losslessly, a telepathic society could actually voluntarily organise around preferred culture. There might be some telepaths who want to be Poles, and their House was simply a national cultural reflection of Poland. Others were so invested in working for Mitsubishi that the Zaibatsu became a country, with a different culture, co-existing with Japan, which is a reflection of 19th century bushido -- both are separate countries with separate Houses and separate patronage-clientage systems among middle-class Espers with separate populations of "client" Normals. The central government can arrange for settlement on the frontier of Normals who want out of the clientage system... Though increasingly by the time they reach the frontier they aren't baseline humans anymore... But have been modified to fit the government's objectives.

It's gonna be cool. If it works out, we'll do about three stories showing how the Earthreign evolved from there to its final moment of destruction. It's about a society organised around self-selection into memetically enforced non-geographic mental identities which steadily becomes more and more totalitarian, corrupt, and willing to engage in inhuman experimentation as its power elites are riven by competition by beings more powerful than the Perpetual Senate can possibly realise...

I won't go into more detail to avoid spoiling the story. It may be a while to write, of course.
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Re: nUF Origins: S1 - Episode 6 - "Meta Incognita"

Post by Tomyris »

Act 4



Deep in the hull of the Francesco de Trier, Abebech strummed her guitar. The crew of the Serenity and a few of her own officers sat around, listening and eating rations. Around them, the tattered remnants of what had been the furnishings hung. This was the officer’s mess, but they set on the disintegrating remnants of the cushions, a table-cloth that had turned to dust. The electronics and the immense armours, though, remained.

The night of fire is yet to come
The tyrant's shadow down the years
demands we kneel, or take the gun
And go shed blood instead of our tears”


Tapping sharply her boot on the deck, she carried, haunting, through each stanza until she reached the fourth. Then her voice took a particular vicious cant, and she tore the words like they were bullets.

The starry banner that did fly
O'er freedom's bloodied barricades
Now flaps and fades in foreign skies
O'er palaces that empire made”


“It’s hard to explain the feeling of someone who, in revolutionary ardour, supported a cause, now to find it a great and sprawling Empire, which clutches in the claws of the Eagle of Glory, the old symbols of simple and humble revolutionary purity and liberty,” she explained when she softly finished, looking sympathetically to Inara, as if she had teased out her own complicated feelings toward the Union of Allied Planets.

“That’s the story of this ship, too,” River interjected softly. “Once they were fighters for liberty, who created a new kind of society, but in triumph and victory they became totalitarian, corrupt, decadent.”

“And we’ve repeated it?” Inara sighed, not really a question, but…

Mal smiled and reached an arm reassuringly for her. “Reckon that story is about as old as history itself. What happened to the Terran Reich, Commander Imra?”

Abebech strummed a few chords and caught a different song, a very different song, on acoustics. She cut the lyrics with a kind of biting sarcasm and each syllable seemed to convey emotional bitterness.

We've enslaved the world
We have slaughtered, we've burned
All in the name of our faith


Only a fool would expect
Others to settle for anything less
The tide is about to turn


The sea has pulled away
Like small children we play
What is this?
Come take a look at all these fish!


As long as you spend
There is more for you to lend
Someone always saves us in the end


She stopped abruptly and snatched her guitar to the side, with a ruthless, sharp look on her face. Some of them were distracted with their food, some appreciated the music more than the story. But Mal listened, and Simon was almost entranced, Inara impressed with the true story-telling skill the woman showed. “Gotterdamerung, that’s what happened. The people of S0T5 give it its own name, of course, because it was so great that even calling it Gotterdamerung would be insufficient. Nothing on Old Earth can compare. They call it the Reignfall.”

“Since Terran Reich means Earth Reign in proper language,” Simon murmured.

“You heard her say that, brother!” River teased.

Abebech smiled faintly, the spell broken. “Our--Espers, I mean--oldest enemy did us in. A malign force that the war against tore apart the very fabric of reality around Earth. Old Earth was destroyed more thoroughly than Earth-that-Was, and the Forgeworlds around it as well. They call it the Fracture, now. People like River and I can pass thoughts from generation to generation. I have some of that legacy in me as a result. That’s what’s let me control this ship. And now it’s what will let River control the ship.”

What?” Zoe started first.

Wait, what?!” Jayne dropped his plate. “You tellin’ me you gave ‘er the command codes for this monster? Woman, you might be a fine singer but you ain’t got any--” Jayne’s words cut off abruptly in mid sentence, his eyes locked wide open.

“Don’t go started gettin’ into a fight,” Mal said, slowly standing. “What’d you do to Jayne?”

“I am too old to have my judgement questioned by patronizing men doing so on grounds without value,” Abebech answered levelly. River was giggling to her side.

“River,” Zoe said a bit reproachfully, “You shouldn’t laugh…”

“Jayne doesn’t know what to do when a woman is bigger and stronger than he is,” River answered levelly, though she stopped giggling. Her expression was a bit hurt. “Why are you afraid of me with the de Trier?”

Abebech raised her hand and released Jayne. “River isn’t the only one who can kill you with her mind,” she explained offhandedly.

“You got that outta my head, didn’t you!?”

“Yes,” Abebech replied simply, and rose. “Captain Reynolds, walk with me.” She started down one of the corridors.

Mal paused and looked over his crew. “All right now, don’t start anything while I’m gone.”

“I’ll keep ‘em honest, Sir,” Zoe replied.

Down the corridor, dimly glowing lights, Abebech walked with her hands behind her back. “Only a telepath can control this ship, Captain Reynolds. There is only one telepath who reliably stands against the Union of Allied Planets.”

“River. So you’re saying it’s a matter of us not having a choice--wait, you think this ship can fight, Commander?”

“Yes, we’re now up to seven turbolasers and four neutron cannon operational,” Abebech replied calmly. “One engine on-line at half power. I verified it through a cybernetic interface. I am very serious about no non-telepath being able to control this ship. The control systems recognise encrypted thoughts, Captain. Yes, you can encrypt thoughts. I am able to control the ship because I possess those thoughts. So, I copied them to River.”

“She…”

“Is far more stable now than she has ever been before, and she will continue to improve,” Abebech answered. “I think that you can plainly see the advantages of the Francesco de Trier as a mobile base.”

“I can,” Mal agreed, looking down the corridor, before he turned back sharply to Abebech. “And you’re just givin’ us the ship?”

“The Captain wants to help your rebellion, this is the best way to do it. It is an archaeological treasure… But it is also a fighting warship, whose crew died alone and far from home, trying to accomplish something I have yet to piece together. When they did, they left behind a genetic legacy--by which I mean the Alliance took samples of their DNA from their corpses and used those to create their telepaths. Part of that legacy, Captain Reynolds, is River. I am honouring the Esper legacy that is the Terran Reich by giving her this ship. If you think about it that way, as a point in fact, I have already matched her genes to the ship’s officer list. Her name was Teresa Kaminrokoljas, the ship’s Fire Control Officer. One more crime of the Alliance, to take the dead and make them have children when three thousand years gone.”

“..And her parents? I mean, her and Simon’s?”

“Oh, she was gestated naturally, and she has genetic material from the Tams. Simon is her brother, just not her full brother. Even reproduction is controlled for the elite of the inner planets, Captain. You know that, at least intellectually. So the State usurps even the bond of mother and child.” She walked on, hands folded behind her back still, head down as she talked, but never missing a step.

“How do you know this all?” Mal’s eyes couldn’t help but narrow. The succinct revelations were delivered without doubt.

“The ship’s computers recognise her genetic material, and I can interface with the ship. As River must, to command her.”

“Does she know that?” Mal leaned in, hotly. “Does she know that? It sounds to me like you’re turning her into a weapon yourself. Yes, this ship could let us win. Could overthrow the Alliance! Sure. But you don’t seem to be much different than them, putting her right back into it. Putting things in her head.”

Abebech was unruffled. “It’s her decision, not your’s, Captain Reynolds. And you’re far more concerned about her stability than her self-determination. To you, part of that fear is that you might as well have crowned a Queen for the power the Francesco de Trier represents.”

He faced her levelly, thinking over the words. He didn’t want to make haste in this. It was his fate, the fate of his crew, and River’s most of all. “Why d’you wear those shades all the time? I don’t much like making such a big decision when I can’t look somebody in the eye.”

Abebech paused for a moment, sniffed, and shook her head. “Your choice,” she answered in a voice that was almost a sinuous whisper, and took her glasses off.

Mal started, his hand going for his pistol, before he forced it to slowly relax. He had seen what Abebech could do. There was no point. He didn’t even want to. Despite how unsettling the red eyes were, the colour of blood exactly, with pupils so dialated they resembled shoe buttons. Damned unsettling. Suddenly the reason for Abebech’s glasses was obvious. There were planets he knew where she’d be hung as a devil.

Still, now he could see her eyes. Their alienness made it difficult to judge them as he had wanted to, but in this case, it was actually the gesture that mattered. “My apologies,” Mal said after a leaden moment.

Abebech almost seemed to laugh for a moment, dispelling the leaden feeling in the air at the vision of her eyes. Then she just shook her head. “Apology accepted, Captain Reynolds. You are looking out for the girl, you do this with her best interests at heart. But your concerns are misplaced. She is as ready for this as anyone can be.”

“Can anyone be ready for this kind of responsibility?” He shot back, but it was with none of the rancour from before. He watched as Abebech turned and began to walk back.

“If nobody is ready, then an unready person must step to the fore,” she countered, slipping her glasses back on.

“You need to talk to Simon,” he said, sharply, as they returned. “He needs to know.”

“Yes, he does, Captain Reynolds. But River and I will tell him together.”







“Come on, Simon, we need to go with Commander Imra now,” River was insisting, on her feet and looking anxious.

“Mei-mei, she isn’t even back yet with Mal…” Simon trailed off as the two returned. Of course. “Commander Imra,” he greeted her. “River says she wants to talk, just the three of us?” A glance to Mal.

“Reckon she does, from our conversation,” Mal explained and stepped to the side.

“That’s so. If you’d follow me?” She almost seemed relaxed, now.

“Oh, let me,” River smiled, and chose one of the corridors.

“Getting familiar with the ship?” Simon asked as they both followed her.

“I should,” River answered. “It’s going to be our home, Simon.”

“Not Serenity?”

Serenity is a good ship and I love piloting her,” River answered, “but she’s not a base for an insurrection against the Alliance. Francesco de Trier is. We have to bring down the Alliance, and we have to have a base for that. The Francesco de Trier can serve.” She turned back to face them as she walked.

“Brother, I was created to interface with this ship.”

“You were born, to our parents, Mei-mei, nobody created you to do anything except what you want.”

“Not true,” she replied. “Abebech explained it, because the sensors of the ship can tell who I am. I was modified when I was an embryo; when mom and dad were having genetic testing done. Part of the genome recovered from the mummy of one of this ship’s officers was inserted in me. That’s where my Esper potential comes from.”

“Woah… Mei-mei, are you sure about this?” But Simon was paling, and Abebech looked sharply.

“You know she’s right, don’t you.”

“...River’s baseline alleles don’t match the Tam family in several key ways,” Simon answered. “I mean, biologically we’re recognisable as siblings…”

“Because we are, silly,” River smiled. “Just because there’s a bit of a family named Kaminrokoljas I don’t know anything about yet in me doesn’t change that. Well, more than a bit. But we’re still siblings.” She reached out and hugged Simon. <And that’s not going to change.>

“So what’s going to happen?” Simon asked softly.

“Nothing,” River smiled brilliantly, and an access screen on the wall activated and data began to flow in New Franconian as different sectors of the ship were highlighted with status reports. “Abebech didn’t account for one thing. I’ve activated the telepathic interface network. I don’t need a jack.” She looked proud of herself that she’d found something even Abebech hadn’t prepared her for the ship.

Abebech froze and then smiled tightly. “So this was one of the ships fitted with the interfaces. Now I begin to understand.” Her voice was laced with a kind of tension that was almost malicious.

“Commander?” The way she had said that was deeply ominous. Simon started, and River frowned.

Abebech turned a corner, opening a hatch to a room beyond. It was a briefing chamber, recognisable, human. Hands behind her back, she turned to pace at the front. “I had intended to destroy those units before departing.”

<Why would you make it harder for me?> River asked, her mind coming across as confused. A bit aggrieved. They were incredible.

“Destroy the telepathic interfaces? I don’t understand…” Simon shook his head. “If it spares River a surgery, what’s the motivation for that?”

“The technology is the basis of a kind of science, which interacts with higher universes through which telepathy is but a tiny manifestation,” Abebech replied, her head lowered, sharply in thought. “This science describes a kind of non-Euclidean reality, constrained and defined by mathematical forms. This reality underlies the entire Cosmos, by which I mean that thing people popularly call the Multiverse. It is also the basis of the soul, the pure essence of thought of the living--if you will, a realisation of the Platonic state of Ideal Forms.”

“You mean when River is reading someone’s mind…”

“No, she isn’t quite directly reading their soul. But it’s possible to. Psi-Corps having developed the so-called ‘necroscan’ is teasing around the edges of the possible. You can very much read someone’s mind after they’re dead. I’ve done it.”

“And so this technology could lead to an understanding of the manipulation and control of energy in this other reality of the Cosmos?” River was smart, nobody doubted that...

“Only reality,” Abebech corrected gently. “Everything else is false--or so the ancient race which developed the technology first said. They gave it a succinct name--they called this other dimension ‘The Real World’. However, it’s more commonly called The Hidden World by those who discover it.”

“And we shouldn’t use it because?” Simon asked now. “It would be revolutionary to our understanding of the Cosmos.”

“It would be,” Abebech chuckled darkly and paused in the circuit of her pacing. “Of course, I only briefly interacted with the survivors of a civilisation that discovered this power and they were some of the most evil beings to ever exist. I do not intend to see their civilisation reborn. And, of course, the technology is dangerous for other reasons, too. It is inextricably linked to the function in this universe of that inextricable other Power, the entities of madness and despair which seek the elimination of all life in this Cosmos.”

“The ones that destroyed the Terran Reich,” Simon said flatly, gesturing around the room.

“Precisely.” A pause. “However, the hour is short, and I could use an Executive Officer as I fight the Francesco de Trier. For now, let us put this aside. She can indeed use the interfaces to control the ship. Frigate Captain?”

River’s head jerked up.

“Let us get you fitted for a uniform. They would be upset if I violated Geneva.” Abebech was smiling. “There should be a working autotailor somewhere. Your second mother would be so proud…”

As they followed Abebech, the Tams exchanged a sharp glance. River couldn’t see past the ornate defences that belied Abebech’s raw power, but she knew there was something much deeper going on.







Inside the Pilots Ready Room, which was more of a combined private mess and briefing room, the mood was sombre and light all at once. They were sitting with steaming mugs, no time for liquor for wakes or celebrations. The Huáscar’s wing had just created eight aces in a day--the technological disparity was so bad it was scarcely fair. Artesia, who already had kills, had just qualified for the Blue Max technically.

Jozef Tribecki was laughing about that. “The Reich gives it to you after twenty-one kills if you’re one of their pilots. It was revived during the Far East War. They thought they were good enough to set that high of a bar, but we’ve levelled them tonight.”

Lar’shan had also crossed that bar, but he said nothing about it. He had gone around talking to each of his pilots. Now gathered together, all except the casualties, their thinned ranks were heavy on his mind. “We’ll have the replacement fighters ready in another hour for acceptance inspections,” he finally noted to the group. “We have enough able-bodied pilots who ejected to crew them all, with some to spare. I want self-selection first. Is there anyone who doesn’t feel comfortable going out again this soon?”

Nobody raised a hand.

“All right, here’s the plan.” Lar’shan got up in his Marine service uniform green suit, eyes around food and tea and coffee and ytar and a dozen other things tracking with him. Half the fighter wing was Marine fighter squadrons and in honour of that his lead flight was composed of both Navy and Marine fliers. The Navy fliers were in the Aviation Forces uniform of solid light blue with a lapel-clasp and white trim which had been introduced due to the plethora of colours of in the standard Alliance uniforms being impossible to tell apart for some species--assuming that they weren’t still in flight suits, which they were in a few cases. This allowed a simplification of the colour scheme on the regular uniforms to guarantee all species in the Alliance could actually tell them apart.

“How are we going to finish selecting the pilots?” Marissa Davies, a dark-skinned Marine pilot asked from the back.

“I’m getting to that, Leftenant,” Lar’shan answered. “We need to understand the tactical picture first. We’re facing a fleet of fifty-six ships,” he began, bringing up the holo-projector image of the fleet, now de-accelerating in its sublight approach toward the Francesco de Trier.

“So, we’ve got the full Outer Planets Fleet of the Union of Allied Planets coming for us, minus the Tohoku-class ships unsuited for heavy combat. At close range their heavy EMP weapons can disable the Huáscar, otherwise they don’t have the firepower to take our home out. So they have to get their assault forces into point-blank range, the corvettes, gunboats and fighter-bombers armed with the EMP pulse charges, to have a chance to win.”

“Our objective, on the other hand, is to defend the Francesco de Trier at all costs. To minimise the risk to the Huáscar, Captain Zhen’var intends to orbit the de Trier at high impulse. She will interdict the enemy fleet at long-range, circling and providing continuous precision fires to systematically cripple their heaviest ships.”

“And our function, Major?” Artesia asked, professional in the moment, voice sharp and clipped.

“Stay in close to the De Trier. We use her as manoeuvring terrain from which to drag the enemy fighters down. Most of the hull is dead and can take damage from their autocannon indefinitely. So we keep pushing them in close because they have to board her to accomplish their objectives. We make that boarding operation impossible. Then, we get to the denouement…”

His broad eyes were serious. “The captured Union ships are being given crews of Resistance personnel, experienced in their operation. They will approach from the far side of the de Trier, and with the support of her batteries, they will escort in the two captured Reaver ships. These are being loaded with solar torpedoes. We need volunteers; runabouts standing by, hidden inside the de Trier’s bays, will allow the crews of the fire-ships to escape. A flying wedge of the operational Resistance ships will cut through the enemy formation, and trailing behind them, the fire-ships will be detonated. With the de Trier’s batteries continuing to engage, the Huáscar will then approach to finish the enemy off. I will allow volunteers for the crews of the fire-ships up to the number of spare, healthy pilots we have. One will be commanded by Lieutenant Commander Saumarez and one will be commanded by Lieutenant Arterus tr’Rllaillieu.”

“Since you don’t have a fighter or bomber to fly, who will step forward for this duty?” Lar’shan swept his eyes over his pilots, meeting each set in turn.

“Dangerous duty under Commander Saumarez and Lieutenant tr’Rllaillieu?” Artesia stood up. She had a fighter, but she stood up anyway. “Count me in, Major.”

There was a momentary pause in the ranks, and then there was the rustling of chairs as people started to stand. People were slapping each other on the back and laughing, if nervously. Artesia grinned cockily and planted her arms on her hips, one of the other pilots slapping her back from behind. “Well, Sir, looks like you’re gonna have to make assignments instead. We’re all in.”

Everyone was standing up.







After the assignments had been made and he had dismissed everyone to get their last bit of shut-eye, except for those deploying to the fireships, Lar’shan fell in with Lieutenant de Más, who had been heading up to Café Varna to get a snack before sleeping. She was still going to be flying.

“Leftenant, I hope you don’t mind that I didn’t assign you to one of the fire-ships,” Lar’shan said as he stepped with her into the turbolift, and her eyes jerked up.

“No, certainly not, Major. It was done more for the camaraderie than anything else, though I would have taken the assignment as any other,” she answered, keying in her destination. “Are you going to get something to eat, too?”

“I believe so,” he answered. “That was the talent of a natural leader, Leftenant.”

Artesia pursed her hands on her hips again. “Maybe. It just seemed the right thing to do at the time. Why did you decide to keep my assignment?”

“To put it plainly, Leftenant, you are my best pilot,” he answered honestly. “We are almost wasted in the same flight. I will put you in as a replacement flight leader for Leftenant Fallon,” he grimaced, for Fallon was one of the slain, “in SC-4, Beta flight. That should give you a more target rich environment to operate in, since they were the lowest performers during the last engagement.”

“I am to stiffen them, you mean,” Artesia answered.

“Well, frankly, that’s quite so. We are going to be in a very hard fight. Our technological superiority is great, but we will be facing odds worthy of Ter’shar at Ofelka.”

“I’m not familiar with the reference, but I’ve fought these odds before, so it isn’t necessary,” Artesia replied, pressing her hands down against the hand-rail. “To be honest, it feels a bit like murder, Major. Like what Zeon was doing to the Federal Navy before the widespread introduction of Federal Mobile Suits. We completely outgun them.”

“It does,” Lar’shan agreed as the doors opened and he strode out with Artesia at his side, to his left and a half step behind. “But if it was perfectly honourable, they would face us one to one, not in waves outnumbering us six to one. In that case, all you can really do is keep your comrades safe. That is a kind of honour, too. My father would have been more rigid about it, perhaps, but I don’t like to write those letters. There will already be enough, and against these odds, I know that there will also be more.”

“Agreed.” Artesia shook her head gently. “We will face them, and the rest will come what may.”

Inside, Elia was drinking tea and eating some kebabs across from Arterus, who was drinking khavas and enjoying a similiar repaste. Lar’shan grinned. “Commander, Leftenant. I admit I was expecting you to be readying for your departure.”

“One more good meal first,” Elia answered. “I thought you’d be asleep, Major, Leftenant.”

“A snack before bed,” Artesia answered.

“Well, have a seat. Shaping up to be a bloody business tomorrow,” she tapped her watch. “Well, seven and a half hours, close enough.”

“And you asked for the heart of it,” Lar’shan offered after sitting. “Seven of my pilots without fighters have volunteered, by the way.”

“Information already showed up on our omnitools, thank you, Major,” Arterus answered, looking a bit pensive if Artesia could read Rihannsu facial expressions at all. She turned away briefly to order from Alexandra.

“Quite so,” Elia agreed. “As for being in the heart of it, well, if not us, then whom? It’s impressive how much capability Abebech has restored on the de Trier, and I don’t want to see that ship destroyed. It’s an archaeological marvel of a lost Empire of Telepaths, that’s the way I see it. Of course, we’re about to thrust it into battle, but even so…”

“An archaeological marvel, ma’am, but is it actually worth holding our position for?” Artesia tilted back in her chair, legs sharply crossed.

Elia regarded her for a moment. “I do think the only chance to have secrets of the Earthreign revealed might be worth a few deaths, actually, which I suppose is part of why I made sure to volunteer for the most dangerous post. They won’t call me a hypocrite, you know, Leftenant. But as a practical matter, the ship had to get here somehow or another, and I’ve heard rumours about what they’ve found aboard.”

Oh…








Will Atreiad had taken a nap after the end of the action, and then been awakened by a message from Fera’xero. They needed to coordinate an operation on the Francesco de Trier. Five minutes later, he met up with Lieutenant Ter’maro from Engineering, the Dilgar crisply leading a squad of twelve.

“Do you have any idea what’s going on, Sir?” The Dilgar man was a dun brown, short Rohrican who looked up with wide-blinking blue eyes at Will. “We haven’t even received a briefing.”

“Neither have I, actually.”

“If they’re not telling you, Sir…” Ter’maro shook his head and growled. “Well, this is going to be interesting, Sir. Not looking forward to being off the ship and on that hulk. I hope we manage to get back before we’re engaged.”

“We should. I couldn’t imagine anything else being accepted,” Will answered, shaking his head. This was truly weird. “All right. Stand by to transport.” he stepped up onto the pad and the team followed him.

A moment later in the flash of white light of the Darglan-style transporters, they stood before what looked like the engineering spaces of the Francesco de Trier.

Will looked around. The coincidences had been maddening to him, in the little time he had had to think. This was Cyrannus, but it had been altered by an enormously sophisticated power. The Earthreign? The Fracture was proof of some kind of hideous, reality-altering cataclysm. Artificial suns and natural stars thrown about seemed minor in comparison.

Three thousand years… Right on time. The Reignfall and the out-migration of his ancestors had happened around the same time. The out-migration had happened here around the same time, too, but in a radically different universe with very different results.

It had once been a break room, and on the mouldering wall was a bit of an invocation, in New Franconian. He used his omnitool to translate it. That the work of our ancestors not be undone.

He shook his head. Will kept looking for signs of consanguinity between the people of this system and his own, but they were madly elusive. He desperately wanted to tour the Inner Worlds and see what they were like, irrevocably altered thousands of years before and yet several of them similar to his own homeworlds, to see if their cultures indeed converged.

But on this ship he would not find signs like that. It was a different kind of monument, one devoted to the Earthreign and still an enigma as it sat before them, even now.

Ter’maro brushed his shoulder and Will jerked. “Sir, Commander Fera’xero is here.”

“Ah. Commander.” He looked up.

“Commander, Sir,” Fera’xero answered. “This way with your team, please. Though, keelah, the ship is quite astonishing.”

“A riddle wrapped in an enigma, more like.” Will shook his head. “What was the Earthreign doing here? In another universe?”

“I don’t know, Commander. But I have discovered how they got here.” The Quarian came to a stop in another engineering chamber, and slowly Will’s face lost all expression.

“Oh Gods this is Big. This is real big. I see why you brought me now.” Will stared, sheepishly wide-eyed, at what in retrospect was obvious. Stupidly, blindingly obvious. The ship had to have gotten here somehow.

It had gotten here under its own power. Will and Fera’xero were looking at a Darglan Interuniversal Drive. “That’s not even a copy, is it?” Will finally managed to ask.

“Correct, Commander. It’s an original, built by the Darglan. We’ve already called for a cargo shuttle to bring it back to the Huáscar, I needed the help of a team and a senior officer to supervise security and secrecy to finish it and quickly.”

“Got it,” Will acknowledged, shaking his head closely. “Of course they had an Interuniversal Drive on board…. Gods, what in Hades were the Darglan doing associating with the Earthreign?”

“Unknown, Commander…” Fera’xero held his left hand up. “However, consider this observation: The Reignfall in standard chronology of consensus historians was three thousand years ago, ending in the Fracture. The scouring of your Earth was three thousand years ago. The Gersallian legend of the Darkness War of Swenya--is dated to three thousand years ago. The end of Darglan interuniversal civilisation -- was three thousand years ago. And so here we have a ship of the Earthreign, from the period of the Reignfall, with a Darglan interuniversal drive aboard. A rational observer could conclude that all of the events are fundamentally linked.”

Will felt a slowly spreading chill in his body. It was a peculiar feeling, like he had discovered something very, very wrong. He remembered the Aurora’s classified mission the crew of the Heermann had not-quite talked about from the year before, that had led to extremely heavily damage. He remembered strange goings-on at the Citadel. “I feel like I’ve come across a secret history of the universe, Fera’xero.”

“Ancestors protect us, but we might have, Commander.” He stepped closer to the drive. “Let’s get started.”

Will was about to step in with him when a chime sounded in the engineering spaces. One of the walls glowed and then resolved into a massive, three-dimensionalised image. Standing in it was a trim, black-haired young woman wearing a white uniform jacket with a black and gold striped waist-belt, black collar with gold rank tabs, gold epaulettes and aiguillette, black and gold cuff-stripes over black cuffs--the classic ‘Brandenburger’ style the Nazis had--and gold cufflinks and, on the right breast, a prominent black eagle, not the Nazi one but older, more archaic, clutching lightning bolts and an olive branch in its claws with stylised rockets crossed in an X behind it. Her right sleeve bore a black badge stripe with the Fraktur script of New Franconian. Francesco de Trier. Her upper arm sleeves were flashed with the badge of the Earthreign, and a row of rank boards covered her left breast with a single decoration, a white scarf wrapped around the neck at a jaunty angle instead of a tie, and a full peaked cap with that eagle, minus the rockets, again repeated. She folded black gloved hands, and Will felt like he was looking at a ghost. Then she spoke, and he realised it was River Tam.

“Commander Atreiad, your shuttle has requested a docking vector. I’ve sent them to the nearest bay and you’ll have a data-packet from Commander Imra momentarily to give you the best route to evacuate the Interuniversal Drive. I’d rather keep it aboard the de Trier, but I know your Alliance wouldn’t be happy about it, so it’s a fair trade.” She had a bit of a chipper grin.

“Ah, of course…”

Kapitan-de-Fregate, so we rank equally,” River was insouciant.

“That’s an Earthreign uniform.” he didn’t bother making it a question.

“Well-spotted,” River teased. “The enemy is only six hours away. Better be about it, gentlemen.” Her image flashed away again.

“Gods… What in Hades is Abebech up to?”

“Commander, the Captain will doubtless receive a full accounting. Until then, I don’t suggest caring. We have too much to worry about.” Fera’xero paused. “And it is Abebech.”
Tomyris
Posts: 69
Joined: Sun Apr 01, 2018 10:21 pm

Re: nUF Origins: S1 - Episode 6 - "Meta Incognita"

Post by Tomyris »

Incomplete Guide to Callsigns:

Huáscar -- White
Heermann -- Evans
Zhen'var -- Grau
Fei'nur -- Shovel
Abebech Imra -- Ray-Ban
William Atreiad -- Mother
Elia Saumarez -- Leather
Anna Poniatowska -- Hussar
Lar'shan -- Camel
Artesia de Más (Sayla) -- Donkey
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