Well, since there's no story section to the forums (hint hint), I've decided to post a little story set in the Sins universe here. If popular, I'll continue it. The story begins ten years into the TEC-Vasari War, just before the involvement of the Advent. I've taken liberty with certain elements (which I can chok up to balance-needs for the actual game), and I hope you all enjoy the story.
Saints of a Solar Empire, Part 1: The Road to Hades
"Four Devastator class ships closing from astern, Captain!"
"The Carrigall reports total system failure!"
"Captain, we've reached point Alpha!"
"Release the fleet for staggered phase jump! All ships are authorized to withdraw as soon as they cross the well!" Captain Forscythe commanded. He tried not to think of the twenty-five hundred individuals who just became cosmic detris as the Kol-class battleship systems were overwhelmed by the Vasari phase missile barrage. Nor did the captain try to think of the gaping hole in his own ship where the flag bridge had once when the Schuegraf's shields were pierced with one of the alien's missile storms.
The Captain felt the hum as the anti-matter reactors came online, quickly charging the capacitor rings. Already, most of the frigates had escaped into phase space requiring less anti-matter and proportionately less time to charge to enter the over-layed dimension. Despite his orders, however, a squadron of Garda-class flak frigates remained at the well-limit, bleeding Vasari bomber and fighter squadrons as they tried to pounce on the fleeing fleet units who were without the benefit of fighter cover as the carriers fled into space.
And then Forscythe's ship slid over the the gravity well of the nexus star along with her sister ship and a surviving Marza-class dreadnought. The ships powered up, to Forscythe and their crews, an aganozingly long time to power up even though he and they knew that the ship engineer crews were cutting the safety margins to zero, if not less. They ran the risk of catastrophic failure--when matter met antimatter, explosion was an understating term--but the risk of termination far outweighed the minor possibility of something as mundane as system failure.
The flag captain slumped slightly against his shock frame, having too much stubborn discipline to openly sigh. Unlike most of the Eastern Reaches fleet, he was a veteran of combat having been a mere system defense captain ten years ago. However, he gave himself a moment to feel a flicker of pride at the way his own crew had performed.
No, they weren't vertans, but they were the product of the TEC's newest training programs--the first generation in memorable history to be fully trained to serve in a unified military force for the whole, not just isolated systems, and they performed admirably. There was no hesitation in the execution of their orders, and they knew their duty.
Unlike the first few fleets who had met the Vasari in battle, where discipline and courage were found in short supply.
Forscythe quickly pushed the thoughts aside. "Communications, tie in with CIC and report on the status of the rest of the fleet according to their last data codes. Anna," said Forscythe, addressing his exec, "status report."
The slender-framed terran girl, no more than twenty five, and appearing in her late teens thanks to advances in medical science, took a moment to compose herself. The running battle with the Vasari Task Force had run the entire crew ragged, and she took a moment to check the displa before turning to her captain.
"Shields are down to fourteen percent, but they held. Any damage we sustained was due in part to the ability of the Vasari missiles to bypass our shields a certain percentage of the time. Point defence is down to eighty percent standard efficiency, Beam Three was cut from the curcuit when a missile hit the starboard side, and Doctor Hannoi reports that we have suffered approximately two hundred dead with another three injured to varying degrees. We also suffered a direct hit to the flag bridge with one hundred percent casualties, including Vice Admiral House and Rear Admiral Jerry."
The captain winced internally. Admiral House had been a good man, with a fair amount of tactical and strategic mindedness, and his loss had caused unnecessary confusion during the battle. His loss also meant that command should have passed to the next slot in the chain of command. Unfortunately, the same hit that gouged the fleet flag deck had had to cut through the battlegroup command deck which housed the Admiral commanding the capital ship component of Task Force 3, ER-TECN.
Forscythe had taken a grave risk in not passing command. The next ranking officer had been Commodore Priev commanding the battlecruiser component, and he, Forscythe thought after reading the Commodore's dossier, was a coward. He would've ordered the fleet to break cohesion and run for it. Which might have been acceptable, had the Vasari not enough ships to break with them and still destroy them...
"Captain, I have your report," almost-whispered a voice from across the room. Lieutenant Focker was a slender man from a low-grav world much the same as Forscythe's exec. Focker's voice was not quiet out of fear, but out of habit from being able to talk clearly and concisely without slur, stutter, or a need to repeat.
"Let's hear it then, Andrew."
"Aye, sir. The Carrigall was lost with all hands, reducing our capital count to four--three Kol battleships including the Schuegraf and the Fraser. Our over-sized battlecruiser battlegroup is now an undersized one with the loss of Virgo, Kronus, Cancer, Greece, and Deneb. The Dunov suffered severe damage to her shield generators and anti-matter capacitors. She's still combat ready but only on standard reactors.."
The Lieutenant paused for a few moments before continuing. "Heavy Cruiser Squadron 657 and 435 have been lost, including the command cruiser. However, CruRon 414 and 512 are undamaged. Both squadrons of light carriers are unharmed, Captain! We've lost three fighter squadrons worth of craft, but our bomber squadrons are intact since they were never launched. According to last report, Commodore Cruze was attempting to reorganize the fighter squadrons."
Focker let out a soft sigh. "Unfortunately, sir, our screening elements were hit hard. All three scout frigate squadrons were lost--we think the Visari bombers were intentionally aiming for them to prevent us from stripping them out and sending them for reinforcements. None of our light frigates were destroyed, but once our LRMs opened fire, the Visari hit them hard. We're down to two squadrons of the Javelis ships, and two Garda squadrons."
Forscythe appeared calm as he tallied up the losses. One Kol battleship, five battlecruisers with another possible damaged beyond combat ability, ten heavy cruisers as well as their two command ships, eighteen scout frigates, and twenty four LRMs. Those fifty ships had cost the task force over twenty four thousand dead. Forscythe's squadron coherency was shot except in those rare cases that entire groups of ships were destroyed instead of one taken from squadron A and another from B.
"Anna, tell damage control to give top priority to shield generator repair and clearing the circuit to Beam Three. They can put it in manual if they must, but we're going to need it when we exit phase space. Andrew, what's the status on the Vasari Task Force?"
The Lieutenant continued without breaking a beat. "There are four Devastator class battleships and two Desolator class dreadnoughts. Our LRMs managed to destroy one of their Maurader class battlecruisers and we believe one was too damaged to continue. At the time of our phase out, it had not fired for two minutes. Their heavy cruiser squadrons are intact, but our LRMs traded missiles favorably to their Assailant heavy frigates and the Sentinel class defense frigates. We estimate that they only have two squadrons of the Sentinels and three of the Assailants. Unfortunately, their entire light frigate strength is intact at eight squadrons."
Forscythe remained thoughtful for a moment. Even without their technological advantage, the Vasari outnumbered TF3 and outmassed it around 3:2. With their tech advantage, Forscythe faced almost twice his own firepower.
Forscythe queued his pad. He knew of the system they were headed to but none of the details. Hmmm, a desert planet by the name of Hades. Not the most hopeful of names, and it was a neutral system which pocketed the Eastern Reaches, too stubborn or too far to accept Trade Order invitation or TEC might. Still, it was a poor system and they might slow the Vasari down. They would at least leave the task force alone, especially with an alien fleet inhabiting the system. At best, they would have enough forces to even the odds.
"Alright, Focker. Anna, you and the Lieutenant grab Beau, Shannon, and Jerome and meet me in the conference room. Let's brainstorm a few options for what's left of the fleet."
---
Neither the TEC Task Force nor the Vasari fleet, despite their more advanced technology, detected the nimble little craft under strict emissions control during their pitched battle, and by the time they reached a point where they could detect such a miniscule phase out with explosions and ECM playing havoc with their systems, no trace of the ship remained.
I already feel withdrawl symptoms returning
Really good story WitchFire! C'mon keep it comming you know you want too!!!!!!!!!
YAY!!!!!
Our prayers have been answered!!! Welcome back Witchfire!!!
Fujuki
Great read, can't wait for the next part.
Here's another short one, but it's self-contained, and I figured it'd help fight off the withdraw. The next update will, in all likelihood, be the end of this book. And I mean it this time.
Altima, War Mistress of the Third Sword, felt the predatory surge of her crew as her forces stalked their target. Even though Third Fleet--her fleet--had been viciously wounded at the First Battle of Naeve, she still had adequate forces available for raiding operations. Though she would have preferred to take Naeve and be done with it, her orders, and those of her peers, had been to direct operations against the three stars beyond the Naeve system.
Altima had been sent against the weakest, least productive, and, from the Trader's perspective, most expendable Nexus. The Quaker and Roma clusters each had several dozen billion citizens, whereas the Wolf-128 Nexus only had one system with a population of barely one-point-two billion. Wolf-128 also led to only two more clusters--one of which had no habitable planets and the other's sole habitable world was a desert-class, with a population in the double-digit millions. The other two nexii connecting to Naeve each connected to five more systems themselves.
Still, the traitor's had found a use for their barren system.
Altima's raiders were not stalking important, material targets. No, the massive, ugly hulls her sensors were locked on were the vessels normally associated with the TEC's oppulent, stagnant lives of greed--merchant vessels. But these ships were not transporting food or raw materials. No, they were packed to the deckhold with refugees.
The Advent had been aware that the Naeve system had been evacuating for some time. After all, what choice did they have? The Naeve Raid, as it had come to be called, had caused catastrophic damage to Naeve's infrastructure. With the amount of debris thrown into the air, the upcoming winter should be the worst in history for the planet--and Altima doubted the traitors had the ability to feed what was left of their people, much less warm them.
And so the traitors had began to evict their own people to the stars. A fitting punishment, the War Mistress imagined. To have the spiritually damned traitors lose all of their possessions; to be sent out into the cold oblivion of space, just as her ancestors were. It was a modest downpayment Altima intended her people to collect fully upon. She would bring the so-called Trade Order doom and despair, and once their terran slaves had turned fully from rotting corpse of their former masters, then they could embrace true serenity. They could embrace the Unity.
But one thing at a time.
"Captain Aunel," she asked her force captain. "What is the position of the enemy forces?"
"They're keeping within the projections, War Mistress," Aunel responded promptly.
She allowed the force captain to feel her acknowledgement, and allowed herself a moment to appreciate Aunel's omnipresent professionality.
Her current forces were far less powerful than her initial sword, much less the entirety of Third Fleet. Most of her ships had been poached for operations for First and Second Fleets in order to keep the momentum against the Trade Order. The wounded vessels from those fleets, of course, had been temporary assigned to her, but they along with the survivors of the Battle of Naeve were in the hands of the artificers and would not be combat ready for weeks or months, in some cases. In terms of capital ships, she only had half a squadron of both battleships and assault carriers, with a single group of battlecruisers for support.
But the new ships were starting to arrive from the home systems, or even built in the first captured industrial nodes. Hades in particular was becoming a rather impressive center of production. They were a long time coming, and Altima was quite impressed with their technical specifications, and she had been tasked with testing their effectiveness.
The War Mistress secretly wished that the Coalesced had allowed the fleet leaders to horde the new vessals and deploy them at a truly critical junction, but she also understood the reasoning behind deploying them in a minor combat first.
At the very least, they would prove a certain surprise for the the TEC picket forces that were currently moving to intercept her.
She had chosen a target that would almost guarantee the appearance of the forces guarding the Wolf-128 Nexus--the refugee convoy from Naeve. Estimations put the convoy at having over a million people aboard it, all but a small percentage were refugees with the rest being the crew. Two battlecruisers would butcher the escorts and annihilate the entire convoy in a matter of hours. If her entire group managed to range the convoy, she would certainly destroy a majority of the ships, including the escorts, in the first firing sequence.
Given the situation, Altima imagined it wasn't much of a choice for the picket commander to shape a course inside of the Advent's own in order to bring themselves on her ships. It was a powerful force--eighteen battlecruisers and twelve of the battlecruiser-sized carriers the terrans favored, along with a disproportional amount of heavy cruisers and anti-strike frigates--and they would have the advantage if Altima didn't turn to bring her heavy beam cannons to bear. If she did bring her ships about, the convoy would almost certainly escape.
Once it was clear that the picket forces were seeking battle, Altima had ordered a small course change in order to allow her point defense a wider range on her flanks. Her frigates would be able to maneuver freely, turn and fire, and still stay in formation. However, her capital ships were vulnerable in the rear with the engines creating a void in her point defense bubble. Her capital anti-missile fire would be well below par.
She expected the opportunity the prove too great a temptation to her opposite among the traitors to pass up.
"War Mistress, the picket forces are holding steady at the outer edge of missile range," Aunel reported.
Altima nodded her head in acknowledgement. Normally, the TEC would attempt to close within the range of their sprint missiles, the quick, destructive weapons used at medium range where ECM would be useless against, and the missiles themselves were small enough to be carried in large quantities. The Advent had no answer to the tactic, except to use their superior speed to meet in laser range--which the TEC also had possession of. However, today, the TEC commander would be happy enough to distract Altima's forces from their 'target', then use his battlecruiser forces to speed out of range of Altima's battleship-slowed force.
"Tell the Sword to execute Alpha, and signal Crusader Scheris, Aunel."
The War Mistress felt the anxiety of her ships as they closed their support fields of fire in preperation for the missile barrage. Altima's ships had overlapping fields of point defense fire in their tighter confines, though if the traitors were blessed enough to actually destroy one of her larger ships, the antimatter explosion would cause collateral damage to the closer vessals, but the odds were catastrophically low, even with her degraded point defense.
She watched on the holo-tank as the ruby red icons of the traitors belched forth a wave of smaller amber points. They only launched one wave, either to beckon the Advent to change course or to refine their targetting. There was, of course, no response from Altima's vessels, and all she could do was watch as the range closed.
Her psintegrates had had ample tracking time, and the Sword's point defense flared to life, blasting dozens of the missiles from space. Of those destroyed, even more simply strayed off, their targetting systems degraded by the extreme range, but a very few managed to penetrate her defenses. Several of her hallowed blue icons began to flash.
"Heart of Fury reports two hits, War Mistress," came Aunel's report. "Blessed Light and Crusader's Fist report five hits."
Altima frowned. Twelve hits at maximum range? It was...aggravating. Her shields had held, of course, but it would not be long before they burned out and the traitor missiles began killing her people.
"The picket appears to be advancing to just outside of beam range," Aunel added after a few moment.
"Signal Crusader Scheris to launch as soon as the picket does."
The Anima had always been one of the most potent weapons in the arsenal of the Advent fleet. No other race in space could match their sheer destructive power. The older ones, with decades of experience, could ravage entire squadrons of enemy fighters with a single strikecraft. Unlike the TEC or the Vasari, the destruction of the strikecraft did not mean the death of the pilot, and experience continued to accrue.
The war with the TEC had taught the Advent the benefits of having a more agile platform. The ponderous Halcyon was favored for heavy fleet operations, but for support, convoy protection, and rear area guard, the Coalesced had deemed the Halcyon too slow and heavy, whereas fortication-based squadrons were immobile.
It was called the Aeria Drone Host. Compared to its TEC or even Vasari counterpart, it was over a third larger, and carried far more strikecraft and squadrons, though the size of the squadrons were smaller than those aboard the Halcyon assault carriers. Each drone host was armored and shielded heavier as well, and just as fast as the Percheron Light Carrier that the TEC relied upon.
Six whole squadrons of the new ships launched their brood into the rear of the occupied picket forces.
Even as the TEC forces turned to prevent the strikecraft from attacking the void in their point defense in their rear, Altima released her battlecruisers and their escorts, who turned and sped towards the picket forces, adding their own strikecraft to the fury.
One-hundred sixty squadrons of Advent strikecraft--the most deadly in known space--converged on the picket force trapped between them. The terrans deployed their own fighters in a pitiful attempt to save themselves. It was pointless, of course, and their commander could do naught but watch as over a thousand strikecraft bore down upon his ships.
By the time the Advent battlecruisers brought the TEC ships into range, the largest target was a single squadron of air-streaming heavy cruisers.
The convoy commander surrendered entirely shortly after Altima's four Halcyons deployed their own brood.
Praise to the Unity.
great and it keeps getting better
such awesome.
words cannot express enough.
, were it possible.
Nice work! Are you going to consolidate your stories together all in one place when you are done? Sins lacks fan sites for some inexplicable reason; maybe yours could be the first?
One correction: you don't need to put "the" in the front of a vessel's name. This is a common mistake, even in academia. A vessel's name is treated in the same fashion as a person's - i.e, you don't write "the John Smith", just "John Smith". The same with a vessel's name. Just FYI.
Nice work! What will you do when you complete this book?
I would also suggest you revise the title of the OP to state when the last "offical" post was made, that way people will know that Witchfire posted, and not some random emoticon debate.
So, which emoticon is better, or ?
Lulz.
Great story WitchFire, I hope there'll be a sequel.
its completed. that was the end.
You did not read withfires first sentence and did not correctly understand his question.
Whitchfire has one more portion besides the one just dcompleted and it will be the end,
However crusader asked what will Witchfire do after this.
woops, my bad. i was tired. but didnt witchfire say that last post of hers was the last one? definitely not complaining if i was rong, her stories awesome.
AWESOME STORY!!!
I love the imagery and depth. It seems like there are lots of great tacticians who just die in a last stand battle so it's hard to get lots of attachment for any character, but that's swallowed up in comparison to the skill of the rest of the story. This is so in-depth, I think IC (or Stardock? Still can't remember the actual developer) should at least consider some of this for official lore.
IC=developer
Stardock=publisher
It has been almost a month since the last post.We need to keep this thing alive.
Samurye.
It will survive without you. The whole reason I checked this was because I saw a new post. I really didn't want to see it was you. Let Witchfire make the posts, and let the rest of us enjoy the read.
well, there's this magical trick that you can do. look at who made the last post when it shows up in recent posts!
↑ Don't flame the genius ↑
Anyhow, on that slightly abstract note, I will now proceed to argue with HDUDT.
...
Well, now that's sorted out, we can proceed to continue.
I feel very very weird today.
The Undying.
oh, and as for the case where witchfire posts a part, then other ppl post; keep an eye on it, if you don't want to load the page (max it'd take: 30 seconds, dial-up), and see if other people post a lot all of a sudden
keeping the thread alive and towards the top of the list is important as it provides new comers an oportunity to spot it and read the story.
Admiral Kol sat behind his desk aboard his flagship, Gibraltor. It was a third generation ship--designed from the keel up as a true combat vessal, and not some slapped together affair the original designs were, and that Kol himself had faught with.
Though not designed to carry a fleet's flag, Captain Diego had done quite well in helping Kol adjust to the new setting. The command team Admiral Eltsina had hand-picked for Kol's staff was also top-notch. The admiral was finding that he leaned on them perhaps a bit too much for his liking, but he was several years out of practice.
And the gods seemed to be punishing him with an abhorrent amount of paperwork. Being pulled from retirement back to commanding, for all intent's and purpose, a full fleet created a veritable mountain of it. In particular, he was spending quite a lot of time with Commodore Kelner, his logistics officer.
Which was understandable, as it seemed to evacuation of Naeve had landed squarely on his shoulders.
Kol still wasn't sure how he should feel about it. On one hand, the civilian casualties--he felt a stab of pain in his chest he quickly pushed aside--had already been catastrphic, and Kol could see the reasoning beside at least getting the elderly and children off the planet. Still, it felt too much like running away to him.
Though that was probably the plan anyway.
He didn't agree with First Admiral Solon's strategy. The supreme commander of the combined might of the TEC was not reinforcing the Naeve system as quickly as he should. In fact, in the few months that Kol had taken command, only a few light squadrons had trickled in. The news they brought indicated that they were concentrating more on shoring up the defenses around Quaker, Wolf-128, and Roma. Well, around Quaker and Roma, at any rate.
The admiral had not heard very much about Wolf-128 other than the fleet-wide notification that the Exiles had deployed light carriers. Given that the accompanying technical estimate had come from long-range scout readings and a duo of damaged light frigates, Kol wasn't sure how much he should trust their accuracy.
What he did know was that the Exiles had deployed their new toy at the Lazion nexus.
The Exiles had always kept a rather tight lid on Naeve. At least a dozen capital ships were reported around the Nexus. So dangerous had the raids become that Kol was forced to attach his own battlecruisers to the merchant convoys carrying refugees to their protection. According to his scouts, though, multiple capital-range phase outs had been detected, but the strikecraft attacks had not subsided. In fact, in this month alone, there was a fifteen percent increase.
Kol took another sip from his glass of bourbon as he lamented the foolishness of it all.
The Exiles were pulling capital ships back. Yes, they were still raiding, and heavily, but considering their initial lunge into the Eastern Reaches had enough ships to steamroll over the Home Fleet, they shouldn't be suffering too badly for offensive resources. Yet they were husbanding their forces.
Admiral Obauld, commanding officer of the Roma task force, sent Kol a reply that it was the opinion of he and his staff that the Exiles were simply over-stretched. Between their conquests, ship losses, and the general run-down of a single offensive campaign for the better part of two years, it was being assumed that the ships required extensive maintenance and upgrades, even as they waited for reinforcements.
Even if that were true, and Kol wasn't quite convinced that it was, all it meant was that they had a small window of opportunity, whether to build defenses or even launch a counter-attack. Left to their own devices, the Exiles would push out again--this time with a combined fleet instead of three individual axis of attack. Hell, the Wolf-128 raid had opened the door. That route would require more time skirting the outter edges of the Core Worlds, but an attacker would eventually end in a position where they could claw in deep.
Alexander's thoughts were interrupted as the communication screen chimed on his desk. With a few practiced movements, he pushed aside his paperwork and queued the screen. Somewhat surprisingly, the message was identified as Commander Brenton, Gibraltor's executive officer. Kol seemed to recall that the dark haired native of Naeve had the watch.
Adrenaline quickly brought Kol to full awareness. Normally, he would be contacted by his flag captain or perhaps one of his staff. The fact that the on-duty executive officer would directly contact him indicated that one of the few exceptions had occured. The one Kol feared first and foremost was the most dire--an Exile fleet.
"I apologize for disturbing you, Admiral," said Commander Brenton, "but we've received word from one of the pickets. Three Sova-class carriers have arrived with escorts." He paused for a moment, as if to gather his thoughts. "According to their transmissions, the carrier group is carrying dispatches. And...sir, they're being delivered by a courier in the CDIA."
Shit, thought Kol as he immediately ordered the commander to wake his staff.
When the Aluxsi Dynasty fell in the military coup, the Trade Order's infrastructure had been in shambles. Four years of constant war and forced to feed what fledgling navy they could into the Vasari meatgrinder had taken its toll. Coordination was practically non-existant, civil unrest was at an all-time high, and expansion and reunification of lost worlds had all but ceased.
The intelligence community had suffered the worst. Before the war, it was splintered into half a dozen agencies, each with somewhat murky and, usually, overlapping responsibilities. Many times, governors, magistrates, and even the Hereditary President and his staff would receive outdated reports. Worse were the cases of conflicting reports, which were not uncommon. Investigations later would reveal a startling number of Vasari infiltration into the intelligence networks.
One of the first policies President Cortana enacted was the dissolution and reformation of the various intelligence agencies into oversized umbrella organization. The newly cristened Civilian Defense Intelligence Agency has quickly found its niche as the new regime's secret police, and within the first six months, half a dozen revolting worlds had been quelled as various leaders had been turned into bloody smears by convenient--and impractical--'accidents'.
Although the TEC Naval Intelligence Bureau was still a part of the TEC's military command structure, the CDIA was completely a civilian organization, which included a surprisingly large compliment of military-equipped shock troops. Perhaps the most damning fact was the fact that CDIA operatives were not bound by the Articles of War and, by and large, mostly immune from civilian laws, as well.
It was only a matter of time, Kol realized. For the most part, the CDIA had been focusing on the Core Worlds, who weren't entirely enthusiastic about their Western Front descended President. Even nearly a decade after the coup, many of the older members of the Core Chamber would like to see Cortana hang. The Western Front was consumed by war, the Eastern Reaches did not particularly care the name of the master their send their materials and men to, and the Northern Kingdoms, well, perhaps it was best to say the CDIA had primarily focused on the Core Worlds and the Northern Kingdoms.
Still, the loss of thirty plus clusters, most of Fifth Fleet, billions of citizens, and the revelation of a new--perhaps old, as well--enemy demanded the attention of everyone. The speed and accuracy in which the Exiles had compromised the Eastern Reaches insinuated a cascade failure in the intelligence security provisions, both military as well as the CDIA, which maintained officers on any Trade Order affiliated planet.
A chime interrupted Alexander's musing. He cleared his thoughts before pressing the comm button inconveniently located beneath a stack of forms.
"Admiral Kol," the voice from his desk said. The aging admiral recognized the voice as Private Lemmings, one of the two sentires posted outside his officer. "Captain Demmerest is here for your appointment, sir."
Kol took one long, relaxing breath, applied his best poker face, and acknowledged the marine. "Thank you, Private. Send him in."
"That sonofabitch!" screamed Kol as he took hold of the closest piece of furniture--in this case, a chair--and reduced it to splinters against the wall of his quarters.
The CDIA operative had been smug, arrogant, and disrespectful. If he had been within the TEC, Kol would have had him brigged, but he was not, and Kol could not. Kol had known what to expect, and the weasely little man was not what had infuriated Kol so much.
No, it was the orders that the snide little man had carried. Physical copies. Bearing the seal of the President of the Trade Order as well as the endorsements of Admiral Khersia and a dozen other high ranking military officials, as if to eliminate any doubt that the decision was fully supported.
Angrily punching several commands into his console, he raised the current bridge watch officer. "Get me the Magistrate. Now."
War Mistress Altima hurried to the communion room. Though the rushing seemed out of place as it was being done with one of the three top-ranked Advent officers in the entire Unity, Altima felt it was necessary. There was a slight tension in the background aura of the fleet, though it was diminished by the lack of a properly psychic population. The fact that Coalesced Ajana had quickly departed her Progenitor after a Seeker had returned unscheduled had only enhanced Altima's discomfort.
The intraship capsule stopped, and Altima quickly stepped out of it. The deck was practically crawling with Ajana's security detail. Given the alacrity in which the Coalesced had appeared on her vessal, the war mistress was unable to assign a missionary squad to Ajana. Still, Altima felt somewhat uneasy at having the heavily armed retinue aboard her flagship.
Though Altima had been in the presence of Ajana's attendants several times before, unlike those shield maidens, the Coalesced's security was clad in unpowered armor. The black, form-fitting bodysuit contrasted with the gleaming, almost white, armor on the more immobile parts of the body. Each of the guardians had ritual markings adorning their armor, and each wore a smooth helmet that closed around the entire face, as was the tradition of missionaries and those trained in their equipment.
Like the missionaries, each of the bodyguards were armed with first-line equipment and their weapons included a ceremonial blade carried by Ajana's attendants. Altima's primary Mistress-At-Arms had studied under a Coalesced's attendant. Given the proficiency with which the war mistress had been tossed around, Altima had little doubt that even the lowliest of Ajana's caretakers could take an unarmed person apart with relative ease.
The Coalesced had been expecting the war mistress, of course. The warriors bowed respectfully as Altima passed them, allowing her to pass without a word of objection. Such open trust would be the anti-thesis to any other security in known space, but such was the gift of the Unity--the subconscious link between each and every member of the Advent society. Without having even met her, the guardians felt a kinship to the war mistress, and would have welcomed her to their homes as a sister.
She entered Ajana's chamber and when the portal sealed behind her, the two women were alone together. The Coalesced sat upon her knees atop a generously plump pillow in the middle of the somewhat bare room. The ambient lighting eminating from seams where floor and cieling met wall created unnatural shadows as Altima sat cross-legged before the woman. The scent of moistness and healthy earth filled the chambar due to the real, live plants living atop an enclosing arch behind and around Ajana's flanks.
This was the first time Altima had seen the Coalesced without her robes. The nude woman sat unmoving as the war mistress studied her. Ajana's body had taken grafts in much the same way Altima, and every other psintegrate aboard every Advent space-faring vessal, had. Unlike her own implants, the Coalesced had many, many more than anyone, including the Anima, than Altima had ever seen. The biological circuitry glowed beneath Ajana's skin across her entire body, stopping only at external plugs where only the Coalesced knew what they could be used for. The war mistress had the same soft blue glow travelling from her right temple down to the same arm and hand, but Ajana's glowed and pulsed brighter, and there were far than what even the Advent considered normal--or safe.
"Do not be concerned, War Mistress," spoke the Coalesced, her eyes still closed. "I am as well as ever."
"Of course, Coalesced," Altima replied with a bow. "I apologize if my thoughts were inappropriate."
Altima heard only a chuckle as she raised up from her bow. Ajana had opened her eyes and a genuine smile had graced her features. The war mistress felt a surge of pride at having made one of the most important figures in her--and every Advent--life smile in such a way.
"I should be the one apologizing to you. My sudden arrival could not have been very convenient." The Coalesced gave a little shrug. "Still, it was important, and I shall not waste much more of your time while the terrans continue to stubbornly resist the Unity."
Ajana shifted slightly and placed a small moly-chip in Altima's hand. The war mistress graciously accepted the gift and inserted it into her palm.
"Those are the latest intelligence reports from Naeve," the Coalesced continued as Altima accessed the data and gasped. Most of it was the normal see-sawing action of intelligence, counter-intelligence, and raids that had occured. The last of the reports, though...!
"That is correct, War Mistress. According to our scouts, ninety percent of the enemy tonnage has left the system."
"...and that's all of the reports from the seeker vessal, Glyph of Renewal," said Altima. "We shall have the honor of Captain Alysa's company for a little longer. We're going back to Naeve."
The war mistress felt the surges as she gazed out to her gathered command team. Third Fleet had been furthered pillaged, and most of Altima's active duty ships were the equivalent of a single Sword that the other fleets were using. As such, Altima could hold a physical conference with every one of her Mistresses and their force captains. She looked at each and everyone of them now and felt their emotions. Most were shocked, others were tinged with doubt and uncertainty. Others, Altima felt, were glazed with satisfaction and contained anger at the opportunity to strike back at the traitors. Many friends and loved ones were lost at the First Battle of Naeve.
Altima manipulated the holographic tank to bring up Third Fleet's force disposition. "As I'm sure you know, we only have a core of twenty-four capital ships, half of which are battlecruisers. In light of this, Coalesced Ajana and War Mistress Reka have reassigned a squadron of Progenitors and four of the new Aeria vessal squadrons. Unfortunately, we only have a few weeks to integrate them into our organization, but we'll have access to the picket force currently in Naeve as well." She paused, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Questions?"
Fleet Admiral Alexander Kol had seen better days. He felt empty as space as he stared out the view of the observation center. The entire wall was clear and allowed an unobstructed view into space. For what it was worth.
The Jubei system was a vast, empty cosmic junkyard. The binary stars that were the system's center had played havoc with the planets as they formed. There was nothing but asteroids for three light hours from either of the suns, and only gas giants and lifeless rocks beyond that.
Alexander's hand tightened over the bottle he held. He shouldn't have left. There were too many people left in Naeve, and they'd never be able to make it out before an Exile force managed to take the system. Without fleet support, Anubis could be bypassed and what was left of the orbital defenses would be easy prey for the massed strikes employed by fighters and bombers.
And for what? Admiral Obauld was shoring up the defenses around Roma. His strategy was to abandon the Eastern Reaches, turn Roma into a fortress, and trap any Exile invasion between First Fleet and whatever system they decided to invade. Unable to gain any foothold in the Core, the invaders could be wittled down under the TEC's superior numbers and shorter supply lines, as well as the interior position.
And all they had to sacrifice were the billions of people in the Eastern Reaches and thirty-something systems worth of Trade Order territory.
And here Kol was. The Osiris Cluster--the middle of nowhere and deep in enemy territory. He was surprised as any to realize that Osiris had managed to repel the Exile battlecruiser division sent to pacify them, but he knew it wouldn't last forever. Eventually, the Exiles would sweep Osiris up, and as soon as they realized Kol was here with Fifth Fleet, they would attack en masse.
He had heard all the reasons to go. If he didn't, he'd be court martialed for treason and spaced. They'd simply get someone else to do it, probably Eltsina. Gerard had made a good case of Kol going.
Kol also knew it was important. He had known there were various classified research stations, but he had assumed they were all in the Core. He couldn't blame the President for shitting his pants at the idea of the Exiles capturing the Advanced Tactical Phasic Research and Development Station hidden away in the Jubei system in Osiris.
"Admiral," came a voice from the speaker system. "You're needed on the bridge."
"Sir," said Commodore Hestan, Kol's chief of staff said once the admiral entered the room. "Come take a look at this."
Alexander looked at the monitor and blinked a few moments. The R&D station was six and a half light hours from Jubei-A. Kol had limited travel to sub-phasic, and Gibraltor had been in system for nearly a week as it traversed the void towards the distant planet designated Jubei IV that served as the gravitational anchor for the station.
The battlecruiser was close enough to get some long range scans of the station. The results were...surprising.
"How many stations are we picking up?"
"We're detected four Terra-class space docks and the emissions from Jubei IV are consistant with a level three hostile environment colony," said the commodore. "The center station, well, sir, it doesn't match anything in our records."
"And these?" Kol gestured to a cluster of smaller energy signitures.
"We believe they're ships, Admiral. We're too far out for identification, but their displacement puts the smaller ones at cruiser size." Hestan cleared his throat. "The other, we're frankly not sure on, Admiral. It's too small to be a station, but our readings give it twice the tonnage of a Marza-class dreadnought.
"Well, what if we--" Alexander started but was promptly interrupted by the battlestations klaxon. He immediately turned to his sensor tech. "Report!"
The tech scrambled at his station, punching keys like a maniac as he spoke. "I don't know, Admiral! Space was empty a moment ago, now we're being hit by a dozen targetting systems."
"This is the captain," spoke the intra-ship intercom. "We're being targetted by several dozen floating missiles. All hands, brace for impact."
Cursing, Kol scrambled into his shock frame. If the shields didn't hold, no one had had time to slip into a suit, and depressurization would kill anyone unfortunate enough to be caught behind the blast doors.
Kol checked his monitor. The missiles were based on TEC sprint missiles. They were too dumb to be fooled by ECM and could not be intercepted by point defense but carried relatively light warheads. These were larger but somewhat slower as they were not launched from a ship, but apparently were floating aimlessly in space. They were also accelerating longer and faster than they should. The incoming missiles were larger than normal standard missiles, so given their speed, they shouldn't have a larger warhead than normal heavy cruiser launched missiles. Still, the point defense crews were going to get them all.
Every last one of the hostile missiles exploded forty thousand kilometers from Gibraltor's shields.
"Admiral," said Kol's communication officer. "We're receiving a transmission from...an empty pocket in space," he said somewhat unsurely.
"Patch it through."
"...Captain Diego, of the Akkan-C class battlecruiser Gibraltor. You are surrounded. State your business or you will lower your shields and surrender your vessal. Failure to cooperate will result in the destruction of your ship."
Kol allowed the captain to respond as he turned to his chief of staff. "Where's the transmission coming from?"
Hestan was too busy consulting the sensor screen to face Alexander. "We're reading a small drone. It looks to be only a few tons, and heavily stealthed. Hell, we can barely see it and we're tracking its transmissions!"
"Admiral," came Captain Diego's voice. "We've received a reply. I think you should hear this." And the flag bridge was filled with the message from their ship's destination.
"Greetings, Admiral. I apologize for the unfriendly welcome. We have been expecting you, but we are operating under extreme conditions. I look forward to speaking with you personally without the communication lag. I am Doctor Jane Weir. Allow me to be the first to welcome you to Project Novalith."
End of Book 2
definitely leaves you in suspence. cant wait for more
Wow. Thank you for your time and effort, that was amazing.
interesting... I see your a Halo and Atlantis fan, too.
(president Cortana and Doctor Weir)
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