Geldan VII remains a mystery, if we ever restore the beacon corridor, or the jump Nexus what will we find?
Will we find the VonGrippen legacy? Or will we find a new form of darkness that lurks, lost, in the night?
HMS Excalibur - Yeji-Sola - Neutral Territory
OCCUPATION: DAY ONE-SIXTY
Kyles was lost. The Excalibur was berthed in the repair yard, and work had already begun on fixing the ships battered systems. However there were a number of things that were just unavailable aboard the already striped station.
He was a relatively new engineer aboard the ship, only being with it for about a year, but he'd demonstrated enough skill to become one of the engineering Midshipmen, learning the intricate Imperial systems and trying to fix them.
He had never expected to be left in command of the formidable Command Carrier.
The questions that were fired thick and fast from the men often resulted in the all encompassing 'I don't know'. There were so many uncertainties surrounding the fact that the Excalibur had, essentially, been deposited thousands of light years from anything without a functioning jump drive, nor the parts needed to build one.
"And where do we find that?" Midshipman Kesnia asked. She was the acting tactical officer and had trained almost directly under Lieutenant Nazzien when he had been alive. Direct and fatally to the point, she was demanding to know where she was supposed to find ammunition for the flak cannons.
"I don't know," Kyles answered, sitting partially slumped in Excalibur's command chair.
"Never say you don't know, Mister Kyles," Taine said calmly. He stood right behind the command chair, wrapped in his polar fleece and looking pale, he breathed a little heavily as he crossed his arms. "Ammunition can always be made," he said, looking at Kesni. "Tear out bulkheads from the station and use the machine shops to manufacture bullets." He looked about him, "where the hell are my command crew?"
"Sir, Karin, sir," Kyles answered tensely, hopping up and out of Taine's chair.
"And we are back at Yeji-Sola," Taine observed, looking over the rims of his glasses at the familiar patterns playing across the observation windows, "right back where we started."
"The Immortal Emperor..." Kyles began.
"Yes," Darien replied, sitting down in his chair, feeling the rush of warmth from the Excalibur, grateful to have her commander back where he belonged. "Let's see about making the best use out of this opportunity," he stated evenly. "Give me a full repair list in two hours and we will see what we can do about getting Excalibur back into fighting form."
He settled back comfortably, staring at the children about him. The second, and in some cases, third tier staff. They were still his crew, and he was still familiar with their strengths and weaknesses. He wanted to know what had happened, why he and the Excalibur were where they were. But that could wait, for the moment the priority was figuring out what to do next.
There was a need to establish contact with the Expedition Two camp, recall Commander Durnham, and see about fixing the Propylons. Given the instability of his health, he needed an officer he could rely upon aboard the ship, and no one knew Excalibur as well as Kit did.
Darien rose from his seat, walking down to the communications tier and examining the damaged systems there. Sitting down, he gestured to another Midshipman to bring him a tool kit, setting about working on repairing a system, thankful at least that they had access to Imperial parts and supplies that would let them finally put Excalibur back into some semblance of operational order.
HMS T'zaht - En-route to Eisenhower - Neutral Territory
OCCUPATION: DAY ONE-SIXTY
Katz awoke in his cabin, sitting up and looking around blearily. T'zaht was cruising through one of the systems that separated the capital world, Karin, from Eisenhower, its I/R-baffled engines powering the vessel at high speed, like a jaguar in a pitch-black jungle.
He yawned scratching the collar of his grey Henley undershirt, tugging at his boxer shorts as he crossed the cabin and exited into the main stateroom at the rear of the upper deck. The T'zaht had been intended for a crew of about a dozen, cabins set up in twin rows around the small sickbay and communal showers in the centreline of the shadowy ship. Aft was the stateroom with a limited galley. Up was the bridge/cockpit, down was cargo and engineering. Larger than a Raptor, it boasted some marked improvements; the most notable for Katz being the fact that it was a hell of a lot quieter than the Amsus clunker.
He ran the water in the shower to heat it up as he stepped up to relieve himself, grateful for a flush toilet and not the god awful vacuum things aboard the Excalibur. There was a rumour that a midshipman, on the original cruise, had been sucked into space through one of them. Katz always got the willies whenever he heard that sucking whoosh that accompanied the auto flush.
"G-uggh!" Kyr mumbled, walking into the bathroom with his hair standing somewhat on end, his shirt hanging open. He unbuckled his trousers without any bashfulness and proceeded to do exactly what Katz had done moments before. Making a relieved sound, he sighed and rested his forehead on the silvery metal bulkhead. "Morning."
Katz smiled as he rested his hands on the edge of the sink, contented with the fact that they were, with the exception of the skeleton crew, alone onboard a reasonably comfortable ship, making good time towards free space. No obsessive wars, no crazed would-be gods, and no dictatorial warlords chasing giant lizards... just bliss.
He looked again at Doctor Kyr, hair askew and standing up, usually so perfectly, anal retentively neat. His flannel shirt, worn around the collar, was hanging open, revealing a very muscular physique, and Katz found his eyes straying over it, looking up as Kyr's eyes flicked to his.
"You know that mating with me would be redundant," Kyr said. He was trying to be polite, but it was too early in the morning and the way he said it sounded almost bored.
"I wasn't..." Katz shook his head. "Whatever..." he grumbled finally.
Kyr rubbed an itchy part of his ear and sniffed. "Pheromones, you humans have a tonne of them. They give away a lot about you. Yours currently say 'hey how you doing?' in a not too subtle way."
"I don't want that, okay?" Katz snapped forcefully, his earlier good mood evaporating as he pushed past Kyr and out of the ship's head.
"I'm sorry," Kyr called after him, confused as to what exactly he had done to set Katz off. He poked his head out of the room and stared after the pilot. "Look, I must have mis... read..."
Katz snarled, marching out of the shower and storming up the ladder to the bridge, falling into the pilot's chair and strapping himself in. He tapped commands into the comm. unit, trying to find something on one of the radio channels that would be sufficiently obnoxious and loud. Finding something Tancred and angry, he turned up the volume, and settled in to sulk.
Below, Kyr looked, disgruntled, towards the cockpit, cursing the geneticist that had decided to create the Kaynin species with such exceptional hearing. What was it with people from the Excalibur? Their love lives were never... smooth.
That had to be a human trait. They put too much emphasis on relationships, especially as young as Katz was. Kyr had to remember that humans developed at a different rate to his own kind, and while to him, Katz appeared mature, he was still relatively young by the standards of his species. That, of course, meant the usual confusions when it came to matters of love and sex. And humans of course lacked the finely attuned senses to identify when a potential mate was in heat, which would make matters so much simple for them in Kyr's opinion.
The doctor walked into the rear stateroom, finding the coffee pot and cursing Darien for giving him a taste for the noxious black substance to which he had become thoroughly addicted. If he was going to have to deal with human adolescent tantrums then he was at least going to do it with a stimulant inside of him. The petty politics of human mating rituals were always better after a couple of cups of coffee.
He found a particularly comfortable chair and flopped into it, wondering for the umpteenth time since the T'zaht had broken through the Gorean blockade and made a run for deep space how exactly he was to broach the subject of finding the Lex Talionis to the young fighter ace.
Naturally, he knew that that particular morning was possibly not the right time. He had the feeling that it might not be as well received as he might hope. Of course, he would have to say something; they would jump into the Eisenhower system shortly, with a short hop through the Jump Nexus on the cards they would be with the Imperial Fleet on its run for Earth. After that, Katz would naturally be asking where they were going on their medical mission, and that meant the proverbial cat would have to be let out of the bag.
Kyr weighed his options; sooner as opposed to later. Either way, Katz would be... hesitant was an understatement...
Kyr blew on the surface of his mug of coffee, sniffing to himself that it would naturally fall on his shoulders to save the day. Maybe he should give serious thought again to that peaceful practice in Orion space; he'd made enough on the retainer paid to him by the Orion government as a thank you to Darien for his actions to save the guildhall. He had a nice and tidy sum of money stowed away in the First Bank of Orion savings and loan division. But then he'd have to leave a life he had somewhat grown accustomed to.
Edward was, in many ways, the best friend he'd ever had. Funny and resourceful, the youth brought out a side of the normally staunchly conservative doctor that Kyr appreciated. Of course, that usually meant a whole heap of trouble - Edward/Elias's hallmark. It wasn't an adventure unless there were shooting, running and police officers involved.
That wasn't to say a peaceful retirement wasn't an appealing concept. He could almost picture the pretty little cottage up on a moor, the doctor's office down in the village accessible via a Landrover. A place where the worst thing he'd see was the occasional outbreak of German measles and glandular fever. Caring for pregnant Kaynin mothers preparing for their next litter of pups, taking temperatures of old war dogs lost in their stories of the past.
"After the war," he vowed, holding the mug aloft.
Shifting in the comfy seat, he sipped his coffee again, his mind wandering back to his original problem. The Lex Talionis wasn't exactly going to just hand over the information he needed. He'd been privy to the debriefing of Lauren's team that had been marooned aboard the ghost ship after its escape from Yeji-Sola. The mechanical monstrosities aboard it, the vindictive A.I. that sounded entirely too much like a psychopath for Kyr's tastes. Not to mention the sheer firepower the Imperial Pocket Battleship possessed.
A flying juggernaut of death, one that would swat the small scout ship down if it approached too close to the mighty vessel's flak barrier, grinding them up and spitting them out long before they could even hope of docking.
Of course he could try asking politely, but he got the feeling that wouldn't accomplish much, not given Kardiac's track record. A butcher in life echoed now in his mechanical reincarnation. Out of everyone who had served on the Excalibur, he possibly knew the most direct history of the infamous zealot turned Warlord. True, those of House Kardiac had many of his teachings, but they were perverted with the twisted vision of belief, and clouded with the notion that the bloodlust was nothing more than a heroic extension of the Emperor's will.
He was the son of Cardinal Strathcona, the man who would have been Pope had it not been for the Global Civil War and the rise of the Emperor. It had been Kardiac's father who had made the proclamation on behalf of the Catholic Church that Markus Aquinas was the second coming of Christ and led his church, en-masse, into a new era of religion. His son had grown up in the first generation after the dawn of the Empire.
The makings of Kardiac were evident in any that shared his house lineage. Born and bred to be Templar, holy warriors following first Strathcona, and once he had died, the Bishop Lamont. Echoes of their training resounded on the decks of the Excalibur, and through the training grounds on Tempus. Knights and warriors each and all, indoctrinated with the belief that what they fought for was, above all, the truth.
As a scientist, Kyr knew that truth was subjective.
There was, however, a primal part of him that wondered about belief. He had always simply wanted to ask why. Why surrender a rationally thinking brain to something as intangible as faith? True, for house Kardiac, faith was limited by the knowledge that their god was a construct of flesh and blood that could be seen, touched. Who could work miracles that were as real as his genetically altered abilities permitted. But there was a time, a time before the Emperor, when faith was a matter of simple belief.
He had vowed to ask Lieutenant Galadriel, the most religious person he knew on a personal level, but with her perceived-death and subsequent abduction, his questions had gone unanswered.
Kyr couldn't picture Elias standing before the pearly gates with wings and a halo... the thought was counterproductive to any healthy belief system. Almost blasphemous, all things considered. It was like waking up one day and discovering God was a toaster... affirming on one hand, but on the other wholly wrong.
He lolled his head back against the cushioned sofa, watching a couple of the crew members, who mainly kept to themselves, fix themselves coffee. He glanced up towards the ladder leading to the cockpit and the cacophony of noise emanating from it.
Ordinarily, the news reports would be played in the morning, starting with the Imperial feeds and running through the myriad of Orion ones. But the Imperial news networks had been silenced since the invasion, leaving them with nothing more than the Orion news that seemed focused upon cursory notes about the war, House Denver's place in it, and of course a whole slew of business news.
Kyr curled his legs under him, adjusting the comfortable jeans and blowing on his still piping hot coffee preparing to take his first sip when he noticed the news about Nicholas Denver.
It would, of course, have to be something on one of the news feeds unavailable on the Excalibur that would pique his interest. Nicholas Denver had married Val Macgregor. Now the amusing thought of Rikard caught in anything approaching marital bliss made the doctor smile just a little; he couldn't picture it. He watched with mild amusement as the reporter recapped segments of the marriage and its extravagant honeymoon that, after three months, was still ongoing. Something about a pleasure cruise around the Zoul cluster enjoying neo-Egyptian charm recreated by enterprising Orion businessmen.
Kyr scooped up the remote and turned off the feed, tossing it back to the couch cushions as he stood up, returning to his cabin with the intent of getting dressed. It wouldn't do to spend all day slouching around.
His darkened cabin showed the off-grey expanse of Uroun slipping lazily past the window. How many times had they made the same journey between Eisenhower and Karin? It was like the last leg of a journey home or, when viewed on the way out, a marker that they were on their way to yet another adventure. He didn't mind so much, shuffling to his open backpack and sifting through his more comfortable clothes. A casual blue plaid shirt and a light brown sweater did him just fine. He didn't need to worry about uniforms, and often didn't consider what he wore. It was just a little chilly aboard the T'zaht. He pulled his reading glasses out of their case and made his way back into the main decks of the ship.
He found Katz sprawled in the pilot's chair, arms loosely crossed over his stomach, and one booted foot propped up on the helm controls. The music was loud, almost deafeningly so, and were it not for Edward's similar taste desensitizing Kyr to it, the doctor would have found it unbearable. He raked a hand through his dishevelled hair, patting it down, noting how silky it was getting. Summer coat coming in; it must be spring time on Keppe.
"Look," he said, realizing his words were swallowed by the music, and so he moved around the console, crossing his arms and standing easily right in front of the petulant Katz. He waited pointedly until the Squadron Leader reached out to turn down the music.
"What?" Katz demanded.
"I am sorry," Kyr insisted, "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable this morning, I still have a few issues with human culture."
Katz lowered his foot and sat up. "You right pissed me off!" he said angrily.
"Yes," Kyr admitted. "I forget how... withdrawn you can be at times. Matty's bluntness can rub off on me sometimes, and I'm definitely not used to being found attractive, so I blurted out the first thing that came into my head this morning, and it was the wrong thing to say. I was insensitive."
"I don't find you..." Katz protested.
Kyr pursed his lips. "Oh, because I thought you did... and that was my mistake again."
Katz closed his eyes and looked away. "Can I talk to you, Doc?"
"Certainly," Kyr replied, resting his back against the rail around the observation bubble. "Is this about having sex with me?"
Katz bristled again, and then realized that Kyr was cracking a joke. He sighed, relaxed and settled in his chair. "I think I'm pretty messed up," he confessed at length.
"You're what eighteen, nineteen?" Kyr assessed. "You spent a good portion of your life as a sex slave on an inhospitable ball of rock like Karin. Then you get freed, stuffed into a fighter and told to kill people, one of who was your mentor and friend. Then you have the two boys you fell in love with... well yeah, messed up is one word for it."
Katz sighed. "It's just... nothing. I'm feeling nothing. Every bump we hit, nothing. Darien collapsing, nothing. Then when you said that this morning..."
"Bam, emotions?" Kyr sighed. "I'm glad I make you feel something, but really I don't want that to be just bad stuff."
"I want to have sex." Katz shrugged. "Just no strings attached, random, mind-blowing sex."
"You know that won't fix anything," Kyr pointed out hastily. "And you know you're looking at me purely because there's no one else you know on ship right now. And this is the first downtime you've had since the invasion... and I am a friend...so... just..." Kyr faltered, tripping over his own words.
"Talk more," Katz said, opening his eyes and smiling faintly, a ghostly shadow of happiness. "You're goofy when you're nervous."
"I'm just saying that you don't want to have sex with me, I'm just here, and it's easy..." Kyr adjusted his glasses in a very Durnham-esque fashion.
"And you don't?" Katz inquired, eyeing his prey with a well-practiced appraising look.
Kyr blinked. "Well, no." he said, frowning at his own words, "I mean, I don't think so... I am more mature than you, so I should know, right?"
Katz slid out of the pilot's chair, walking down to the front of the bridge, reaching out a hand to tug on the errant tail of Kyr's shirt, poking out from beneath his sweater. "I've heard no from so many people that wanted to say yes," Katz said with wisdom beyond his years. "Like you right now, you're saying no because you've never done anything before."
"I believe in love," Kyr answered defensively, "and sex for sex's sake isn't what I want..."
Katz leaned in, his lips hovering for just a moment over Kyr's. "Tell me no," he challenged.
Kyr's heart was pounding so fast in his chest that he could almost hear it, his breath short. A trill of excitement began to grow from somewhere deep inside of him. "No..." he insisted, his voice a squeak.
"Again," Katz said, a hand sliding up to rest on the doctor's waist. "Say it again..."
Kyr closed his eyes, swallowing, feeling the lightest of brushes from Katz's lips as he spoke, the pressure of the hand on his waist, the sensations that caused his blood to rush through his system and his head to swim with the anticipation of what was to come.
His visions of white picket fences and doctor's wives shattering as he closed the distance between their lips, kissing Katz with a fury that he had saved for far too many years. He opened his mouth and surrendered to it, battling with an expert. Katz had a well practiced hand, the fingers caressing the small of Kyr's back as he danced up on tip toes to meet the pilot's lips.
Katz drew back a little, staring at the doctor whose eyes snapped open at the realization that the kiss had stopped.
"Sex," Katz stated huskily, "for fun, reproduction be damned."
Kyr nodded his head, feeling like his entire brain had shut down with a single kiss. "Okay," he replied simply.
His mother was so going to kill him.
Special Detention Centre - Karin - Gorean Occupied Territory
OCCUPATION: DAY ONE-SIXTY-FIVE
Alessandro awoke cradled against the warmth of Shale's fur. There was a burning behind his eyes as he clutched onto that warmth, that strength. It hadn't failed him, hadn't left him, despite all the questionings the Gorean had subjected him too.
The Paddesh had kept his word about the doctor, the human that had been shown in had been a civilian. Lacking any of the tools he needed, or the facilities, it had been all he could do to bandage the shattered hand and clean the welts that criss-crossed Alessandro's body beneath the prisoner's jump suit. And Alessandro had managed to find some sleep, protected by Shale, alone in their cell. The pain was ebbing away, numb in the cold.
Shale looked down at him, the Captain checking his charge over and sniffing him. Alessandro managed a weak smile, "Capitano, I told them nothing..."
There was pride in Shale's eyes. "Good," he rumbled, ruffling Alessandro's hair and looking back at the door to their cell, hearing the sound of Gorean soldiers approaching.
The door banged open. A pair of lessars stood in the doorway, one of them holding out a coat that he turned in his hands and tossed at the human. "Dresssss him and prrreparrre to move," it commanded.
Shale helped Alessandro on with the coat, a heavy material that felt warm about his tired, frozen form. He felt warm for the first time in weeks, and for that he could live with the weight of the material on his burning back. He tucked his hand between the buttons of the coat, using it as a sling. The Gorean moved in to release Shale from his manacles, allowing him to rise while the stepped carefully back away from his heavy paws.
The two prisoners of war struggled out of the cell, Shale keeping a gentle hand on the lieutenant as they were moved out of the cell block and into the biting wind and the cold of Karin. Alessandro was thankful for the coat, but even it wasn't enough to protect him from the icy wind. And once or twice Alessandro felt himself stumble. The two were marched into ranks with others - an evacuation.
There was a rush from the guards, nervous looks towards the horizon that flared and crackled with the sound of heavy weapons fire. The Empire.
An excited rustle moved through the crowd. "Mayfair's coming." Alessandro caught the whisper, looking back over his shoulder at a man still wearing a Marine uniform, new prisoner no doubt.
"Sssilence!" the guard commanded. "Mayfairrr'sss dead, Padesssh killed him and ate hissss..."
The Marine squared his shoulders. "Bullshit, that's the sound of an ITE charge, and those," he held a finger up at the rippling sound of thunder, "are your men dying!"
Alessandro couldn't think straight, but he could work out that the Gorean were scared. That Mayfair was coming; it was all a part of hope. Hope meant they had a chance, a chance to get out of that hell, to escape it. A chance to see Katz again, to live again. To smile again.
He laughed out loud.
The Gorean stared at the humans and the one Taïrian prisoner, battered and beaten, fodder for the troops, laughing at them in all their glory. Laughing at the coming end, and laughing at their fear.
Landrover - Southbound - Cadiz Township - Karin
OCCUPATION: DAY ONE-SIXTY-TWO
There were times when it was the only way to travel, bone rattling bumps and heart wrenching bounds as the 4x4 ploughed through winding country roads, the vehicle hammering out onto the high, heather-covered moors of Karin's highlands.
It was almost pleasant, except for the war-torn world; open spaces were an invitation for disaster, especially for the lone, open-topped Imperial vehicle that drove steadily closer towards the Gorean front lines.
Masconi gripped the wheel, the wind having snatched her feld cap from her head sometime in the night, leaving her with cold ears. And she wished that there had been something other than the open Landrover in the Fort Wallace motor-pool, but aside from lighter ATVs and buggies, she had been limited in her choices. Some how she doubted Colonel Mayfair would have appreciated her stealing his Jeep, and she didn't want to invite more trouble.
She was deliberately following a route labelled MAIN-1 on her map reader, the main advance of the Imperial forces was along that road, and occasionally they would pas SAM missile emplacements on mobile beds, or the odd cruise missile battery in a nest of AA-guns, it meant that the convoy route was at least partially safe from the ever-present and lethal fliers that dominated the sky.
James was impassive and silent as ever, riding beside her in the passenger seat. The SAW pulse weapon on the pivoting mount before him hadn't been touched. She doubted that James even cared that the machine gun was there; his thoughts remained elsewhere. She presumed it had something to do with being trapped behind enemy lines, by himself, for far too long.
She winced at the horn behind her and obediently pulled over to the side of the road, allowing the fast moving convoy of Imperial troops to sweep by. Trucks of kids, cobbled together out of what remained of the Karin reserve forces, escorted by a pair of ITE Mechs and a stream of heavily armoured Landrovers, heading for the front as fast as they could. None of them paid any mind to the Highlady and the Assassin in their stolen 4x4; they seemed far too distracted at the thought of what was to come.
Death awaited them ahead.
Masconi gunned the engine, accelerating back onto the road, joining the back of the convoy and matching their speed. It was better to travel in a group; if there was a problem at least the heavy auto-cannons and missiles on the ITEs would keep the Gorean at bay. She tried not to focus on the possibility that even they wouldn't be enough.
The convoy breezed through ruined towns and villages, modern buildings and homes that had been gutted by war. The fighting had been fierce up and down the peninsula, Mayfair doggedly refusing to give ground that far north. But that had meant that many people had found their small homes and communities the focal point of the bitterest fighting.
Masconi regretted that in part. As one of the senior Imperial officials, she too had been short sighted as to the Gorean threat. If they had followed the Republican ideals... Chancellor Evans may have been right, fortify the Imperial worlds first and find peace with the Amsus. It would have allowed them to concentrate their forces.
Of course, the fact that Chancellor Evans was a complete bastard made that line of reasoning distinctly unappealing. And peace with the Amsus would have only allowed them to gain strength. The news of Riley and of Earth was the only heartening news they had; she wasn't about to forsake that accomplishment for a slim chance at a better life on Karin.
She had turned the Landrover away from the convoy when the noise of artillery could be heard above the roar of the engine. She sought some high ground, using a pair of binoculars to sweep over the hellish twighlight ahead. The Gorean were in a massive line, advancing on Imperial trenches. Fast moving armoured cavalry harried them with strikes as the Imperials used their longer range firepower to hold the Gorean back.
F-120s rocketed over her head, escorted by EV-IIs performing exactly the role Mayfair had so long ago deemed them perfect for. Supporting the troops as they battled for control of a river's shallows, a crossing that, despite the shelled-out bridge that still burned, would allow the Imperial's to advance further south.
If she was going to reach the camps she was going to have to go right through the middle of the fighting. "I need a vacation," she muttered. "Either that or a dropship."
Neither was forthcoming, and Masconi sought the nearest Imperial encampment. She hoped that it was still too early for news of her desertion to have reached the front line; communications in a war zone was tricky at the best of times and if she was lucky that could play in her favour. She knew it was going to be a risk, though.
James was watching her, idly playing with one of his knives, sparing a dubious look towards the battle. "The Highlady seems to think that this is a good idea."
"I don't see any other way through," Masconi stated, shaking her head and looking over the town on the closest bank of the river where the fighting was still pitched. "We can't slip through, we're still too far from the camps to walk..."
James flashed her a look that very clearly said 'for you', and Masconi bristled at the implication that he was tougher than her. She climbed back aboard the Landrover, gesturing for him to get aboard. She gunned the engine and threw it into gear, kicking up shale as she roared down the hill slope, accelerating over the uneven fields straight towards the thick of the fighting outside of the town.
"Gun?" Masconi asked, turning, her sunglasses flashing in the light of explosions roaring around them.
James looked unfazed and braced a leg on the dashboard, looking at her with a decided disgruntled look, making no effort to prepare the SAW.
Masconi snorted at him in frustration, sweeping the Landrover around the wreckage of a downed ITE, hauling the wheel over to avoid an onrushing Gorean powered armour that seemed rather surprised to see the heavy Landrover hurtling out of nowhere towards it. Masconi hit it squarely with the bull bars, feeling the Landrover lurch as the heavy weight in front of it rolled across the hood, a large metal clad hand reached out to grasp a hold of something.
James looked up and smiled, slamming one of his knives straight into the back of the gauntlet. He stood up in the bouncing seat and dragged his second knife from its scabbard on his wrist, swiftly hacking the limb off at the wrist, pushing the dead weight around and under the wheels.
The Landrover bounced and jerked to the side and James was dumped into the back, his legs flailing as Masconi watched the severed hand flexing, still pinned to the hood. She glared back at the assassin who was scrambling to sit upright again.
"Show off," she said, ducking as the low roar of fliers screeched over their heads, followed by the sharp whine of the Imperial EV-II's in hot pursuit.
James eyed her with something approaching amusement as he yanked his knife out of the severed hand and settled into his seat, the Landrover careening out of the field and up onto the paved road, zooming though a heated fire fight and disappearing into the depths of the town.
Masconi kept her foot heavy on the accelerator, dodging debris piles and the odd soldier that was wandering around the war zone separated for his or her platoon. She turned the Landrover into a hard slide, the vehicle purring as it stopped short.
Across a paved square, the Gorean were pinned down. Occasionally one would deign fit to pop his head out, only to have that head explode in a silent and deadly fashion.
VLR-01s were distinctive weapons, and Masconi could appreciate the effect even one could have on an entire lance of Gorean shock troopers. The problem lay in the fact that she couldn't cross the square with the Gorean camped there.
She drove around, trying to find another way across to the lower streets. She met frustration in the form of a collapsed department store and a collection of ITEs battling with a Gorean heavy weapons squad. That was the kind of fight Masconi wasn't prepared to get into the middle of; missiles and rockets trading blows with plasma cannons, turning much of the street into an inferno. That left only one way.
"I hate my life," Masconi bit out, turning the Landrover again and barrelling the wrong way down through a one way shopping district, an offence that at one time would have earned her a ticket. The Landrover jostled and jumped over the sleeping policemen, concrete lumps put across the road to keep drivers speeds down, taking out an errant bollard that the city planners hadn't anticipated would ever be in the way.
Masconi swept into the square from another angle, gunning the engine as they passed the old town hall, a three storey red brick building that had suffered from a couple of stray missile hits and plasma burning.
She cursed when she saw that the Gorean were on the move, advancing towards the town hall with its high bell tower; a logical snipers nest. Whoever had been manning the VLR-01 had either retreated or was out of ammunition. Masconi didn't care which, all she knew was they were in trouble. The Landrover swung about again, a smattering of plasma fire igniting on the front fender as a Gorean scored a lucky shot.
Masconi leapt down, tearing her pistol from her holster, firing it as she backed up towards the rear of the 4x4. She watched James mount the hood of the vehicle and make a leap for a set of abandoned scaffolding a good five meters away. She ducked as more shots were thrown her way, dropping her pistol and hauling herself up to the rear of the Landrover and flicked the bolt on the 35mm rail cannon mounted there.
There was a palpable hiss from the Gorean as the heavy rail cannon swung about, whirring up to charge. It was a modified variant of the same weapon mounted on F-175 fighters, and Masconi was very familiar with it. She leaned into the shoulder harness, sighting in and thumbed the triggers, watching an entire section of the street vanish into a cloud of smoke, ceramic slugs and gore.
She could hear James battling something in the scaffolding and she turned her head, watching as the Fida'i swung himself out of reach of a wicked Gorean blade that clipped a little too close towards him. There was nothing she could do for the small assassin except keep him covered. She turned the 35mm back on the main group of Gorean again. They were limping now, nearly three quarters of their number cut down by the merciless weapon.
"More?" she challenged them.
A twitch near her had her hand flying to the combat knife secured to her TAC-vest, drawing it with a zing. The knife arced through the air as she came face to face with the large bore of a sniper rifle aimed directly at her skull. She focused past it, looking to the grim face of the sniper wielding it. His Imperial uniform was a mess, poking out from under a Polian adaptive camouflage sheet. Masconi nodded.
"L-T!" she smiled, "You still green?"
Lieutenant Grogen gave her a sniff and lowered his rifle, "no f-ing way ma'am." The cigarette poking out of the corner of his mouth wafted a little in the breeze; a snipers best friend for finding the direction of the wind. The young lieutenant didn't look young anymore; his hair had turned a pale shade of grey far sooner than it should have. And the soot lines from being outside too long made him appear almost ten years older than he was.
The sound of a squeal to their right had both of the Imperials turning to the duel on the scaffold. James was kicking out, driving the Gorean back, what looked like a carpentry chisel in his hand. He used it to slash outwards, taking gouges out of the Gorean's underbelly. Then in a simple blow he drove it hard up into the Gorean, using the scaffold for support, a wet squelch ending the fight anti-climatically.
James marched back down the scaffolding, bending down to recover his knife, and to scoop up the Gorean blade, slipping that into his coat and making it disappear as well. Dropping to the deserted square with a simple bound, he was up and into the passenger seat of the Landrover, staring at Masconi impatiently.
Grogen shouldered his rifle and sat down in the back of the Landrover, making his intentions to accompany them very clear. Masconi shook her head at them, stepping down and into the front seat, starting the Landrover again and roaring off towards the shallows.
Main line Battle Tank Alpha -Cadiz Township - No-man's land Karin
OCCUPATION: DAY ONE-SIXTY-TWO
The Communications node lay ahead, the tanks advancing in a traditional line, rumbling over the terrain as they drove ahead of the infantry, supported by the faster ITE Mechs.
Mayfair revelled in the thrill of the offensive; he bounced inside the metal beast, holding his oversized headphones as he listened to the reports from the EV-IIs flying aerial support overhead. The Gorean lines were floundering, buckling; confusion reigned in their ranks. They seemed uncertain as to the tanks' and the Mechs' purpose, and unsure of how to fight them.
The Gorean had their own advantages; the powered armour elements they fielded were fast, outdistancing the Imperial's as they tried to reposition and deal with the heavy war machines. But there were simply too few of them to be effective, and without the support of the Gorean Armada to back them up, they were losing each time the superior firepower of the Imperial armour pinned them down to fight.
He needed to get a better idea of the fight. He popped the hatch, standing up on a rung and shielding his eyes to survey the crisp golden morning. It was brisk, a beautiful summer day. The smells of the carnage on the battlefield wafted in thick clouds of smoke, caused by the tanks cutting loose with their heavy maser fire, pounding enemies in the smoke.
The node was being infiltrated by SAS elements, supported by a unit of Wolves who were driving the Gorean guards out as they swept the alien structure clear. A platoon of marine engineers stood ready, waiting to take the Gorean FTL network offline and sever the beleaguered ground forces from their fleet, depriving them of any chance for relief.
He swung his head back, looking at the mustard yellow Wolf's head flag strung from the radio antenna of his tank, proudly streaming once more, as if the standard could tell that a change was in the air.
"All right boys," Mayfair called into his radio, "bring it back. Let the stragglers go, we need to let our supply lines catch up to us before we push on..."
Satisfied, Mayfair looked at the node again, resting hands on the edge of his tank, patting its armour. "Good lassie, good girl."
HMS T'zaht - En-route to Eisenhower - Neutral Territory
OCCUPATION: DAY ONE-SIXTY-TWO
Eisenhower station hadn't changed at all. It was still the last line of defence connecting the Apilon Rift to the rest of the Galaxy. A heavy space station that dated back to the early Empire's first expansions into the sector, bristling with cannons and defensive satellites, it was enough to make any potential attacker's worst nightmare appear real.
The Commonwealth had come to learn that their existence depended upon the station; it was a bulwark against the Amsus fleets, keeping their expansionistic military dictatorship safely away from the pirate Barons' empire. Walker had merely seen fit, in his short three year rule, to bolster its defences.
To Kyr it was still the place where he had first seen the Excalibur, met Edward, and irrevocably changed his life.
Kyr was sitting on the bridge holding a cup of tea, watching Katz work through the appropriate docking procedures, his mind's eye filled with faint reminiscences. The Excalibur had been berthed over to the starboard side of the T'zaht, the Protania further to port. The shuttle that had taken him across had winged its way almost directly through the berth they were now pulling into.
"Seems weird," Katz turned back from the controls to look at Kyr, "coming here again. This was really the first place I saw with free eyes. God, it feels like so long ago..."
Kyr nodded his agreement. "I've been here a few times after I joined the Excalibur, but each time it feels like..." He couldn't quite put the feeling into words. An expectancy that came with the space station, a feeling that there was something waiting, something that would test them.
"Death," Katz said after a pause. "Whenever we come here, it's usually the last time all of us are together and happy. We leave here, and people start to die..."
"I'm not going to die," Kyr said firmly, "and I sincerely hope you're not planning on it, because I don't know how to fly this thing home again if you do."
Katz turned the controls over to Eisenhower control, settling in and turning to the doctor as the small ship coasted in under auto-pilot. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to be so..."
"Negative?" Kyr inquired.
Katz just sat, staring at the doctor, as if trying to commit his features to memory. He studied the smooth face, deep blue eyes and thick hair. Glasses that sat crooked on his nose and the leather flight jacket bearing the 'Katz House' patch on one sleeve, white Peligian wings on the other. Kyr had taken the liberty of adding the HMS T'zaht's shoulder title in place of the Excalibur's CVX-11 - part of the tradition of belonging to a new ship, to a new crew.
The docking procedures were completed quickly, and for the two bridge officers the time passed in silence. The ship connecting to the docking pylon and latching into place as pressures were equalized aboard.
Katz was up from his seat, pulling on his own jacket and flipping switches on the helm console to shut the ship down. Below him, the team of engineers powered down the engines and secured the ship's reactors. The ship's lights dimmed for a moment as the external umbilical was attached to the ship, feeding it power directly from the stations main grid. Huge air pumps began to rapidly cycle the air in the compact warship.
The station's docking tube gave Kyr a chance to look outside at the T'zaht as he crossed the bridge and into the station's customs area. Flashing Imperial ID cards and travel documents, they were quickly processed through and out into the station.
Katz had felt it better to resupply on Eisenhower than on Sentinel. There was a good chance that they would be dropping into a pitched battle for the Terran home system on the other side of the jump Nexus and Katz simply wanted to transit and jump. He didn't want to waste any time in an area where his ship might be commandeered by anxious Imperial commanders looking for extra ships and bodies to throw at the Amsus.
To Kyr, it was simply too easy to forget that there was a war going on outside of the insular world of Karin. That, after half a year of fighting the Gorean, the Amsus were still out there, still dangerous.
Eisenhower was being used as a rear staging point; ships that were damaged would withdraw back through the Jump Nexus and enter the repair docks at Eisenhower before being sent back again into the thick of fighting. The station was crawling with soldiers and fleeters, a great number of the latter wearing VonGrippen colours, former privateers and pirates that had found a new calling forming the backbone of the new Imperial Fleet. Black uniforms, striking falcons and swaggers that had been earned by being on the very forefront of some of the fiercest fighting of the war.
No one seemed to pay much mind to Kyr, but there were a great number of fighter pilots that seemed to eye Katz with a questioning look as he went past. It took Kyr a while to realize that they weren't looking so much at him rather than at the five stripes on the sleeve of his uniform. His kill stripes marked him for the ace that he was, and it was obvious he had a reputation.
"You're popular," Kyr remarked as they stopped for a cup of coffee, glancing around him.
Katz looked uncomfortable, taking off his coat and slinging it over his arm in a way that hid the stripes, paying for the coffee and hurrying away from the crowds. "We should check in with the quarter master and get underway," he said firmly, indicating his total lack of desire to be there.
"We could at least stop for lunch," Kyr commented, "I'd at least like that..."
Katz grumbled. "You go, I'll get things sorted out for the ship, I'll page you on the TAC-link when I'm done." He slipped the headset on, adjusting the microphone so that it sat running down his cheek.
Kyr frowned; he'd actually been enjoying the prospect of eating with Katz somewhere that wasn't watched by five sets of bored eyes. But he took it lightly. "No worries, I'll see you later."
After Katz had left, Kyr busied himself with some light shopping. Eisenhower's commercial district was very clean and cultivated. Like a multi-storey shopping mall, just in space. There were bright lights everywhere and many things that could capture his attention, and he set about making sure to send something pretty back to his mother. He did that from time to time, just to remind her that he was thinking about her. Careful and considerate, that was the key.
It was the sporting goods store that actually stopped Kyr, and he poked his head inside the cluttered shop packed full of sports paraphernalia from all across known space. Everything from Muwani lawn feather bowls through to the Martian Cricket team down to the Karin Raiders. A bored-looking clerk sat reading a Sports Illustrated... dutifully labelled with Denver Corporation advertising on the back cover.
Kyr scratched his head, pulling off Katz's crude hand made patch from his shoulder and asking how long it would take for a few things to be made.
The clerk, it turned out, was extremely helpful, and Kyr left armed with a few choice items professionally done using the simple design. He had settled into a Macgregor's restaurant, noting that it too had come under the Denver Corporation's banner.
Is there nothing safe from Rikard? Kyr mused, sipping a drink and waiting patiently.
Rampant commercialism at its worst, but then that was Orion culture. Kyr had always been a bit of an outsider despite growing up in the heart of Orion territory. He pushed his fork through a meaty stew that he had come to appreciate over the course of his travels. Macgregor's had a franchise aboard the Protania, and Kyr had come to appreciate it for its close approximation of Kaynin food. Not surprising; the Macgregor family had been involved in the Kaynin establish of a homeworld during the old Imperial era.
Katz appeared tired when he finally showed up, his text message had been brisk and he'd come directly. He fell into the wooden Muskoka chair and rubbed his eyes expressively. "It seems that we're considered low priority. We'll get supplied but the Quartermaster can't guarantee we'll get what we need."
"Oh," Kyr said munching on another forkful of stew. "So..."
"So they've decided to reassign the crew. Turns out experienced repair crew engineers are a valuable commodity on Eisenhower." Katz rubbed his temples. "I knew I should have just kept going..."
"We couldn't, though," Kyr pointed out. "T'zaht was almost completely out of everything. And with the Gorean overrunning everything else in the Apilon Rift it isn't as if we could go anywhere else."
"Hah," Katz snorted loudly. "Imperial bureaucracy! The whole Empire is crumbling down around their ears and they still want to wrap us up in red tape. It's dumb!"
"Can we manage the ship with just two of us?" Kyr asked warily. He wasn't a pilot and he definitely wasn't an engineer. T'zaht was a pretty sophisticated warship; it really needed at least a minimum crew to function properly.
A look at Katz's face gave Kyr all the answer he needed. "Crap," the doctor said, setting his fork down. "That's not good."
"She'll fly," Katz clarified, "but we can't run all of her systems the way she's configured at the moment. The weapons console is all the way across the bridge, sensors are behind the helm... it's designed for a minimum crew, but not a non-existent one. We can't fight; if I stick you at the sensor's we'll have at least partial sight, but it's not like you can read military Radar and real-time Ladar data."
Kyr nodded. "Then you'd best teach me." He flagged down a waiter and handed over his credit card to pay. Smiling at Katz, he produced the bag from the sports store. "I got you something."
Katz blinked as he accepted the bag, "you shouldn't have done that..."
"Rubbish," Kyr said dismissively. "You're... giving me something... regularly..." His cheeks flushed a bright shade of red and he looked, trying to see if case anyone had overheard.
Katz grinned, a shy look of his own seeping over his normally stoic face. "Shut up," he laughed. "You make it sound like it's a big deal or something." He fished through the bag and pulled out the leather jacket, turning it over to look at the bright Logo on the shoulder, his cat. He looked over at Kyr. "Wow..."
"You seemed upset wearing yours, and well, you need to be warm, especially given the weather every time we go to another planet. There're tee-shirts and hats to match..."
Katz tugged a hat out and adjusted it, reaching over to pull it onto Kyr's head. "These might come in handy once we're outside of the Imperial systems, make like we're Orion corporate or a private business or something. Maybe the Amsus will leave us alone."
"I doubt that," Kyr admitted. "We are in an Imperial Hunter-Killer destroyer. One of the shiny new ones, too..."
Katz scratched his head, standing as the bill was paid and pulling on the dark brown jacket. He shifted, trying to get comfortable in it, rubbing down the leather sleeves gauging the high-quality workmanship. "It's still a nice coat, thanks."
He fished his pair of wings off of the uniform tunic, turning them so that they shone, attaching them to the plain coat and buffing them up a little. He looked proud as he slipped it on, tugging off his Imperial tie and conspicuously leaving it, and his tunic, behind at the table as they left.
Kyr was quiet as they returned through the halls of station. Large hexagonal hatches cycled open and closed as they went, taking them over the large, empty dry-dock where the Protania had been berthed during its repairs.
"Tour company," Kyr said suddenly, pausing to look down at the sheets of metal that edged the dock. "Like Extreme Tours. If we got an Orion business licence and flew one of their flags..."
"Flag of convenience," Katz agreed, "redo the ship's insignias. It could almost pass... now it's kinda distinctively Imperial warship..."
"Not if it's painted right," Kyr said thoughtfully. "Amsus can't see blues, not well at any rate, something to do with the physiology of their eyes; Professor Zahn learned that studying one on A-IX and I have a few of his notes. A few shades of blues in the right places... Plus, most Amsus are used to seeing Hunter-Killer's attack profiles, usually at high speeds, right?"
Katz chewed his lip. "Okay, they're a little dumb, but they can't be that dumb, can they? What about the weapons all over the ship?"
"Orion ships are allowed weapons," Kyr argued, "and this is a war zone. Anyone asks, we just cite self-defence. It's not like many outside of the Amsus have even seen Osterburgs, they have been kind of exclusive to the Imperial lines and Earth so far. Darien mentioned in a briefing that Iver kept them in reserve and Ramsey used them en-masse on the Amsus fleet, so it isn't like they go romping around the back water colonies."
"Put a tee-shirt on," Katz said firmly, making a decision. "I'll see about arranging a paint job and rigging the ship for a limited crew..."
Destroyer S'aat - En-route to Eisenhower - Neutral Territory
OCCUPATION: DAY ONE-SIXTY-TWO
The destroyer lurked on the very edge of the Eisenhower system, a flier patrol routinely buzzing into and out of sensor range of the Imperial space station, relaying sensor data back to the Gorean warship that remained far out of range of the Imperial sensor systems.
Lady Tagria contemplated her target, and her prey. The Paladin was there, she was certain of that. It was a chance for him to get food and sanctuary after so long in the Karin war zone. Humans preferred their creature comforts, and Tagria knew that he wouldn't have been able to resist the lure of those comforts at the first place he could find them.
Paladin had arrogantly assumed that she wouldn't come after him, feasting in his nest, warm and safe. How wrong he was. There was nowhere that was safe from her.
She looked towards the Jump Nexus, the gateway that would connect them all to the Imperial core worlds. The entire system had been heavily mined by the Imperials during the Apilon Rift war. Legend had it that they had mined their greatest hero, the Pax, in the Apilon Rift as well, abandoning him with little choice but to fight Xier, and fight he had.
Humans were interesting creatures when cornered. She wouldn't make the same mistakes as Xier had, or even Sal-zÿr, who repeatedly underestimated the human threat. Her life hinged on the Paladin's fall. The reading given to her by the Lady Melesande assured her that her fate was tied to his. She would sever that tie, a broad stroke that would ensure her independent destiny once more.
She was Alay'shok, she was the incarnation of the ancient warrior goddess made flesh, her and her sisterhood.
Her prayer beads rattled and clattered as she shifted on the bridge of her ship. "Give me a report on our readiness to attack," she demanded.
"A few more days," one of her subordinates responded. "The breaching pods are being configured, and the fire-ships are being prepared. I can assure you that Eisenhower station will burn. Your Ladyship will be pleased."
Tagria nodded her head, snapping her beak and tasting the air with her tongue. "I am coming for you Paladin. I will set your nest of safety afire, and burn you on a pyre of your decadence."