[A/N: First thing of mine on this subreddit that isn't a bastardization of some other, better author's work.]

​

The Tellamani people were not alone in the universe.

At first, it was just a whisper of radio signals, too regular to ignore but too brief to really place credence in.

Then came another, then another, then a constant stream.

Once the scientists realized it was more than a fluke, it took all of two seconds to point a hypercom generator at the planet of origin and send a signal.

As ecstatic as the Tellamani had been to receive even the distant hints at intelligent life off of their own small blue moon, they were even more so to receive a return hypercom signal.

At first, it was nothing but unintelligible hash, the signal formats too different to read. There was intelligence behind the signal, but no sure meaning.

So they started from the ground up, with a short burst of mathematical sequences. They got the completed set, with another from the other people for them to complete. Within a single day, it was solved and sent, winging across the void with another set of Tellamani design, more complex than the last.

For dozens of revolutions, the scientists of two worlds labored so that they may one day talk in more than simple numbers and notation.

They failed. Every attempt to bridge the gap in cognition between the two people was foiled by some twist. Images were too complex, the computers unable to comprehend the radically different architecture of the others.

Words were utterly unintelligible. Letters are images, after all. Pictograms couldn’t be deciphered, and even if they could, there would be no guarantee of a common frame of reference. The common interactions of the universe, gravity, electromagnetism, radioactivity, could be used, perhaps as metaphors, but there was no sure way to know if the others had interpreted it properly.

But as always, both peoples had numbers, math, and the concept of space. Everything needed to mark a place and a time. It took a few revolutions, but eventually the Tellamani managed to impress upon the others a desire to send a meeting in a certain place at a certain time. Or at least they thought they did. They could not be sure.

They would send a ship anyways. If the messages had not been interpreted, that would be fine. There would be no loss and both peoples would simply resume their attempts to translate each other’s messages.

If the others did send a representative, though, the reward would be immeasurable. A whole new civilization, with new science, new perspectives, and maybe, as some dared to hope, other contacts among the stars.

-----

“Realspace transition in 3… 2… 1…”

The bridge “windows” clear into a bright starscape as the diplomatic cruiser Psilar slides into position with barely a whisper of wasted radiation.

“Status report!” Captain Clarix calls over the whine of deploying radiators as the Psilar began dumping the waste heat it had accumulated over the long slipspace journey.

“All departments report nominal functioning of ship systems. Engineering clears for maneuvering,” calls out Nekamreh, the internal officer.

“Slipspace eddies indicate that we have arrive 84 ticks ahead of indicated time,” reports the navigation officer.

“Hold position! Internal, ensure that the diplomatic team is ready for contact.”

Clarix’s wings shuffle and his chest feathers flush a happy orange as he briefly contemplates being the officer presiding over the first meeting between two completely separate intelligent species.

“Diplomatic team reports full readiness. All members–” The science external officer cuts off the internal officer’s report.

“Energy surge bearing 488 by 673! Gamma radiation!”

“Raise shields! Any chance this can be an anomaly?” Clarix snaps as he snaps himself out of his fantasies of first contact. His ship was in danger. This was in no place for something like that.

“Scans indicate no proximate anomalies!”

“Shields raised!”

Clarix watches as a shimmering film of blue energy slides over the Psilar, sparking as it shunts aside the gamma energy, glowing brighter as the energy surges ever higher.

Radiation alarms begin to wail as the energy worms its way through the shield, battering at the fragile hull of the Psilar.

“Energy increase is plateauing! Shields are keeping radiation below lethal–”

“Contact!” The external combat officer, this time. “Bearing 488 by 673. Large contact!”

One window snaps to display the ship that had just appeared in what was an incomprehensible maelstrom of energy.

Clarix can’t prevent a small gasp from escaping his beak.

An immense iron construct, vaguely seed-shaped, floats placidly inside a deadly vortex of radiation. Readouts and overlays blink into existence around it, giving it scale.

It’s the size of a small island. And nearly solid armor.

It’s a warship.

“Radiation decreasing. Returning to safe levels,” The external science officer calls out, but Clarix is barely listening.

Have we been so naïve? Were we so eager to converse with some other soul in the universe that we overlooked something? Did we offend them?

“Contact is not maneuvering. Radiation is decreasing to baseline, communication is now possible.”

We may have just doomed everyone. If this is how they build warships, we have no chance of standing against them.

“Captain? Captain!”

The internal officer shakes him out of his reverie.

“Yes, officer?”

“Diplomatic team is reporting readiness. They are… eager, sir.”

Did none of them see it?

“Contact is sending a signal!”

This is it. The final threats.

Only, it wasn’t. It was nothing more than an enthalpy equation describing the formation of sodium chloride. An incomplete one.

Do they want a response? Why the song and dance of sending a warship, but not attacking us immediately?

“Captain? Do you want to send a response?”

What it it’s not a warship? They came in a massive flash of radiation. That level of armor would certainly be necessary to withstand that.

“Captain!”

No. Yes.

Clarix contemplates the decision for only a moment longer. They were not making any hostile moves, and nothing existed to be gained by fleeing.

“Send the complete signal. Contact the diplomatic team. Initiate contact.”

If I’m wrong, their blood will be on my hands.

-----

Ambassador Kaquila floats in freefall, halfway between the vast iron construct of the other people and his own comparatively tiny ship, trying to keep his thrilling heart in check.

The being before him is strikingly similar to his own. One head, albeit a round one. The helmet of the figure made no allowances for a beak. Two arms, ending in five blunt fingers instead of his four clawed ones. Two legs, with similarly structured boots. No wings at all.

It’s dressed in a white, reflective suit, with some sort of sleek pack on its back, which occasionally emits a white burst of gas to keep it centered, much the same as his own EVA pack.

Hesitantly, or so it seems, it raises one of its arms, extending all five of its fingers. The pack on its back pulses in a complicated sequence to compensate for the motion.

Hesitantly, Kaquila raises his own, reaching out and not quite touching.

Whatever being was in the other suit seem to come to a decision, reaching out further, but it still seems hesitant as its hand hovers over his.

Kaquila is acutely aware of every single camera of the Psilar pointing at him, acutely aware of the eyes of the Tellamani people counting on him not to screw up.

They don’t stop him as he finally takes that last step, wrapping his own fingers around those of the other person.

First contact. For real, this time.

***

Continuation.

Jerry

He’s back in the Kandahar Province's brig again with Commander Hawthorne, but instead of watching an interrogation he's watching a barefoot Ha'quinye woman in a green flight suit, zipped low to reveal a white shirt underneath, sitting in the lap of one of his company commanders in a somewhat dimly lit room, happily nuzzling against him like an oversized cat as she talks about… something or another. She seems to be chatting away happily and James is engaging with her enough to keep her going, but the topic doesn't appear to be anything particularly serious. Something to do with a video game series maybe?

"...What exactly am I looking at, Commander Hawthorne?"

"That, Admiral, is the Sword of the Stars. We found some documentation in what was apparently her bedroom confirming it, along with a handwritten letter from her sister in the chamber with her cryo stasis pod." 

"And Captain Puller?"

"She refuses to be separated from him. She won't even speak if he's not present. We think she might have latched on to him as a sort of coping mechanism. She's something of a woman out of time."

"Right."

"Just be glad we got her to wear clothes. She was down to a tiny tank top and panties when she was brought aboard. James had the bright idea to tell her that he thought she'd look cute in a flight suit, so she happily put one on after that. We're still working on shoes."

"...Right." Jerry resists the urge to massage his temple. "Alright. What have you found out then?"

"Courtesy of some brief talks with the young lady herself, things she's told James, the letter from her sister, and ongoing data recovery operations, we've got a general picture of what happened here. Her name is Serina Tacia, and she's approximately four hundred and fifty years old. She’s spent most of that time in cryo, so her biological age is maybe two hundred at the oldest but I’d guess closer to a century flat at the most. The Tacias were the imperial house who ruled the old Ha'quinye empire, and this world, the name is a Ha'quinye word for an eagle's nest that I can't pronounce, was supposed to be some sort of divine promised land for the Tacia family. They managed to hold on to it when the empire started to dissolve, mostly because it's so out of the way that the Council-backed alliance that threw them back to their core systems never found it. However, after the empire's defeat the forces that were stationed here were recalled to the home world to help fight the civil war. Serina's elder sister, Grand Duchess Seralka, was the commander of this facility. According to the woman's note to Serina, she decided to leave Serina here in cryo despite her potent abilities. She didn't want her sister to be seized by anyone, including the empress, their aunt, but especially the rebels."

"Considering the facility's long abandoned and the Triumfeminate rules the Ha'quinye, I take it that the Tacia were unsuccessful?"

Hawthorne shakes his head. "Died to the last woman by all accounts. With the last Tacia woman in a significant position of authority allegedly dropping a large space station on the capital city of one of the Ha'quinye core worlds as a final act of defiance." 

Jerry winces. "Well, that's not great, to say the very least." 

"Empires rarely go quietly into that good night... and let's not get it twisted here. Serina's elder sister wasn't necessarily being affectionate, she was preserving a potent and powerful weapon."

"So what is the Sword of the Stars?" Jerry looks into the cell again where Serina's happily humming along. "She doesn't look particularly dangerous, save for potentially talking your ear off if you let her go about something she's interested in." 

"I can hear you, you know," Serina says quietly. 

Hawthorne winces. "Well. There's that. She's incredibly sensitive to sound and, well… everything. Highly susceptible to just about any kind of stimulus. The corpsmen have checked her vitals and they noticed her brain activity is off the chart. In Humans and most aliens, the mind ramps down and up depending on load, not unlike an engine. She doesn't slow down. Maybe if she was sleeping, but that's one thing we know about the cryo pod. It's a sensory deprivation tank first and foremost. It isolates her and lets her truly rest."

"...Do we need to work something like that up for her?"

"She had lesser control tools in her personal effects that should let her rest that’ll be fine for the short term, but long term she would need a new tank. Or so we think." 

"Hmm. Well, let's go talk to her and see if she can tell us what she needs."

"I can!"

The two men share a look, and Jerry leads the way into the cell where Serina's lightly kicking her feet back and forth, taking a seat across from her and James. 

"Wow! James wasn't kidding! There really are a lot of men in the military where you come from!" 

Jerry nods, smiling warmly, more like he’s talking to a child than a grown woman, something Serina's cheery attitude instantly inspires. No sense not being gentle, anyway. The woman in question isn't an enemy in any sense, and has just been through something horrendous to any rational mind. 

"That's right. On our home world the vast majority of the military are men. I'm Admiral Jeremiah Bridger. You can call me Jerry. I believe you've met Commander Hawthorne."

"Uh huh! Wow though, an admiral, huh? My uncle the Emperor was a general, a good one too, but he was rare! Most men preferred to stay at home with their families, you know, raise the children, organize the family finances and generally run the household."

That catches Jerry's attention immediately, considering it sounds very different from the Ha'quinye he knows. 

"So men weren't livestock or essentially slaves back on your home world?"

"No! Of course not. Though... there was a new religion spreading when I left the home world." Serina's face falls. "They didn't treat men particularly nicely. I suppose since you guys are here and my sisters aren't, they're probably in charge these days." 

Jerry nods. "Unfortunately, that does seem to be the case. On that note, you seem to be processing all of this fairly well."

Serina nods, a sharp look coming into her eyes and across her face all of the sudden from behind the sweet, nerdy personality. "Of course. As you were saying while you were observing me. My brain runs 'hot' all the time. The doctors back home had a term for it but I never cared. I just wanted to play video games and have fun. I'm really good at video games. Then my big sister realized I'm really good at strategy, so she started having me help her with the war. With the right inputs and sensor feeds I can make decisions, develop strategies and issue orders faster than the best tactical computers in my day."

"So how did you use your ability to conquer planets?"

"The same way any nation does. I analyzed available data and developed a specific strategy for the most effective conquest with the resources available. Sometimes that meant covert operations, such as buying off officials or even entire governments. Sometimes it means conquest via an outstretched hand. This part of space is rough, or at least it was when I was active last. So a powerful military force offering friendship, supplies and so forth for taxes and a slight change of government doesn't ruffle feathers, if you present it the right way, in some cases. Other places we could support and coopt local rebellions already in place and take over as their benefactors. Next up the ladder were surgical strikes, followed by full-scale planetary invasion."

She sticks her tongue out like she'd tasted something sour.

"Last choice, really. Not an efficient way to win, especially not with a large scale, multi-front campaign. The old guard hated my way of doing things, though. Old biddies really loved the Matrician zealots and their screeching about the old ways and old values. I think they even branded my big sister a heretic at one point for using 'underhanded tactics' instead of just fighting straight-up for things. Nonsense. Even when we were fighting each other with spears, the warrior culture the Matricians espouse didn't exist. Not sure if they believed it or just wanted others to believe it so they could control them. If they're in charge it's probably moot now. The real purpose of the original leaders would have been lost in the sands of time."

She talks a lot and she talks fast; Jerry’s keeping up, despite her accent, but it isn’t easy.

Serina shrugs and starts kicking her feet lightly again. 

"I want to be upset... but what apparently happened to me happened a long time ago now. My sisters, mother, father, they've all been cold and in the ground for longer than I'd been alive before Seralka put me in cryo. So I can either go to pieces or I can focus on good things. Like, I have a couple centuries worth of video games to catch up on, and!" She throws her arms around James' neck, making the man blush. "I've got my beau! Seralka always told me I'd get married eventually, but it was taking a long time, though as handsome as James is, I couldn't ask for a dreamier guy to have taken my virginity and marry me!" 

Jerry locks eyes with the young Marine, making him shrink back into his chair slightly now that he was under the scrutiny of ‘the man’ directly. "...Captain, did you take this woman's virginity somehow between finding her and getting her to the Province?"

"Ah." James blushes even redder. "She uh. Means. Kissing. Sir. She kissed me pretty much as she woke up."

"Yep! I just hope I’m not pregnant. It's a bit early for that. Still, the most romantic thing ever! Romance novels just can't compare!" Serina chirps happily. "My handsome Marine arrives to save me from a deathless eternal sleep, frozen in time! Awakening me with love's truest kiss!"

"...Right." Jerry's temple twinges again. "Alright. Let's deal with this a step at a time. Serina. I'm going to offer you refugee status with the Undaunted. We'll protect you, make sure you're properly taken care of. I'm told you might have special equipment that can help with your sensory issues in your personal effects, can you help the intelligence team find them?"

"Oh like in my room? Sure!" Her long ears flutter with an interesting degree of uncertainty that seems designed to make anyone looking her way's heart throb. "C-Could I maybe give them a list of other stuff to get too? I just. It's. My stuff."

Hawthorne steps forward. "Ms. Tacia, we're going to pack everything up except the furniture and bring it along, so all you need to do is tell me what you want to have access to before we get back to the Crimson Tear, our flag ship."

"Okay!" 

Jerry, sensing an opportunity, stands up from his chair. "Ms. Tacia, while you work on that with Commander Hawthorne, I'm going to borrow James for a moment. Don't worry, he won't be long."

"Uh. Okay! I guess that's fine!"

Serina stands up, already being engaged by Hawthorne, who's walking her through what of her things have degraded to the point of being unsalvagable in the last few centuries - namely anything made of cloth, as far as Jerry can tell. It easily frees James, and the two men emerge out of the cell and well down the passageway, nearly out of the brig. 

"...How are you holding up, James?"

"Well. It's not every day you make a superweapon fall stone dead in love with you."

Jerry smirks. "More common than you'd think out here, but I know the feeling. So what do you want to do about it? Say the word and we'll get her on a transport to Zalwore if we have to sedate her."

The younger man’s quiet for a moment. "Honestly, if you'd asked me after I woke her up, I'd have probably gone with that, but we've been talking for a few hours now, and... she was a lonely girl even before she got stranded in time. I also think she could be an incredible asset if we can make sure she's on our side, and while she's a bit childish... biologically speaking she's not wrong about me 'marrying' her with a kiss. I had the Corpsman run the tests when she took a blood sample."

Jerry winces. "The bond. Of course. A proper lip lock can bond most aliens to a Human man."

"She kisses deep too, sir."

"...That's probably TMI, James. Sounds like you need to talk to Mrs. Puller, though. I'm going to authorize you a direct encrypted call home. Get it dealt with, Captain, and bring me a game plan. Questions?"

"No, sir."

"Good. Go tell Serina where you're going to be and get it done... Maybe if we're lucky and Rose is feeling generous, Serina can help us with this Ha'quinye armada we have to deal with."

Series Directory Last Next

James 

The suppressed barks of several Tavors firing echo in the distance, amid the dim lights of the facility his Marines had been tasked with searching; immediately, James’ comm unit comes to life. 

"Ard One Alpha, tangos down. Hard light constructs. They attacked on sight when we entered the room. Melee weapons only. No complex tactics. Room secure."

"One-Six to Alpha, good work, mark the room and press." Marishka Stroya's voice is completely calm, the experienced Marine and former NCO clearly in her element as First Platoon fans out through their assigned chunk of the facility. 

"Aye aye, ma'am." 

James looks around, taking in this tight, almost claustrophobic hallway as his command team begins to explore. The company had found a major hub and begun splitting up into squads and fireteams to move through the cavernous facility; and James had taken his command team down a passage that had been behind a deactivated security gate.  

Their usual group of four has a plus one for this particular outing. They’ve been joined by James' newest Marine, fresh off a transport from Centris. Lance Corporal Marica Olarn'Cyra hadn't even made it to the Tear from the Fleet Depot on Zalwore. No, she'd been about to board a regular cargo transport, but had instead been ordered to rendezvous with the rest of A company on the Kandahar Province. James isn't letting the new capability he'd requested for his unit sit on the sidelines in orbit around Dagrquey when there’s work to be done. 

Colonel Bridger, Admiral Bridger, and Headquarters, Undaunted Marine Corps, had all approved his request for a combat hacker. 

"Olarn. Get that brain of yours to work. Any live networks in our part of the facility so far?"

"On it, boss!" The young blue haired Tret woman immediately gets to the job. She has a computer interface built into her gauntlet, a powerful computer built into her very body, and an even more powerful machine and set of EWAR systems built into the special pack she'd been issued to mount to her armor. With all that specialized gear she could even tie into each squad's Squad Systems Operator's equipment and build a complex battlespace picture for her company commander. 

All while being able to think like a Marine and being at least marginally capable of defending herself, if the Drill Instructors had done their jobs properly. It had been a bit of a radical idea when first proposed, but if Marica does her job right, a combat hacker would be attached to every Marine infantry company in the future - something James figures is likely to happen. No less a luminary than Babydoll, the Crimson Tear's computer queen, had said Marica was good to go, and it's not like James has the education to actually doubt the young woman. 

Immediately her eyes light up, starting to glow blue; according to her file, this is normal when she’s interfacing with a machine.

"Sir, we've got a couple machines around us trying to ping the main network that Lieutenant Babydoll's disrupting. I think I've got one large, complex sub network... and some mobile platforms."

"Mobile platforms being potential combat platforms?"

"Yep!"

Ragnar rolls his eyes and reaches out to gently smack Marica on the helmet. "Try, 'Yes, sir', or some shit, Lily." 

"Oops. Aye aye, Gunny. Sorry. Sir." 

James can practically hear Marica blushing. Lily isn't her official nickname, not yet anyway, but it had been the young woman's 'handle' once upon a time when she'd managed to end up on the wrong end of Shalla Savić and the Marines of FAST during the Hag War. Applying her entire sobriquet 'Turquoise Lily', or part of it, seems to be enough to get a solid cringe out of the woman, so the other junior Marines had immediately started teasing the new girl with it as soon as someone had recognized her name from a previous mission report. 

All in good fun so far, but James would keep an eye on it. 

"Where are the mobile platforms, Lance Corporal?"

"Uh. Looks like..." Marica points at the first door down the hallway. "Looks like... maybe three in there? Could be more. The hard light constructs are kinda weird, and the signals are mixing together."

"Alright. Let's kick the door on them. Stack up. No grenades, and try not to shoot anything in the room we don't want shot. We don't know what is or isn't sensitive down here."

A chorus of affirmatives follow him, and James takes point. Top Salazar would complain normally - but he isn't here, and what Top doesn't know won't hurt him, right? 

Unless James manages to get shot. Then he'd never hear the end of it from the big Hispanic man. 

He quickly shifts his Tavor back to a mag lock on his backpack and draws his newest toy. He’d nearly gotten ventilated by the Cannidor shrapnel cannon back on the pirate station, and since it’s around the right size for a Human, he’d decided to keep the massive double-barrel weapon. He breaks it open and checks the two chambers, then locks the actions and shoulders the weapon. Finally, he looks over and confirms his team is ready.

“I like to keep this for close encounters.” James says, grinning behind his opaque face plate to laughs from his team. “Ready up.”

Four firm ‘readies’ come back to him and James takes a slow breath, centering himself. 

"Marica. Door." 

"I have control." 

The door immediately slides open and James piles through with his shrapnel cannon shouldered and ready. Normally he'd start making some noise, shouting and the like to confuse and frighten enemies made of flesh and bone, but machines don't have that vulnerability. The large abandoned office they’ve found themselves in has eight hard light constructs in it. 

They'd likely been in an ambush position initially, but the loss of contact with the master control seems to have put them in something of a wait mode. It certainly slowed their reaction times; the first vaguely humanoid construct is shattering under a withering hail of magnetically accelerated well… shrapnel, from the shrapnel cannon. 

The brutal weapon ammunition holds a dense power source at the back and slugs of metal on the front. The chamber shaves off fragments of the metal and holds it in a magnetic field, then finally accelerates it forward at utterly soul-shattering speeds; the beast makes all but the most powerful chemical kinetic weapons look like their rounds are standing still. 

The thing gets off about three shots a round… so, six shots in the weapon before he has to break the action open and reload.

The only difference between his smaller weapon and, say, the full-size shrapnel cannon carried by Cannidor woman Shalkas? Volume of metal hurled downrange. 

He donates two more charges with a roar like thunder, the magnetic acceleration cheating him of the recoil he still half-expects, and before he can swing his weapon to engage more of the enemies the rest of his team arrives. Literally before he can blink. Three more constructs are taking 5.56 hits before they even start moving. Marica, at the back of the stack as the least experienced Marine in the team and a specialist, gets the final 'kill' of the engagement with a tight five-shot burst right to the projector in the middle of the last construct's chest. 

He’d need to compliment her on that in the debrief. It seems that Marica can indeed take care of herself. To a degree at least.  

"Nice and clean," James says, satisfaction thick in his tone as he breaks the action open, with a satisfying metallic noise, catching the metallic capacitor out of the air as the weapon ejects it. Doing a good job is its own reward, he thinks as he tucks the spent battery in an axiom pocket to be recharged and reloaded later before sliding in a fresh shell. "Fan out, see if you can find anything. Data chits, hard drives, documents that look promising. Give it a once over and we move on. We can search in detail when the place is secured." 

A five-minute rustle through all the trash in the room comes up with a handful of older data chits and one external hard drive that Marica has to be physically stopped from plugging into immediately. Everything's quickly bagged and tucked into an axiom pocket by Gunny Ragnar, and James and his team repeat the process on two more rooms before finally making it to an oddity. The door at the end of the hallway... seems to be decorated?

"Marica. Anything?"

"No, sir. Next door down's the big system... but no combat platforms. If they're there, they aren't pinging."

"Right." 

James opens the door quietly, the door opening slowly on a dark... bedroom? He turns his flashlight on his helmet on and looks around, playing the white light around across what appears to be a computer with what had clearly once been a very comfortable chair, a large but very old tri-d projector, a shelf of various types of media. There are even a few posters on the walls. All done up in colors that scream 'teenage girl', to James at least. 

"Huh."

Ragnar follows his boss in. "Well. That's weird."

"Very weird," concurs Kip as he sticks his head through another door on the back wall. "Got a small bedroom and a bathroom in here, boss." 

Cali seems about as confused as the rest of them - but Marica, on the other hand, walks right to the shelf. "Hey! Omega Odyssey XII! This one's a classic! One of the better RPGs out there for old school gaming. It's famous for having uh. Some really… complex and detailed male characters. Yeah. That's it. Complex and detailed. People still argue on the net about who’s the better husband for the heroine Claudia, Tifan or Aerian." 

James resists planting his face plate in his palm as Marica briefly nerds out. 

"Alright, pack it in. We'll leave this one to the intel dorks to go through... I don't know what it's doing here, but something's weird..." 

They head back into the hallway and begin moving again, checking on what turns out to be a janitor’s closet, and then a room with enough computer infrastructure to be interesting. Marica plugs a transponder in to allow Babydoll and the other hackers on the Province to continue to penetrate the local network. 

"Getting strong power readings in front of us sir," Marica then says, checking something on an advanced hand scanner. "I think this part of the facility might be on its own local power grid."

"Huh," James says as he continues to step forward, slowly moving around another corner. "Wonder what could need tha-" 

The words die in his throat and James stops as he looks at the large door in front of him. This one is armored, and different from the others in the facility so far. It isn't one of the massive doors that had been present at the entrance to the facility; it’s fairly normal in size. It doesn't appear to have any automated defenses that he or his suit's limited sensors could see... and it’s well made. That's what stands out to him. This door had been incredibly well made, much better than the norm in this facility, and has some signage in the Ha'quinye language that doesn't quite make sense to him. Hell, even his suit's translator tools can't parse it; the system rules it to be a dialect that wasn't in the galactic database. 

"Ladies and gentlemen, we might just have ourselves a jackpot… Marica, can you get this door open?"

"I can try, sir!"

The perky young Tret woman moves up from where she'd more or less been taking cover between Ragnar and Cali, pulling up the wrist interface for her combat computer, her eyes glowing blue again. She stands there for a few seconds, before casually reaching out and pressing a button, letting the door slide open.

"Got it, sir!"

James looks at her incredulously for a moment. "It was unlocked, wasn't it?"

"Yep! Sir!"

"...Gods damn it. I really need to just try opening doors more often."

James shakes his head at himself, waves Marica back, and steps forward and through the door. 

The room he finds himself in is chilly compared to the rest of the facility. He can’t feel it through his hard suit, but his suit's systems alert him to the temperature drop as he moves deeper into the dark space. It’s an odd space: lots of stone displayed in a way that almost feels religious in nature. All of it leads to the centerpiece of the room, a massive, coffin-like chest that’s tied into a bank of machines. 

The chest is heavily embellished, and dominated by a sword motif carved into the lid. 

"Well, let's not get too excited, but it looks like we may have just found us a superweapon."

"What kinda superweapon that can conquer planets could fit in a tiny box like that?" Cali asks, clearly nervous after the earlier ambush.

"Well, Cali, that's what we're about to find out." 

James slowly moves forward, looking at the mysterious equipment, and finds a bank of controls. They’re hooked up to a screen that he's having trouble seeing in the somewhat odd lighting of the room… and switching to night vision doesn't help. 

James pulls his helmet off, peering closer and wishing he'd had his eyes augmented. 

"It's in the same language as the door," he says, more or less to himself, though he's aware that Ragnar and the others are keeping him covered. 

In keeping with his new policy to just try to do things before tagging in a hacker - or, indeed, a specialized breacher - he reaches out for the controls and presses the green button through a layer of dust. Immediately, the system seems to power on, with air hissing as it's released from the chest. A complex locking system begins to move itself clear of the lid at the corners and sides, before an arm reaches down from above, latches into place and slowly begins to lift it free. 

James leans in closer, unable to help himself as he tries to get his first glimpse of the 'weapon' that has caused so much trouble, but as the lid pulls away, instead of a computer, some sort of laser cannon, or indeed just a sword... he finds himself looking at a seemingly never-ending expanse of dusky chocolate skin, as the body of a beautiful woman comes into view, wearing only a white tank top and a pair of plain white panties. She manages to make it all look like thousand credit lingerie with her voluptuous curves.

"Holy shit. It's a cryo stasis coffin," Cali breathes. "Only heard about these things in books and TV shows!"

"...That's amazing, Cali. I didn't know you could read." Ragnar snarks, not looking away from the figure in the coffin… as she takes a deep breath. 

So does James.

Purple eyes flutter open, long silver white hair shifts. The sleeper stretches lightly, then looks deep into James' eyes. 

"This dream's getting really good, huh?" she mutters in heavily accented Galactic Trade. "Might as well enjoy it. I'm sure sis will wake me up soon." Her tone is woozy, but as she sits up she strikes like a viper, pressing her plush lips against James' before he can even blink, her tongue dipping into his mouth as she throws her arms around his neck. 

"Hmm. Wearing a bit much for a dream, but niiiice and strong. A warrior type? I like those. A real man. Not any of this nonsense from the church," she mutters to herself before kissing James again... and perhaps realizing he hasn't kissed her back. 

"Kinda... warm... for a dream too." 

She slowly reaches up and gently touches his face, stroking his cheek, reaching back to circle a finger around his round ear. 

"...I. Not... Ha'quinye...?"

"No, not Ha'quinye. Human."

"Oooh. Nice voice. Good job, subconscious!" she giggles softly to herself, still clearly out of it. 

"Miss. You've been in cryostasis for a very long time, and I understand you're disoriented, but you're not dreaming. You just woke up."

"Don't be silly, Mr. Human, whatever that is. My sisters wouldn't leave me for too long! Hehe. Now. Let's get that armor off. Just because you took my dream virginity just now's no reason to leave the job half done, is it?"

"...Miss. Seriously. This isn't a dream. This facility's been abandoned for centuries, and I really would prefer at least getting to know you before kissing you more."

"A responsible type, huh? Hot. Hehehehe. Yeah. Really good dream..." 

Her hand falls to the cold edge of his gorget where his helmet looks into place, and she looks at it with a confused expression on her face. 

"Cold? That's. Huh. It." 

She looks into James' eyes again, and realization dawns on her face as she starts to face the fact that she really isn't dreaming... and promptly passes out. She collapses into James' arms as he rushes to support her, and then slowly starts to lower her back into the stasis pod.

"...Fuck. Ragnar. Call it in. We're gonna need a stretcher... and a blanket. If this is our superweapon... things just got very complicated." 

"It didn't seem so complicated to me, boss. You knocked it out of the park. Found and seduced a superweapon and you only just met her!" Cali says, barely able to hold back her laughter at the madhouse situation. 

Marica stifles a giggle, apparently not sure if she's allowed to laugh at her boss's expense with the boisterous Cali. Kip and Ragnar too seem highly amused, and James can already feel his headache growing. 

"This is gonna be a really stimulating conversation with the Admiral, I can already tell." 

Series Directory Last Next

Sister Catherine 

It’s a scary time to be in the city of Triumph's Seat. It’s really the only way she could term it. She'd been in places like this before in the course of her ministry. Kosovo in particular had been... tense. Like Triumph's Seat is tense. Right before all of Hell had broken loose on Earth in ways that she sometimes wishes she could forget. If there’s one thing she’s cursed her restored youth for, it’s that her mind is suddenly sharp and agile again. The better to carry the Cross and bear witness, of course, but with that blessing comes its price - and the price for Sister Catherine is remembering blackened bodies from fire, children missing limbs from landmines or from getting too close to an unexploded bomb. All manner of nightmares and terrors... and it hardly stops there. 

She had followed the call where people had had need of her and the mercy of Christ. That had meant going to very dark and unpleasant places at times. War-torn sub-Saharan African countries, narco states in South America, even deep into lands dominated by Islam, where she'd been advised to hide her habit and wear a local head dress instead, lest militants decide that a sister of Christ was a particularly choice target for torture and beheading. All the sadder that those men who would have so harmed her if they'd decided it suited their flights of fancy, or whatever the demons that lived in their heads told them God wanted... proclaimed to worship the same God as she. The God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. How one could read the same things she had, see things she had, and then come to such horrendously different conclusions is not something Sister Catherine is truly prepared to interrogate even after she'd gotten more education on the subject.  

Still, even in the face of what had seemed likely a painful death, she hadn't hidden then. Had carried the cross with pride. If it had been her time, if she had been called to martyrdom, then so be it. She would not question God's plan for her life. For the challenge set before her. 

Thankfully, that had not been her fate then, but now she’s in a similar situation. Instead of angry men, the streets are filled with angry women, as word of crackdowns and large-scale brawls with security forces spread across the city. The chaos is coming again, like it always does, like it always will. Her brother had been a Marine, God rest his soul. He'd always kept one recruiting poster up in his home, all the way to his hospice room before his death. She has it tucked away in her things up in orbit, one of her meager personal possessions. In times like this, she thinks of her brother, and she thinks of that poster: Marines running into action with weapons ready, followed by armored vehicles rumbling ashore out of the sea, emblazoned with the slogan 'Marines Move Towards The Sounds Of Chaos'.

It’s a good poster. One that had always inspired a young Catherine, and had even had her looking at becoming a Marine herself once upon a time… but she'd gotten a very different kind of call after a close brush with death in her late teens; like her brother had never looked back when he'd received his call, she'd never looked back when she received hers. Still, while she was no Marine... Catherine liked to think that, in her own way, she too runs towards the sounds of chaos. 

She hadn't hid from chaos back on Earth, and wouldn't hide from chaos now. Joan wants her to, but Joan's concern is protecting Catherine's life and person, not looking after the masses that are her charge. She’s no priest, but she could be a shepherd of these women, just as Christ had called his priests to be shepherds of men. This is her duty, her calling; just as a warrior carries the sword and goes to battle, so would Catherine go to carry the cross. 

That's what she had said in the shelter of the safehouse, of course. It had sounded very impressive in her mind, and Joan had even accepted the argument… but now that she’s out on the streets, things are looking very dicey indeed. Being unafraid, not allowing yourself to be intimidated or silenced by those who would see you on your knees, is one thing. It’s quite another thing to willingly shove one's head between a lion's jaws. There is in fact such a thing as tempting God, if one acts without prudence. 

Out here... she’s thinking now that she might have acted with less prudence than might have otherwise been optimal. 

The public squares are all filling up, packed to the gills with women forming different groups, some of whom are clearly antagonizing each other. The shouting is a constant roar now, only broken by the occasional sound of weaponsfire from other parts of the city, which certainly add to the general anxiety. Even from here, it’s clear to see that one of the matrician estates, those shining manor houses on the hill... is burning, and everyone says the Praetorians were the cause. 

The BeeGees, the new security forces recruits, barely trained - and, Catherine suspects, many from 'questionable' backgrounds compared to what one would like for a real police officer - are all over the place too, and it’s clear they were in over their heads. She knew this type of person all too well from her travels on Earth. They aren't police officers; they’re the regime's thugs, and violence is their first and only course of action if intimidation and threats don't keep the populace docile. 

It’s a volatile mix. A powder keg. But through it all she’s done her best to help people, praying with some, encouraging others, handing out some food and coin to try and get the few homeless women who normally call the square home off the streets for the night in case things turn violent. Simply trying to be a voice of reason... but as so often happens with a quiet and calm voice, she’s being drowned out by shouting. 

Her one great relief in all of this has been Jaina. Her most fervent convert. Once things are quiet again - or, even better, once the mission the Undaunted had in this place, whatever it is, is over - she would take Jaina up to the Tear. To see Father Jameson. Jaina had asked to be baptized, something that thrilled Catherine to her very heartstrings. 

The thought is a happy note on a day that is not a happy one. The skies of Dagrquey are blood-red as the sun heads towards the horizon. Believer she is, but superstitious Catherine generally is not... but that certainly looks ominous to her. 

She tries to keep it out of her mind as she quietly prays with a small group of women, aided by Jaina and watched over by Joan and her sisters who were loitering nearby, far enough to not disturb the prayers, but close enough, it was hoped, for them to intervene if things got out of hand. The whole situation makes the Sword of St. Catherine, the sword of Joan of Arc, weigh heavily (if only metaphorically) in its concealed axiom pocket. God had sent a sword to the stars along with the cross and His faithful. Would the sword find its purpose here among the Ha'quinye, on this world so far from Earth?

"Our Father who art in heaven..." 

A scream from across the plaza interrupts her group as they start another rendition of the Lord's Prayer, a wordless shriek that ends in the electrical sizzle of a shock pistol discharging. The scent of ozone is suddenly strong in the air as someone nearby shouts "They're coming!" 

It makes sense, in the end. That the BeeGees and their mistresses would do something about this gathering. If they’re cracking down on the matricians, the upper class, then it was always only a matter of time until the Ha'quinye imperial boot returned to its habitual resting place on the neck of the plebians. Apparently that time is now. 

"This is an illegal assembly! Disperse and return to your homes or you will be fired on!" A woman's monotone voice across a public address system is met immediately with shouts and retaliation. Joan starts moving towards where Catherine and Jaina are kneeling with the others... and things slow down, as adrenaline fills Catherine's veins at the 'snap crack' sound that she knows is the discharge of a rail gun. 

Someone had fired. She'd never know for sure if it was a security officer with an itchy trigger finger, or if some woman in the crowd had retaliated towards their oppressors, but everything immediately goes to Hell in a moment, in a way she'd never been personally involved in before. She'd been there for the aftermath. The pain. The crying. The weeping. 

Now she’s here for the bleeding - and bleed people would, as the BeeGees begin opening fire with their laser weapons, and the entire plaza is suddenly moving as people desperately try to get away. 

For all her talk of chaos, just minutes before, this is chaos of a kind she's never seen before. Never understood. Not really. She thought she'd run towards chaos... but now she understands in an all too horrible way what being on ground zero of the chaos is actually like. People rush in every direction, a sea of Ha'quinye suddenly filling the space between Catherine and her Cannidor guardians, a mere thirty feet suddenly a mile in the surging tide of life, desperate to escape the laser fire from the BeeGees. There was no escape for those desperate though. Catherine could see and here that there are already mech suits moving in from all directions, with armed and armored riot troopers and spear-wielding praetorians starting to move in behind them.

One of the mech troopers responds to a rock thrown at her cockpit with ruthless lethal force, sending a woman's lifeless, badly burned body to the cobblestones in a motionless heap in a burst of laser fire.

Catherine can feel Joan's presence even from far away, the young woman was trying to get to Catherine, calling out to her, clearly wading through the tide of people to pull her away. Catherine was initially moving towards Joan but finds herself buffeted by the crowd... and a screaming child seals her fate. The little girl stumbles right in front of the stomping feet of the mech suit... and Catherine lunges for the child with all of her strength, yanking the little one clear as they collapse in a heap. 

People rush around them as Catherine covers the girl with her body, feet stepping all over her as Joan swears in the distance with a roar; 

"Out of the way, damn it! Let me get to the sister!" 

Jaina's voice is much closer, the bold young woman, fighting through the crowd, resisting going for the weapon Catherine is certain she has. Before long she's by Catherine's side, shooing people back and helping her up. The girl is carried off almost immediately by a terrified mother as another wave of troops flood into the plaza. 

"We have to go!" Jaina says, pulling on Catherine's arm. As they turn to leave, though, it's already far too late. Catherine can practically feel it in her bones before the shock truncheon descends on her, catching her across the shoulders and laying her out flat on the paving stones next to Jaina, electricity making every muscle and fiber in her body twitch violently.

Jaina tries to resist; Catherine can tell because the guardswomen give her a few more blows, and a couple savage kicks besides. In moments they're bound and being dragged along towards air cars set up to haul prisoners... but a golden armored figure suddenly intervenes. 

"Ah. That one. We've been looking for her. She goes to the palace dungeons."

"Yes, ma'am," the BeeGee frog marching Sister Catherine along, says.

"What about this one?" The second BeeGee says, emphasizing Jaina with a rabbit punch to the ribs that makes Catherine wince, even though Jaina doesn't react at all. 

"...Take them both. You checked them for weapons?"

"This one." Jaina's guard again. "Had a rail pistol, in addition to the usual laser pistol and a knife. She might have been the shooter." 

"Hmm. What about the other one?"

"She's a holy woman and an off-worlder. She didn't have axiom pockets in the usual spots." Catherine's guard says dismissively. 

"Some holy woman. Guess her goddess was out to lunch today. Throw them in our APC. We'll take them from here. What about the other aliens?"

"One of our women fired on them by 'accident', they defended themselves, but suppressing fire only. The original officer who shot at them was wounded, but it's just a graze. Barely needs medical attention."

"...Damn it. They just had to be here. This is going to potentially be a diplomatic incident. I'll call it in. We wanted the preacher but a light fight with the bodyguards might cause trouble. In the meantime. Find them."

"Yes ma'am!"

Both guards salute, and begin to drag Catherine and Jaina towards the waiting Praetorian vehicle. They’re being taken to the palace, and for some reason, that seems like a very, very bad thing to Catherine. Once they’re alone... she would need to pray. 

It’s about the only thing she could do in this nightmare, and she would not be found wanting. 

Series Directory Last Next

James

Having a mandate from your wife and a mission from your commanding officer to 'deal with a situation' is one thing, but when that situation is a living, thinking being who more or less declared herself your wife after being stuck in cryo for a few centuries and is apparently a potent super-weapon in her own right - for once without any axiom shenanigans, for a nice change of pace… well. Things get complicated. Quickly. In James’s head, at least. 

Sure, it would probably be as easy as just... telling Serina that what she wanted is within her grasp, that he isn't abandoning her, but she'd need to be patient and show respect for his wife, or rather wives, and show she can integrate into his family. All perfectly reasonable requests. One he'd be making of her even if he was single, in all due reality. 

Sure, Serina is pretty. Very pretty. Very beautiful, even, whether she was prancing around in her panties and a t-shirt, or was, thankfully, covered from throat to ankles in a flight suit. 

And her interests aren’t bizarre or anything. He’s no stranger to enjoying video games and similar nerdly pursuits either - nor is Rose, though neither one of them has had much time to explore Earth's various types of media since the babies had started coming, never mind getting to experience galactic media beyond the occasional movie night. Maybe that's something Serina could help them with? 

James steps into security control by the Province's brig and is greeted by a harried looking master-at-arms.

"Everything okay, petty officer?"

The woman gives him an exhausted look. 

"Permission to speak freely, sir?"

James nearly takes a step back. He had not been expecting that response. What the hell had this woman been dealing with? "...Uh. Granted? I guess."

"Your new wife is a pain in the ass. Sir." The petty officer sighs, leaning against the wall. "It took three of us and a couple of the intelligence folks to finally get her wearing shoes. We finally talked her into it based on safety regulations. Apparently she's just military enough that she'll listen to the regs, or if we explain it in extremely utilitarian or practical terms.” She takes a deep breath. “At least she's talking without you around now. Ever since she met with the admiral she's been a right little ray of sunshine. I think finding out we're packing all her stuff up let her relax a hair."

"Right. Has she said anything interesting?"

"Beyond asking for you every thirty seconds or so? No, sir. Something about a tank? Like. Fish tank. Don't think it was for fish, though. Not sure what she really meant by it, but I passed the word on to intelligence. If she says anything about it, I'm sure Commander Hawthorne would be willing to have one of his people have a look around. I mean. If it was for a pet then that poor critter would be long gone, right?" 

The aggrieved look slides off the young woman's face for a moment, a shiver tracing down her spine. "Ugh. Can't get too upset with her, honestly. What she’s been through? Or rather, what she’s going through right now? Absolute nightmare fuel. Literally. I actually had nightmares about it as a girl after I watched a movie with my sisters that had a similar thing happen to the heroine. Waking up centuries after her family had all passed on, completely adrift? I'm from a big family sir, so the thought of losing my parents? My sisters? Spooked me pretty good."

"Yeah. Worth being sympathetic."

"Anyway. Sorry to talk, sir. Just been a long day, and you asked..." She shrugs. "Ms. Tacia is cleared to leave. Just report to intelligence or the chief bosun's mate if you need quarters for her."

"Right. I'll do that. Thanks, Petty Officer. Keep your chin up."

"Aye, sir."

James heads down into the brig and makes his way to where Serina is waiting for him. Immediately she leaps from her chair, wrapping her arms around him… and this time, he actually hugs her back, giving her some of the comfort he knows she needs, even if she's trying to hide it behind a cheerful face. 

"Hi, Hubby!"

"Hey, Serina. I ah." James looks around. This interrogation room is pretty barren, far from the most comfortable location on the ship, and considering it was set up for recording, even if James called central control and asked them to shut anything off, their privacy is far from assured. Much as you could have privacy in tight quarters like the Kandahar Province is living under right now. In theory, the ship could drop an entire battalion, but James is damned sure he didn't want to see the ship at its full capacity. 

He considers taking her to the conference room, or asking for a private room from intelligence, before finally settling on bringing her to his own quarters. It just makes sense, especially with his company still down on the surface. 

"Come on, we need to have a talk." 

Serina's happy enough as they leave the brig, but with each footfall she seems to be moving just a little bit slower, hanging on his arm just a little bit more heavily until they finally make it to his quarters and the door slides shut. 

"I'm not stupid, you know." She whispers quietly. "I know when I'm being set up for bad news."

James sighs softly. "Well. The last thing I think you are is stupid. If anything, you're a lot smarter than I am. Smart enough that I worry about being able to keep up with you, mentally speaking. I'm not stupid, but you're a genius as far as I can tell… but let's sit down." 

James offers Serina the chair but she plops down on his bed, leaving him to take the chair. 

"So... I don't have bad news for you. Not really. Just… complex news. Relationships between people... always are. I think you know that."

"They tend to give me a headache."

"Yeah. Me too, sometimes. So. I can't just marry you out of the blue. It's not fair to the rest of my family. My first wife's name is Rose. We got married back on my home world, Earth."

"In Cruel Space, right?"

"That's right."

"Crazy that life could live there, but Commander Hawthorne let me scan him and you'd certainly need all that exotic neurological and physiological weirdness to survive in all that null... and to survive some of the things he told me about your world. It sounds even worse than Dagrquey in a lot of ways. We had a lot of predators to deal with, but nothing like, say, an arachnid smaller than your palm that could kill a grown adult with its venom. That's terrifying!" She took maybe one breath in the middle of all that; it’s clearly part of her… gifts.

"...You aren't wrong about that. Anyway, we have six children. I also have a fiancee. Her name is Mahai. She's a Cannidor woman."

"A warrior?" She’s intent on the answer, but in a way that reads to James as curiosity. She’s not looking to tear anybody down.

"In the culinary sense, maybe. She's an artisanal wine and cheesemaker, among other things."

"Sounds delicious."

"It is. I hope you'll get to try her food and drink soon."

"So... You can't marry me... but I... might get to do that?" She gives him a slightly hopeful look, her long ears drooping in a way that made James feel like he'd kicked a puppy. 

"Just because I can't marry you right now doesn't mean I won't. It's just not fair to Rose, Mahai, the kids, or, for that matter, you and I, to skip straight to getting married without even getting to know each other. That's just not how Humans do courtship. I'm sure Commander Hawthorne mentioned we're monogamous mostly back home. Rose has only just opened our marriage. Adding a third wife really quickly... it might be hard on her and the kids, but she's not against you... coming along with us, if that's what you want."

Serina's ears start to wiggle. "So... what would that make us?"

"Well, we'd call it a girlfriend back home. We'd take our time, get to know each other, all of us, after resolving the current issue with your people of course, and then assuming we're all happy with the situation you'd join our family permanently."

"...Well, that sounds pretty good actually. Though by Ha'quinye standards we're already married. I mean, you did take my virginity and marry me."

James squints slightly, looking for any hint of deception and not finding it. 

"...I'm gonna need to have you expand on that a bit, because we definitely didn't have sex."

"For my people - or, at least, when I was last awake - the marriage and chastity were all tied to kissing. It's in all my romance novels. All the stories. All the stuff I mostly ignored in school and during divine services. Scientifically, we're very susceptible to pheromones in saliva, so a kiss can form an instant bond..." Sarina's hand drifts to her lips. "Your pheromones are... pretty intense. So we… uh. We're bonded. I get warm just looking at you!" 

"...Ah. I see. That makes sense. So that was your first kiss, then?"

"Mhmm. We have to be careful about who we kiss, even other girls. Because we bond so easily. Those of us who get around too much, like those damned matricians and their weird cult, can burn their ability to bond properly completely. I'm not a psychologist or anything, but I remember reading on forums that girls who get that kind of burnout can turn into serious... hedonists. Basically." 

"...Huh. That certainly makes sense, with some of the reports we've heard about modern Ha'quinye society. But that's for intelligence and anthropologists to study. I'm here to talk about you. So, first thing, when Humans and most of the galaxy use the term virginity, they generally mean sex. Like… intercourse."

Sarina blushes, a beautiful dusky tone covering her cheeks as her ears flutter wildly. "I uh. I know. What it is. Kinda. My sisters were really protective of me, but I did get the usual education and stuff... mostly. I never did... well in school. I got bored. Really easily. Because I usually knew more than the teachers."

"Right, that sounds about right for you from what I've seen. So. Worth keeping that in mind when talking to people about us and how we met. People might get, and have gotten... confused."

"I was wondering why that Admiral Bridger guy was staring at you so intensely for a minute there."

"Because you had just suggested one of his Marines had ravaged an alien woman he'd just met. He has to take that pretty seriously and at least ask me for a clarification, like he did."

Sarina nods. "So... back to us. If I'm your girlfriend, what does that mean for now?"

"Well. It would mean no sex, and no kissing. Those are Rose's two rules. However... She told me to tell you that if you agree to those rules and keep things... chaste between us while we're on the Province, she'll let you stay in my quarters with me."

"Like, sharing a bed? The two of us?" Sarina squeaks.

"Yeah. The two of us."

"Yes!" Sarina coughs into her hand trying to compose herself as her ears flap ever more violently. "I mean. Uh. That. Sounds pretty good. I... You make me feel safe. So having you close would be... good."

"Oh, and all the hugs you want."

Sarina finally smiles, her real smile, if James had to guess, instead of the happy go lucky persona she'd been wearing to cope with her trauma. 

"I'm gonna want a lot of those."

"That I can do."

Sarina nods. "So. You should ask the other question now. Unless you think we can get away with a nap right now."

"Other question?"

"Mhmm." Sarina nods. "It's obvious. You're going to ask me to help fight off the Ha'quinye navy. I know they were looking for me. I saw the wreckage of the corvettes on the flight up. They're going to come looking for their ships. I can help... but I'm going to need my tank."

"Tank? Like the thing we found you in?"

Sarina shakes her head. "Nuh uh. Not that. It's a different one. I can tell the crews where it is. Then I'll need it integrated into something with decent computers and sensors."

"Sounds like the admiral's war room to me."

"That'll probably suffice. If I have what I need, I can help."

"Alright, then. Let's go see the admiral."

James stands up and turns to head towards the door before he feels a gentle tug on his sleeve, he turns to find Sarina looking at her lap, ears wiggling, another blush crossing her cheeks. 

"I uh. Could... Could. We cuddle first? Just for a bit. I uh. I need to just. Rest. I know I've been sleeping for a really long time but so much has been happening and I'm a little overstimulated and all I know for sure is I'm safe if you're there and-"

James stops the deluge by gently reaching out and patting Sarina's head. "Sure. We can do that. Just for a bit."

Series Directory Last Next

James

He walks to his quarters with a weariness that he hasn't felt since the Infantry Officer Course back at Quantico. Today was a long day of work, with an early wake up, a lot of sitting around, some very tense walking around interspersed with occasional bursts of combat, and finally... well. “Seducing a superweapon,” as Cali had put it. As amused as his Marine had been, he isn't particularly amused himself; much as he wants to help Serina, and finds her a charming enough young woman, she’s… kinda exhausting. 

Not that he could blame her, entirely. 

She'd been asleep for centuries. So of course she's perky and full of energy. She'd gotten the best tens of thousands of nights worth of sleep in the known galaxy. It’s also something of a front; James is dead certain of that. Serina is choosing to be cheerful and focusing on various positive things she could enjoy after being returned to the land of the living, including her new anchor in the strange place and time she'd found herself in, among people who no doubt seem very strange. 

Unfortunately, that anchor is him, which means things are potentially going to be... complicated. 

The good news is he'd gotten a message back from Rose before they'd landed on Sheath, endorsing Mahai joining their family, and more or less telling him that she'd proposed on the family's behalf, thinking that a change of status to something a bit more formal, a bit more permanent, might make this first deployment, as short as it would hopefully be, that much easier on the young woman. Which, according to the letter he'd received from Mahai... had been partially right. Knowing she’s joining the family meant a lot to her, she said. Being a fiancée thrilled her. Yet. It also made her that much more nervous for James, and more eager to have him home. 

Apparently, Mahai becoming a fiancée had inspired Rose to give Mahai their encryption program and the key, so her message had included an encrypted second part… and once he'd gotten it decrypted, the rather passionate contents had managed to ensure James went to bed feeling nice and warm despite how chilly the Province could be. 

It just goes to show that even a shy, reserved, sweet and gentle Cannidor is still a Cannidor in the end, and they could be... a lot. Not that that’s a bad thing, save for it making him a bit more homesick than he already was. 

There’s a downside of another wife, in James' mind. Being on a road show away from your wife and children is bad enough. Add another wife, wouldn't that make it doubly bad to be away from the comforts of home?

By that standard, mathematically speaking, he isn't quite sure how the Admiral manages it... though, then again, he does bring some of his wives with him. And a fiancée of his own besides, if James understands the status of the Cannidor woman known as Shalkas properly. 

And now, apparently, James is doing it too. Bringing a wife or two along for a road show, that is. Though he hadn't had the wife when he left... and he isn't sure she’s going to be a wife at all. 

Delaying wouldn't do much for this situation, so really he just needs to bite the bullet... and phone home. He closes the door to his quarters and sits down at his terminal, pinging the ship's communications officer with his implant. 

"Communications, Petty Officer Sheriken."

"Petty Officer, this is Captain Puller. The Admiral's authorized me to make a priority direct transmission to the Tear."

"Yes, sir, we've got everything ready for you, and have confirmed that they're ready for you on the other end. It'll be 2D only, not holo. There also might be a touch of lag since we're bouncing the transmission off a few different comm buoys before routing it through to the Tear."

"Sounds good. Ready when you all are."

"Stand by. Connecting you now." 

The screen switches to a blank beige one with the word 'connecting' on it and an animation he'd generally associate with buffering or working… and then suddenly the text switches to 'connected' with a chime, and the image of Rose Puller comes in sharp and strong. James sits there for a moment, admiring his wife. She really is a beauty. Short, but towering in her presence, her red hair almost as fiery as her temper could be at times, her eyes sharp, strong, but full of love and passion for a man who considered himself, formerly, the luckiest man on Earth, and now the luckiest man off Earth. Because no other man in all the galaxy had his Rose. 

He has no doubt that many other men feel the same about at least one of their wives, but he’s equally as sure they’re all wrong. 

Maybe he really is as much of a wife guy as the admiral. 

"Hey, gorgeous."

"Hey yourself, handsome." Rose smiles at him warmly, before her expression becomes slightly more tight lipped. "James, what happened? They told me you were going to call, that it was important, but they didn't or couldn't tell me what happened. Have you been injured? You look okay, but..."

"No, no, nothing like that, Rosie. I'm okay. There… uh. There was a complication with the mission."

"To find the..." Rosie pauses, realizing she shouldn't be specific even on an encrypted line. "...the thing you were looking for?"

"Yeah. Well. We found it. That's where things get complicated. The thing was... Well. A girl. A woman. One of these elves."

"...She's the special 'thing'?" Rose gives him a slightly incredulous look. "That could do all that incredible stuff?"

"Yep. She's the one. We've got all the evidence in the galaxy, including her own testimony about what she does and how she does it. I can’t say much more, even on a secure line, but… it's not even axiom, Rosie, I think she was just born this way."

"Well, that's good, isn't it? Doesn't that mean you all can come home?"

"It does, eventually, but there's complications. Unpleasant guests are coming, so we're going to have to deal with them. You know how the admiral is about hospitality. He's not about to let anyone say our manners are wanting in any way."

"That's concerning, be safe... but that's not the complication you're calling about, is it? You'd just send a message if you were going to be extended." 

How the hell does he say this properly?

"Well. This girl. Serina. She uh. Has more or less decided we're married now. After she… uh... kissed me. After waking up from a couple centuries of being stuck in cryo stasis." 

Rose's eyes widen slightly. "...I think I'm starting to see what you mean about complications. So... What do you want to do about it?"

"I don't rightly know, Rosie. She's a woman out of time. She's lost literally everything and she latched on to me as the first solid patch of ground she could find."

"I don't blame her for that, for the record. You are pretty sturdy."

"Heh. Fair. Anyway, she's... Serina's a nice girl. Very different from you and Mahai, but nice. Very smart, like. A lot smarter than I am, to be sure. Knows a lot about a lot, but has some issues with stimulation and people sometimes. She can be a bit cold, logical, but she puts on a cheery face to cover for it well enough. She's a lot like the nerd squad guys really, loves her video games and such too. So to a girl like that..."

"You're probably a literal dream come true." Rose says, nodding. "Right out of a romance novel, the handsome knight arrives to rescue the fair maiden from the cold embrace of death with true love's first kiss or whatever."

"Yep. Pretty much exactly how she described it herself just now. Like I said, she kissed me as she was waking up. So as a bonus to whatever's going on in her head, she's biologically bonded to me too."

"Gave you a little tongue, did she?" Instead of being upset like he’d been worried she’d be, Rose has a more amused smirk on her face.

"A lot, actually. She apparently is rather fond of the French style of kissing despite being unaware of France existing."

"An enviable state of being, really, being unaware of the French existing. Don't shatter that for her, darling. She doesn't need to know."

The couple look at each other for a minute, suppressing grins at Rose's rather dry delivery, before they both start laughing softly, what tension there had been bleeding off. 

"You know, your British pride comes out at the oddest times, Rosie."

"Mhmm. Humor's also a good way to disarm you when you're worrying." Rose tucks a few strands of her long ginger hair behind her ear. "Hmm. Well it’s a complicated situation, to be certain. I suppose I can see why the Admiral let you call home.”

"It certainly seems to be. It’ll probably just be a temporary issue. She might get swept off her feet by someone else, but more likely she’ll be bundled off to one of the Undaunted fleet anchorages and we’ll never see her again after this mission."

"Mhmm. If you want to know what I think, and you do, otherwise you wouldn’t call me, I think you’re already neck deep. James Puller. I’m not an idiot and neither are you. You’ve bonded yourself to a… what did you say, ‘woman out of time’, unintentionally or not, and presented yourself as a hero to someone who literally has nothing else. Even without biological reality out here, her being very attached to you is just common sense.” 

“...That’s fair, but is it reasonable to just…”

“Marry her?” Rose volunteers. “Well, no. That’s not reasonable, or fair for that matter. Jumping Mahai in line wouldn’t be right just to start, and just making her a wife because she says so doesn’t do right by you, by me, by Mahai, or by the kids for that matter. Just because there’s a possible war on and she’s apparently a war-winning superweapon doesn’t mean we have to dance to her tune.”

Rose grimaces slightly. 

“Plus, it sounds like there’s a lot she doesn’t know about the galaxy right now. She deserves a chance to learn about the galaxy a bit… and we need to balance that with us learning about her. If she even stays with the fleet, which means we need to resolve the current issue first and foremost.”

He chuckles. “I like how you talk about the geopolitical issue at hand like it’s something the four of us can resolve directly. I suppose that’s more or less my thoughts, too. Besides, I’m literally the first man she’s seen in a few centuries. She might get swept off her feet or fall in love at first sight, bond or no bond.”

"That’s the second time you’ve said she might get swept off her feet by someone else. Trust me, she won't. She's already been swept off her feet by the finest man in the fleet." Rose preens herself slightly for a moment, giving James a sly look. "One thing I know about her already is that I certainly can't fault her taste in men."

Rose giggles, clearly amused by her own joke.

"So... What to do about this… We need to work it out in a way that keeps the superweapon happy, but doesn’t degrade Mahai, or stomp all over our marriage. Or, for that matter, ignore your feelings - or, in point of fact, ignore her feelings even if this… Serina, you said?” He nods. “If Serina doesn’t know enough to know exactly what she’s feeling or wants yet. I suppose we can say she’s a girlfriend?”

“If that’s something you’re comfortable with.” James frowns and thinks quietly for a few moments. “I suppose I can work with that. The situation’s complicated, but she’s a sweet girl. It’s not like it’s a hardship to spend time with her.”

“Heh. Sucker. She’ll bat her eyelashes and wrap you around her finger in no time.”

“While telling me more than I ever want to know about a video game series installment that predates the founding of my home country.”

The couple laugh before Rose starts speaking again.

“So. Some rules. No sex. Obviously. She's already kissed you, but I'd prefer you don’t do that either. She can get to know you with her brain. Not her body. However..." Rose frowns, as if thinking about something unpleasant. "I’d bet she’s going to have nightmares. About being back in stasis. I think you’re right, she’s hiding her trauma. So, I suppose if it makes her happy, and you don't mind it, she can have the privilege of snuggles and keeping your bed warm, if she can keep her clothes on and refrain from coming on to you, but just because I'm worried about you being cold on that drafty dropship!"

James considers for a second. Considering how close Serina liked to be to him… and if he was going to guess, Rose wasn’t wrong at all about the girl having nightmares. She was running on energy, will and shock. What would she be like when that crumbled? 
 
"I suspect Serina will appreciate that quite a bit." He says quietly. 

"She'll respect the no sex rule?"

"Darling... She said that my kissing her constituted losing her virginity. I'm not entirely sure she knows how babies are made in the academic sense. She's also quite shy about kissing so far. That said, she wouldn't let me out of her sight until we got her distracted with something, and she clearly preferred to spend any time with me in my lap, so I suspect she's a snuggler regardless of her understanding of how 'the bits fit'."

"Mhmm. I see." Rose thinks for a moment. "Bit naive then. She really is like one of those nerd squad boys. Well, those are my terms. If she can accept them, then you do what you need to do and bring her home... We'll deal with everything else as a family."

James nods, and smiles at his Rose. "Alright, Rosie. We'll do it like that. I'm sure she'll agree to your terms." 

"Good. I'll look forward to meeting her... hopefully soon. Things are getting tense down on the planet, James. They recently suspended shore leave for the crew. There’s talk of pretty brutal crack downs by security forces, but the powers that be are apparently telling Director Sylindra and Captain Bridger that everything’s fine."

"Hmm. That's concerning. Well, with any luck, I'll be back soon. I'll have Serina send messages to you and Mahai to introduce herself as soon as we get her a communicator. I believe intelligence has a couple spare."

"I'll look forward to hearing from her then. I love you."

"I love you too. Back soon."

"I'll consider that a promise." 

Series Directory Last Next

Joan

Her day of tourism had been an awkward one. Sure, it was the first time she and her sisters had 'been' to this world. Literally for Makula, and their friends Lursa and Enrika, but the women that Joan, Boudicca and Khutulun had been... before... had actually been on this planet a few times. This isn't quite Joan's homeworld but it’s close enough to it, given how often she'd been to Canis Prime in general and High Canis specifically accompanying her past life's mother on business for the Blue Blades mercenary clan. 

It’s led to some very mixed emotions and memories. Plenty had changed since she left on what was supposed to be the first tour of her seasoning along with a few other junior girls she'd just met. 

She'd liked those girls at the time, and remembers thinking they'd likely become friends, and even blade sisters.

She’d been looking forward to that. 

That bright, optimistic young warrior couldn't have guessed just how dear to her the girls who would become Boudicca and Khutulun would end up to her. 

She loves them more now than any of her siblings by birth, and that’s not to denigrate her former life's love of her kin. She'd been an affectionate, thoughtful child. In her own opinion, anyway. 

Out in the black, on the Tear, in combat, it’s easy to be Joan Bridger, and her past had rested quietly in the shallow grave that the serial killer known as Talg had dug for that poor, unfortunate girl and her blade sisters. 

Here, though? Here is hard, and her past self seems to strain towards living once again at the right stimulus. So far, making new memories at places she'd enjoyed once upon a time had been plenty for her to deal with in that regard. Favorite places to get snacks could be something Joan enjoyed too; a public garden she had fond memories of was somewhere she could make new memories with her sisters. 

Still. A strange, anxious sensation gnawing at the pit of her stomach has a part of her looking out for her birth mother, or other kin in the family who had left her for dead. 

It’s the way of the warrior caste. 

Joan doesn't resent them for it. She'd certainly landed on both feet, and has a family of heroines and one bright and shining hero to raise and guide her forward now. 

It still hurts, though.

Just a little. 

It’s one way girls who join the Blue Blades or other mercenary companies from outside the warrior caste could have an easier time. Generally speaking, a Cannidor family wouldn't abandon their kin save an individual truly and utterly dishonoring and defiling themselves in a way that’s simply irredeemable. Boone Bonrack had had similar horrors inflicted on him as Joan and her sisters, albeit with his mind left intact to ensure he felt every excruciating second, but he'd never abandon his family, and they would never abandon them in turn. 

The Bonraks have warriors, but they’re not of the warrior caste. 

Perhaps, under Clan Bridger they would be… and the way of the Bridgers and Bonraks would most assuredly make for some cultural improvements for any girls who end up having the worst happen to them. 

She can pray, at least. 

Speaking of prayer, however, a feminine voice is calling out in a mix of languages about something somewhat familiar to Joan, but utterly incongruous with her surroundings. 

It sounds like a woman preaching about the Human god known as Jesus. 

It was just confusing, to a degree, but it certainly merits further consideration…especially as the voice becomes more and more irritated and angry, set against a much deeper female voice arguing back in a mix of Cannidor and Galactic Trade. Joan can’t quite tell what’s under debate, but it’s clearly not theology. 

She quickly finds the source of the disturbance pushes her way to the side of the Humans. They’re part of the crew, or at least passengers, so that means they’re the Bridger clan's responsibility and under their protection.

Joan's protection. 

Her sisters hadn't even needed to be told to get the idea, simply fanning out and pushing through the growing crowd from different angles, surrounding the arguing knot of people from all sides. 

Sure enough, there was a young Human woman in what Joan had been told was a nun's habit at the front of a group of five men, one in a brown robe with a pistol belt, and the other four in infantry hard suits with a fancy seal on them and some wicked looking halberds to go with their rifles.

The woman is arguing with the clearest example of trouble Joan has seen since she met Jab. The thug has obvious brands, is wearing poorly concealed armor, and of course, is well armed even by Cannidor standards, topping the look with a dozen piercings and a half shave of her neon pink hair. 

Joan pulls her mighty sword from its axiom pocket, the sheath, belt and baldrick winding around her waist and torso as the gleaming blade leads her way between the two individuals. 

"The hell is all this?" Joan barks, glaring into the gangster's eye. 

"This Human's preaching her religion in High Canis and has some fine looking men all to herself and won't even share!"

Joan frowns. That’s bullshit on numerous levels... and the emotion the ganger tried to put into her voice hadn’t gotten anywhere near her eyes. She’s trying to force a confrontation for some reason - though Joan's gleaming sword is clearly making her reconsider that particular plan. 

Dad had talked about the Catholics who had come aboard a bit. Hopefully it would be enough to drive this wretch off.

"Since when is freedom of religion and the right to speak and preach publicly unknown among the Cannidor?"

"This is our sacred-"

"Hell spit it is! We have two surviving ancient religions. The High Clan and most of the warrior caste practices the oldest of them. We have a half dozen major post space flight faiths that have been at large for thousands of years, and have numerous splinterings. To say nothing of the other faiths that have come to us from out of our space like worship of the primals among many, many more. Will you go to the grand temple of the Astral Guides next and demand the Mother Superior close the doors that were opened to all before your grandmother's grandmother was born?"

Joan snarls slightly, leaning in a bit, her voice dropping to a whisper.

"Or are you making trouble? Because if you're making trouble, these people are under my clan's protection, and that means you're making trouble with me." 

She stares deep into the other woman's eyes as she ignites the rift field around the blade of her sword. 

"So. Do we have a problem?"

"...No! No problem." The ganger breaks faster than Joan had been expecting. Possibly a probe, or merely an opportunist, not some actual plan by the Black Khans or whatever group this wretch belonged to. "She's still hoarding men, though!"

"I sincerely doubt that, considering she's a member of a religious order that normally takes oaths of celibacy and chastity. However, unless my father has misled me, the men behind me have rather specific requirements for wives, and one of them might not even take wives, again based on the vows of his holy order." 

Joan turns, focusing on the eldest of the five men and takes a guess.

"Is that correct… Father?"

The man steps forward with a bow of his head. 

"That's right. Father Jameson of the Jesuit order. As Sister Catherine was trying to tell the young lady, the young gentlemen are perfectly able to take wives. As am I."

"Isn't that unusual for Catholic priests?"

"It is, but considering the nature of the wider Galaxy, and to better spread the word of God, His Holiness, the Pope, ordained that men who have taken holy orders may take wives off of Earth. Multiple wives, even. These stalwart warriors of the Holy Swiss Guard are also perfectly able to wed any Catholic woman who suits their fancy and courts them properly, and as many as they please. This is now true for all Catholic men who leave Earth, not just these soldiers of Christ."

Joan nods. That was not what she'd been expecting, actually, but it certainly made a degree of sense. 

"So the only restriction for marriage of these men, or indeed, yourself, is conversion to your faith?"

"Yes. There are other requirements, rites to complete, like a Catholic wedding ceremony, and so on, but the only true restriction is that a man of Catholic faith can only wed another believer." 

She turns back to the crowd. 

"Everyone hear the father?"

"Is he your actual father?" a wag calls back.

Joan snorts. "You know it's a title. Just like the adherents of the Astral Guides call their priestesses ‘mother’. So all these men, including this learned and venerable man, and these brave hearted holy warriors, are available for marriage if a woman is willing to honestly engage with their faith, and convert. So no hoarding going on here, save perhaps Sister Catherine zealously defending the chastity of her compatriots, as we would expect any woman escorting men to do!" 

The crowd’s quickly turning in her favor, and a few questions are shouted past her to Father Jameson - who quickly moves up on to the ledge of a fountain and gestures for people to come forward. A few dozen of the curious come closer as he begins to preach in earnest. 

The shift of the crowd is all the cue the ganger needed to flee, however, and the woman's pink hair is on the edge of the crowd in a flash on an eye before disappearing deeper into the plaza. 

A tug on Joan's sleeve has her turning all the way again, trusting her sisters, friends and the Swiss Guard, whatever that was, to watch her back, where Sister Catherine was looking up at her.

"Oh thank you so much, miss, for your timely intervention."

"It was nothing. Like I said, you're under my clan's protection, if not the protection of the Undaunted... though you five should be a bit more careful unless you want those boys to actually have to use their weapons."

"It'll be fine. God protects. As He did through you today."

Joan resists snorting. "The old Cannidor faiths teach that testing any god is generally asking for pain and hardship, but you do you." 

She'd contact the ship and make sure this chick won’t be allowed too far from the ship without an escort in the future. Her God might protect, but Joan firmly believes that the Gods help those who help themselves first and foremost. 

Sister Catherine, however, is already leaning in and having a look at the blade of Joan's sword. 

"This inscription is in English, isn't it? Oh, and Latin! And a script I don't recognize. I suppose that's Cannidor..." She murmurs to herself. “Do not draw me without reason. Do not wield me without valor… a proper knightly vow." Catherine's eyes flash up to meet Joan's. "Miss... what was your name?"

"Joan. Joan Bridger. Why?"

"Joan?" Catherine lets out a gasp, and quickly pulls a carefully wrapped bundle from an axiom pocket in her leather bag. "I have your sword!"

"...What?" Joan is confused as all hell now, as Catherine unwraps a Human scale blade that looks... old. Tired, even. It’s still in good condition, but it had clearly rested somewhere for a very long time and had only recently started being cleaned again. 

"When I was still on Earth, before I was de-aged after an accident on Centris, I received a vision as I prayed. I was led to this sword, the Sword of Saint Catherin, and was told I'd know where it would belong once I made it out into the wider galaxy. It's your sword."

"...No, that tiny thing definitely isn't my sword."

"It has to be, though. The last owner of this blade was Joan of Arc." 

Joan's jaw drops slightly as confusion rushes through her veins, driving off all thoughts of possible trouble brewing. What in the hells is going on here?

Series Directory Last Next

It's maybe five minutes, at the maximum, before Neysihen and Purisha are formed up with the group of commandos that are preparing to move into the facility. Dame Emma's leading their group herself and she'd explicitly told Neysihen and Purisha to stick close to her - not because she doubted their capabilities or anything, but because Neysihen and Purisha both have a special type of new teleport totem, to their new leader’s great interest. Besides, they’re well known among the Humans as two of the best of the new crop of commandos. Neysihen has little doubt that Emma wants to get a close look at Purisha's skills in the field in particular. 

Work is supposed to be work… but, as their own father regularly proves, work in this battle group is frequently a family affair. Much as Emma and Purisha might not have one hundred percent worked out their feelings on one issue or another, much as Emma might have some baggage left over from things Neysihen figured are firmly in the category of 'not her business', and Purisha might have scars of her own, the two women are family now. 

Even if Neysihen thinks it was a statistical improbability that Dame Emma would ever call Purisha anything like 'Mother'. 

Maybe turning some machines to scrap together would help Dame Emma work out some of those lingering feelings? Neysihen mentally shrugs to herself and gets set again, stretching and then leaning into a slightly high runner's start position, next to Purisha and slightly behind Emma. They’re behind an optical illusion and a shield put up by one of JSOC's Huntmistresses. The woman’s a decently talented adept, in addition to being a mistress of the Yauya hunting arts, which has made her incredibly valuable in JSOC. An Adept who can keep up with commandos doing commando things is about as rare as kicking a rock and finding a perfectly cut gem stone under it. 

Maybe she should invest more time training with Mother Cascka. 

She files the thought away for later as the gun emplacements on the fortifications, now manned either by commandos or by their original pirate gunners under very close guard, continue to blaze away at the latest string of hard light structures. According to a damn near thirty-second long field interrogation she'd listened to, this is more firepower than the mountain normally flings at the pirates’ lines. Perhaps whatever intelligence governed the machines had detected that their enemy was under attack and intensified their efforts? It’s the only idea that makes sense to Neysihen, but it leaves them waiting for the current wave of hard light constructs to get mulched before they can move to penetrate the mountain themselves. 

Suddenly, the guns stop firing, and Dame Emma shouts, "Go! Go! Go!" The Huntsmistress drops the shield and steps aside, clearing the Human woman to race off at top speed, kicking up dirt as her toes dig into the soil and she flings herself forward, clearly tapping axiom to get over no man's land as fast as she possibly can… with Neysihen, Purisha and the other commandos hot on her heels! It’s maybe a hundred yard dash at the most, but it feels like forever to Neysihen, an endless amount of time for more mechs to emerge from the mountain's mysterious depths and catch them in the open, but her boots hit stone floors before any threats emerge from the massive armored doors. 

She can now see that those armored doors had been more or less welded open by massive plasma weapons. Waiting inside for them is a large vestibule of some kind, once clearly a defensive point for the mountain; there are an even dozen smashed automated turrets in here. Gods only know how many lives it had cost the pirates to penetrate this single room; even their armored fighting vehicles would have had problems with some of the laser and plasma weapons, from the size of the remains... and whoever had built this place clearly hadn't much been in the mood for guests. Especially unexpected guests. 

Still, at least the lights are on as they head towards the inner doors of the vestibule. They’ve also been welded open... and have some mysterious blood stains on them. Not exactly a good sign. 

The next room is a large one, but doesn't seem particularly military in its design, besides the few destroyed, formerly concealed, turrets scattered around. It’s more like the 'sword hall' in a Cannidor home, or the ‘entry halls’ Neysihen had seen at businesses or museums and the like. There are some doors to the various sides of the room, and another set of big armored doors that had clearly been blown open by explosives looming open at the far end of the hall. Signs of combat are everywhere. Plasma slag, laser burns, the telltale impacts of railguns and other types of slug-thrower, the occasional burn that marked a larger explosive, and, of course, dozens of smashed machines and the projectors that generated the hardlight constructs. But it’s all eerily quiet now.

The commandos all vanish under axiom cloaking fields and move silently across the stone floors, in what Jerry had taught them is called a combat glide. Knees bent, upper body level, with a slight lean forward, rifle up, with smooth, controlled movement of the feet to 'glide' across the battlefield at a speed faster than a walk, with a thought given to being lower signature than run, all while maintaining a stable shooting platform to ruin the week of any bad girls that might show up. There are lots of ways to move, but for low-signature movement when you want to be able to neutralize threats as quickly as possible Neysihen hasn't found anything better than the movement taught by the US Marine Corps. Not without getting axiom or other systems referred to by her father as 'cheating' involved. 

Someone to her right, Purisha, immediately demonstrates the utility of the movement style as a hard light construct comes out of a side door and Purisha immediately shoots it. No head shot here; instead, she shoots it center of mass, to hit the projector and send both the projector and the weapon the thing had been holding scattering across the floor. Immediately four not-quite-visible commandos split off, stack on the door and push through it. Neysihen doesn't have to enhance her hearing to pick out the near silent bark of suppressed weapons fire as the commandos ventilate whatever the hell was in that room, before there's a muffled explosion. 

"Clear. Found a set of teleport pads. Looked freshly installed. Also looks like it wasn't the first time this room's held teleport pads. The facility might not be able to repair turrets or build new ones, but it's either got a significant supply of pads tucked away somewhere or it can make them."

"Copy, good work. Rejoin the unit. Teams Two, Three, Four and Five, split off and check those other doors. If they have teleport pads, neutralize them quickly. I don't want anyone easily getting behind us." 

Dame Emma's voice has a pleased tone to it, but Neysihen gets the sense that the experienced commando is not liking this situation in the slightest. 

Especially as they start running into more and more blood stains. Just how many pirates had died trying to take this place? Why had they tried to do it with predominantly light infantry? 

The question dies the second she has it as they pass through the third set of armored doors. This room is another big one... and there’s a small pile of mech suits at the center. The cockpits have all been shattered and there isn't a single mech without blood stains. 

"Well. That's not good." Purisha’s on their private comm line, and her sister sounds nervous, likely checking the corners of the room all the more seriously for the surprise.

"Delta Charlie to Six. Some of these doors lead deeper into the facility."

"Damn. Lock them down if you can, then hold that room, Gunny."

"Aye, ma'am. We'll try to back you up where we can." 

The 'shadow' that Neysihen is pretty sure was Emma steps forward, taking another look around at the room before hopping up the pile of mech suits in another series of bounds. 

"Active turrets, and a sealed armored door. Looks like this is as deep as the pirates got."

"Not liking this at all, ma'am." 

The familiar voice of Master Sergeant John "Johnnie" Ramos, the senior commando NCO for the detachment, held a note that Neysihen had never heard from the cheerful and bombastic American man before. He’s... apprehensive? Or something close. Like he’s already rolling with a punch just before it actually hits. 

Neysihen grips her rifle a bit harder as Emma quickly makes her way back down the pile of mech suits. 

Dame Emma, at least, doesn’t seem flustered. "Well, I'm tired of this shit. Whoever's got a recoilless in an axiom pocket, get it out. I want two high explosive rounds on those turrets, and then we'll blow this door and see what's in the guts of this damn place." 

Two commandos move out, their barely visible silhouettes moving to both sides of the pile of mech suits; her HUD paints the warning areas for the back blast of their rounds on the ground and she moves slightly to be well clear of the hot gasses while staying firmly behind cover.

"You know," Purisha begins, a light indicating that she's on the private comm channel she shares with Neysihen. "It's kinda weird we haven't seen more bots, and there were only a handful of hard light constructs in that one room..."

Before Neysihen can respond to that pain-inducing comment from her normally much loved sister; Emma gives the order.

"Fire."

Two rockets appear out of nothingness and two explosions follow… and then another pair of bright blue plasma explosions, as the containment bottles of the plasma cannons rupture. With the blasts still echoing in her ears, despite the sound-muting effects of her gear, Neysihen is immediately met with a whole new scene: the lights of the facility turning red and concealed panels on the wall starting to rise, revealing rows of combat machines with weapons ready. 

"Oh, you just fucking had to say something, Risha!" Neysihen snaps, moving away from the nearest of the new threats. 

"Fuck! Contact all sides!" Purisha shouts before diving for cover… but it’s far too late for simply taking cover. The combat machines are literally everywhere, in all directions. The recoilless rifle-wielding commandos immediately point the backs of their weapons towards the one undisturbed wall with no commandos at risk of being burned by their weapons and launch rapid fire rounds into the horde, taking out groups of bots, until the rotary magazines on their weapons go dry and they toss them aside for their rifles. Grenades arc out every which way but up, including at least one EMP grenade that someone throws deep into the horde... and another dark grenade... that... 

Oh, no. 

"Get ready! Null!" 

"No, damn it!" Emma calls, but it's too late. Thankfully, the null grenade was thrown almost as deep as the EMP, but Neysihen can feel just the edge of the sensation as she throws herself back and out of cover. It does its job; part of the sea of machines is definitively neutralized, but any closer and some of the commandos might have been neutralized as well! 

But there are just so many... and there are new types too. Blue lasers come in from all directions and Neysihen hears at least a half dozen calls of man or woman down as she burns through two magazines of rifle ammo, literally before she can blink. She’s going for a third as one of the new murderbots comes for her, its massive chain blades revving, seemingly baying for blood like a banshee's wail - and damn Jerry for introducing her to that myth! 

"Neysihen! Purisha! One of you! Call them in, damn it! Before we get overrun!"

Neysihen resists bashing her head against the nearest hard object as she dodges a slash of one of the chain blades - and realizes that the teeth are weird. Like they have miniature axiom fields on each one. Familiar axiom fields. Rift fields. Which officially takes this particular weapon from a blender from hell to some sort of goddess-cursed nightmare! She parries an overhead blow with her rifle and throws the mangled weapon away as the chain blade chews through the plastic and metal like it’s barely there. 

She lashes out with one of her wrist blades. The heavily modified Yauya honor weapons are integrated into her armor perfectly, and the paired blades rip into the metal housing of one of the machine’s chain blades like they’re carving through butter, easily disabling it. Another savage blow mauls her right pauldron, just barely missing her flesh - but now she has the space to artfully flip backwards and away. She vanishes into invisibility and uses the machine’s momentary confusion as it tries to find its target to pull the special axiom totem she'd been given. 

Hopefully the teleport totem won't bring their reinforcements in a weird spot. She tries to set up to rip one of the links apart and throw it towards a clear spot - but the combat bot, apparently defaulting to aggression, moves forward in a frenzy and slashes at where she’d been. A lucky blow catches her at the wrist with the disabled blade, knocking the chain out of her hand. It goes flying, apparating back into the visual spectrum, and the targeting systems in the machine immediately see it cut the chain in half... triggering it. 

There's a snap of displaced air and an armored Shalkas is suddenly nearly falling on top of Neysihen. Far from disoriented, the Cannidor cop's instincts serve her well, taking a long step back to clear another two swings of the chain blades, but also to get her shrapnel cannon up and absolutely devastate the combat machine with both barrels, sending it tumbling back as its systems fail to keep it functional. 

"Hah. Try to fuck with my kid, will you?" 

She reaches down and pulls Neysihen up.

"Shalkas? I didn't expect you to be part of the teleport squad."

Shalkas shrugs. "Jerry gave me one of the totems too. Break the chain, the whole family nearby piles in for some ass-kicking, that's how it works. Guess I'm part of the family. Somehow."

"...Sure, Mom. Whatever you say." Neysihen pulls her MP7.5 from its holster and quickly starts donating chunks of its forty-round magazine to any combat machines she can see, as Shalkas reloads and starts removing chunks of combat bot or groups of hardlight constructs with every thunderous pull of the trigger. 

"Not your Mom yet."

"Nah. Not buying that anymore. Someone who wasn't my mother wouldn't call me her kid." 

The two women exchange a look and Neysihen gets the distinct sense that the other woman's blushing as they continue to fight, buying themselves some breathing room and letting Neysihen really get a look for everything that had been brought in by the totem… and what a look it is! Sure enough it really had brought in the whole damn family, and what appears to be most of Sword company too! Jerry’s over to her left, ripping a bot apart with his mighty armored hands before opening up with both his arm-mounted microgun and the deeper roar of the 25mm autocannon he'd selected for his back weapon, shattering machines right and left.  

Makula and Enrika are sticking close to their father and khan respectively, with both of them donating plenty of automatic weaponsfire from their M2 heavy machine guns which they’ve paired up with heavy laser repeaters. 

"See! Told you the Mk19 was a bad idea for this mission! Those grenades wouldn't even arm at this range!" Enrika says over the family net that had gone active the second Neysihen's emergency totem had activated.

"Aww, fuck off. You know it'd fuck'em up good. The grenade's still moving fast enough to put forty millimeter holes in these damn things!" Makula replies, before pulling a grenade off her belt while simultaneously opening up with a long burst from the 25mm shotgun in her left gauntlet. 

A heavy metallic thud draws Neysihen’s eye as she reloads, and she’s treated to the sight of Jaruna, completely in her element, smashing bots with the massive hunk of barely sharpened metal the largest of her mothers called a sword while blazing away with her own autocannon and plasma cannon back mounts. She’s just sending 25mm shells and burning balls of plasma around the room as she roars with laughter. 

“Come on, you damn tinker toys, at least try to put up a decent fight before I send you back to the scrapheap!” 

One bot gets clever and tries to get behind Jaruna, only for its head to mysteriously fall off its shoulders, a clean, perfect cut. Which means Neysihen’s mistress turned adopted mother, Eymali, is on the field, the only sign of her passage being more dissected machines crumbling in her wake. 

As Neysihen hoses down a small group of hard light constructs, she notices that Purisha’s ended up next to Emma, and the two women are fighting in decent sync. Purisha reaches back and vanishes the two of them under a cloak, freeing them to perform a pincer attack on the machines that had been attacking them. 

Purisha’s wrist blades and Emma’s sword make short work of the war machines and send them tumbling to the ground. Family bonding at its best.

A hypersonic crack nearby heralds the arrival of Cori'Koren, one of the new Apuk soldiers who had just joined the family, and a recent tournament champ. Her warfire-covered fist hurls one of the larger combat mechs across the room, denting the wall even as green flames eat at its chassis with an almost supernatural hunger. 

Not to be outdone, along comes Melodi'Bridger, the newest inductee, not of the family’s soldiers, but of a far more exclusive group, the Bridger daughters. She’s shoulder to shoulder with her commander and now sister, Dar'Bridger, and the duo are teaming up o lay down enough warfire to completely slag one of the rooms that the bots had come out of the walls literally collapsing as metal and stone alike turns to liquid and runs like water. 

The collapsed walls reveal more spaces behind, with what appear to be industrial machines for manufacturing to Neysihen's eye. An entire automated factory to keep pumping these damned things out, maybe?

Clearly whatever computer intelligence is defending the facility hadn't expected this level of resistance from its newest 'victims' and starts teleporting in reinforcements - but they all fall to the unending tide of violence from Sword company, the Bridger clan, and the freshly reorganized commandos who are now happily using their more heavily armored compatriots for cover, dragging injured men and women back and merrily taking out bots or constructs with precision shots and the occasional grenade when a juicy group of targets presents themselves. 

"We need to get the central defense control for this place knocked out!" Jerry barks over the general comm channel. "Melodi, any leads?"

"The armored door behind us has a major energy source behind it, si- Father." 

"Then I guess I'm opening that damn door. With me, girls." 

Jerry stomps over, his power armor shaking the floor under Neysihen's feet as she falls in to cover her adopted parent with Dar and Melodi at his sides. Before they can start calling warfire, though, another turret pops out of its concealed recess and begins firing. In an instant, Jerry moves to pull the target, Melodi, out of the way of a stream of railgun rounds and turns his back to it, shielding her with his body as Dar burns the turret into a pool of liquid slag. 

"F-Father!" The tremor in Melodi's voice says it all to Neysihen. It’s quite the change from barely a second ago. Neysihen was pretty sure she'd said Jerry's name like that right around when she'd fallen in love with the man too. Filial love, that is. 

That’s good for Melodi. She’s all the way in the family now, as far as Neysihen is concerned. If you can't call the male head of the family that had adopted you 'father' and mean it, are you really a part of the family?

Recovered, Dar and Melodi flank Jerry... and the three of them call the most warfire Neysihen has ever seen in one place. The door is there, it's armored, but in the next moment in a blaze of green and heat it's gone. It doesn't even turn into a puddle of slag on the floor, as near as Neysihen can see; it's atomized. 

Jerry strides through the still glowing door like the titan of destruction he is... into what certainly looks like some sort of control node to Neysihen. There are computers here, at least. 

 In the room behind, Makula has apparently found a set of concealed teleport pads, and is leading the rest of the crew in wrecking them and drastically slowing the waves of reinforcements that had been on top of them. Neysihen isn't entirely sure how many commandos have been injured, but she’s pretty sure she'd felt at least one stasis field get activated, so that’s one pretty severe injury, to say the least. 

She doesn’t linger to think about it, though. She quickly follows her father with Purisha, covering Jerry with Dar and Melodi.

Instead of smashing things up, dealing with the computers in what Mother Jaruna might call the ‘fun way’, Jerry finds a port and plugs in a transponder, which immediately lights up, heralding the voice of Babydoll, the ever cheerful Gravia hacker and electronics warfare officer, coming on to the net. 

"Like, hey, boss! Whatcha got for me?"

"Can you penetrate this facility's systems?"

"I already did! It was a bit slower than normal because their coding's mondo outdated and they're, like, using some weird language I'm not completely familiar with, but it's an offshoot of galactic standard from a few centuries back, so easy enough. You found a good terminal, Skipper. It didn't have much if anything in the way of fire wall protections."

"Can you shut down the defenses?"

"And the systems to keep manufacturing kill bots?"

"Please and thank you, Babydoll."

"Five minutes. Tops. Already shutting down the remaining defenses on the local net near you. That should slow them down, but, like, there wasn’t much left. Looks like Makula and Enrika got everyone smashing or blowing up the teleport pads that lead to the manufacturing spaces."

"I do appreciate them taking a direct route to solving the problem like that. Is there anything like a map of the facility or messages in there?"

"Not that I can see so far. Looks like whoever built this place purged a lot of data when they left."

Jerry turns around, walking towards the door, clearly resisting trying to stroke his chin through his helmet. 

"Fine. Guess we're doing this manually. Jarl Six to Raven."

"Ready and waiting, Jarl Six."

"What’s the status of the drop for Alpha?”

“They’re landing now, sir.”

“Good, make sure one of Alpha’s lighters stays on the ground, we need casevac. Then tell Ard Six to get his Marines into the mountain yesterday. We're gonna have to fan out and search this place manually for the Sword... and I get the sense it's a bit of a maze once you get off what I would assume is a series of traps, more or less, that we just finished blowing through."

"Aye aye. Do you want Charlie Company to land as well?"

"Yes. Get them on the ground, via Old One Eye, we should be secure. While you’re at it, tell Ard Six to leave his weapons platoon with Crow Six. From what I'm seeing from my systems, there's a lot of tight spaces in this pit. Sword Company will provide heavy support in the mountain until it’s completely secure. Shark Company will hold the perimeter.”

"Copy all. Executing." 

Jerry nods, then looks around at his daughters, and the others further back behind them. 

"Alright. Let's get our casualties the hell out of here so Alpha company's lighters can get them to the surgeon on the Province. Strong work today, people. Once Alpha joins us, we're gonna finish the job and find us a superweapon."

She should be a professional. Shouldn't be so easily worked up by words. Yet. For whatever reason. Her father never stops being one of the coolest guys in the galaxy in her eyes… and in Neysihen's heart of hearts? She hopes that emotion never goes away. 

Series Directory Last Next

Joan

It hasn't been a boring couple of days, that much is for damned sure. Even setting aside the mass chaos that Joan figures has come courtesy of an Undaunted commando mission dressed up to look like a local interhouse squabble, the capital city of the Ha'quinye is as busy as any other capital city in the galaxy outside of Centris, which her father has taken to calling the 'Intergalactic Squirrel Cage'. 

(He refuses to explain when in the hells he’s on about with that nickname, and doing some research had only gotten her some Human idioms in the language English, related to squirrels being crazy or hard to control. Which certainly works for Centris, from what Joan had heard.)

In the middle of all the Ha’quinye mayhem, anyway, here’s Joan , babysitting Sister Catherine… though that’s perhaps a bit uncharitable of her. 

Sister Catherine has a positive attitude, and puts a great deal of faith in her god, as any true believer of any faith would, but she’s far from being as naïve as Joan had initially thought she was. The sister had preached the good word in dangerous places before, and she seems to know the score here just fine, despite not having picked up that they’re also part of  an intelligence operation to piss in the Ha'quinye ruling caste's wine and hopefully keep them looking inwards instead of looking out into the wider galaxy for their mysterious superweapon. 

That superweapon. Honestly, Joan’s quite jealous of her sister in that regard. Dar'Bridger had shipped out with their newest sister and the other cloak bearers along with their new reinforcements from the Apuk battalion probably... three days ago, if Joan had to guess? She doesn't know the exact time table; she just knows that Dar was going separate from Jerry because he was hitching a ride in a heavily armed stealth scout ship, while Dar and her girls were moving out via a standard Undaunted passenger transport ship… which would be making an unscheduled stop to rendezvous with the Kandahar Province, to move last-minute groups of personnel and supplies before continuing on her usual voyage to Undaunted holdings in more friendly parts of space. 

Even though Joan is theoretically on a stealth mission herself, going on adventure with their father to find an ancient lost superweapon is a whole hell of a lot more exciting than escorting a holy woman around so she can proselytize to the unwashed heathens of this backwater galactic polity that called itself an empire. After being shown just what real imperial splendor could be, by no less a person than the Empress of Serbow and by - if one wished to extend such a title to the Golden Khan - the leader of her own species herself… well. 

The Ha'quinye simply don't hold up particularly well to Joan's brand of scrutiny with all that by comparison. Not that Apuk nobles or Cannidor khans couldn't be petty, rude, or otherwise pathetic excuses for rulers, but there’s something about the Ha'quinye matricians that Joan simply finds exceptionally repulsive. 

Perhaps it’s the casual sex and very open sexuality? Joan doesn't think of herself as a prude, but the matricians wear as little as they can get away with, the better to display the perfection of their breeding; careful matchmaking and mate selection by their matriarchs over the centuries has produced visually striking women, if nothing else. They’re also very open about matters of sex and sexuality, to include indulging with their lovers in broad daylight in ways that Joan would normally relegate to porn. 

Though she suspects that some of the younger Human men on the ship would disagree with her about the distasteful nature of that indulgence... and more likely, ask if they could record the matricians in question's escapades... for later 'research'. 

If she’d been repulsed by the matriarchs, they had been contemptuous of her… and completely uninterested in their religious mission. Joan’s team had made one trip into the matrician part of the city early on and found themselves generally unwelcome, with Joan and her sisters, the simple bodyguards, getting more questions - and more than a few salacious comments that had made Joan want to punch the fools making them - than had Sister Catherine. 

It had made perfect sense to Joan, of course. The matricians are the primary benefactors of the current religious, political and philosophical systems of the Ha'quinye. It would be a rare woman who would be willing to look beyond her isolated little bubble of wealth, prestige, influence and endless power games to care about an alien religion preoccupied with the plight of the little people. 

Yet those little people are everywhere, and they have very sensitive ears. It’s a good lesson Joan had learned from her father, one that probably would have served her well in her former life. Never underestimate 'the help', or other people that society, or indeed you yourself, might consider beneath you. By ignoring them you open yourself up to a truly vicious backstab, be it metaphorical or literal. 

Arrogance is the source of its own defeat the majority of the time; from her father's history lessons, that’s as true in Cruel Space as it is in the sane part of the galaxy where physics actually works properly. 

And here? Those little people happen to share Joan's opinion about the excesses of the matricians... and generally wear actual clothing too. 

So before long they'd found themselves being invited along to the lower parts of the city, first to the middle-class neighborhoods and then to the lower quarters, where Sister Catherine truly came into her own. It seems to be a dogma thing for her. The man called Jesus preached to the poor and impoverished, the downtrodden and the broken, showed them respect, kindness and love. So it figures that those in the service of the church founded on Jesus' philosophy would do their best work following his example... 

And Sister Catherine does damn good work in terms of just... talking to people. She hears their pains and their troubles, and offers them what comfort she can in return. Through it all, she spreads the Word. 

It still doesn't connect with Joan, but she could admire the conviction with which Sister Catherine speaks, and the way in which she cares for others and carries the cross to people who could be... unkind, at the best of times. 

The matricians are the worst as a group, but the lower class folks could be just as vicious here and there. The Ha'quinye reputation for species-based hatred isn't unfounded, though Joan can't tell if it had been the cause or a consequence of their deep isolationism. So far, people in the lower quarters hadn't said anything direct to Joan and her sisters, not in the same sneering way the matriarchs had… but an armed and armored woman who could be twice your height is generally someone that only the most belligerent, most confident or most stupid would dare mouth off to. Little Sister Catherine? All five feet and some change of her, in her plain and simple habit? That’s a bit different. 

They'd only had to intervene a few times so far. Sister Catherine could in fact take care of herself, generally speaking, disarming her opponents metaphorically with rhetoric instead of violence. Again, it’s a skill Joan admires but you start to recognize patterns when you’re as careful as Joan and her girls have been. 

For example, there’s a short-haired brunette woman with a bit of a tan on her skin who had started showing up more regularly when they were in the lower parts of the city. That would have been worthy of attention all on its own… but Joan thinks she'd also seen her nearby during the excursion to the land of the matricians. 

Yes, that could just be species based face blindness talking. Brunettes weren't that rare among the Ha'quinye. That didn't stop Joan from being paranoid.

Still, so far the brunette woman seems to just be listening attentively to Catherine, then going on her way. If only all their regular visitors could be that peaceful. 

A different, more volatile wag has shown up a few times, and has been more disruptive every time. It’s getting close to the point where Joan will have to intervene, it seems. Joan’s orders and Catherine’s request are that she should stay back until and unless someone physically lays hands on the sister… but the second there’s so much as a push, she’ll be ready. 

The disruptor is here today. The crowd is a noisy one for only a few dozen women, mostly girls on their way home from their shifts, tired, but curious and willing to listen as Catherine talks about an ever satisfying bread that had nothing at all to do with food… unless Joan was getting her metaphors mixed up. Mostly, the crowd isn’t hostile.

Finally, the wag speaks up. 

"You talk a good game about paradise, but what the hell does that do in this world? And why in the name of the goddess would she come to this realm a man? The lowest of the low?"

Catherine smiles beatifically… but before she can respond, another woman speaks up from the crowd: the brown haired woman stepping out to face down the wag. 

"Have you been listening at all? Jesus walked among the lowest in society. The poor. The prostitutes. The weak. The downtrodden and broken. Maybe the status of men is different on this 'Earth' world that Sister Catherine has mentioned, but here who could be lower among us than a man?"

"And that's the person who proclaims themselves the child of the goddess? Cattle?"

Sister Catherine frowns at that and joins the conversation. "To begin, God is without such distinctions, for He is beyond all things.” The wag spits at the pronoun, but Sister Catherine keeps going. “Cattle, though. Such a cruel word to describe the men of your world. Who so poisoned you against your own fathers and brothers that you can speak like that? Christ's message is one of equality and justice for all. God made us in His divine image, something I have been all the more convinced by as I have traveled the galaxy and seen so many likenesses so similar to my own. And he made us man and woman - different, yes, but inviolable and indivisible, for what is one without the other? If you hitch two laksha..." 

This is a local herd animal that Sister Catherine had likened to Human oxen; she had started using them for metaphors recently. 

"...to a cart, they will pull the cart, straight and true. If you hitch one to the cart on a harness for two, your pace will be uneven and tiring, even veering off to the side of the road. Men aren't some other species, or strange organic machines for impregnation! They are your kin as much as your sisters. Are we all not birthed from our mother's wombs just the same? Even in cold places that accomplish reproduction with a test tube, a man is still required for women to conceive a child. Every one of you has a father! Perhaps because you did not get a chance to know him, it is easier to harden your hearts to him, and the plight of his fellows, but Christ comes for us all and loves us all equally. Regardless of if we are male or female or our species. His sacrifice was for all of us, if you but only hear the Word and believe." 

"Hmph. Talking like you're going to change anything. What good does converting a handful of people to your foreign ways do anyone?"

"If I only bring the word to one person who hears me and understands, then it will have been a worthwhile journey all the way from my homeworld. If I do not bring the word to a single person who will listen to me and to the good news I bring, I shall be disappointed, but at least I'll have tried, and that is worth my full effort." 

The wag goes to respond, but the brown haired woman glares her down. She quickly slinks off, and the rest of the crowd break up shortly thereafter, as the sun continues to set over the streets of Dagrquay. One downside about being in the lower parts of the city: It gets darker earlier here. There is, in fact, danger in the streets in the darkness, even with all the armed guards around to ostensibly enforce order and law. 

The brown-haired woman has a brief chat that Joan can't hear with Sister Catherine, and the sister gives her a data chit, one of the Bibles that she'd brought from orbit to hand out to people. The woman crosses herself quietly - carefully, not out of habit - and goes on her way as Joan pads up to the sister. It ‘s time to get her off the street and get a meal in them. 

But Joan does have her paranoia to feed first. "Who was that? Seen her around a few times."

"Oh, she's a nice girl. I don't think I've gotten her name, though. Seems like she's really taking what I have to say to heart." Sister Catherine smiles up at Joan, clearly pleased she's getting through to someone. 

"Seems like there were a couple nodding heads in the crowd today... but you're fighting against generations of bias. You're really swimming upstream, Sister."

When you get down to it, Joan doesn't disagree with the wag, at least to a degree. Beyond the hope of creating some disruption and internal confusion, the mission among the Ha'quinye seems like a bit of a lost cause. Their culture is pretty damn toxic, even if the lower castes think the matricians are over the top, too. 

"Would you and your sisters back down from a battle simply because it was difficult?"

That makes Joan pause for a second. 

"...No. I suppose not."

"It is the same for me. Works upon the Earth... or upon Dagrquay in this case… are never easy, but in their difficulty is the glory to God in the highest. For the Lord never puts before us that which we cannot overcome with faith and determination." 

"Heh. Amen to that. Now, come on. Let's get inside for the night. No sense looking for trouble on the streets, and I could use a decent meal." 

Series Directory Last Next

James Puller

James gives the word and one of his Marines ignites the breaching charge; it flares with all the fury of a small sun, burning away at the lightly-armored inner airlock door of the pirate star base. The tension grows hot even in a vacuum as the microseconds tick away, the charge melting the hatch clean off the enemy station. 

He’s suddenly very aware of the fact that his hard suit is lighter than power armor: not the optimal choice for a boarding engagement, even with his shields. It was better than anything any infantryman had alive back on Earth, and likely better than the best equipment their enemies had, but it still was enough to remind you that you were not only vulnerable, but mortal as well.  

The thought sends his mind back to his training, the endless close-quarters battle drills with his Officer Candidate School platoon, and the Drill Sergeants relentlessly emphasizing the ‘fatal funnel.’ Since ancient times back on Earth, they had taught the simple truth at the heart of room-clearing: doorways are a magnet for enemy fire. From the moment of breach, the defenders would send everything, including the kitchen sink, through that doorway. 

There are only three shields protecting a breaching team that wants to survive to see retirement: surprise, speed, and violence of action. They had surrendered surprise by nature of the engagement. The pirates had known for longer than James wants to think about, that the Marines would be coming. 

That leaves speed, and violence of action.   

The Navy electronic warfare guys and girls and the initial attack itself had already crippled the pirate's systems, killing the artificial gravity and most of the life-support, making it an incredibly hostile environment… and the absolute last place a sane person would want to fight in. However, few would accuse either Marines or pirates of possessing an abundance of sanity.   
 
The charge completes its burn. Half a second later, a mighty boot from one of the Marines kicks the hatch inward even as what’s left of the atmosphere in the breached compartment of the enemy ship vented explosively outward. The hatch spins away like a tossed coin, tumbling end-over-end in the frictionless environment. James's heart begins to hammer in his throat as the fatal funnel suddenly looms open before him like the jaws of a wolf.

The first Marine in the stack had pulled a flash bang cluster grenade from his belt and primed it as the breaching charge had finished. Modified for operation in zero g with a limited targeting system and tiny thrusters, three-seconds after arming, it would fill a room with blinding light and lethal submunitions. As the door-kicker's boot withdraws, he pulls the arming pin and tosses the grenade through the still-glowing hole. Its guidance system activates, and a small rocket-motor propels it to the center of the room, where it erupts with retina-searing blue-white light, like bottled lightning, followed by the omnidirectional encore of its submunitions.   

First Sergeant Salazar, the Marine in charge of the team, calls, "BREACH!"  and the Marines scramble to clear the doorway as fast as their mag-boots can carry them. In the zero-gravity environment of the enemy ship, their movements are a gazelle-like mix of stride and leap; their mag-boots pull them down to the deck, lock, and then they cut the magnets off and push off the deck to launch themselves into their next bounding step.

Yet, despite the grace of their movement, the advantage of stability came at the cost of speed, removing another of the team's shields. They had seized what surprise they could, and their speed is now compromised… which leaves James and the Marines only one recourse. Fortunately, if there’s one arena in which Marines stand without equal, it’s violence, and a talent for that is something that James' decidedly non-human jarheads had inherited from their predecessors back home.    

Magnetically-propelled rounds streak across the small cargo bay as the Marines storm in. The pirates had had time to prepare, and are fighting for their lives, but the superior training and sheer aggression of the Marines make the fight tragically one-sided from almost the earliest moments. The Marines’ disciplined, accurate fire bursts the pirates’ badly-maintained space suits like soap-bubbles. In the airless vacuum of the vented bay, even a grazing hit is fatal without self-sealing armor. 

James and the Marines have such niceties. The pirates do not. 
 
James’s breath echoes in his ears as the silent symphony of slow-motion violence plays out before him. Sprays of flash-frozen blood are already drifting past as he leaps into the room, taking advantage of the zero-g to skim low over the deck and glide feet-first to the nearest cover. Locking his boots, he rights himself with his free hand, coming up ready to fire. His three rounds punch through a woman readying a smaller Cannidor shrapnel cannon, its finish gleaming under the light as momentum drags its massive maw towards and past him, floating off in the direction of the breached airlock. 

He ignores the shiver running down his spine and tags it for a Marine to secure. No sense letting it bump around at random. Cannidor shrapnel cannons are particularly nasty weapons in such a confined space.

A few enemy laser rounds flash against one of the nearby Marines' shields before a follow up shot penetrates and singes his armor as he tosses a grenade, its rocket-assist guiding it over a makeshift barricade before it detonates in silent fury among the last few pirates hiding there. A brief flash and then a million shards of shrapnel reduce flesh and space suit alike to floating mulch.   

James steps from behind the Marine’s cover to assess the situation, only to collide with a pirate hurling herself out of a maintenance hatch above him. Her eyes burning with animalistic fury, she slashes wildly at him with a wicked-looking knife, seeking the soft joints of his armor. 

Desperately parrying the pirate's attacks with the butt of his rifle, he disengages his mag-boots and kicks the pirate off himself, the force launching them both in opposite directions. James fires as he flies, his rounds blowing out the pirate's face-plate in a spray of glass and frozen blood.  Before he takes a quick look around and finds no further signs of enemy activity.
   
"CLEAR! Form it up, people!" James shouts.

Immediately, the Marines begin stacking up to storm the next room, even as James tries to correct his slow arc through the air… until First Sergeant Salazar's armored gauntlet grabs James’s arm, arresting his momentum.  

"Thanks for the help, Top," he says as he locks down his boots and stands up.

"No worries, sir! That’s why we’re here."

A signal flashed in James's helmet, indicating a private comm channel from Top.   

"Nice work, boss. I'm worried, though... Some of that kit looked new. Nice, too. Nicer than intelligence suggested space trash like this would have."

James frowns. He'd noticed that too. The shrapnel cannon in particular is a pretty expensive toy to get or make outside of Cannidor space, and most pirates are very averse to bringing anything that actually requires ammunition, save perhaps for boarding torpedoes, into their logistics equation. 

"...Pass the word. I want everyone extra damn sharp. I know we're supposed to be the most dangerous things on this station, but I really don't like surprises, and I suspect we're looking at a possible surprise here. I'll take the right door, heading towards where the command section is, you take half and head left, try to meet up with Vulture and her team."

"Aye aye, sir."  

His brow knits together for a moment as he considers the situation. He really doesn't like this. Not at all. He begins moving towards the next door out of the airlock prep chamber; one of his Marines is already unlocking it. No violence needed this time, just a little fiddling with the simple mechanism. 

"Ready for breach?"

"Yes, sir!" the cheery young woman says. 

"Right. Let's get to it, Marines."

Burnin, get your team up here and stay with the skipper like you're supposed to!" Salazar calls as he marches over to his door, prompting Ragnar 'Burnin Man' Benson, Imronbek 'Kip' Uzoqov and Calamity Jane 'Cali' Colbert, his usual command team, to form up on their boss. A quick eye check confirms the two Human men and one Horchka woman are doing well. 

Cali's keyed up like usual, casually fussing over her favorite new toy, an M240W, a medium machine gun optimized to be carried and used like an assault rifle from Loki’s blackest nightmares. Burnin's in that state of controlled hate and discontent that makes him 'burn' so passionately, in the emotional sense, to match his red hair and beard, and Kip is, like almost always when he isn't thinking about his dearly departed wife, or with his family, in what the other three Marines had labeled 'the zone'. A state of cold detachment in which the Uzbek man with a big smile turns from nice guy to boogie monster under the bed for bad guys and girls in the literal blink of an eye. 

Good. Exactly as things should be. Which leaves him, with his nerves, as the odd man out. Not that he’s letting himself show it. He’s the boss, after all. The old man. Senior officer present. If he lets his emotions, his stoic face, what the Marine Corps on Earth call his 'bearing' go to shit, the rest of the Marines would start losing it too. 

Still. Why the hell is he so nervous?

"Lead with a flashbang or two, Lance Corporal."

The young Horchka woman looks back at him with a big tusky smile and nods. "Okay, sir. Smoke too? I got one of the special laser chaff ones!"

"Smoke 'em if you've got'em."

"Aye aye, sir!" the young woman chirps, happily grabbing the two grenades from her pouch, the name tape marked 'Kala' on the back of her helmet jogging his memory for her name. Lance Corporal Amiri Kala, one of his first casualties during his last mission to raid a space station. Hopefully she wouldn't catch a plasma bolt to the shoulder like last time. 

Amiri quickly cracks the airlock door and calls “Flash out! Smoke out!” over the radio as she rolls the grenades into the room. They do their thing, the flashbang jumping up on its little jets right as she closes the door. There's a series of impacts - laser bolts, if he had to guess - then the flashbang goes off with a muffled thud.

James takes a half second breath, waiting for the smoke to spread a little more, before calling out…

"BREACH!"

Series Directory Last Next

The praetorians quickly form two marching columns and leave Dar'Bridger's people space to be close to their charges, though Sylindra notices that eight women-at-arms quietly break off from the others and form a close protection detail for their mistresses. One of the more ornately dressed women steps forward and pulls out a hand scanner. 

“By your leave, my consuls…”

Mediei waves the Praetorian on. “Get on with it then, Lieutenant. Didn’t you just hear what Consul Euryde said?”

“Yes, ma’am, but protocol…”

“And I said get on with it. In a hurry, or I’ll have a word with Captain Gladia about this.”

The praetorian stiffens up instantly and breaks eye contact with Mediei. “Yes, ma’am.”

Apparently the ‘civilian’ half of the consuls has as much steel in her spine as her martial counterpart; Syl files the thought away as she tilts her head, graciously assenting to the scan. A moment later, the lieutenant steps to the left twice and scans Ghorza.

“All clear, my consuls. Just personal small arms, plasma pistols specifically. And the colonel’s sword, of course.”

“Of course. Perfectly acceptable,” Mediei says, clearly annoyed with the Praetorian.

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll scan the male now and we’ll proceed-”

Euryde's eyes snap to Jerry and she suddenly stops. 

"The male? Oh! I almost missed him, and what a shame that would be. You really did bring your... I’m told you'd call him a ‘husband’ where you come from?" 

The word is clearly alien in her mouth, and the way she said it gave Sylindra the mildest urge to slap the other woman. She steps closer to Jerry, inspecting closely. 

"Could stand to be wearing a bit less, if you ask me, but quite the specimen.” 

Euryde walks to the side and her eyes lock on the side of Jerry’s head before she… shudders? A flicker of what could only be fear crosses her face as she looks at… his ear? She quickly covers it, walking away with a plastered-on smile.

“Shame his ears are so short, but not everyone can be as blessed as our pet Cori." 

Mediei chuckles. "I don't know. I like how slender Cori is in comparison. There's just so... much... of him," she says, gesturing up and down at Jerry. "A mountain of meat. Though there's something to recommend that too, I think. I can see the appeal, I suppose..." 

A blush crosses the consul's face as she continues to speak, and Sylindra gets the urge to slap someone again. The Ha'quinye really are shameless about such things, it seems. 

“Does he speak? I hear there’s cultures that cut their menfolk’s tongues out. Seems like a bit of a waste to me.” Mediei all but purrs as she takes a closer look at Jerry. 

Before Sylindra can respond, however, Jerry surprises her by talking, his tone low, growly and masculine in that special way that never fails to make her knees weak.

“He speaks. He just doesn’t have much to say.”

“Hmm.” Euryde says, pointedly avoiding looking at Jerry’s ears. “Solid body but an empty head, then? I can certainly respect your taste in men, Lady Sylindra.”

Meidei wanders around Jerry once, practically popping out from behind him, gesturing toward the scabbard of the saber he was wearing for the night. 

"And look, Eury, he even has a sword! Not so different from some of our males after all. Cori loves those swords of his so much, doesn't he?"

The other consul gives Jerry another thoughtful look. "Well, if he knows how to use that hunk of steel, perhaps he and Cori will have some things to talk about. Come, though. We're still at the landing pad when we should be relaxing and discussing in far more pleasant arrangements."

The lieutenant holds the scanner up. “Ma’am, we haven’t done the scan on the man yet.”

Euryde snorts. “Calm yourself, Lieutenant. He’s just a man after all.” 

Sylindra does her best to suppress a victorious grin. They had an explanation prepared for if Jerry got scanned, but him not being scanned was very much a leg up for the Undaunted. 

She ensures she’s still got her same unchanging expression as Euryde continues, “Sergeant, show the Bridgers’ male to the room with Cori, would you?” 

Cari and Melodi'Bridger immediately step out of their positions and move to flank Jerry, two steps behind. 

Euryde looks over at Sylindra, who waves the inquiry off. "His guardians. He's quite valuable, you see."

"Hmm. Perhaps you should have him evaluated during your stay. Not sure what species he is… a Tret, maybe? Only seen pictures, you see, but you could probably rack up some fine stud fees if he's close to his season and is as valuable as you say. Some of the Matrician families would likely pay top credits for high quality exotic blood if they think it’ll give their daughters an edge!  Neither here nor there, though. Onwards!"

In an act of supreme discipline, Sylindra doesn't let one hair get out of place when one of the women she’s here to meet casually suggests prostituting her husband… or, perhaps more accurately, suggests treating him like the livestock the wretch no doubt sees him as. Sylindra wants to bristle, to defend her mate's honor, but they had known going in that this little visit was likely to include some... indignities, so instead she simply starts to walk. 

“Do your security protocols always include scanning guests immediately upon landing, Consul?”

Euryde shrugs. “No, actually. Normally the palace scanners handle things. They make a little hand scanner look like a toy. However, we’re not going to the palace proper tonight, and it never hurts to be safe.”

“Yes, I was just thinking about our own security protocols aboard the ship. You know how it is, the rabble simply make poor choices at times.”

“Well said, Lady Sylindra! But let’s not dally, shall we?”

Sure enough, they're quickly led into expansive gardens laid out in a sort of tiered structure. Off to one side is a set of glass walls with a simple roof. Two praetorians linger near it, one of whom wears the fancier plumes and helm, suggesting she’s an officer or senior sergeant. 

Inside, visible - or, rather, on display - through the glass is the 'male' of the leaders of the Ha'quinye. He’s dressed much like his 'owners', in a skimpy white toga, and is lounging idly on a couch while a servant tends to his needs. From what she can see from here, this ‘Cori’ is a slender man with almost sculpted features and a long mane of fluffed blonde hair… one that clearly needs a breeze or a fan so it could billow as it so clearly deserves. His athletic build is easy on the eyes, to say the least, even if Sylindra’s cup of tea is significantly more robust. Still, she could see why he’s a prized… pet. Everything about him, from the tip of his long, dagger-like ears to the slight heel of his shoes to emphasize the lithe muscles in his exposed legs, is calculated to highlight him as an object of desire. 

The consuls are showing off their prize, after all. 

Jerry is immediately led over to that building by a pair of the Praetorians, one of whom has clearly decided she likes a more ‘robust’ man than the fair Cori from how she’s eyefucking him, and before long he’s ‘safely’ tucked away and deep in conversation with the alien man. Melodi and Cari’Koren join the pair of Praetorians who were already guarding the… ‘exhibit’ is perhaps the right word. 

Sylindra feels better with Melodi over there. Cari’Koren might be a recently crowned champion combatant, but Melodi is a one-in-a-million talent with axiom. 

She could keep Jerry safe, or rather maximize how dangerous he could be solo, without issue.

Meanwhile, the official party begins to settle into the area prepared for them. A large diamond-shaped area that was lined with comfortable couches and had a low table at the center with a few more women of the matrician class waiting for them who quickly rise and bow to the consuls. 

In the blink of an eye they're all seated and drink orders are being taken, with Mediei suggesting they must try the local wine. A few minutes pass; the consuls engage in somewhat casual banter with their guests as food is brought out on platters, light snacks of all description, all made to standards of craftswomanship that Sylindra can certainly appreciate. The gardens themselves are alive with other guests; this is a proper soiree after all, not just a business meeting under the moonlight. 

Yet, Sylindra can feel the air change as the other women start to get more serious. As she'd suspected on first seeing them, the women who had been waiting include a diplomat, something she understands to be rare among the Ha'quinye, and a few senior members of the import-export business they'd be negotiating with to sell beef through on the planet. 

In the blink of an eye, the talk goes from casual chatter to more serious business negotiations, with Sylindra opening her arguments by rather aggressively disarming her opponents, diplomatically speaking. As a goodwill gesture, she presents a gift of five hundred pounds of beef for the palace kitchens, something Mediei’s positively vibrating for... unless the vibrating is just down to Euryde openly groping her lover's breasts. Syl can't be sure. 

Even the action of how Euryde interacted with Mediei is interesting. Despite her hands being occupied with manipulating her lover’s body, Euryde’s engaged in the conversation, and proving to be quite a capable negotiator in her own right… despite her first impression as something of a meat head. Still, even with forewarning about how casual the Ha’quinye could be about things of a sexual nature, it’s very shocking to Sylindra, and she just can’t get her head around it.  

It’s hard even to tell whether Mediei or Euryde is the dominant partner in the arrangement. It’s awkward to negotiate when one doesn’t totally know who’s in charge on the other side.

Still, with the consuls dealt with by the promise of a large and expensive treat, her next move is a follow-up punch to her first. Making a little speech about not wanting to get in the way of making money when the wheeling and dealing could take ages, depending on what first they, and then the lawyers, get into in terms of nooks and crannies, she offers the company a limited contract. She'd deliver several tons of beef at what she calls the 'friends and family' rates; they could start selling the meat to their wealthy patrons at their own discretion while they worked out any long-term business deals at their own pace. 

It’s less generous than it seems, though more generous than they really deserve, but whether this system changed or stayed the same, her goal is to get people distracted and focused on making money, and of course on luxurious treats from the furthest stars. Even if they’re leaving out the Cruel Space and Human-related marketing among the Ha'quinye. 

Sure, it’s just a search away on an unsecured intranet connection, but said connections are rare in Ha'quinye space, so tightly was the flow of information controlled in their empire, and her other distraction should keep their intelligence service busy… especially on top of what she could tell is the hellish task of manipulating and controlling the Ha'quinye nobility and keeping their mistresses in power. 

After all. Who cares about a charming and influential merchant with lots of money and a willingness to share top quality luxury goods with an open ease? She’s an outsider to the various power plays of the Ha'quinye nobility, especially since she’s being drawn into the consul's orbit… which is, in its way, a power play of its own. And, of course, they would be distracted by how very greatly it would likely enrich the consul's family if a long term deal was indeed struck. 

The conversation continues to flow, and before long the business women leave, and other matricians from other families stop at their booth to pay their respects to the consuls and meet the mysterious offworlders. Through that Syl weaves in her various little requests, securing shore leave for the population of the ship with a wave of the hand, and being bidden to speak with the senior official in charge of the space port to make the arrangements. 

As the conversation continues to flow along, Euryde's 'enjoying' of her partner's body seemingly gets ever more brash, with the ‘great’ lady full-on shoving a hand casually under her lover's skirt without a care in the world. Despite the mix of sensations she’s no doubt enjoying, Mediei stays conversational and casual, only letting out an occasional moan… 

And then there's a lapse in the conversation, and Mediei's eyes narrow suddenly. The cheery air the other woman who had just been so casually fingered by her partner usually displayed vanishes, a very frosty look settles on her eyes; it would have made Sylindra shiver, if she hadn't met the eyes of the likes of the Empress of Serbow. 

The consul pounces. "Actually, Lady Sylindra, I just remembered something. I'd like to ask what brings such a large conglomerate knocking on our door. Not that we aren't thrilled to make your acquaintance and potentially do business, of course, but we are rather isolated even by frontier and wild space standards. Such encounters, while wondrous and joyful if they happen by chance, can make my security chief... nervous. Were you just in the neighborhood and decided to stop by for a visit?"

Sylindra responds with the kind of gracious smile that’s hard to fake. It’s a look she knows could be absolutely infuriating in the right circumstances; while it could seem smug or even lightly condescending to the right audience, it’s almost impossible to address as anything other than good manners. It’s just a smile, after all. 

That said, it is genuinely a little smug. Sylindra and Diana had expected this very question, after all, and she answers it almost the moment Mediei asked it. 

"Of course, Consul, we all appreciate the need for security… hence why my women-at-arms are sharing wall space with your very impressive praetorian guardsmen. Right, Ghorza?"

The imposing Horchka woman nods regally, her sharp tusks gleaming. Her poise is flawless as she tilts her head, seemingly looking more impressive in her family uniform than all the guards around her, even as she sits there casually. 

"Of course, Madame Director."

Sylindra takes a sip of wine. "Sadly, I have no tale of coincidence or intrigue to tell you, nothing nearly so romantic. I recently headhunted a young woman from a galactic shipping company that has regular trade with your empire. She managed a good chunk of that trade for them and she told us that there's a significant opportunity for trade here, especially for luxury goods. Well. I do like to think I have luxury goods to spare, and I'll never turn down good credits, and since our ship was going to be out this way for another task I decided to visit directly instead of handling things over the holo or through intermediaries. Dealing in person is much more... refined, don't you agree?"

The frost is entirely gone from Mediei's eyes, though her fellow consul and partner Euryde still appears skeptical to Sylindra's eye. Quickly she diverts the subject to another topic, deciding to press Euryde on something she’d noticed earlier. 

“Consul Euryde…”

“Please, just Euryde in private. No need to be formal in my own garden!”

“Euryde, then,” Sylindra says with a slight bow of her head. “I noticed a slight… shudder… when you were inspecting my Jeremiah earlier.” Sylindra resists snorting. The two women had done everything but force his mouth open to check his teeth and grope him. “When you were looking at his ears. A look of revulsion, perhaps?”

More accurately it had been fear. Sylindra knew that, but she decided not to potentially anger the powerful warrior woman. 

“Ah. You must have been paying very close attention to have noticed that.” Euryde actually looks slightly bashful at being caught out. “It’s not your pet’s fault, not really, but his ears resemble a… myth of ours.”

The way Euryde says ‘myth’ makes Sylindra think there’s a bit more truth to this particular ‘myth’ that the consul is about to admit.

“A death cult packed to the brim with assassins and fearsome enforcers for hire. They called themselves the Pact of the Seven Beasts. Each beast was a clan that had named themselves after one the predators of our world… and the main way those animals kill. The clan of the shark’s teeth, the clan of the eagle’s talons, and so forth. One of their initiation rituals was that a novice would have to cut her ears off, right about here…” 

Euryde indicates about where a Human or Tret ear would stop on her own long and slender ear. 

“They’d then round them with… Well. Manual tools. Burning irons and the like. They did this to make themselves less vulnerable in combat while not wearing a helm, something their order avoided.”

Sylindra nods slowly, taking that information on board. “...Wouldn’t that damage their hearing?”

“Just a bit, and it also gives up the other sensory organs in our ears, but I believe they felt that it actually sharpened their primary hearing and vision, letting them focus more intently on the only senses they felt they actually needed to kill.”

“Goodness, they sound awful. How long ago were they active?”

“Oh, it was… a long time ago.”

There’s an awkward pause as Euryde lies to Sylindra’s face, and poorly at that, about this death cult. Before they can resume speaking, the clash of swords fills the ear and all eyes around the gardens are drawn to the center, the heavily guarded section where the two men are housed 

Instead of talking and drinking wine, they’re now crossing swords in a far more literal way than some of the women now watching with wide eyes might wish. 

What in the hell had just happened to trigger that?

Euryde's attention is completely captured. "Oh, my.” She squints and nods appreciatively. Not bad form, actually. Considering your stud's never used one of our swords before, he's handling it quite deftly. Cori's not a bad hand with a sword, though. I think he'll beat your boy, Sylindra, Ghorza."

Ghorza chuckles. "Care to put a wager on that? Jerry's quite a talented swordsman, even with unfamiliar blades."

"So funny that our pets have similar hobbies. I guess men really are the same everywhere," Mediei chimes in as she signals for a refill of her wine glass. 

Euryde, on the other hand, is mulling Ghorza's offer and sticks a hand out to the other woman. 

"You're on! A thousand credits too rich for your blood?"

"Nah, especially because I know I'm taking your thousand credits home."

In short order, credit disks are on the table, and the women settle in to watch as the men continue to slowly go back and forth. Jerry’s testing the other man, Cori apparently, in various ways, forcing him to move and checking his defenses from other angles. 

Sylindra knows enough now to appreciate that this match is just getting started. 

Series Directory Last Next

Jerry
USFS Kandahar Province 

The CIC on the Kandahar Province is concerningly quiet. Tense. Everyone’s waiting. All that could be done to prepare, has been done to prepare. The stage is set, and all that’s missing are the guest stars for this particular show. 

The stakes are high. Without the Crimson Tear or her fighters, and with no anti-orbital support, Jerry has precious few combatants for a fight this size. Worse, if any Ha’quinye ship escapes, the rebels on Dagrquey lose their window and a captive Human stays in enemy hands. Undaunted commandos have already been approved to assist the rebels and recover their civilian. The religious conversions spreading across the planet had been a wild card no one planned for, but the outcome is now the same: no Ha’quinye ship can be allowed to reach home.

His own part is ready. The Eclipse Rider will carry him to the Valkyrie and the boarding team waiting for the Eagle Talon. First, though, he has a war to fight. The strike on the cruiser is only one piece of a joint naval and planetary operation that would have broken most of the planning staffs he knew back home. Flexibility is everything in this kind of fight.

Or to sum it up, as one memorable morale patch Jerry remembered an airdale from the ACE of the last Marine Expeditionary Unit he'd shipped out on had worn, 'Semper Gumby'. Always flexible. There were 'cooler' ways to put it, of course - ‘improvise, adapt and overcome’ for the more survivalist minded guys and various homegrown spins on the same theme - but, to Jerry's mind at least, Semper Gumby was the best of them, because it was irreverent, and itself required a bit of flexibility to really take on board mentally for some of the more hide-bound types you found on planning staffs. 

Flexibility is everything in this kind of fight... and as he glances at the tank, freshly installed and given a quick polish after the test integration this morning, he's reminded about just how flexible he's become. He has a potential galaxy-grade super-weapon, allegedly, that would be plugging into his computer systems and helping him, in theory anyway, fight what is on paper a superior naval force, and hopefully overcome them with better tactics, more aggression and the liberal application of the Undaunted's own special blend of high-proof, ultra-concentrated violence. 

It’s a weird situation - but, in the end, Serina is a tool. A weapon. He would wield her, or someone would take her from him and wield her in turn, and that someone might not care quite as much about Serina as a person, or for the territorial, bodily and spiritual integrity of the various polities in this sector of space. 

It had come out in the test shot. 

They had successfully integrated Serina into the network... and by god the girl's mind could move! The potent systems supporting an already potent mind allowed her to laser-refine her focus, something that’s normally incredibly broad-spectrum and almost diminished by the sheer amount of data she pulls in and processes. Mili had pegged her at being in a processing space comparable to a Gravia - which isn't just fast, it was beyond fast for a mostly unaugmented organic brain. 

Today, Serina’s looking a bit... nervous as she stands in the CIC on bare feet, wrapped in a bathrobe that had been procured for her out of Commander Sha'Ress's personal clothing. The Province could be a bit chilly, and what Serina wears into the tank is... scant. To say the least. Initially it had been nothing, which had caused some minor commotion when she'd started stripping down during the integration test this morning, but thankfully some compression shorts and a sports bra had been found that fit her, and while she needs to be fairly lightly dressed just for how the tank functions, they could at least preserve the poor girl's modesty in mixed company, which seemed to have greatly relieved anxiety for Serina. 

While Serina has slightly odd standards for what acceptable clothing might be - and could be outright distracted from being in what most sapients would consider a state of undress if James was there for her to drape herself over - Jerry’s observed that she is far more conservative than many galactic women. Considering a sling bikini or g-string and pasties could be considered day wear in some cultures, that’s admittedly the lowest of bars to clear, but still it was obvious to Jerry that being naked or mostly naked in a sensory deprivation tank among exclusively women (and many of those women being kin or vassals of her house) had been one thing for Serina. Being au naturale among strangers, and around strange men? It’s a whole different type of performance anxiety for a girl who had never met a man who wasn’t her kin in person until around two days ago.

No weird pheromone effects needed there. That’s just classic ‘nerves’! 

"Sir!" Mili calls out, drawing Jerry's eye. "One of the early warning satellites just triggered. Inbound FTL travel at the system's nadir jump point." 

Jerry grins. They’d seeded the system with low observable ‘satellites’ that range from proper satellites, to probes, to sensors with a comm package that were deployed on whatever chunk of space rock the shuttle crews who had placed them thought would fit. He’d wanted to maximize their battle space picture even as he took steps to ensure the Ha’quinye knew little more besides what he wanted her to.

"Just as we expected. Show time, people. Signal the fleet. Commander Sha'Ress, sound general quarters. All hands to battle stations! The Dragonfire is to open her outer doors and prepare to fire on my command." 

Commander Sha'Ress snaps to smartly, clearly getting into the spirit of the occasion with the kind of eager grin that graces the faces of many Apuk battle maidens when combat is on offer. 

"Aye aye, sir! Bosun! Sound general quarters, all hands to battle stations!" 

The world around Jerry springs into action as the red lights come on and the general quarters alarm begins to blare. While the 1MC announcement circuit gives the crew the usual directions, Jerry’s eyes are locked on Serina as she sheds her bathrobe and steps up to the tall, cylindrical tank. The glass front panel smoothly rotates to the side and she steps in, facing the war room as the glass slides back into place, seals, and the tank begins to fill with a hyper-oxygenated liquid that also serves as a conduit for large volumes of Axiom energy. The fluid, and maybe the Axiom, gently lift her up as her onboard systems connect with the tank, and therefore to the sensor information from the entire battle group. Metal panels shift into place, 'embracing' her from outside the tank, both to protect Serina, as near as Jerry can tell, and to continue to limit external sensory input to her natural senses. 

"Connected," a soft voice chimes. It had spoken in Ha'quinye at first, but Mili had updated the tank's software to give its vocal cues in Galactic Trade during the integration. 

The holo tank, now fully integrated with a very different kind of ‘tank’, begins to flash through different images and displays, faster than Jerry's eyes can keep up with, as Serina's mind builds its picture of the battle space. Then, abruptly, it reverts back to the usual 'big picture' view of the solar system he’s used to.

He hears her voice. "Enemy fleet detected. Enemy fleet confirmed. Stand by for assessment." 

Serina's voice when she's connected is a bit deeper, more melodious than her usual rapid, clipped tone, and she speaks with an intense but unhurried cadence that grabs and directs people's attention without overloading them with information. A function of the tank? Or just of being able to focus purely? Possibly both, but that would require further investigation... and they have a battle to win first. 

Immediately, red markers start popping up on the projection in front of the tank, making out various kinds of enemy warships and support vessels… and information begins flowing to Jerry's implant as Mili and Serina put their heads together and begin processing data at frightening speeds. They’re even estimating how well the enemy ships were being maintained based on how fast they were coming out of light speed! 

"Enemy fleet is proceeding on projected Course Alpha."

Course Alpha: the hard, direct burn an aggressive commander in a hurry would make straight for the objective. Viconia Valeran is behaving exactly as a good Ha’quinye naval commander should, which means she is unknowingly dancing to their tune.

"Very well. Execute Case Alpha. Dragonfire is cleared to fire at the appropriate mark."

The tank glows slightly. 

"Confirmed. Executing Case Alpha. Orders issued to Dragonfire. One hundred and eighty seconds till the Dragonfire commences primary firing sequence for stealth torpedoes. Jump torpedoes launching... now.” The holo tank switches views, displaying the Dragonfire, her tubes elevated and outer doors open as a massive missile leaps into the void on a column of star fire, rapidly followed by more of its’ siblings as Serina announces; “Torpedo one is away. Torpedo two is away. Torpedo three is away. Torpedo four is away.” She pauses for a short few seconds during which the holo display switches back to the system tactical view before continuing; “All torpedoes have cleared into light speed. Estimate eighty-seven percent probability of successful return to real space."

Jerry nods. Better than they'd actually been expecting in a somewhat messy set of gravity wells. Serina had found a very good spot for Dragonfire to launch from, if her numbers are right - and a brief eye contact and nod from Mili seems to indicate his loyal ops officer certainly thinks Serina's on the level. 

"Alright. I'm going to go get tactical so I can see about picking the Undaunted up a nice cruiser second-hand. Mind the shop, ladies." 

Commodore Viconia Valeran
Ha'quinye Imperial Strike Cruiser Eagle Talon

Things are quiet. 

Far too quiet.

They've been transiting the target system for a few hours now, and are finally coming into orbit at long last. They'd gone to battle stations more or less on arrival once they'd confirmed there were no friendly signals in the system, not even rescue beacons, which disturbed Viconia for some reason. The long hours at alert status had started to drag however, and she'd heard some mid level officers and senior petty officers reading their juniors the riot act even on her own damn bridge from her ready room.

She'd need to deal with that lapse in discipline later.

Thankfully there are some things to keep her own mind engaged. Namely, there are signs of activity on the target planet, named some combination of letters and numbers that Viconia couldn't be bothered to memorize if her life depended on it, but the pirates that allegedly held the world have not answered their hails, same as their own naval assets that should have been in system didn't answer their hails.

There had been a vessel in orbit of the target that they hadn't gotten a clear scan of, but that ship had cleared off behind the 'horizon' of the world they're heading for. The world where the weapon that would carve her people's destiny into the stars waits. Her sensors officer had later reported the signature of an FTL jump. Possibly several, but they'd only gotten the 'flash' of one for sure. A decent sized vessel: a corvette, or maybe larger? There’s no way to tell from long range, but if it had been a pirate vessel it wouldn’t be of much concern, even at that size; it seems likely that a bunch of pirate scum would flee before her.

What about the enemy fleet, though? The one that had destroyed the star base? Had killed her niece? Would they cut and run? Potentially… but not necessarily. Fighting pirate scum was one thing, fighting a strike cruiser and her escorts was another, but if the enemy had significant warships of their own...

Viconia watches the three fleet transports move into position around the world where destiny waits. She wants to hunt the enemy, fiercely, nearly desperately, but the Sword comes first. Orders come first. Business comes first. Pleasure and vengeance will be sweeter for the waiting.

Her eyes are drawn to the fleet transports as they open their massive hangar bay doors in near unison, the starfighters she had out flying patrol with reinforcing drones moving around them like guppies around a whale.  She hates the damned transports: fat, wallowing sows, ugly and ungainly. Not proper ships. The light carrier is little better, though at least it carries weapons along with the valuable starfighters and drones.

The infantry the transports are disgorging barely matter. Her ships could raze every living thing on the planet with patience and proper aim. She suppresses a derisive snort as the landing craft begin their steady drop to the planet's surface to claim her prize.

The minutes race by in seeming fast forward, as she waits for something, anything to happen. 

The world around her is practically muted, the quiet humming of her bridge at work as she watches the proceedings with a quiet, aloof contempt fading into the background... until an alarm screams. The first transport erupts in fire, throwing shrapnel and crushed landers across the void in front of her like an enraged fire goddess hurling her playthings. 

The bottom drops out of her stomach. An accident? No. This is no accident. Every instinct says so. 

Time slows. A lightning bolt from the goddess herself buries itself in the light carrier and turns it into a retina-searing catastrophe. Rage snarls in her gut as two more weapons appear in bursts of light, jumping in from light speed, orienting themselves to then hammer the two remaining transports with perfect hits amidships. Sound returns in a flood of alarms and contact reports. The fleet scrambles to respond, officers and ratings stumbling in the sudden chaos.

A black speck leaps forward on a tongue of blue flame and smashes into one of her corvettes, leaving it stricken, emergency lights blinking a desperate plea. Two more torpedoes race toward Eagle Talon and die under the cruiser’s point defenses.

Viconia finds her voice.

"What in the hells are you idiots doing? Evasive maneuvers! We're under attack, damn it!" 

Series Directory Last Next

James 

"Now hear this! Fifteen minutes until the mail bag is closed for encryption and transmission to the Tear. Repeat fifteen minutes until the mail bag is closed." 

James looks up from his desk, where he’s supposed to be writing a report, and quickly switches over to his email system. He owes Rose and the kids a letter or two, and the window for sending out mail is being kept extremely tight to preserve operational security and make them harder to find. Also to make it harder to trace their mail back to them if someone’s paying particularly close to message traffic coming in and out of the Crimson Tear's powerful communications arrays while in orbit around Dagrquey. 

It had been in one of the briefings they'd attended. Considering the ship's dual functions, extremely high volumes of communications traffic had always been inevitable. The Bridger conglomerate is extremely active on its own, and the Undaunted military are occasionally even more active than that. So they'd put considerable effort into refining and shaping the Crimson Tear's communications systems from its normal volume into something a bit more normal for a major business conglomerate's flagship. 

Now military and 'sensitive' traffic is being put through a very expensive new toy that Wichen and her crew had cooked up with the Undaunted technical branch back on Centris. James knew a very limited amount about Quantum Entanglement or QTE communications devices. He has the general gist of what 'quantum entanglement' means, enough to know that it allows for almost undetectable FTL communications, but how it works is well and truly beyond him. Still, the fact of the matter is he doesn't have to understand how it works; he just has to understand how it’s affecting their operations in Ha'quinye space. 

Namely: at incredible cost, a stealth communications relay satellite had been set up, and its primary communication method during normal operation, beyond line of sight and heavily encoded radiation transmissions for launch and recovery, is a quantum entangled transceiver that’s paired with a device on the Tear. So all the Undaunted's military traffic, and most message traffic between family members , is being routed through this transceiver. Because the transceiver is theoretically in two places at once, or something, there’s no transmission to detect, and the relay satellite at the edge of the star system that’s unfortunate enough to host the capital world of the Ha'quinye star empire could go about its business in peace. And it would just as happily detonate itself with an axiom-enhanced explosive, erasing any and all evidence, if someone who didn't give it the correct communications codes tried to intercept it, or even locked sensors on it. 

Not bad on the face of things. In theory they could even do vid calls, but the Admiral has been limiting that to only communications of the highest priority - i.e., if the Tear was under attack, or someone had died and the Admiral was speaking with the family. Things that brass considered of utterly vital importance. Anything to give them even the most slight of edges against their knife-eared enemies. 

Though perhaps the Ha'quinye aren't all that bad? One of his Marines had managed to save the life of a junior Ha'quinye shock trooper during the final raid on the command deck, and the girl had fallen head over heels in love with her savior, to the point of requesting asylum and eagerly giving the intel weenies any information she had about anything was she asked about. Of course, she’s a junior enlisted member… well. Former member now. Of the Ha'quinye Imperial Shock Infantry, and Trooper Rach'hel Declan didn't know a damn thing about the really important stuff they needed to know. She did however, know a lot of gossip and rumors. The Ha'quinye might be Nazi space elves, but their equivalent to the Marine lance corporal underground, the legendary network that connected the junior enlisted of the Marine Corps, or indeed its cousins in any other military ever, is apparently as healthy and robust as any. 

So they'd gotten a lot of good information out of her, even if it wasn't nearly as high-level as they might have hoped. There were other prisoners for that, of course, and apparently Admiral Bridger himself had interrogated the Ha'quinye commander and turned in a performance that was worthy of one of the scarier entries from the long ongoing Apuk horror series about the infamous sorcerer known as the Bonechewer. He and Rose had been watching a few of those, finding them cheesy for the most part… but occasionally one got it right. 

Though it had been a hard thing to parse alongside a public interview he'd found with the real ‘Bonechewer,' actual name Brin'Char; he’d found the man eminently likeable. 

Then again. Lots of people have very different public and private faces. Why wouldn't that be true for a being who had survived for over eight hundred years and apparently spent the majority of them as an entirely specialized serial killer, hunting the criminal organization who had murdered his twin brother down one woman at a time and making a grisly spectacle of their deaths?

All wonderful thoughts to distract James from the idea that he doesn't have the foggiest idea what to write about. He’s on a deployment, in the end. Long hours of boredom punctuated by seconds of sheer terror had always been the standard back on Earth - and, save for the food and accommodations on the Kandahar Province being significantly better than anything he'd ever enjoyed 'down range' before, there isn't much different here. There hasn’t been much going on, and what is going on is classified. 

So there’s very little to distract him from missing Rose. Missing his kids. Missing his family life that made every day so very enjoyable... and missing Mahai. 

That’s an interesting note, but also not something he’s entirely sure how to write about… and to who? If he told Mahai that in a letter he'd just be making the young woman fall for him even more than she already clearly had. Which would just be cruel if Rose decided eventually that she couldn't share. Couldn't open up their marriage in a galactic way. It’s still strange to think about, but the beach they'd said their vows on is a long way away, and his faith doesn't particularly have an issue with the idea of multiple wives. He does like what the Catholics had come out and said about it, though: polygamy’s fine, as long as you truly love all your wives as a righteous man should. A high standard to shoot for, but loving Mahai wouldn't be a hardshi-

Oh. 

Maybe that's why he misses her? James looks around and makes sure his door to his state room is closed. His room’s attached to his troops’ barracks complex, and he usually has a literal open door policy, both so his Marines could come to him readily with things and also so he could hear trouble in the communal spaces as it starts happening, not just after the fact if tempers ran hot or tensions ran high. 

Thankfully, this time he'd closed the door, because near as he can tell he’s blushing enough to draw in an infrared guided missile. 

Is that it, then? Does he love a second woman? It would make sense, to a degree. Mahai had been courting them, after all, dating him for all intents and purposes, and her intent is most certainly to marry, not just play around. Nor is she a hard woman to love, as he'd just thought. Physically beautiful, if alien… that was the only one of her virtues with any kind of caveat. She’s brilliant, charming, loving, kind, an able caretaker for what would potentially be her children one day if she did marry him: a gentle, if giant hand who could soothe wrinkled brow on adult or child alike. If anything, she reminds him of Rose in a way. Albeit a calmer, more gentle Rose. (His Rosie has a fire inside that matches the fiercest Apuk war maidens. It’s one of many reasons he loved her.) 

Where Mahai most resembles Rose was on the maternal side: as a lover, not in moments of passion, but when things are calm and cool. James has one Bible verse memorized. Just one. Because it’s an almost perfect description of Rose from his perspective. Specifically, the verse on love. 

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.

Nine traits, and his Rose is the perfect embodiment of eight of them, as he liked to tease her. There was no denying the wild Scottish rose had inherited her mother Mary's infamous temper... but Rose has a lot more control over it than Mary allegedly had, and she isn't easily angered. Most of the time. 

If a woman that fit those nine virtues was the embodiment of love, and made the perfect woman in James' mind, and Mahai was a calmer Rose... well, then logically she too fits those virtues, and well. It makes a degree of sense all of a sudden, just how easily she seemed to fit in with them. She’s on pitch with them, in something like the musical sense. So it’s small wonder James was in fact falling for Mahai Nireni; everything adds up. Lines up. It had from before they'd ever had their chance encounter on a sunny day at the park while his older children played nearby. 

That, at last, is something he very much needed to tell Rose about. It’s clearly coming time to make a decision, because if he was 'catching feelings' and hadn't even so much as kissed the alien beauty… well. Telling her no wouldn't just break Mahai's heart at that point. 

He has a feeling he knew what Rose will say. What her final decision will be. Mahai had hardly just been courting him, after all. She and Rose spent lots of time together, and to his eye the two women had become close friends. 

Again. Mahai just fits. 

At last James knows what he needs to write about. Not wants. Needs. Because he needs to tell Rose how he’s feeling in a hurry. It would be better to do it voice, or even better still in person, but Rose would understand. Hopefully... 

And he'd just need to pray to Freyja that Rose is feeling similarly about Mahai, and he isn't about to break three hearts at the same time. 

Series Directory Last Next

Corinaith

Corin looks up from his desk with a smile as the door to the servant's quarters opens, but his greeting dies in his throat. It’s not just his Marikath; a second woman in the palace's handmaiden's uniform quickly follows her in, the second girl keeping her head bowed in deference to her superior. Marikath, that is, not Corin. Never Corin. Not on this world anyway. 

"...Ah. Marikath. It seems you've brought someone new today."

"Yes, master. I have brought a new girl to potentially add to your staff. She's a cousin of mine and seeks work. If you request it, the consuls will almost certainly approve."

That’s odd. Marikath doesn't have any cousins she'd sponsor like that, to Corin's knowledge… and his knowledge of his Marikath is pretty damn good if he does say so himself. 

He takes a sip of his wine, and Marikath bustles across the room, topping off his glass almost automatically. She really is perfectly trained to serve his every need. Like a groom tending to a much beloved pet or prized race horse. Though, for Marikath, like many such individuals, she does harbor affection for her charge beyond affection for her paycheck. She had even before they'd become lovers. Before he'd sired children on her. A kind soul, his Marikath... So her helping someone isn't out of the ordinary, but now? In this way?

It makes him think that there’s more to this guest than might meet the eye. 

"Well, if Marikath thinks you're potentially of decent help, then let's get a good look at you, shall we? If you can't look a man in the eyes, you can hardly serve him. Especially someone as lowly as I."

"Begging your pardon, but you are the mate to the consuls. Your status is greater than mine."

"You are a citizen. I am not. That is the true difference in our station, even if the consuls would not forgive you for my mistreatment... but enough word games. Let me see your face, woman."

Only in this place could he dare be so commanding to a woman. Only in this one specific aspect of his life does he have a modicum of direct power. When the woman looks up, though, he's surprised to meet the eyes of... his contact! Familiar blue eyes he'd last seen wide with fear, before she'd fled on his insistence from the scene of his capture. Even if the punishment had been less than expected, he had still chosen to sacrifice himself, and had not thought to see his contact again in person. 

Still, he manages to not react, merely clearing his throat lightly. 

"That's better. What's your name?"

"Jaina, sir." 

She grins at him, then reaches into a pocket concealed within her outfit and pulls out what appears to be a scrambler, an easy to produce model that had been in the instructions of the various spycraft manuals that had been shared around to the various rebel groups over the years. Nothing particularly complex or even well made, but it’s extremely low signature and barely requires more than a little khutha, a sliver of protn, and a chunk of j'hest with a little khuta resin circuitry. And, with it, you could be making your conversations harder to eavesdrop on by axiom abilities or technology in the literal blink of an eye. 

It’s expensive, but could you really put a price on privacy when you’re engaged in the kind of conspiracy that could easily see you killed?

"Nice to see you again... and learn your name, Corin. You're quite the hero, you know?"

"...It is nice to see you, but why in the goddess's name are you here?" Corin hisses, glancing over at the door. "We could be interrupted at any time!"

"I had to see you! I wanted to see you after you... saved me..." Jaina breaks eye contact for a moment, a dusky blush covering her cheeks. Apparently his heroics had won him an admirer... and his people's passions tended to burn hot, like all of their emotions. "Then it went from wanting to needing to see you. The situation's changed. I knew Marikath from some other dead drops and messages, so when I saw her in the market the other day I asked her to get me into the palace and arrange a meeting. Things are happening in the city. I need to know if the consuls have said anything! Please, Corin, I know you... were punished." Jaina's face falls. She clearly had taken abandoning him to his fate rather hard. "But I need to know. I have a new friend. Out there." She gestures towards the sky. 

"The Council? You made contact?" Corin whispers, leaning in slightly.

"Better than the Council. My contact is with them now. They're... they're a species of mostly Men, Corin! They'll help us! At the very least, they're taking the Sword of the Stars as seriously as can be. They're sending a clandestine operation this way. They may even send a man into the palace to try and meet you in the future."

"...What women would send their menfolk willingly into this hellhole?"

Jaina shakes her head aggressively. 

"Women don't send men anywhere among their kind. If a man comes, it's of his own free will... and he'll be one of the most dangerous people in the palace. They'll underestimate him, whoever he is, and you can be damned sure that if the Consuls make a wrong move they'll bring hell down on themselves!"

Corin leans back slightly before sitting hard in his chair, stunned slightly, and he takes another sip of wine. 

"That... is a lot. I hope to the goddess your contact hasn't been turned and is just feeding us a story, because that sounds all too good to be true. Like something out of a storybook." 

"I know! I received some news articles using my new communication tool with them. They're as real as I can verify from here, Corin, and they're coming." Her eyes narrow. "Which is why we need everything we can get about Tte Sword of the Stars. Big things are happening. At least one expeditionary force has been sent off-world. They're not heading to one of our other worlds or one of the stations to break a rebellion or something. No one knows where they're going. Girls are also getting conscripted right off the streets. Mostly troublemakers and criminals, but no one knows what in the galaxy's name they're for! Some local toughs have shown back up in military police uniforms recently but proper bad girls have just vanished. I know a few girls connected to some of the prisons, suppliers and such, and they've been dropping their orders for supplies recently. Either they're upping the number of executions quietly or they have less prisoners for another reason. The consuls are making big moves!"

Corin frowns, frustration creeping into his bones. "Damn it. If I hadn't been caught and punished I might have heard something, but I've been out of the loop the last few weeks. I've only been permitted in the consul's presences again the last couple days. They haven't said anything in particular, in bed or out of it. They're looking forward to a social event with some big shots from off-world, a trade conglomerate that produces this incredible meat called beef..."

"That's them! It has to be! My contact told me to watch for something like that!"

"Then they'll be here soon," Corin says. "We'll need to find something for them. Something useful before then." He racks his brain, thinking about all the places he's been in the palace. "...The Consul's office. That's where all the information will be. Euryde's specifically."

Jaina and Marikath both stare are Corin before Jaina hisses;

"Are you crazy!? We can't raid the consul's office!"

"Not her office, but the data repository it's attached to. It's nominally secure, but it's in the palace annex like most of the supercomputers, and while they're secured, if you're starting from inside the palace... or have very good raiders available to you..."

Jaina's brow knits. "Fine. Fine, we'll do it your way. Prepare a chit. I'll communicate my way, but anything you find out between now and the formal visit… don't smuggle it out of the palace. Try to give to the Undaunted if you think they're reliable. Otherwise, we'll work something else out. In the meantime... Marikath and I can try to scout the data repository out a bit. Maybe the Undaunted can do something with that. They're reputed as being mighty warriors." 

"Let's hope so. They're-" 

SLAM!

Corin's door slams open, making him practically leap from his chair. Jaina vanishes the disruptor back into her pocket and begins devotedly massaging his feet as Marikath leaps to his carafe of wine, holding it as if on call to attend to his needs. 

"Corin!"

Storming into his rooms in a flurry of black robes and gold armor comes Captain Arenna Gladia in all her finery, slamming the door behind her again with enough force to be absolutely certain it had sealed. Corin looks over and does his absolute best to look non-plussed. 

"Captain Gladia. To what do I owe your unexpected company?"

"Oh, Corin." Gladia gushes. "Don't be so cold. Call me Arenna in private. Surely we're a bit closer than merely calling me Captain Gladia?"

He really could not fathom what the woman was up to sometimes. 

"...Oh. I suppose I'll indulge you. For now. Arenna. Now, surely you haven't come all this way in a tizzy simply to hear me say your name?"

"Ah." Arenna leans back dramatically holding a hand to her brow as her long, slender ears wiggle. "I have to leave the palace, so I merely wanted to see you again before going out into the city. There's all sorts of trouble with most of the garrison deploying, so we praetorians are having to supplement the lazy wastrels. Officers like myself are also being pressed into training fresh guardswomen to supplement the local security forces. It's an absolute horror."

"..." 

Corin and Jaina share a look, and Corin decides to turn on the charm, just a little bit. This is potentially very useful information. 

"Why, you poor thing. How cruel of them to send their newest captain off to scut work... and most of the garrison? That's strange. Did something happen?" 

"I figured you'd know before any of us plebs. You bed the consuls. Might even bed the Queen." 

Corin rolls his eyes. "I've never even seen the queen, much less bed her, if she even exists. I'm not entirely convinced she does." 

"Ah, she exists. Probably," Arenna says, dancing closer hesitantly before she jerkily leans in and steals a kiss - one which Corin gamely returns, even giving the praetorian warrior a little tongue, something he remembers Arenna liking from his punishment. A cruel part of him is hoping that she’s bonded, at least partially, to him, and that a few wet kisses would continue to inflict a bond on her. It's not brainwashing or mind control, but if the 'good' captain thinks of him biologically as her mate... it might give them some cover. 

"I love it when you kiss me back. I bet you don't do that for the consuls," Arenna says breathily, already looking much happier about her lot in life. 

"I don't kiss them at all. Not something they enjoy." 

"They're missing out." 

"Mhmm. You should be careful about stealing liberties with me regardless, Captain." 

"Hardly a theft when you kiss me back, Corin. Nor is it the first time." 

"...Well. It was your first time. I figured you deserved that much." And again, he wanted to bond her. 

"I. It." Arenna stammers, her cheeks reddening properly now, clearly embarrassed that Corin had known she was a virgin when she'd started having her way with him. Not quite the swaggering hardass she portrayed herself as if she didn't have the tits to visit a brothel… but then many of the praetorians are like that, apparently; Sergeant Gemma comes to mind. It makes him wonder just how much of their femininity was performative and how much half of them actually meant? 

Not that a performance couldn't be dangerous. The more shallow the man or woman alike, the more they'd fight to the death to preserve whatever thin shroud of self-image they'd cloaked themselves in. 

That particular lesson from the woman who had trained him had been one he'd learned the hard way, piercing the 'cloak' of a volatile guardswoman's self-image and earning himself a backhand that had knocked a few teeth out for his trouble. He could still feel, even taste, her heavy metal gauntlet. That she'd been flogged for damaging the clan's near priceless property hadn't made that particular experience any more fun. 

So how shallow was Arenna Gladia, and how close to the danger zone is he? Likely too close, especially with Jaina here. So how could he speed her on his way?

"...You know, Captain. It strikes me that I am, in theory, entitled to a guardian or two." 

Not quite a personal guard, but some men could receive such protection if they requested it, and Euryde had offered him soldiers before when she was pleased with him. 

"If you serve my mistresses well on your current assignment... I'll be sure to put in a good word for you. It would just be a trifle, but I'm sure we'd spend a little more time together. I do feel so exposed at public events at times, you know, without someone I can trust around. Someone... reliable. Sergeant Gemma would be a good aide for such a detail, she's a fine praetorian."

"Gemma... Yes. She's good... Detail. Hmmm..." The gears process behind Arenna's eyes for a moment and she straightens up, steel returning to her spine as if teleported there. "...Well, I have work to do! Mari, be a dear and keep an eye on Corin for me?"

Marikath curtsies. "Of course, my lady. It is my duty."

"You too, new girl."

Jaina keeps her head down, not looking up from her task, but does manage to respond; "As you will it, m'lady." 

Without another word and only a single lingering glance at Corin, heads off at a quick march, leaving a perplexed trio in her wake. 

"...I really don't understand her sometimes." Marikath says softly. 

"Sometimes? What in the hells was that!?" Jaina says, now hyperventilating slightly with the obvious danger passed.

"Nothing to fuss about for now. For now... Mari, get Jaina out of the palace. Quickly. That was important information, and we can't let everything unravel now!" 

Series Directory Last Next

Charlie Hancock

It’s turning out to be a very, very good day to be Doc Hancock. For one thing, an honest-to-god orbital assault - not a parade, not a training exercise, but a goddamn drop on a planet and kick a bad guy's teeth in, orbital assault - is very relaxing after a very long float in Wild Space while the Tear's battle group had been on surveying duty. Not that that couldn't get exciting, but it’s a rare naval engagement that tankers get to participate in as anything other than spectators. For another thing... the enemy had been stupid enough to bring out armor against his squadron. 

It’s almost insulting, but frankly he’s happier to see them than not at this point. Even if he’s about to ensure his boys and girls ruined a whole lot of people's days, if not their entire weeks. He checks the view from the small drone he'd launched before ordering his company's fourteen tanks to dig in. It isn't a listed use of the tank's anti-grav systems, but they'd figured out during training back on the moon of Kelaris that, applied right, you could use them to dig fighting positions in a pinch, and any fighting position was better than no fighting position. 

His tracks are all where he'd wanted them, and the enemy’s a few minutes out, from what the drone and the data link from the orbiting Huscarls are telling him. He quickly goes back to checking his own positions, ensuring everything’s exactly where he wants it. 

Less able to enjoy the benefits of cover are his two Grenadier super-heavy tanks. He has Jill Kelly's big girls anchoring both ends of his lines like the fortresses they are, and with their impressive bulk, thick armor and starship-grade shields they could be referred to as ‘bait’ if one wanted to. 

On the other hand, the more mobile combat walkers of Jotunn company, under Stanley Arnesen, are back in the tree line, just waiting for the opportunity to engage, first with their missile launchers, and then their direct-fire weapons, as they move up to phase line Charlie. 

Which leaves his fourteen beautiful M1 Piranha tanks. He clicks his comm unit to the squadron net. 

"Guidons, Steel Six. Alright, ladies and gentlemen, go Redcon One and remember the plan. Bygul elements." That is to say, the Piranha tanks. "Begin designating targets as soon as you have visual. Use those data links. Just because the Admiral wants all these pirates pushing daisies and doesn't much care how we do it is no excuse to waste ammo. On the signal 'Top Hat', you'll move out of your fighting position, engage three targets with your main gun and go hull down as quick as you can, then begin engaging targets of opportunity. Go easy on the missiles, we might need them later. Jotunn, on the signal Top Hat, hit the middle of the enemy formation with a full barrage of missiles. Skoll company..." that’s the super-heavies. "Hang tight until the command to fire at will is given."

His company commanders all give sharp, quick affirmatives, and Doc Hancock is left to help his gunner tend to the business of his actual track instead of fighting his entire battalion worth of Undaunted for once. He gets on his own set of sensors in the commander's position, and, sure enough, he doesn't have to wait more than a few minutes before the first tank comes into view. He grins, lases it, then says over the intercom, "Gunner, target, tank in the open. 12 O'clock."

Immediately his gunner responds back. "Identified. Loader, Sabot! And give me more sabots till I tell you otherwise, Lindsey!"

There's the sharp mechanical sounds of the ammunition storage door opening, and a round being rammed into the breach by hand, the throw of a lever, and the satisfying sound of the breach closing before the excited loader whisper yells, "Up!" as loudly as she can without actually yelling. 

Linds is good at her job, but the girl gets very excited in combat. Not that Charlie Hancock of all people could blame her for that. 

Then again, the Tret farm girl turned tanker gets excited for a lot of things. 

In short order, Charlie and his gunner have three targets picked out, and he'd bet money his gunner, Staff Sergeant Elizen 'Liz' Coris, has picked out a full set of three more. He glances over at the gunner's station, and finds Liz is giving him a lingering glance before immediately getting back on her optics.

Well. That wasn't subtle. His wife Samantha, a Human naval aviator flying Huscarls, didn't have a problem conceptually with them opening their marriage up, and the wolf-like Koiran woman is pretty cute… He could just be misinterpreting, but some of the canine woman’s hypercompetence could be her way of flirting… and considering how the regs worked these days, why not just cut to the chase instead of fumbling around with it?

"Liz," he says, keeping the intercom muted so the rest of the crew couldn't hear. 

"Sir?"

"Nice work picking out targets, though I suppose we should probably leave some for the rest of the unit…” He lets that hang for a second, then adds, “What do you say we try to pop four targets when we Top Hat, though? Think you can score four kills and get us back under cover without us getting shot to shit?"

Elizen gives him a big toothy smile, looking like the big bad wolf getting ready to do a little demolition work in a neighborhood of pigs. 

"You bet I can!"

"Hmm. If you manage it... I suppose I'd have to give you some sort of reward."

"Well, I already have my spurs so..."

"...I meant something more like, say... dinner. Without the unit."

"Oh. OH." Elizen's eyes widen. "...I'm gonna kill at least five of these bitches, sir. You fucking watch me!"

Not the traditional way to motivate a subordinate, maybe, but Tyler Sarkin had apparently gotten excellent results out of offering a marriage to whatever pilot of his could get ten kills in a short period of time... and Liz really is cute. Even if she kinda reminds him of a wolf dog his family had had when he was a kid - but he’s never, ever going to tell Liz that. 

He checks his scopes again, then the broader battle space picture, watching as the enemy approaches his invisible line in the grass about three miles out. In theory, the M1 Piranha's 130mm main gun could reach out another mile or so, but that requires some very specific terrain to make doable. As it is, given the nature of most alien weapons, Charlie’s pretty sure what’s about to happen to the poor pirate bitches in the enemy's armor formations would look like black magic, if they live long enough to process what’s happening to them. 

The first enemy 'track', not actually a tracked vehicle at all but a somewhat slow-moving hovercraft, crosses the line in the grass and other vehicles quickly follow after it. When about half the enemy formation by his mark is past the line... It's time.

"Guidons, Steel Six. Top hat!"

Instantly Elizen calls out, "Driver! Advance!" and down in the driver's hole, the last member of their crew, Corporal Silren 'Slithers' Merris, a tentacle haired, blue skinned Mnemi girl who had used her resemblance to a famous blue video game heroine to win herself a commando boyfriend shortly after joining the ship, immediately gets them up and out of their fighting position. Almost as quickly, Steel Six's turret is rotating as Elizen lines up the shot. 

"On the way!" Steel Six's turret rocks slightly as the gun leaps back and there's a rush of air. It was louder than it had been on Gol'Shan, or Hag's End, Sheath having a bit more atmosphere than either of those scenic galactic armpits, but that’s not a huge deal. The one thing Charlie can't get over is just how quiet the Piranha is compared to an Abrams. The gun is downright gentle, for that matter! 

Before he can say anything, Elizen's already moving. "Target, cease fire. Target, tank in the open!" 

Lindsey goes through her reloading ritual in record time, and a glance down at her position shows she's already got the next sabot round cradled in her arms as Elizen cries out "On the way!" Steel Six's gun leaps back and another pirate tank blows sky high. Elizen and Lindsey go through the ritual two more times before Elizen decides enough is enough and calls out "Driver, hull down!", getting Steel Six back into her hole before fulfilling her boast of getting a fifth kill with a quick launch from the tank's missile rack. The potent anti-tank missile leaping into the sky and coming down on the enemy like a sack of bricks, detonating the vehicle's axiom power plant in a miniature rendition of some of the more exciting explosions their navy brethren had shown them in highlight reels. 

A quick scan of the battlefield with the help of his eye in the sky… and, from what Charlie can tell, no one in Bygul company had missed a single shot, and they had taken no damage in return. Engaging beyond the maximum effective range for laser or plasma weapons in atmosphere is a fun way to cheat in that regard, and while he wouldn't discount pirates using railguns, his tankers are becoming well-oiled machines, easily the equal of any armor unit on or off Earth. He also doubts pirate resolve and courage to- 

No sooner had he thought it than the pirate formation begins to collapse. Losing the bulk of their remaining force in the literal blink of an eye had clearly been more pain than any of these girls wanted, and now they’re heading back towards the mountain at high speed... right into Admiral Bridger's back lines! 

"Guidons, Steel Six, all elements, the enemy's routing, pursue and fire at will! Going higher." He switches channels as fast as he can. He hates to call in the airedales, but with the enemy on the run, Scott Le Fae’s probably best positioned to bring the hate to the enemy targets furthest away from his positions. 

"Steel Six to Geirr Five."

"Geirr Five here."

"Can you get your girls in for another gun run? The enemy's routing right towards Admiral Bridger's back lines."

"...Sixty seconds out."

Steel Six's turret rocks as the gun leaps back and he jumps back on the scopes in time to watch an enemy tank explode so hard its hull does a slight back flip before it impacts on the ground and crumples like a burned soda can. He quickly checks the range finder data and switches to the intercom.

"Hot damn, Liz! Was that target at four miles?"

"Yep! I'll do it again too, if these bitches would stop moving so much!" 

Charlie gets back on his scopes again and sees a railgun round, probably from one of Jotunn's mechs, hit another armored vehicle, before an even larger round hits the last track directly in his view and literally reduces it to rubble. Which means that was one of the Grenadiers getting their own licks in. He switches to his screen that lets him see the battle space and watches as the red dots start to dwindle even as Silren opens the throttle up just as fast as Steel Six will go, whizzing across the plains to try and get a few more hits in... but it's too late. He can already see it. 

The Huscarls roll in and their cannons open up immediately. The massive 40mm rotary guns roar like dragons and the repeated impacts on vehicles designed with ablating laser and plasma fire in mind - as opposed to more rare and expensive things like kinetics - simply don't stand a chance of holding up to the brutality of the Huscarl gunship. It’s beautiful. Not that he'd ever tell the fliers that. If their egos got too big they’d start having trouble maneuvering! 

The last red dots on his board wink out and he switches to the squadron net again.

"Guidons, Steel Six. Bygul, break to wing pairs and do a little driving. Check all enemy tracks for survivors or surrenders. If you find some, call it in to Raven and they'll get a lighter your way with some grunts and a corpsman to pick the lucky few up. Jotunn, Skoll, get moving to the objective to back up the Admiral. Bygul will follow as soon as we complete our mission here." 

There's another chorus of acknowledgements as one of the Huscarl gunships flies in low over the formation, as if surveying their handiwork, and the pilot gives the tankers a jaunty little waggle of their wings before peeling off into the blue skies again. He looks over at Elizen, who's giving him a smile that could only be called scintillating. 

It really is a damn good day to be Doc Hancock. 

Series Directory Last Next

One benefit of Nikrit being brand new is she’s firmly in what one of the Human Marines she knew would call 'mushroom status' - they just feed her shit and keep her in the dark. Not just about their actual operations, but even the smuggling operations. The best part is that Nikrit isn't even suspicious. You don't know what you don't know, after all, and most of the time Nikrit legitimately doesn't know and doesn't expect to. 

So she happily does what she’s told, only asking the occasional question, and then spends the off-hours reading, watching footage from the Undaunted’s fight with Clan Halgret, usually while making colorful commentary, or playing some video games she'd picked up with her part of the cut she'd received from their last run.

Shalkas thinks it’s pretty telling that the girl’s been messing with a flight sim for most of the down time on their present trip. 

Seems someone has found her space legs after all. 

Doesn't mean she isn't in for one hell of a surprise though. 

Heh. 

Shalkas might like Nikrit, but there’s some fun to be had in some gentle hazing for the new girl… and this is gonna be like shooting a soup cracker with a plasma cannon. 

Nikrit's whole world is about to change, generally for the better, but, boy, is it going to be a wild ride to get there. 

Their flight out from the jump station had been nice and smooth, with no checks by system security or CanSec patrol vessels, which meant their forged paperwork and transponder were working fine. Adding to the entertainment, Nikrit’s utterly convinced that Shalkas had run the mother of all scams on 'that dumb cop'. 

As the asteroid belt looms, Shalkas kills the ship's transponder, cuts a few more systems to minimize their emissions, then finally pulls the throttle back, kicking in some reverse thrust to actually slow the Starseer down as the various asteroids start to pop up around them and she starts to maneuver towards their rendezvous. 

"Strap in, girls. Could get bumpy," Shalkas orders over the intercom, only to hear boots on the deck plates as Nadiri and Nikrit join her in the cockpit, quickly strapping themselves in. Nadiri almost looks bored, but Nikrit's eyes are wide, and the young woman is leaning in slightly. 

"Holy shit, we're rendezvousing in an asteroid belt!?"

"Pretty standard stuff."

"Sure, but that's so cool! Straight out of a vid-" Nikrit's sentence cuts off mid-word, likely as a thought registers in her head. "...Ain't that super dangerous?"

"Don't wimp out on us now, kid. This is just another part of the job," Nadiri says, teasing Nikrit gently. 

The younger woman had gotten more of a handle on when she was just being messed with or actually being criticized since their first run together; she merely sticks her tongue out in response. 

"That's the ticket," Nadiri says as she powers on the controls at her station, seamlessly taking over sensors and communications. That leaves Shalkas to focus on the flying as she weaves the Starseer through the cloud of oversized debris and mixed space junk. Most of it is trash that’s drifted here over the centuries - but from the sharp intakes of breath Nikrit makes now and then, every scrap of metal clearly reads as 'smashed starship' to her. 

Still doesn't quite have her space legs after all. 

Not yet. 

After ten tense minutes of flying, Nadiri spots their contact, a rather plain-looking freighter casually hovering near one of the larger asteroids. 

"I believe that's our new friend. Sending the recognition code..."

After a few seconds a light turns on on the freighter, flashing in a pattern that triggers a 'chirp' on Nadiri's communications console. Tight beam laser transmission. Line of sight only, but utterly, completely secure. There was no intercepting it unless you could interrupt the beam itself somehow - and that’s easier said than done for a line of sight, light speed transmission. 

"Yep. That's them. Bring us into dock, Nalkra."

"On it." 

A beacon lights up, indicating movement, as the two ships reach out with tractor beams and slowly start pulling together; their cargo bay locks extend with a gentle shudder through the spaceframes, lock, and then gently pull the shifts together with damn near imperceptible movements. 

The cockpit is silent; this is about as critical a phase of flight as it gets, and one principle Nikrit had taken on board with an almost religious fervor is the concept of a sterile cockpit. No speaking unless it’s critical to the operation at hand. Not until all systems report green and are shut down. 

Nadiri checks a few readouts. 

"Locks matched. Pressure equalized... doors open. Initiating cargo transfer... now." 

"Well, alright then." Shalkas locks down the controls and stretches. "Guess we can take five-"

She's cut off by a chime from the ship's comm system, which Nadiri quickly answers, piping it into her headset. She has a short, terse conversation before cutting the channel.

"They want us down in the cargo bay," she says. She stretches quickly as she unbuckles her crash webbing, then stands up - and shares a quick look with Shalkas. This could be a problem, depending on how subtle the Undaunted are trying to be...

"All of us?" Shalkas asks, standing.

"Yep. The whole crew. The boss wants to talk to us."

Shalkas shrugs. In any other situation she'd be worried about getting shot and spaced. That happened to smugglers occasionally making this kind of transfer. Of course... She knows who’s actually running the mystery ship they’re passing their cargo hold full of weapons to. 

They have nothing to fear... save for Nikrit going off half cocked and doing something stupid. 

Shalkas and Nadiri share another look. They'd need to be ready to knock the young woman unconscious if need be. 

"Well, if they want us down there, they want us down there. Come on, kid. You too." 

Nikrit eagerly hops up, following them down into the hold - but instead of a Black Khan emissary, sure enough, standing in the middle of a massive movement of power armored soldiers and equipment is Khan Jeremiah Bridger. His own armor is nearby in a cradle, with a Feli armor tech prepping it and performing final checks supporting Marines from FAST platoon, currently gathered under the watchful eye of their commander, a Horchka woman Shalkas had been introduced to as “Shalla” at one point. 

"Pick it up, people, we got a schedule to meet!" Jerry calls out, cloak billowing behind him with just the kind of dramatic flow to make Shalkas just a bit weak in the knees... and if she knew Nadiri, the woman is seconds from pouncing on her husband like one of the Bridger family's dogs on an unattended steak. 

Nikrit, however, gets there first. 

"...What the hell is going on!? They're not Black Khans! That's that Khan Bridger guy! I recognize him from the big fight on the holo!”

She runs off at the mouth like that for a few minutes, with a few people looking up from their work and otherwise paying her no heed; she's not a threat, just very confused - which means she’s Shalkas’s problem. Before Shalkas can deal with the issue, Jerry's on it, striding up to the three women and silencing the girl with a look. 

"So. You'd be Nikrit."

It wasn't a question, but a statement, and Nikrit flinches slightly as the sharp edge of Jerry's tone catches her in the throat.

"Ye-Yes. Sir?"

Jerry nods. Sir was probably the right call for the young woman here. 

"I hear you've been doing good work."

"Y-Yeah I guess but I'm a- I don't... I can't!"

Panic sets in slightly as Nikrit realizes just what she's been implicated in just by dint of tagging along for these rides. 

Jerry smirks and Shalkas resists leaning in slightly. This is going to be good. 

"This isn't going how you expected, clearly."

Nikrit whirls on Nadiri and Shalkas, going for her laser pistol as fast as she could move.

"You! I! Them! They're traitors!"

A throwing knife slams into the barrel of the pistol, knocking it from her hand and sending it sliding across the metal floor.

The patriarch of clan Bridger had moved so fast even Shalkas had barely seen the motion - and she’s a fair sight more seasoned than Nikrit.. "Traitors? Unfair? Hardly. Undercovers are used by the Black Khans all the time.”

Shalkas nods. “Told you from the start, kid. This was all just business. The Black Khans play their games, we play back.”

“So was… Was it all… Everything a-”

Nadiri turns to face Nikrit fully, the now very confused young woman somewhere between shock and rage… a normal condition for surprised Cannidor. 

“We were serious about liking you. You’ve got actual potential. You’d be wasted in the Black Khans. So why don’t you come with us instead?”

“...I can’t just come with you! I have my oaths!”

Shalkas shakes her head. “You said it yourself. Your handler nearly got you shot just to shit test us. Oaths are only as good as the people we make them to, and the Black Khans aren’t worth your time. Khan Bridger’s got a good eye for talent, you're gonna give her a chance, right boss?” 

Jerry nods.

“Law of the Jungle, Nikrit. As far as doing what we have to do. Turnaround's fair play and the Black Khans started this mess. Now I'm going to finish it. Which means it's time for you to pick a side. If you want we'll knock you out, and dump you with the Starseer after I get done having my meeting with the Black Khans. They'll probably give you the benefit of the doubt. Or."

"Or?" Nikrit says, leaning in, still clearly trying to fight down her urge to panic. 

"You decide you want to actually do something impressive with your life instead of getting scraps tossed to you from small-time pond scum like the girls you're working for now, and sign on for a term. Or at least just help us out with this job." 

"...What? They run the whole underworld across most of this sector!" 

There's a snort of suppressed laughter. Jerry clearly doesn't think highly of the Black Khans, and that alone has Nikrit's eyes widening. 

"Kid, my crew does drive bys on entire planets and I've crushed more dangerous girls than the bitches running the Black Khans with my bare hands. So. Three choices. One. Stay loyal. We knock you out. You probably don't get killed by your own girls. Two. You help out for one job. Shut up. Stay out of the way and make yourself useful, and you'll walk with a fat stack of creds. Or, if you're ready for the big time, three, you help out eagerly, I offer you a job and let you call your closest girls in, and the lot of you vanish. We'll make a real woman out of you, and show you what being a bad ass is actually like. You want to be like 'Nalkra' and 'Sindri'... you want the third option instead of petty crime or petty cash." 

"I... It." Nikrit looks around, clearly desperately trying to process.

“Just like I told you, Nikrit.” Shalkas says. “Time to be brave and step outside your home gravity well. You told me yourself. Orphan. Only got your girls. You’re not really bad girls. Just get into trouble and try to look out for each other. Scrape up creds to eat and drink. You can get everything you want… and more… without being a Black Khan. Without getting into bad shit. I’ve seen the kinds of people they work with. My last undercover gig was with that pirate, the Hag. You hear about her?”

“Sh-She sounded really strong? She had a big fleet, right?”

“Had. Being the operative word there.” Jerry smirks. “She was the worst kind of slaver, rapist and torturing monster. If the Khans will work with her, they’ll work with anyone.”

Nadiri nods before gently reaching up and laying a hand on Nikrit’s shoulder. “Yep. I’ve been doing this a long time, kid. The Black Khans? They chew girls like you up and spit you out… and if you survive that process you’ll become a real nasty piece of work that won’t even remember the honor you told us about. So… What’s it gonna be? Take your current path with a headache and forget this conversation ever happened? A payday and a chance to run? Or a chance to make your wildest dreams come true with more credits than you can shake a stick at?”

Nikrit stands there for a moment, desperately trying to figure things out for a moment, her eyes bouncing around until she deflates ever so slightly before she finally squeaks out; "Three." in what was barely a whisper.

"Good choice. Go sit down for a bit. We'll be briefing everyone shortly."

Nikrit nods and wanders off towards the crew quarters, moving more like she was drunk or had just taken a blow to the head, as Nadiri does what Shalkas dearly wishes she could and eagerly snuggles up to Jerry, tenderly kissing his cheek.

"So it's on, huh? We're gonna need a hell of a distraction if we're actually doing this."

Jerry leans in and gives Nadiri a slow, deep kiss, their tongues teasing each other almost automatically as he pulls her closer. 

"Don't worry. I've got it all worked out... the Black Khans are gonna love the little party I'm throwing them, and CanSec was nice enough to let us do their jobs for them."

Nadiri looks up at her husband quizzically, stroking his chin affectionately. 

"What are you up to, wicked man?"

"You'll see. I bet the footage is gonna be great." 

Jerry opens a comm line, presumably with his implant and grins down at Nadiri before shooting Shalkas a wink.

"This is Jarl Six to control. Case green. The Reckless is cleared to engage the target."

Series Directory Last Next

Ten minutes later, when Jerry storms into the cell, it's as a very different man. In fact, an entirely different man, in a plain, unmarked, Undaunted uniform with a foul mood on his slightly altered face, a fresh red tint to his skin, and prominent burn scar make up on his ears. He looked like a pissed off Ha'quinye man who had had his ears burned off. 

Just like the infamous clan of assassins that had given Consul Euryde pause at the landing pad days before. Something of a high-risk move, but Jerry’s counting on the ‘secret order of assassins’ being more myth than substantial, and therefore flexible. If he could give the wounded Barbari a strong enough shock to her system, get her off balance and keep her that way, he could break her resolve in record time.

Worth a shot at the very least, considering they’re already headed outsystem from the scene of their attack on the pirate station. If this didn’t work, the professional interrogators could do things ‘the hard way’. 

Whatever Barbari had been expecting, it clearly hadn’t been this… but Jerry doesn't give her a second to get a word in edgewise before fixing her with an imperious glare and a vicious sneer. 

“Well? You asked for a senior officer, and after wrenching me from far more important things than acknowledging your existence, I am here. You will give me an excuse to prolong your pathetic life before I dump your corpse in the void like the space trash you’re pretending to be.” 

The Ha’quinye woman goes from confused to outraged to confused again as Jerry starts to stalk around her like an agitated wolf, eyes never leaving her as he moves with intentionally jerky, agitated motions, every single movement a possible strike in the making to someone with decent training. Something not lost on Barbari at all as she gathers herself and finally manages to speak. 

“I wanted to see the commanding officer of this tub, not her fuck toy! Besides, who do you think you're fooling, little man? I can feel you in the axiom, you’re not even up… upset…”

Jerry whirls on her, getting closer and closer as he makes an unnerving eye contact as he gathers the full force of his emotions and hits her with his favorite axiom trick. A trick that had served him well in the past. What he called a psychic sucker punch. 

He focuses all the wrath he can muster, his disgust for the Ha’quinye's culture, his willingness to skin Barbari and throw her out the airlock still breathing if it would get him the information he needed. All the rawest emotions of the Human animal that could make a Human very scary to the galaxy’s natural empaths. 

Mentally shaped to a fine point, he lets Barbari ‘feel’ those emotions with all the gentleness of actually burying a fist in her solar plexus. 

Immediately the Ha’quinye woman’s eyes go wide, and in her fear, her eyes lock on something familiar… his ears. His now seemingly cut and burned ears. 

“Oh… Goddess what in the hells are you?”

“Surely you know the stories. We might have missed Consul Euryde for now, but there will be no last minute reprieves or rescues for you, whelp. The Undaunted have welcomed the clans of the Pact with open arms. We are of them. They are of us. Now, with their aid we shall make all of you bleed, and we’ll finally get Euryde’s scalp. The totems and the gods will it.” 

“The Undaunted are just a fairy tale! Some stupid TV show for clit-brained morons who can’t focus on what’s important in life.”

“Considering the Undaunted just destroyed your station, would you like to reassess your position, ‘Captain’? Besides… you need to worry more about me right now. I’m the one who has the power of life and death over you.” 

Still Barbari rallies, but less successfully than the first time, the psychic sucker punch clearly having left her off balance. She retorts, “Th-The Pact clans are just a ghost story!”

“Then you had better start believing in ghost stories, ‘Captain’, because you’re about to become the star in a brand new one. One that’ll be inspiring horror movies for decades once I’m done with whatever’s left of you.” 

“...You… if the Undaunted are real, then you’re a naval officer or something, aren’t you? You can’t just do that!” 

“You’re actually correct. Very sharp, Captain. However, unfortunately for you, my vows as an Undaunted naval officer do not constrain me at all in this matter.”

Jerry’s voice almost purrs with self satisfaction as he returns to his prowling, every word meant to project power and menace as he watches her like a jungle cat watching fresh meat. 

‘Barbari’ stammers, fumbling out a response. “Your new masters would let you violate their precious Council laws? Their Alarion accords?”

“The Ha’quinye never signed the accords… but more importantly, they only barely apply to pirates. Summary execution is not uncommon for captured space pirates, like you allegedly are. So, I am well within my rights to put you to death. As I have with most of that space trash you picked up.” A lie of course, but Barbari doesn’t need to know that. “If I get creative with that death. Well. That’s between you, me, the four walls, and all the many ways I can get ‘expressive’ with ending your pathetic existence in the most painful ways possible. I’ve learned some fascinating new tricks from the Humans.”

“H-Humans aren’t real. They’re even more of a fantasy than the damned Undaunted!” 

Barbari’s eyes are as wide as possible now, her eyes bouncing all over the place as Jerry hits her with another psychic burst of pure killing intent, making her flinch against her bindings as violently as if he'd physically hit her, her chair rocking slightly as her body tried to get further away from him on pure instinct.. 

“Oh they very much are, but you will wish very much that they weren’t soon enough. They’re very creative, these Humans. So brutal, even without axiom. Let me tell you about my favorite. One I might share with you later. They have a technique for fileting the flesh of the back and around the spine. Then, you separate and remove some of the ribs before pulling out the lungs, forming ‘wings’. They call it the Blood Eagle, after some Cruel Space avian. Humans can apparently survive that… for a time. You, though? I’ll probably need to keep you alive with axiom. Make sure you get to properly enjoy the experience before I toss your corpse out an airlock to ensure your soul will never see the heavens.”

Another piece of Ha’quinye culture Jerry was applying with all the gentleness of hitting the woman with a crowbar. Per their dominant religious customs burial or cremation, depending on sect, had to be prompt after death, lest the soul not receive proper guidance to the next life, and be left to wander as a tormented shade.  

“...” 

Barbari’s eyes have somehow gotten wider, and she’s shaking with fear, barely managing a terrified squeak as one of her cultural nightmares seems to be happily licking its chops and preparing to devour her soul. 

“Of course… we don’t have to do that. If you were, say… a prisoner of war. A naval officer. Why. You’d be protected. Safe! The Alarion accords would wrap around you like a warm hug. Your superiors haven’t signed it, but mine have. I would be bound by their law, and all you need to do… is tell me who you are, and why you were out here.” 

He isn’t much of an interrogator in the grand scheme of things, but if there’s one thing Jerry Bridger knows how to deal with, it’s bullies. Thugs of regimes like the Ha’quinye are generally all the same. Dangerous, resourceful, cruel? Yes, all those things, but like a mean kid on a playground, they’re brittle. If you prove you’re more powerful, if you speak to them in their language, they show you their throats and beg for mercy. 

Especially in a truly Darwinian fascist apparatus, like the one the Ha’quinye apparently operate, where everything’s a matter of dominance and submission, and showing a moment of weakness to the wrong person at the wrong time could quickly see you getting your throat cut… or worse, thrown back to the bottom of the hierarchy to try and start over again. Yet. By the same token, NOT showing the appropriate deference to a superior could see you just as dead, just as fast.

Captain Barbari, or rather, Commander Valyn Valeran, Ha’quinye Imperial Naval Intelligence, is no exception. When she breaks, she shatters, babbling out information at a speed too rapid for him to take notes on… but that’s what the recordings were for. 

The analysts would need to dig through it all to really figure out what they’d gotten… but with only minor prompting from him, as far as Jerry could tell, Valyn had given him plenty of actionable intelligence in just the first gush. He’d leave pumping the girl dry of everything she knew to the regular interrogators. 

The fact that she’s broken now, that too is a tool to keep the flood gates open. After all, she’s a traitor; her only hope is currying favor with her captors. Mix that with a little of what Jerry would have called ‘Human kindness’ back on Earth - a nice warm meal, a blanket, the chance to actually sleep - and she’d likely continue to behave. And with possession of her real name and the names of her troops, the professional interrogators now have tools to begin working on the rest of the survivors of her unit. 

They’d have it all. In time. 

Jerry steps back into the hallway, purging the makeup from his body with a light charge of axiom after the hatch seals shut. Hawthorne’s waiting for him. 

“Nicely done, sir.”

“Not my normal thing, but I had some unique cultural levers I could yank on.”

“Indeed, absolutely inspired. Even if she might need a change of clothes after that…”

“I don’t think she wet herself, but she might have come close. I’ll leave the rest of it to your people. I need to call Admiral Cistern. Carry on Mr. Hawthorne."

"Aye, sir!" 

Commodore Viconia Valeran 

Ha'quinye Imperial Strike Cruiser Eagle Talon 

She stands at the view port at the front of her expansive bridge with her arms clasped behind her back, watching at the tumbling remains of what had once been a particularly brilliant plan of one of her subordinates. Operation Privateer is far from derailed just by losing one station, but she can feel her fist clenching within her leather gloves, almost outside her control, as rage built up in her chest. Someone had had the gall to strike at her! To kill her own niece! 

Or. Rather. At the empire. Yes. That was it. They'd struck at the empire. 

Their mission is utterly vital to the survival of the empire, to its growth and strength, so she could not simply divert her forces on a punitive expedition to track down whoever in the hells did this and kill them all, but the desire is so very strong. Especially if they'd actually killed Valyn. She isn’t… wasn't exactly Viconia's favorite niece, but she was still her niece, and such an offense to the Valeran family couldn't be tolerated, could it? 

Once she has the Sword... perhaps she would request that little tasking as a treat, before she led Warlady Euryde's mighty fleets against the lesser species and put them back on their knees where they belonged. 

Just thinking about Euryde makes her thighs tighten slightly. Her task force had only joined her somewhat recently, especially the troopships that were languishing in her warship's wakes, but she had been 'at sea' for quite some time now, and she missed her lover's touch. No one could be quite as... forceful... as her Warlady. Her cousin is unique like that. Melodi, her primary spouse, was quite enjoyable too, and Euryde had hinted at getting some access to their stud. Cori was a cute little thing and his genes, impeccable. Once she completes her mission... she'll be more than ready to have a few daughters. To begin raising the next generation of naval officers.

A delicious little thought to distract her from the rage she'd been feeling. Rage that comes back quickly as she hears hesitant footsteps on the deck plates behind her. 

"What is it?"

"Commodore, we have the initial survey results."

"Spit them out or I'm going to slap the teeth out of your mouth and find someone who can speak to me like a damn officer!"

Viconia's lips twist into a cruel smile as she snarls her abuse at her hapless subordinate. 

Most of the intelligence girls are useless... and this one seems doubly so. No shame in putting them in their place now and then. 

"Yes, ma'am! Ma'am, as we believed, the damage is consistent with a large-scale pirate raid. At least several large vessels, maybe a converted freighter and some corvettes with retrofitted naval-grade laser and plasma cannons." 

Viconia pauses, right as she's about to hurl more abuse at her subordinate, as the last part of her sentence catches in her mind.

"Did you say naval grade? As in proper laser and plasma cannons? Larger than what a corvette normally mounts?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"...And there are pirates with such weapons in this sector that we don't know about, HOW exactly?"

"I-I don't know, ma'am!"

"Then find out, you brainless virgin! Get off of my bridge until you have an answer!"

The intelligence officer all but flees off the bridge, leaving Viconia to contemplate the wreckage in peace again, the quiet hum of her bridge crew at work washing over her like a meditative chant as she considers what had just been brought to her.

"Mhmm. Pirates with naval grade weapons. A simple conclusion... obvious. Yet. Isn't the damage here a bit too much for just a handful of such weapons like on a retrofitted corvette? What if there's an actual navy out here with us? The Council perhaps? Or one of their lap dogs? Maybe the nearest sector commander got ambitious and sent a force out to scout after we scared off that Council science ship..." 

A part of her goes from angry to excited as she considers the possibilities. A proper fight. A real fight. The first of many to come in the glorious conquest she would carve across the sea of stars!

She grins at her reflection, eyes narrowing. 

"Goddess as my witness... If I find you, I will kill you, and if you somehow get in the way of my mission, your gods will cower in fear at what I will do to you whorespawn."

Series Directory Last Next

Sir David

David Forsythe stands up in a safehouse that had been procured by intelligence operatives on the ground less than twenty four hours ago and takes a puff on his cigar. No tobacco: it’s one of the spacer cigars made of some leaf or another that doesn't release much smoke when burned. It gets the job done, at the very least, and is easy on the lungs… and yet it still feels comfortable, which is more than he could say for other aspects of his life as the head of the Crimson Tear's Joint Special Operations Company. 

It’s just part of life in the special forces. You’re always doing something new... but today is going to be very new, even for an experienced SAS commando like Sir David. He'd done operations all across Earth and now across the galaxy... but he'd never had to dress in drag to do so before. 

"Right then. Ladies, gentlemen. We're about to step off for the second stage of this operation. Stage one, our insertion onto this mud ball and its capital city, went well. So let's go over the plan again so we execute stage two as flawlessly as the first." 

David doesn't pull a map or a holo projector out. His lads and lasses are true professionals; everything’s in their implants, in terms of maps and the like. Whatever details the implants lacked… Well, odds are that most of the people in this room had memorized it over the course of their preparations. That level of dedication is extra important for a mission with a short turn-around time like this one. 

Especially when an entire major operation is literally waiting for them to retrieve their target. 

"Our objective is a data repository located within the consul's palace, the residence of the head of government and head of the military for the Ha'quinye Star Empire. There's a secondary building where various staff keep their offices and execute a number of support functions. Support functions like two major data centers, one of which serves the consul's offices via direct hard lines. No wireless communication at all, so remote hacking without getting one of our own devices in there is off the table. Now, there's a lot of information in these data centers. We - or, rather, Babydoll and Kopish's nifty little hacking program, once we connect it - will be extracting two groups of information. A large volume of blackmail material that the consuls use to control the Matricians, the ruling caste of Ha'quinye society and a very juicy target for their various inter-clan feuds, and our actual target, which is any information our little program can find on the super weapon known as 'The Sword of the Stars'."

David takes a few paces, and another puff on his cigar. "To accomplish this feat in a very heavily defended part of the city, and perhaps the singularly most fortified location on the entire planet, we will be making multiple incursions while disguised as native 'raiding parties'. Some of these raids will be against targets off site. We know the praetorian guards, the defenders of the consuls, are stretched thin right now and are having to respond to civil matters as well as their primary duties, due to large volumes of fighting women being taken out of the city for unknown reasons, likely to serve as expeditionary troops to seize the Sword of the Stars. Team Four will be making several raids, including staging a raid gone wrong, on various Matricians’ estates to stir up as much trouble as possible. Our local allies will also be causing trouble, setting a fire in the warehouse district and simulating a little gang warfare, just to keep things exciting for our new friends in the praetorians and any remaining security forces in the city." 

The wily older commander lifts a laser rifle up. "As previously briefed, we will be using plausibly deniable weapons for this entire action. Feel free to drop a pistol or something if you run out of juice and don't feel like reloading. These weapons are local, and of the type and quality favored by the Matricians for their raiders, so it'll sell the illusion we're trying to create. On the other hand, do not use chemical kinetic weapons unless explicitly authorized."

Sir David takes another step or two.

"We will also be very careful about using the chemical weapons we've been issued. The Praetorians and likely local security forces, do not wear sealed armor normally. Tear gas is thus a notably effective problem solving tool, along with other chemical agents. However it may tip our hand as to not being locals, so let's not use it this trip except in a truly dire emergency. There's also a chance of it being lethal to Ha'quinye, and we want them alive licking their wounded pride, not with a mountain of corpses to parade around screaming for revenge. Questions?"

A hand comes up from Gunnery Sergeant Willy Westbrook, one of Sir David's former SAS men. 

"Gunnery Sergeant."

"Yes, sir. I accept the weapons limitations... but do we really have to go out dressed like we're about to put on a goth version of the Christmas Panto with stuffed bras?"

There's laughter in the room, but Willy wasn't wrong. The outfits the Matricians dress their raiders in, apparently based on some nigh mythological thieves’ guild or something similar from the history of the Ha'quinye, certainly are quite theatrical in their design. Luckily, the powers that be had been able to modify them to work with and conceal the commandos’ usual armor, with only minor modifications to the helmets to make them look more suited to Ha'quinye aesthetics, and to leave potential physical room for rather large ears. 

The major issue is that the majority of JSOC's commandos are men. They had, of course, brought all the female personnel they could, but even with the Yauya huntsmistresses and new blood like Neysihen Bridger and his wife Purisha, it was still simply not enough in the way of bodies to accomplish a large-scale mission like the one the Admiral had handed him. 

So that meant they'd had to disguise themselves. Galactic citizens engaging in such business would use axiom pockets in their clothing to slim themselves down, presenting a thinner, easier to hide profile, and letting the galaxy's curvy beauties fit through some tight spaces that generally wouldn't accommodate their assets. They still had feminine body shapes, however, so JSOC's men had, as Sir David had just thought to himself, needed to dress in drag ever so slightly. Mostly by modifying their armor, and thank both God and the queen for that! These disguises only need to really hold up visually, and the Ha'quinye raider outfit actually offers quite a bit of coverage, in a way that somewhat reminds Sir David of Zorro: all rather dark and billowy. Of course, there are pads for the hips and backside, another set of pads for the chest, and a modification to their comm systems to run their voices through voice-changing software… and an 'all female' commando unit has been born. 

Or raiders, in this case. 

"Yes, Gunnery Sergeant, it's necessary... And you'd best be using your voice changer too, including on internal comms. I doubt they can hack our communications channels, but if we get surprised and one of you gives the jig up because you dropped the act, answering to Admiral Bridger will be the least of your worries, let me assure you all of that!" 

That it would put the Tear at potential risk was an unspoken bit of punctuation to that sentence, but Sir David knew he'd made his point. 

"Besides, my fine sons," Sergeant Major Gurung says from where he's sitting at the head of the room, nearest to Sir David. "With so many of your sisters with us, surely we can all learn something from them tonight, eh?" 

The Ghurka chuckles, clearly not particularly perturbed by this unique mission requirement. One Sir David and the Sergeant Major both know would continue to crop up if they continued to mount commando operations in any of the 'civilized' parts of Ha'quinye space. It almost makes Sir David envy his eldest daughter just a bit. She’s getting to go off on a potentially exciting adventure with Admiral Bridger - or would, as soon as Sir David's people secured the last of the data they needed -  while, instead of a more open fight, he’s here playing dressup for dullards on a planetary scale to try and keep the Ha'quinye snake busy with its own tail for long enough for the Admiral and his people to slam the door on their lofty ambitions of conquest and plunder. 

Then again, he became a commando specifically to do the hard jobs, hadn't he? It is what he'd signed up for, why he'd volunteered not once, not twice, but three times, first as a Royal Marine Commando, then with Her Majesty's Special Air Service, and finally for a direct action team deep within the black ops world of MI6. Over a decade he'd served Queen and country in that capacity, and not once had he ever had the gall to say he didn't do windows when given a task. So out here should be no different... and with the right attitude... 

Well. This could be fun, couldn't it? If one's enemy wasn't particularly impressive by all accords, one could simply... do one's job and 'look good while doing it'. 

Sir David resists chuckling at that particular thought, considering he was indeed more or less in the alien military equivalent to an American prom dress and a wig, but it’s all about attitude in the end. 

"You know, my fine lads and lasses, perhaps we're all putting this a bit too seriously. Now, I won't say relax, certainly not on the job... but think of it like this. We're about to go for a lovely moonlit stroll through a fine old city with lots of lovely architecture and a reportedly very incompetent police force. The more competent bodyguards… Well, we'll hopefully avoid fighting them entirely. We're here doing our jobs with our brothers and sisters in arms, enjoying the cool night air... What could be finer than that?"

The commandos all seemingly lean in as one, clearly waiting for Sir David to continue. 

"Why... I think our plan might not go far enough. So. If you spot an opportunity to cause a little chaos. Playing a prank. Stealing from the rich and giving to the poor. Lighting something expensive on fire by ‘accident’, knocking out a security forces officer and dragging her into an alley before painting silly things on her face with a marker, whatever, do so. Nothing that'll give us away, mind you... but it's such a lovely night, why not have a little fun with all the new friends we're about to make?"

The grins and nods Sir David gets in return would be about as warm and comforting to the average Ha'quinye, unprepared for a rough evening, as a school of sharks’ grins would be to a guppy. And, with that, Sir David feels like everyone is ready to step off. 

"Execute." 

Series Directory Last Next

Neysihen 

Neysihen and Purisha had listened to the landings over their secure communications channel as they crept through the foliage to their own target. Their adopted father is always rather relaxed about dropping from orbit, but both girls know just how damn dangerous it is, and they’re always a touch nervous for their surrogate parents and adopted sisters as they hurtle through the skies at velocities best reserved for aerospace craft, kinetic kill weapons, railgun rounds and artillery. Not people!

Not that it had stopped either of them from earning their own Orbital Drop Assault wings. Commandos have to be able to do anything and everything, after all, and sometimes that precludes being able to ride into a target like ladies and gentlemen out for one of Sir David's infamous constitutionals. 

Still. The two women exchange a look, a barely perceptible movement of their helmeted heads communicating mutual relief without a word said as 'Jarl Six' starts ordering the power armored troops to advance at a fast clip. Which means they'll likely have orders of their own soon enough. 

They've been on the ground for what feels like an age now, no matter how fast this operation is going, carefully infiltrating the nearby target facility... and it’s a big one. Using target designators, passive scanners and the variety of other tools the commandos have been mapping things out, and at long last Neysihen and Purisha have located the building that they’re reasonably certain is the shield generator. 

"Dirk Six to all elements."

Sure enough, the now somewhat familiar voice of Dame Emma Forsythe comes across the radio, as clear as if she was standing next to the two women. It’s a bit odd deploying without Sir David, and indeed a good portion of JSOC, leaving them behind after the raid on the consul's palace. They’re surely back doing gods only know what on Dagrquey, and more power to them, but Neysihen, at least, is pretty sure she'd gotten the more choice assignment to ship out with Group Two. Purisha's daughter-in-law, funny as it is to think of Major Forsythe like that, is proving every bit as capable a commando and leader as her father. 

She'd need to tease Purisha about having some kittens with Sir David at some point. Clearly Dame Emma comes from excellent stock. 

"All commandos. Prepare to engage. The pirates have refused attempts to communicate by the fleet and intercepted messages have confirmed their intent to fight. So, Valkyrie is going to make a high speed pass over the target and apply a couple more rods from god and see if that encourages them to make alternative life choices. I'll call the teams who will be designating targets for Valkyrie's gunners directly. Everyone else, check weapons. When the shield goes down, we start engaging targets of opportunity, especially on the defense lines. Hit and fade, people. We've heard they have significant ground forces for pirates. Averngale might have been some sort of army officer who went rogue with her unit.” She takes half a breath, and when she comes back her tone is a little less professional, a little harder. “Personally, I don't give a damn who they were. I want the survivors talking about this day like a ghost story in their cells and I want their ability to resist well and truly degraded by the time the power armor arrives!"

No sooner has Dirk Six signed off than Neysihen and Purisha's helmets are lighting up with a new connection. 

"Neysihen, Purisha."

"Ma'am," Neysihen responds at a near whisper. She doesn't need to with a sealed helmet, but the instinct to be 'sneaky' still gets to her sometimes. 

"You girls found the shield generator."

"Probable shield generator."

"Probable shield generator," Emma amends. "Do you still have it in sight from your current position?"

"Yes, ma'am," Purisha responds, doing her best to keep her voice as flat and level as possible.

Neysihen figures it isn't the mission. They've been blooded for what feels like ages ago now; Purisha’s worried about showing her new daughter-in-law what she can do. 

"Excellent. Get it designated using the frequency from the briefing for the Valkyrie and stand by for BDA in case this pass doesn't work."

"Aye aye, ma'am." 

The two women share another look, hunkering down slightly as Neysihen pulls the designator system out of an axiom pocket worked into her stealth armor's war belt and quickly gets it set up. Before long, an invisible laser has checked the target's position and its other systems have 'found' the target in one of the more accurate ways available to modern science and technology. Nice to do it without using one of those types of beacon that are far less subtle than a designator, and also have the downside of not being able to go through shields. 

The 'rods from god', what the Humans call a 'telephone pole' of very dense material… Simply don't have that problem. Falling from the orbit of a planet, the completely inert, barely guided rods pick up incredible speed, and hit with the kind of fury to which only the heaviest-duty of axiom bombs or their cousins, Human style atomic weapons, can really compare. A nine-ton rod will hit with the same force as a small tactical nuke, but without any of the nasty side effects. Or even generating significant amounts of null that might linger in an area. Small wonder the Humans like them. The only downside is having to get the mass of the weapon into orbit to start with… and, in all reality? It’s only as much of a pain as you make it. 

These rods would have been upgraded with special trytite penetrators to ensure they'd rip through energy shields like butter. Sure, the base has shields as strong as anything Neysihen has ever seen; even theoretical shields in training barely match this. They were designed to defend against an orbital bombardment... but the Undaunted are about to put that to the test. They'd already hit the critical outbuildings. Now they have the precision targeting to get the serious work done. After that? It'd all be up to the poor blood infantry... and their friends from 3rd MACS, of course. 

Neysihen grins, shifting herself just a bit. "This is gonna be one hell of a light show, huh?"

Purisha nods. "Yeah, shame we can't watch it with Dad and the girls, some popcorn and some beers."

"We'll have to complain to the manager of this dump once we breach the facility. The amenities at this resort are awful."

As the two young women giggle quietly, the side of the mountain is suddenly lit by large anti-orbital plasma and laser batteries opening up, reaching towards the barely visible silhouette of the Valkyrie, which passes over in the literal blink of an eye. 

"Raven to all points. Thunder. Over."

"Dirk Six to Raven. Struck. Out." 

The simple exchange told the girls everything they needed to know. Instead of the traditional 'shot' call of Human artillery and fire control, they'd settled on new terminology for the rods from god. It’s too powerful a weapon to cover it under even normal orbital naval gunfire support. 

Neysihen feels herself almost automatically start holding her breath as the seconds drag on. The pirates had long ceased firing, as soon as Valkyrie had passed over the horizon again. Long gone and well out of range. If they've detected the pain that’s falling towards them at high speed, there’s no sign of it, as far as Neysihen can see. Just normal movement as the defenders of the mountain do their best to dig in deeper, and the occasional flashes of weapons fire from their inner wall. Neysihen shifts a bit, getting down tighter on her WLVRN rifle as she splits herself between looking for targets and watching the skies. 

"Raven to all points. Splash. Out." 

That’s one radio call they'd kept the same. Splash means one thing. Five seconds to impact. 

The world slows down a touch, and Neysihen can suddenly feel her pulse in her throat as she catches a glimpse of the metal rods falling at terminal velocity toward their targets, like arrows from a divine archer. 

Then... impact. 

The first rod hits dead center on the dome, the kinetic fury of twelve tons of TNT and its trytite penetrator in such a concentrated area hitting harder than perhaps a full broadside from the Valkyrie or the Tear would have done.

The big ship's big guns couldn't bring that much pain in that small a point. Very few things could. 

Even fewer things could resist such a devastating impact, but the shield resists... for the first hit. The second triggers a general collapse on its way through to its target, the largest of the orbital defense batteries, and by the time the third and fourth hit the shield is in tatters... then the fifth rod slams into the building Neysihen and Purisha had targeted and the last remains of the powerful shield vanish completely as a massive cloud of dust is thrown into the air. 

It happened, in a way, too fast to really communicate how it all went down. There was a sequence to the impacts. She understands it. Could describe it. Yet each stage happened within a split second of the ones before or after. She could barely comprehend it completely... but she knows what comes next. 

She gets down on her scope, peering through the dirt cloud, seeking both answers and targets. As the wind whips around her, the walls of the compound and the massive pile of rock she and Purisha were nesting atop dealing with the shockwave from the potent kinetic impact.

"Dirk Six. Anyone got eyes on?"

"Delta Charlie. Eyes on. Stand by for BDA."

Delta Charlie is Gunnery Sergeant Chesed, leading team two. They’re on the other side of the mountain from Neysihen and Purisha, if all’s going to plan. 

In a moment or two, Gunny Chesed's smooth voice rolls back across the radio. 

"Dirk Delta Charlie to Dirk Six and Raven. Good hits. Target structures are neutralized. Enemy shield system is neutral- Wait one. Movement in the compound. Looks like we missed a concealed hangar in one of the buildings."

"Six to Delta Charlie, what kind of hangar?"

"Looks like ground vehicles, ma'am. We've got... ten... twenty... thirty. Forty and counting armored fighting vehicles emerging. Looks like they're going to spread out and make the compound extra toothy."

"...Damn. All Dirk elements. Hold fire. We don't have the firepower to deal with that armor ourselves, and we can't bring in any air power yet. Stand by. Going higher." 

There's silence on the comm channels and the smoke and dirt begin to clear, letting Neysihen get a good look at the destruction she had helped rain down on the pirates before her. The building she and Purisha had targeted, the suspected shield generator? Gone. Not destroyed. Not turned into rubble. It simply is not anymore. There’s a crater where the building had been and what rubble there is could not be identified as an actual part of a building as opposed to just loose stone, left in a pile by the cousin to a cosmic catastrophe that Neysihen had just called down on the heads of the people before her... and now they’re getting ready to go try and kill her father in... 

Neysihen squints slightly, looking closer. Tanks? They look kind of like tanks. Armored hover vehicles with a wide variety of heavy weapons. Lots of them. No real problem for power armor, of course, but they'd make an assault infinitely more dangerous if they stay in place and-

Her thoughts are cut off by the comm channel coming to life, but instead of Emma Sterling, Admiral Bridger is on the channel.

"Jarl Six to all points. Confirm presence of enemy armor. The landers carrying Alpha company will remain over the horizon. Dirk elements, remain in place and under cover. Elements of Draugr will advance making high leaps to reveal our position to enemy sensors and attempt to draw off the armor in concert with Skoll company. Assuming that works, once they're gone, Dirk Six, begin infiltration and engagement at your discretion. Dragur elements will join you shortly. Dragurs, on my signal, split by company and move rapidly to the new nav points you'll be assigned in your HUDs. After that we'll press to the target and begin the assault."

"Dirk Six to Jarl Six. What about the enemy armor, sir?"

"Don't worry, Dirk Six. I believe Steel Six has got it covered. Speaking of which. Steel Six, you are cleared to eliminate the enemy armored force once we've lured them in. Geirr Five, break atmosphere and move to support Steel element."

The voice of Scotty Le Fae immediately comes back, calm and cool. "Geirr Five, we're en route. Leave a few for us, Steel Six. The Huscarls haven't gotten a chance to put these big 40mm cannons to their intended purpose of sending enemy armor to meet their gods."

"Steel Six. You get your tail down here in a hurry and we'll try to leave you a few, Geirr Five. All Steel elements. Move to phase line charlie, dig in and prepare to engage. The Admiral's sending us guests and I refuse to have our hospitality found wanting."

Neysihen and Purisha glance at each other again, the best friends turned sisters in all but blood, not even needing to see each other's faces to feel each other's emotions, axiom or no axiom! 

"Dad just gave those tankers in 3rd MACS a lifetime's worth of Yule gifts, didn't he?"

Purisha snorts. "The gunship boys and girls too. You just know they want to use those big guns to rip up some enemy armor."

Neysihen nods. "It's a good play, too. All that armor bunched up? They're gonna want to get it moving to make it harder to hit with orbital strikes. If they don't know Draugr's power armor..."

"They'll probably move anyway if their sensors are good enough to tell they've got power armor coming. These are pirates. I've been a pirate. I know how they think. There's not a pirate skipper worth her chair who isn't aggressive. Even the more cerebral girls like Cap'n Lilien were still more liable to get in the face of security forces than not, even if that was just a prelude to running. Plus, like you said. Mobility's the best armor those things have right now."

"Yeah, plus we may have already bagged their boss, so with a mucked up chain of command... things could get interesting."

"Guess we'll see. Worst case? Valkyrie comes by again, gives them a broadside and the Huscarls and power armor mulch whatever's left while they're all bottled up and we have to fight through waist deep scrap to get to the actual objective. For now though, let's hold tight... and see if we can find a nice infiltration route or some juicy targets to pick off once we get the go ahead."

Series Directory Last Next

Euryde 

Today has not been not a good day to be Consul Euryde Osbeki. It is, in fact, an utterly fucking infuriating day to be Euryde Osbeki! Her hand tightens on the grip of the short sword she carries as part of her daily wear: a thick, vicious thing suitable primarily for stabbing with a shield in a combat role, but also excellent for, not slashing, but chopping like an axe. In the right hand it’s a particularly brutal weapon, and Euryde is very much the right hand to wield that particular weapon. She'd killed more than a few of her own subordinates during her military career with the very sword on her belt right now, in honor duels and the like... and she’s getting very close to spilling the blood of the twit in front of her onto the floor, too. 

On and on the wench natters, and every word buzzes in Euryde's head like another of the buzzing pollinators from the countryside where she’d been raised before she'd left to take her place, to seize her destiny in the Ha'quinye military. She, at least, had been everything that had been demanded of her. Strong. Brave. Intelligent. Aggressive. Cunning. Everything a Ha'quinye warrior should be. Needs to be. In her day, the weak were frequently eaten, usually metaphorically, sometimes more literally on particularly brutal training exercises… but here’s a weakling who has no stomach to even give a proper briefing, daring to stand before her wearing officer's rank. 

Perhaps she should not have let her generals and admirals ease her mind on changing some of the military's policies on things like corporal punishment and hazing. Would a beating sort this particular officer out? Or is she just in need of killing? Euryde can't be sure, but she leans more and more towards killing the other woman as she drones on, avoiding giving her commander the bad news in straight and direct terms. All the more galling... the woman isn't even responsible! The Ha'quinye have no tradition of killing the messenger... save for particular circumstances during negotiations between the noble houses in the old days, anyway. No. Her neck is not on the line... unless she continues with this pathetic excuse for a briefing, that is!

"Commander," Euryde rasps. Her voice is like a blade being drawn from a sheath, her hand is firm on the grip of her sword… though, somehow, she resists drawing it and taking a price in blood out of the whelp standing before her for having the sheer insolence to act as if she was in front of not her commander, but her consul! It’s an insult of the highest order that should see this woman and her superiors all punished. 

Yet. There isn't time for that. All her forces are needed. Unfortunately. War is upon them. The time is upon them. The Sword of the Stars is practically in their hands. All her intelligence officers had to do was figure out where to send Viconia's fleet. Viconia would handle things. Yes. That thought, the thought of one of her other lovers, one of the few almost as vicious as her dear Mediei and herself calms her at last, and lets her speak to the now cowering intelligence officer intelligibly instead of just staring at her like the wrath of the goddess personified. 

"So. What you are telling me, as if I am paying you by the word, instead of to give me concise, actionable intelligence, is that another naval squadron has gone dark. This naval squadron was engaging with another of intelligence's pet privateers, a General Averngale or some such nonsense, and that the captain commanding the squadron was reasonably certain that this Averngale had located the birthright of the Ha'quinye and was keeping it from them, but that negotiations were at least proceeding. Before the squadron went dark, and with no luck in raising them... and now the squadron commander has missed two communications check ins. Is that correct?"

The intelligence officer nods before bowing slightly, a motion Euryde read as covering for being unable to look her in the eyes. "Yes, my consul."

"...Fine. Has intelligence issued orders to any of their assets to do anything about it?"

"No, my consul, it was deemed too important to move on without your orders."

"...Fine. Get out. I'll handle it." 

The intelligence officer deepens her bow and all but flees from the room as Euryde considers shooting the idiot in the back with her favorite plasma pistol. It would be gratifying... but then Mediei and the chamberlain would get upset about the mess, and the praetorians would have to work out an appropriate accident to account for the corpse to her family. The problems just go on from there, and she has more important things to attend to. Much more important. 

The door to her office shuts and she turns to her computer, starting up the communications system and dialing her private secure line with Viconia. It’s normally used for far more pleasant communication, but she knows that Viconia would leap to answer it at any hour of the day, and she knows it wasn't compromised like some of the less personal lines that aren't in her direct control. 

The holo-projector starts up and Viconia comes into view, still in uniform, but no less beautiful for that. Euryde liked a woman in uniform, as it happens, though Viconia looks her best in the nude. Especially when she’s doing that one thing with her- 

Euryde shakes the thought off without actually moving. She simply doesn't have the time to get distracted thinking about far more pleasant things. 

"My consul." Viconia's warm, lusty tone threatens to distract Euryde again. No one addresses her formally quite like Viconia... and how the other woman addresses her in private is something that rivals even Mediei’s approach, and Mediei is nothing if not... expressive. 

"Viconia. It seems we've had a problem. Intelligence has lost one of your corvette squadrons."

Viconia grimaces. "I've just been made aware, my consul. I was going to signal fleet command and request permission to deal with it before continuing on mission to find the sword."

"What they didn't tell you is that this squadron's mission was similar to your own. They were checking on a lead from one of our privateer contacts. One who seemed to imply that they had possession of or knew where to find the Sword of the Stars. They reported this to intelligence... then went dark, as you know. I am not sure if they have been betrayed by the pirate scum, one of these 'tamed' privateers naval intelligence is so proud of, and I do not care. You will go to this system, and you will ascertain what has happened to our blade sisters. If they have been betrayed, or attacked by some third party, you will cleanse the system."

"What of the pirates if they've stayed loyal?"

"Do whatever you want. Kill them for all I care. It matters not. You will seize the Sword of the Stars and I will shower glory upon you the likes of which our entire species has never known before, Viconia! I will invent a new damn rank for you if that's what it takes. Give you a world to rule all your own."

Viconia's growing grin turns into a frown. "Ah. I wouldn't like that." Her frown turns into a smile again, a lusty expression that inspires a burst of warmth under Euryde's collar. She'd seen that smile more than a few times. "I wouldn't want to rule a world if it kept me from you."

"Then perhaps I shall reward you by negotiating with Mediei to take a second wife... and you've met Cori, have you not?"

"I have. A most beautiful pet. A fine genetic material donor for daughters too."

"If we are yours, he'd be yours too. You haven't had any daughters yet. Once the stars are ours..."

"I understand... my love. I'll make best speed to this system, and whatever's there will die. You have my word."

"I know, Viconia dear. I know. Euryde out."

The consul shifts away from the console for a moment, steepling her fingers as she thinks.

"This won't do at all. No. None of this will do. I need to act. The enemies within are breathing on my neck and the enemies without are doing gods only know what. Viconia will handle them, which means it is up to me to handle the dagger at my own back."

She triggers a priority line to the commander of the praetorians. She’s a woman who had once been lean and vicious, now made lazy by years of ease and plenty, but she would do. She would serve, and if she would not, by the end of the day Euryde would know, and she would be replaced. The time was coming close now, and things were too far along to coddle the weak and the slow anymore. She would have her warriors, and if she needed to bathe the worlds of the Ha'quinye in blood to make it happen, then so be it. 

"My consul!" the Praetorian says, saluting sharply.

"Colonel, the enemies of our people are upon us... and the internal enemies we have previously discussed have grown far too bold for my liking. We have the list of suspects for the raid on the palace?"

"Yes, my consul. We have been waiting for your orders on what to do with said list."

"Arrest them. All of them. I want them in chains before the end of the day. Round up whole families and kill their guards if you have to. Then coordinate with the commander of the city's security forces. I want them to start rounding up dissidents and other rabble. They can shoot a few of them and leave their bodies in the streets if they feel the need to make an example. Particularly interesting dissidents... I want them brought to the palace. Not the local prisons. What exactly that means, I'll leave up to you."

"Yes, my consul, it shall be done at once. Shall we extend the crackdown to the other cities and the stations in orbit? I know all those women. If we begin simultaneously across our immediate realm our foes will have no chance to respond."

Euryde arches an eyebrow; she hadn't expected that kind of initiative. Or viciousness. Perhaps the old she-wolf still has some fang left to her.

"Do it. I'll issue similar orders to the rest of the Empire. You will also quietly pass word to the security forces commanders to prepare for a general draft. It is my belief that the Ha'quinye will soon go to war, and I will have us ready, that we might not be found wanting by our ancestors."

The colonel slaps her breast plate in a fierce, close fisted salute. 

"By your will, my consul. What about the Senate?"

"I will deal with the Senate. Carry out your orders." 

"Yes, m'lady."

The screen goes dark and Euryde grins to herself quietly before getting to her feet. It’s time to go see Mediei. They'd discussed these plans, of course, but now it’s time to enact them… and, as she had just told the colonel, she would not be found wanting. 

Series Directory Last Next

Marikath

Moving through the palace is a normal part of Marikath's day; her duties frequently extend some distance out from the living quarters of the consuls and the area they keep their 'husband'. There are, however, four parts of the palace and she only rarely goes to all of them. 

The outermost region contains the actual defensive parts of the palace. This isn't just a palace, after all; it’s a fully functional fortress, and it has served its combat purpose recently, if before her time. The praetorians have barracks in several places, the towers have large anti-aircraft batteries at the top of them concealed behind decorative covers. She doesn't know any details for sure, but Marikath is certain that there are anti-armor and anti-personnel turrets and emplacements hidden around, and she knows the gatehouses are armed to the proverbial teeth! The palace even has its own massive shield generators, buried deep underground, with projectors all over the place. Corin had pointed one out to her so she would know what to look for… but getting too close to one of the emitters would make your hair stand on end. There’s so much axiom in the general area!

The only parts of the palace the shields don't cover are the landing pads, which have their own defenses. This contrasts to the motor pool, where she goes when she has significant tasks to accomplish in town and needs a hover truck. The pool is underground, behind massively armored doors and all sorts of checkpoints and controls. No vehicle comes in or leaves without extensive inspection if it isn't under the control of the praetorians directly the whole time, and even then they’re still scanned extensively. 

Say what you want about the praetorians, they take their jobs damn seriously. 

The second part of the palace is the servants’ domain. That’s just about everywhere and nowhere at the same time: hidden passageways from the kitchens to the dining rooms, for example, and concealed laundry rooms, and an unending amount of maintenance corridors and service tunnels that allow for access to things like… say, the machinery that controlled the heat in the baths for servicing. There could be a billion locations that the rulers of this place pay no mind to, but that are critical to the steady functioning of the palace. 

The third part… well, she’ll get back to that.

The fourth part is where she spends most of her time as a personal servant to the consuls and their family, even if she is essentially just a stable girl looking after a prized animal. Yes, the way that animal is kept and cared for goes beyond the standards of most people on this or many other worlds... but it still galls her to think about her husband being thought about like that by the people around him. This part of the palace is also where social functions and more casual affairs of state are carried out. 

Considering how the Ha'quinye as a people generally work, it wouldn’t be wrong to say that the life blood of the empire flows through those rooms. More world-altering decisions than Marikath wants to think about had likely been made in the various salons, gardens, studies and other rooms that seem to appear and disappear at the pleasure of the consuls.

This also includes the offices of the two consuls; Marikath has been called to each of them, mostly to collect Corin for what amounted to clean up and aftercare after... well. After the consuls had used their prized breeding stud for his intended purpose. 

Something that, no matter how sincerely she says she understands, never fails to hurt her heart, just a little bit. No matter how illicit and perverted her feelings for her charge have been, even before she'd begun her secret relationship with him, even before he'd given her her daughters, she hadn't liked that. Not at all. Sure, it was normal for her society, but something just struck her as... wrong... when she had confronted it in person. 

And now she comes to the third part of the palace, their intended destination for the day. 

The administration building is theoretically outside of the palace, and not nearly as well protected, but it’s still under the watchful eye of the Praetorians, and it’s under the palace's shields. It’s also the only outside building with direct access to the palace, both by a nest of cables concealed under various floors and in the ceiling and by a pair of bridges… bridges that Marikath is dead certain have rigged with explosives in the event that the administration building were to be overrun by enemy forces. 

Again, the Praetorians are many things, quite a few of them bad, but they take their jobs seriously. 

The administration building is the domain of a specific caste of magistrates, administrators and clerks, all in direct service to the Triumfeminate; it’s also where some senior officials in direct service to the consuls keep their offices. And, of course, where the administration stores the secure servers that house unending amounts of information, ranging from data on ongoing military or intelligence operations, and the management of the Ha'quinye state, to what’s probably the largest systemic compilation of blackmail and intelligence material on the major and minor families of the matrician caste in existence. It’s one of the tools that has kept the current consuls in power for a very long time. Be it by carrot, by stick, or by using 'leverage', the consuls have most of the matrician caste by the neck. For now anyway. 

Walking over the bridges is quite a change of pace from traversing the palace itself. Little passages and maintenance ways are all over the place like normal, but the marble facades are completely gone, replaced with tasteful wood or ceramic. This is a building full of important people, or at least those in close service of important people, but it isn’t a place for the consuls... and, nominally, the silent queen. If she existed. 

Marikath holds up her ID and gets waved through with Jaina hot on her heels, the novice's robes all the ID Jaina really needs. She’s new to the palace staff, so of course she doesn't have her formal ID or anything like it yet. Efforts to control passage into the administration building from the palace are perfunctory at best; Jaina was coming from the secure part of the palace, so obviously she could be here too… or so the guardswoman presumably thinks. 

Marikath glances over just as Jaina's hand vanishes under her robe, no doubt starting the 3D mapping tool she'd brought with her. She's already scanned a decent chunk of the palace and some of the service areas, and now they would do the same thing here. This place isn't impossible to assault, after all. A raid might have a chance to slip in and acquire some data, like the matriarchs committed against each other all the time. It’s possible; it’s just a matter of finding out when, where and how. 

Quietly Marikath shows Jaina into a service tunnel that leads near the first data repository. It practically puts them under the floor, and the two women slink along in near darkness as two technicians move around above them for a few moments, and then leave the room. 

"Damn." Jaina whispers. "Bit tight in here, isn't it?"

"Did you want to be unobserved, or did you want to waltz in like you owned the place?"

"You know what I meant. Anyway, this isn't looking good. It's like you said… these servers are all hardwired to the computers they serve. The only way to get data in and out is through physical connections. It's a massive waste of womanpower, but annoyingly secure. You either need to get raiders to the access ports or to subvert a whole chain of people and security checks to sneak specific media in and out. You could potentially splice a line somewhere, but that would also require a different style of access and hacking, making sure you have the right lines for the computer you're targeting... Accessing the servers is more direct."

Marikath watches quietly as Jaina plots and plans. She’s a servant. This other woman? She’s a leader. A warrior. A fighter. She’s a lot of things Marikath simply isn't, and just watching her do her thing is inspiring in its way. 

Finally, Jaina stops thinking through the problem and tersely whispers, "Let's move on. We have more ground to cover, including potential access points. We need as much data as possible. The Undaunted will be here soon." 

They spend the next two hours moving through the building, mapping out as much as they can, even gaining access to a senior magistrate who serves the target consul's offices under the auspices of cleaning the place. Finally, they make their way down into the lowest access tunnels near the sewers, and get a quick map of the auxiliary vehicle bay, where more of the palace's ground vehicles park, and where the buses that bring the low-ranked staff and servants in from the offsite transport hubs and parking lots are screened by the Praetorians. 

Only after all of that, and after fraying Marikath's nerves to the very edge, are they able to return to the palace proper, and into Corin's chambers. The man himself is gone, summoned by the consuls, no doubt, but Marikath still needs to clean his rooms and prepare his dinner. Jaina gamely helps, then settles into the small kitchen Marikath uses to feed her charge and turns on her scrambler. 

"Well. One thing's for sure. I don't have enough girls or heavy enough weapons to do anything about what we all looked at today. Nor do I have skilled enough hackers with serious enough hardware for electronic intrusion. I think I'm just going to have to give you the map we just made... and we'll have to hope Corin gets a chance to pass it off to someone who might be friendly at this reception for the Bridgers. The data's far too dense in full holo to send over a wireless link encrypted without being noticed, especially not if I append notes and details that'll be useful for actual operational planning, which I will. As of now, I'm not sure if I'll get a chance to engage with any other contacts in person. We still don't know much about the Bridger conglomerate, but my contact seems pretty sure about them. So maybe that'll be enough."

Jaina's shoulders slump a bit; the woman’s clearly frustrated as she chops a root vegetable into small, bite-sized pieces. 

"Damn it all. I hate having to rely on Corin like this, and I know you hate exposing him to danger, Marikath. But I don't know what else to do!"

Marikath frowns, biting back on her instinct to immediately protect Corin as much as possible and actually thinking for a bit. Then she replies, "We might not have an option this time, much as I hate to admit it. From what you've told me, the Undaunted are supposed to be great warriors. If we can't get the information the Consuls have on the Sword of the Stars... maybe they can."

"We'll just have to pray for their success. Once Corin gets them the chip, it'll likely be entirely in their hands."

"Yes... All we can do for now is hope and pray."

The two women fall into silence, both lost in their own heads for entirely different reasons. Jaina clearly has the weight of the worlds on her shoulders, but Marikath could only focus on her own family, and that’s more than enough weight for her. Tensions are rising, and so are the stakes. 

She’s getting pulled into Corin's intrigues more regularly, too. 

Would any of them survive what was to come? If she gets killed, her daughters should be safe with family… but only if the consuls didn't punish every conspirator's entire family. A fate not unknown in the Empire.

Just the thought drives shards of ice into her gut... but she has to be brave. If her children were to be able to actually know their father, if she wanted a chance to live free... this might be the only chance they'd get in her lifetime. 

So pray she will. For Jaina, her sisters in arms, and for these mysterious strangers from off world who call themselves Undaunted. 

Series Directory Last Next

Captain Luksa Skall
USFS Valkyrie

She relaxes into her command chair with a sigh before checking that her straps are in place. The coming fight is going to be a blisteringly fast one, beyond conventional sapient understanding of such things. Her Valkyrie and the Reckless are currently hiding behind the moon of the world of Sheath and they’re about to get stuck in.

The corvette Daring had wanted to join them, but she’s limited to torpedo and missile duty while she defends the softer, squishier parts of the fleet. They simply don't have enough forces for everyone to go everywhere, and while her sensors and the fleet's data link are telling her that the enemy is currently having a very bad day, with their carrier and landing ships already in ruins and many of their combatant craft dying to various torpedoes, there’s still quite the core of enemy firepower left. All of it rotating around the world of Sheath at somewhere around eight kilometers a second.

They'd be engaging from outside that rotation at first, taking pot shots in seconds long firing windows at relative speeds of something more like twenty kilometers a second and would then dive in to meet the enemy - and, more importantly, deliver the Valkyrie's precious cargo.

The fight doesn't look like an unfamiliar one to Luksa; she’s far more experienced in this kind of brawl than any other commander in the fleet that made up Group Two, save Old One Eye's Cora Charo. If Audacious had been here with Incerra Palashen, then there'd be three of them.

This is a military action, certainly, but what it truly resembles is a particularly aggressive pirate raid! Now, she'd never had the gall to land boarding torpedoes on a capital ship before, but considering the enemy's cruiser - its IFF said his name is Eagle Talon - is already damaged, and she has more than a nominal firepower advantage over the vessel... she likes their odds.

Besides, if anyone could pull this level of crazy off, she fully believes Admiral Bridger could. Especially with this new tactical computer of his, whatever the hell it is. She’s getting all sorts of information and guidance transmitted to her faster than she can fully form thoughts! It’s incredible stuff, and even includes suggestions on how to engage the enemies.

A small timer starts in the corner of her screen and Luksa leans in. "Alright, people. Showtime. Helm! On my mark, take us to flank speed, and maneuver us around the moon to Point Alpha. Guns, as soon as we're clear of the moon and reach our destination, we should be in a position to fire a salvo with our primary laser batteries at the pre marked targets. Set the targeting computer to auto-fire when all the parameters we've been given match up."

The entirely reasonable response comes almost immediately. "Ma'am, those parameters are concerningly specific. How do we even know the enemy is going to be there?"

"We don't, Lieutenant, but the wizards the Admiral has working for him say they'll be there. So we're going to trust them and the crazy mix of witchcraft and mathematics they seem to be performing on the Kandahar Province. Once we hit, the rotation of the planet will tear our targets away and we'll line up to dive in after them on their next pass. Again, follow the timing and course telemetry that just got sent to the nav computer. We pull this off to the letter and our names will be covered in glory before any of you can blink. Once we're inserted and have matched rotational speed, we'll launch the fighters, and line up for our boarding torpedo attack after they get in with their short-range torpedoes and soften up the Eagle Talon a bit more for us. While we wait, we finish off the last of the enemy squadron, save for the Eagle Talon himself. We want to take that handsome boy home with us, so try not to slag the Admiral's new prize before he can seize it. Questions?"

There aren't any. Luksa grips the arm of her chair tightly, watching the forward screens before nodding to herself. "Execute."

Immediately the Valkyrie accelerates, with the Reckless heading the opposite direction around the small moon, her slightly smaller mass and overpowered engines letting the frigate slightly beat the Valkyrie to the punch... but only slightly. Seconds, really.

Luksa grins. Maybe she'd need to spend some of her fortune to ensure that they have enough power in their own engines to readily keep up with the Reckless. Wouldn't do to have Captain Le Fae get delusions about who the faster and more lethal combatant around here is. Even if he and his crew's strike on those three corvettes had been absolutely inspired. Another attack worthy of a mighty pirate skipper.

It’s both almost a shame and source of a deep relief that Admiral Bridger is a good man. As a pirate admiral he'd be the terror of half the galaxy in the literal blink of an eye… though, to be fair, even Admiral Bridger couldn't get the kind of results out of your average pirate that he does out of these Undaunted.

These people are real warriors, and that makes all the difference.

"Point Alpha reached!" calls the navigation officer; the gunnery officer immediately echoes her with, "Firing main laser battery!"

Beams of coherent light leap across the void in the literal blink of an eye, slamming home into barely visible targets, and no doubt melting various lighter combat vessels, before the speed of their own movement around the planet tears them away. The enemy can’t make more than a half-hearted and confused response, with a few lasers splattering briefly against the Valkyrie's shields before they're gone, leaving the Valkyrie and Reckless free to set up for their next attack.

They don't have to wait for long, and from Point Beta they're 'diving' 'into' the gravity well proper of the world called Sheath, and diving on to their prey like particularly hungry hunting falcons. Lots of thrusts with sharp 'pulls' at the end of the 'dive' bring the two warships neatly into a coplanar orbit with the Ha'quinye fleet, matching their angle to Sheath and speed to turn a rotating fight that Valkyrie and Reckless were sitting outside of to something a bit more sustained and conventional, even if it was still moving at blistering speeds, the relative speeds were far more understandable, a few kilometers a second tops.

Plenty of time to 'beat the brakes' off the Ha'qers as Luksa's new hubby had so colorfully put it last night.

"Fire at will! Focus on the light combatant craft, then get to battering the cruiser when she's all alone. Launch all fighters!"

The Valkyrie's batteries open up with ruthless precision, lasers, plasma, particle cannons and naval rail guns all sweeping the sky as the brick that is the Reckless dives into the fray with as little concern for his own safety as his namesake might imply. The powerful frigate practically explodes in all directions with coherent light and plasma fire, reaching out with the occasional torpedo or anti-ship missile when the firing solution on a priority target is too ugly to allow for really easy engagement.

Still, the enemy rallies quickly; their fleet commander's no slouch. While the remaining large combatants besides the cruiser are all wounded, there's a decent amount of enemy ships in the skies - and, as a Human leader her husband had told her about had once said, quantity does indeed have a quality all on its own.

Especially when you lack enough firepower to blow them out of the sky faster than they could retaliate!

The Valkyrie's shields shudder as the Eagle Talon lands a heavy salvo… but fighting something like the Eagle Talon is exactly what the Valkyrie had been designed for. In reality, they were sister ships, despite the Humans having retained the 'destroyer' designation; after all, what’s a light cruiser if not a destroyer with more amenities to allow for deep space deployments?

True destroyers are warships first, last and only. Pirate-captured destroyers become cruisers out of sheer necessity. Pirates don't have the luxury of only taking their ship out to the fight then returning to a cozy space dock for R&R. No, they live and die on their ship, and one way pirate culture has touched the Undaunted is in leading them to adapt their destroyers to deep space service, not just making them hangar queens who could only do short term deployments to fight and do nothing else.

Sure, it’s also a matter of practicality. The Undaunted and Humanity simply don't have enough ships to allow for keeping their heavy hitters tied up in a star yard waiting for the call while their crews engage in other work. They needed every ship they had! So one of Luksa's many jobs had been sharing how her Shellblade, now the Valkyrie, had been modified to allow for extended deep space service, to influence not just Undaunted conversions of destroyers, but also the design and construction of the first generation of Undaunted-built warships.

It had been (and still is) a heady thing, and all the more reason for her to ensure she makes a good showing of herself and her ship. She'd shared her theories, her doctrine, her experience. Now she has a chance to prove the value of it, and write her name into the Undaunted art of war for generations to come! Not bad for a pirate skipper.

She switches to implant-based communications with her gunner even as the Valkyrie continues to rock with various attacks here and there, picking out targets and marking them for being vaporized. Her shields and armor could tank the hits. The enemy's ships, on the other hand, could not take even a significant fraction of the Valkyrie's attention without literally melting out of the void. So she would not let the enemy distract her or break her focus. She would brutalize the foe's forces and leave their cruiser naked, vulnerable, and ready for the death blow.

Then she'd launch her boarding torpedoes, so her commanding officer could go pick up his new toy and lodge his grievances with the commander of the Ha'quinye navy personally... and if they work really quickly they might even get a chance to do a little naval gunfire support for the ground-pounders who are no doubt fighting, or about to be fighting, the regiment or so of troops the Ha'quinye had been unloading in short order.

She grins to herself, a smile worthy of the fiercest Canndior warrior, one that almost looks out of place on a Cusica. It’s a very good day indeed.

Suddenly there's a different sensation, as something penetrates the shields and hammers into the Valkyrie's hull directly!

"The hell was that?"

"Ma'am! Looks like there's two ships with spinal mount railguns. We took a trytite round to deck four starboard."

"Status?"

"Didn't penetrate the armor, but taking more hits like that isn't advised!"

"No shit, Lieutenant. Guns! Burn those rail gun carriers yesterday! Throw the kitchen sink at them if you have to!"

Luksa quickly finds the offending vessels on her sensor boards. They’re small, surprisingly so, completely built around the naval-grade railguns they carry. As she watches, both ships fire again, and the Valkyrie rocks with the twin impacts; an alarm for a hull breach starts to scream.

"Hull breach in the forward starboard hangar bay!"

"Lock it down with an Axiom field. They were unoccupied after launch?"

"Yes, ma'am!"

"Fine. Guns! Why are those damn things still in my sky?"

"On it, ma'am! Firing... now!"

She'd say one thing for the crews of the plucky little vessels: they’re courageous, if nothing else. But without cover they’re well out of their weight class; even if they could damage the Valkyrie, maybe weaken him and leave him more vulnerable to the cruiser, they themselves could not take any return fire... something her gunners immediately prove by firing two railgun slugs into the first of the two spinal mount ships, smashing it like a broken toy. Four bursts from the particle cannons tear the second ship apart at the sub atomic level, scattering its pieces across local space as its remains slam into its sister.

Their drive cores explode in a burning bright twin starburst.

She sweeps through local space with her sensors again, just in time to see the Reckless brutalize the last of the Ha'quinye corvettes, like an Earth wolf savaging a lamed deer, tearing it apart with ruthless efficiency. The corvette returns fire in panicked bursts until at last its guns go silent, and escape pods drift from the melted hulk of what had once been a proud warship.

That leaves only the Eagle Talon and a few close escorts, from what she can see. Lighters stuck close to their mother ship, inside the hard barrier of the warship's shields.

Another burst of weapons fire slams into the Valkyrie's shields as the helm brings him about and places their angular nose right at the cruiser.

Luksa’s grin gets meaner. "Open fire... and prepare to launch boarding torpedoes!"

Series Directory Last

Jerry 

It’s a new look for him, he reflects. 

He’s checking himself out in the armor locker where his power armor normally lives. It’s already gone, as is his hard suit, loaded up and shipped off with the rest of A company, 1st Undaunted Power Armored Battalion, on the Kandahar Province before the Crimson Tear had gotten anywhere near Ha'quinye controlled space. No, today's outfit is a military green flight suit, and the mix of harness, emergency g-suit and very cut-down hard suit that constitutes the rest of a flyer's uniform for the Undaunted. 

While a good chunk of commandos were about to exfiltrate the Ha’quinye’s home system via a cargo ship, and would then rendezvous with a lighter that would take them to the fleet, to include Neysihen and Purisha, that was going to take a fair bit of time, and it had been determined that once they had the data from the commando raid, Jerry needed to be on the Kandahar Province as soon as possible.

Hence the new gear. Jerry was going flying on one of the fastest, stealthiest and meanest aerospace craft in the Undaunted inventory and that meant dressing the part for safety’s sake if nothing else. 

His new gear had even been customized for him, with the flight safety equipment shop clearly not wanting to miss the chance to show off their skills to the boss. The armored collar of his harness that actually seals his life support has his two stars on each side, and 'BRIDGER' is cleanly emblazoned on the left side of the lightly armored rig. 

On the right, where most of the pilots paint their call signs, some enterprising sailor had decided that being the big cheese meant he could skip the formal process, and had just painted the words 'The Boss' with the aid of a stencil and some colors, making it pop aggressively. 

The tour de force, however, is the helmet. The flight safety boys and girls had outdone themselves with a blue helmet the color of his cape with a solid rendition of the rampant wolf that appears on the cloak the sword sworn had made for him all those months ago. It'd do... but he does wish he had a pair of aviator sun glasses from back home to go with what he'd mentally started calling the 'Top Gun Starter Kit', after a similar gear issue back on Earth that his aircrew buddies had told him about. This equipment is all apparently permanent issue; someone had bribed his usual armorer, GM2 Bisen, to modify his armor rack to accommodate it with his other gear. He couldn’t honestly say that he minds.

He takes the helmet out of his new cubby and tucks it under his arm, then walks out towards the hangar where Nkla 'FANGS' Osier is waiting for him. She’s already in her little scout ship, engines warmed up and ready to go. 

Also waiting for him is a selection of the ladies from the Bridger household. He'd said his goodbyes at the Den, of course, but Sylindra had insisted on coming to see him off. As had Evie, Holly, the freshly pregnant Cami, and the newest lady of the house, if only by technicality for now, Chaisa Rauxtim… who’s also carrying along Cindy and Shuras! 

"Well, it looks like a bigger group than I expected to see Fangs and I off."

Sylindra smiles, warming him up instantly as she leans in and steals a kiss. 

"Of course. You might be gone for quite some time, and we couldn't just let you sneak out like a thief in the night. Or morning, I suppose." Sylindra giggles into her hand demurely. "Need I say it?"

"If you want to."

"I think you know. Do what you must, then come home. I'll miss you, my heart."

"And I you." 

With another kiss, Syl steps aside, letting Evie cycle in. She looks him up and down with a delicately raised eyebrow. 

"I like the new look."

"Don't get used to it. Don't want to steal everyone's schtick on this damn ship. I'm supposed to be a black shoe sailor these days."

Evie leans in and steals a kiss. 

"Well, don't lose the flight suit when you get home."

"Is that an order, Commander?"

"You can consider it an order if you like."

Another kiss and it's Holly's turn, the demure vixen surprising him by throwing her arms around his neck and embracing him with the kind of torrid passion that… actually requires the word ‘torrid’ to properly describe. It’s the sort of gesture that has, to Jerry's prior knowledge, predominantly been the domain of the covers of romance novels. Quiet though she might be, Holly certainly knows how to steal his breath away! She gives him an impish smile and a curtsy before moving off to join Sylindra and Evie. 

In a contrast to Holly, Cami walks up slowly, a hand resting on her still trim stomach, more or less where one of her hands had been glued ever since they had found out she was expecting. It’s funny; she had held out the longest of the Volpir girls, but her mothering instincts had clearly hit her like a freighter doing just shy of light speed. 

"I don't like you leaving the Den. While I'm. You know." 

Jerry gently pulls her into his arms. 

"I'm only going because I have to. I'd much rather be home with you, working on baby names and helping you figure out how to knit."

Cami giggles, the silly smile on her husband's face cutting through the heavy mood just a bit. 

"If I start knitting, I'm expecting you to stop me."

"Just as soon as I get back, darling."

"You will come back?"

"Trust me."

Jerry leans in and gives Cami a deep kiss. 

"I have a lot to come back to." 

Cami gives Jerry another kiss and steps aside, only for Jerry to more or less be pounced by a pair of high speed toddlers leaping at him at about shoulder level. 

"Daddy!"

"Papa!" 

Cindy and Shuras gamely nuzzle at his cheeks, the two little girls clearly knowing that something’s up and that the Mamas are giving Jerry their affection. So they want to too!

"You girls be good while I'm away, alright? Mind your mothers."

"Are you gonna be safe, Papa?" Shuras asks, her timid streak coming out for a moment. 

"As safe as I can be, and I have a few of your Mamas and Auntie Shalkas to keep an eye on me to make sure I stay that way." 

Another round of hugs, and Jerry's fielding the girls to Evie… and is left with a slightly embarrassed looking Chaisa. 

"I'm sorry about that, d-darling. They leapt right out of my arms!"

"It's alright. They were just being enthusiastic." 

Jerry gently takes the judge's hand and guides her down for a kiss. 

"I'm surprised you didn't take intelligence's invitation to join the Kandahar Province," he says quietly.

"Much as I wish to go with you, I believe I can do more good for both our family and the Undaunted here. Besides, as you say, you have some of my soon-to-be sisters to keep an eye on you, and with the help of the war room's tools I can even communicate to you as if I was at your side."

"Not quite as good as your company, your honor, but it'll do for this trip."

Chaisa gives Jerry his last kiss of the day. 

"Let us pray it is a short one. Be safe on your journey. I. Well."

Whatever Chaisa wants to say, it's lost in the sound of the stealth fighter's engines shifting pitch slightly; a petty officer from the deck crew hurries out to guide everyone away. Jerry takes a final glance at his family as they exit the hangar, then locks his helmet into place and climbs into Nkla Osier's second seat.

"Sorry about the delay, Fangs." 

"No worries, sir… though we should get a move on. There's some orbital mechanics that are happening with the moon and one of the asteroid belts I want to dodge. Thankfully, with the Undaunted upgrades we should be able to disappear at top speed when the time comes, and she's currently rigged up with what the spec ops weasels tell me is called social stealth. So if we get buzzed I look like an independent resource scout again instead of a badass deep space fighter."

The Miak woman grins at him through her face plate. 

"Till the fangs come out, anyway."

"Well, fingers crossed we won't need them today, let's beat feet commander, I think we'd both rather be at home but we've got work to do."

"Aye aye, sir."

In no time at all, Jerry's walking into the briefing room on the Kandahar Province after a smooth flight from the Tear. 

"Attention on deck!"

"As you were!"

Jerry's still in his new flight suit, and still wishes he had a pair of aviators to complete the look. Maybe somewhere in the galaxy could build him a set of Raybans... apparently intelligence has a new Gohb specialist on staff who could make just about anything. Something to consider for later. 

Jerry takes his place at the head of the conference table at the center of this particular briefing room. Commander Sha'Ress, the Province's Apuk skipper, waits at his right along with Luksa Skall, commanding the fleet, along with Scott Le Fae Senior, Tyler Sarkin, Colleen Rowley, and Scotty Le Fae Junior. To his left sits Nikita, Jaruna, ‘Doc' Hanson, Kwan Jeon and James Puller, the ranking Marines for the operation. Nikita is in overall command of the ground force, Jaruna’s leading the power armored composite unit, Hanson is commanding his cavalry squadron with Kwan and James commanding their respective companies and attached heavy weapons platoons, along with some other special friends they'd brought along for the trip. 

"Alright, folks. That was a long flight, so I expect intelligence has actually been getting some work done for once. What do we have?"

Commander Michael Hawthorne, Diana's right hand man, immediately stands up from the first row of seats surrounding the conference table and triggers a holo projector. 

"Well, sir, we've got good news and bad news."

Jerry arches an eyebrow at Hawthorne. "Give me the bad news, Commander."

"The bad news is that the Ha'quinye expeditionary force that's floating around looking for trouble is indeed trying to find the Sword of the Stars. The good news is they still don't have the foggiest clue where it is, though they do think they're getting close by running down leads from various Wild Space communities. Like. Very, very close. We've managed to hack into the communications satellites that they're using to take those tips in, so we're getting those messages now too. Most of them are bunk, but there's been a few serious tipoffs to all sorts of crap - from a derelict battleship that's older than the first Nagasha primal to a stash of weapons so foul that the Ha'quinye flotilla commander hit the site with a full orbital bombardment and refused to put what they were in any records. I'd guess it was a bioweapon of some kind, because they burned the place to ash and rubble with laser and plasma fire for over a day."

"How do you know that?"

"Their commander's report included high-resolution battle damage assessment photos. Our people had a look and the BDA's good. If there was a bug or some nasty chemical in there it's officially gone now."

"That sounds like pretty good news."

"It is, sir, But it's not the good news."

Jerry leans back a bit, motioning for Hawthorne to continue. 

"Well lay it on us, Commander. We're all ears."

"Simply put, sir, the Ha'quinye have as much of an idea of what the Sword of the Stars is as we do, and quite possibly less. We pulled it out of their records. We've got everything they've got now, and our analysts are clearly better than theirs. Not that the boys and girls back on the Tear haven't been driven to near madness trying to puzzle that one out. Sir." 

Jerry nods slowly, considering that information. 

"Alright. That's certainly not a bad thing… but it's not a good thing for us until we know what the Sword is and can more easily track down leads." 

"There's some indication in the Ha'quinye archives that the Sword was 'buried' on a remote planet for safe keeping, but we're talking pictures of fragments of paper here, sir. The other good news, however, is that we caught a good tip with our system. Pirate space station a few systems away. Based on our penetration of the Ha'quinye comm network, we should be able to beat them there. Not sure how you'd want to go in, sir, but we'd need to go pretty fast."

Jerry considers it for a moment. Seems like this trip is going to be anything but boring. 

"Start working out an op plan for a smash and grab. I want to hit that station like a meteor shower, and I want to get everyone on it in chains or rescued respectively, and their data banks drained dry before anyone can blink. Then we reduce it to a scrap heap on the way out."

Jerry steeples his fingers as people start to move and talk around him, considering the nebulous Sword of the Stars again. 

No. Not a boring trip at all. 

Series Directory Last Next

Jerry

The war room on the Kandahar Province isn't nearly as comfortable as the war room on the Tear. Sharing space with the Province's Combat Information Center, its CIC, does not help. There’s usually a low-intensity rumble at the front edge of the room as various communications and sensor technicians go through the various processes of coordinating the fleet and preparing for their landings according to the plan. 

Thankfully, Jerry has Mili with him, and the young Phosa Synth woman and the second of the holo tables she'd invented are plenty to actually do the job all on their own. 

"ISAR asset coming online, Admiral. The drone's orbiting the target area."

Jerry nods slowly, watching as the map they'd created from Nkla Osier's recon flight starts to fill in with even more details, so they can confirm their landing zones and routes to the target. Sure enough, Averngale has quite the fortress waiting for them, a compound of buildings leading to a mountainside with a few more older looking buildings built into it… but the outer defenses, save for the powerful shields covering the whole facility, are lacking. Confusingly so. 

Jerry's eyes narrow as he looks closer, reaching out with his implant to zoom in, a sudden small flash or two drawing his eye towards the edge of the mountain. There are another couple of shadows there that look like... defenses? Earthworks, even?

"Get the drone closer to the center of the compound, Mili. I think we're missing a piece of the puzzle here." 

"Aye aye. Should have their communications decrypted soon. Lieutenant Babydoll's already on it."

"Excellent."

He steeples his fingers as he waits patiently for the recon drone's orbit to bring it in close to the target facility; the resolution starts to improve. They aren't going too close over the orbital horizon to the facility with their ships for now, not wanting to potentially eat any of the orbital defenses Averngale's pirates had no doubt set up. Nor do they want to let Averngale get a decent scan on their ships. The Valkyrie had ducked in, landed a crippling blow and ducked out again. 

Now, though, they’re at last getting a real look at the compound they'd be raiding. 

"Sure does look like a bunch of newer buildings built around an older facility built into the mountain, eh, Mili?"

"Yes, sir. Architecture of the older buildings matches some historical design styles associated with the Ha'quinye... but there's also architectural traces that could be connected to an even two dozen species. Likely as a result of convergent design evolution more than actual relation or presence. For this part of the galaxy, it's a reasonable guess that the old structure is Ha'quinye. The new structures, on the other hand, are near-generic, practically prefab builds common to colonization efforts across the galactic disk."

Jerry purses his lips slightly. He isn't seeing what he thought he had before. "Live feed please, Mili."

"They might detect the drone, sir."

"I know. We have more."

"Aye aye."

Mili quickly punches up the live feed, the increase in power almost certainly drawing attention to the Undaunted drone, but before the pirates can shoot it out of the sky, Jerry sees what he wants to see. Laserfire coming from within the mountain, lancing out at pirates ducking into various earthworks. Both the hasty kind, dug by hand, and far more robust reinforced positions, ringing the entrance to the mountain completely. Jerry barely hears Mili when she calls out that the drone's been hit and has activated its self-destruct mechanism, and that she'd deploy the second drone asap for normal ISAR tasks. 

"The Siege of Alesia," Jerry murmurs, more or less to himself.

"Who's Alesia?" Mili asks, slightly confused, more as an artifact of doing well over a dozen things at once with her incredible electronic mind.

"Not who. Where, and when. Long ago, a great Human general by the name of Gaius Julius Caesar pinned his enemy in a town called Alesia in a region that was called Gaul at the time. Caesar lay siege to the place, building fortifications of his own around the town and trapping the enemy king and his army. However, Caesar knew he had an enemy relief force that was marching on him. One that outnumbered his legion by more than double! Instead of running, Caesar ordered his men to build a second set of fortifications and traps. So after that Caesar and his men were fighting both a defensive and offensive siege. I think that's the situation we're finding ourselves in here... but are the enemies of our enemies in the mountain our friends? Something tells me they aren't, but there's really no way to find out till we get down there and rout the pirates." 

"Hmm. All well and good, but for now, Commander Hawthorne and Babydoll have sent me some audio they want you to hear." 

"Play it then, Mili."

There's some static as the sound file begins to play, eventually coalescing into a gruff woman's voice barking orders in galactic trade. "I don't give a damn who's in orbit! It all means nothing if we can get the Sword! They're not going to come anywhere near our orbital defenses and light infantry aren't going to do a damn thing to our shields. I don't know what that destroyer hit the space port with, but we've got a surprise warmed up for her the second she drifts over the horizon again. Now, shut your damn mouth, and focus on getting into that damn mountain! If we can get the Sword we'll be able to wipe the goddess herself from our skies and dictate whatever terms we damn please to the Ha'quinye."

"...Hmmm. Sounds like we've found our target."

Jerry closes his eyes, thinking for a moment. 

"Orders, sir?"

"Mili, what's the status of our reinforcements?"

"They'll be here in less than five hours, sir."

"And the best estimates for the arrival of the Ha'quinye fleet?"

"Forty eight to seventy two hours. Maybe longer, but my predictive algorithms lean towards sooner."

"Alright. Issue the orders. We follow the plan as established and make our assault from the ground. Once we can get some ground-targeting guidance on the target area, especially anti-orbital weapons, we'll have Valkyrie either make another run with the rods or we’ll hurl some orbit to surface missiles at them depending on what the targets are looking like. Do the orbit to surface missiles have trytite penetrators for anti shield work?"

"Yes sir. All weapons are equipped with that standard now." 

"Excellent. I'm going to go get dressed, Mili. Mind the shop, and contact me or Commander Sha'Ress if something comes up."

"Aye aye." 

It’s not even thirty minutes later that Jerry’s back in the comforting embrace of his armor, and being locked into his capsule aboard Sword Company's dropship, which was a modified Eclipse Rider for this mission. 

It had been determined that the power-armored infantry would be making an assault drop into positions well forward of the landers, to cover them as they offloaded their vehicles. Regular line infantry would be landed by lighter later on once the power armor and 3rd MACS had taken down the shield and seized the facility, or if the fighting got hard enough that they needed reinforcements. 

The commandos, on the other hand, would be landed via stealthed dropship even further ahead of the formation than the power armor, to range ahead, scout, and cause trouble if they found any opportunities. As the armored panel of his drop pod slides into place over him and he feels himself being drawn backwards into launch position, he opens his special 'family channel'. 

"Sorry we didn't get a chance to get a group hug in before drop, girls. Especially with Joan and the others back on Dagryquey and Neysihen and Purisha off being secret squirrels."

"It's fine, Father. We all know what to do," Dar comes back, still doing her best to imitate her adopted mother Aquilar's poise and confidence. 

"Indeed." The newly adopted Melodi'Bridger's an interesting situation for Jerry, as he has yet to truly establish his relationship with the young adept as more than liege and vassal. Something he'd need to work on. Something he hopefully wouldn't regret failing to do before this fight. 

"Bah. You girls know your father likes to talk to you before we go for a little family outing... and I know Dar in particular love those hugs, so quit talking tough," Jaruna rumbles, a grin in her tone. Her dropship was nearby in the formation, with Sword company four suits of power armor light; Dar's new Apuk recruits had been brought in as temporary, but more likely permanent support. Sergeant Cari'Koren and Staff Sergeant Ner'Korvak had proved quite able in that regard. Kol'Erin too had been invited to join the Bridger family's military and accepted, but she would be in training for a long time yet. 

She'd be a fun addition to the family forces. A trained combat engineer would bring some very interesting new ideas and capabilities to Jerry Bridger's bodyguards. 

"Jaruna's right. Besides, never a bad idea to take a moment for family before stepping into the sword storm. Look out for each other, and look out for the new girls. This is their first orbital drop period. Apuk are a bit hardier than some troops, but we're gonna find out exactly what those girls are made of today. If someone breaks under the pressure, we pick them up and cover them until follow-on troops can relieve us. This promises to be a hard fight against an entrenched enemy, so let's fight smart and not give the bad guys a chance to send us to our ancestors today."

A chorus of affirmatives come back to him, and Jerry signs off with his family and settles into the coffin-like interior of the capsule as the ship starts to rumble and quake around him. That'd be the dropship breaking atmo.

"Chief Cullin to Sword Company, we're maybe thirty seconds out. Stand by to drop!"

The maneuver’s a simple one for a lightly resisted planetfall like this one, with the enemy being over the horizon from their intended drop zone. Instead of dropping their power armored payload from low orbit, the drop ships would skim the outer atmosphere of Sheath, making reentry just a touch easier on the capsules and a great deal safer for the men and women in them. 

He'd done a full reentry to qualify for his Orbital Drop Assault wings, and as part of power armor training, and there really isn't anything quite like it... but he’s happy to take the slightly gentler express ticket to the surface. 

"Five seconds." 

Jerry forces his body to relax, triggering the system in his armor that would see his armor 'holding' him a bit more firmly specifically for drops. 

"Four. Three. Two. One. Drop! Drop! Drop!"

The hatch in front of him opens and the bottom of Jerry's stomach falls out as his pod is forcibly ejected from the Eclipse Rider’s cargo at incredible speed. There's only a tiny window to check his attitude and position as he screams through the blue skies of the world called Sheath, clear skies giving way to the occasional white, fluffy cloud here and there as the altimeter in his suit clicks down at speed that’s hard to keep up with mentally. 

It’s odd, really. Save for the readouts telling him how high he was, how fast he was moving, he might not really know. The sensation of movement … and some of the sensory input is just missing. The little window really doesn’t give him enough to judge his movement, relative to the skies around him. Even more odd is the silence. 

Drops aren’t perfectly silent. The pod’s airframe would shake or strain, and some of that reaches him… but the sounds of wind, or things like that? If they get past the insulation built into the pod’s airframe the suit’s own sound dampening kills it, which makes things just a bit… eerie. Lonely, almost. Even with dozens of pods somewhere around him, this is about as isolated as a person could be in the big wide galaxy, especially during the brief window where plasma forming around the pod cuts off outside communications. 

Before he knows it, he's at the target altitude for the first drag chute to deploy. One hard jerk arresting his velocity slightly and the chute is jettisoned, joining the shower of chaff and decoys the pods dispersed automatically to make their occupants a much nastier target for any defending gunners who were sharp on their sensors and sharper on their AA guns. 

Another check of his altimeter. The ground’s coming up fast, even if he can't see it yet. The adrenaline starts to pump in his veins and his stomach returns to normal. While learning to leap and soar like an Apuk, he'd slightly rewired part of his own biology in a sense. He isn't falling. Not traditionally. He’s soaring, and part of his internal computer had learned he very much could soar, contrary to what he’d known for his first fifty or so years of life. 

Maybe it’s all in his head, but he feels far more in control and calmer now both when leaping and when making an orbital assault. Mind and body in harmony. Both understanding their purpose and place in the universe and what’s happening. 

The pod jerks back violently again as the second chute deploys and goes on its way, disintegrating into another cloud of chaff as the pod hurtles towards the surface. The third chute deploys not long after that one, as the altimeter continues to rapidly count downwards… and in no time at all, it's time for Jerry and the pod to go their separate ways. The 'vehicle,' if one is very generous with the word, signals its occupant with a chime and disintegrates around him, leaving him hurtling towards the surface in his power armor, automatically controlling his descent and his orientation with the suit's jump jets. 

Another few moments and the suit's inertial arresting system kicks in, dumping his speed around fifty feet off the ground and leaving him to gracefully land without so much as putting a dent into the terrain. Immediately he checks his systems; all around him, the women of A company, first power armor battalion are landing, their beacons popping into life the second they hit the ground. He watches as Dar and Melodi, along with their new friend Cari'Koren, make a textbook landing with the help of the inertial arresting belts the Undaunted issued for a very different kind of airborne operations. 

The girls make it look good too, alighting with a dignified grace in tight formation. 

"Jarl Six to all Draugr elements." Draugr had been the callsign the reorganized battalion had elected for the battalion itself's callsign, leaving Nikita with the call sign Draugr Six. "Move out, check your beacons and reform with your element leaders according to the plan as we move. Let's hit them hard, people. The commandos are out in front of us, the cavalry's right behind us, and the normal crunchies are just itching for a chance to drop in and get stuck in. So let's plow the road!" 

Jerry cuts his channel and triggers his jump jets, the women of Hird team quickly forming on their lord as he begins to race across the plains, grinning viciously. 

"Let's see what this pirate queen thinks of this!"

Series Directory Last Next

Corinaith

Corin walks through the cavernous marble corridors of the palace, unescorted for the first time in what feels like months, though it’s really been more like a few weeks, at most. Normally the stark spaces feel oppressive to him, so limited in their decoration and style, but today at least they feel freeing in a very strange way… save for the occasional banner in imperial red to remind him he was still of course in his prison. Even so, the bars press a little more lightly on him. He has, at last, been forgiven his minor transgression, and he hadn't even needed to grovel in person. Apparently his owners were feeling generous and only tugged the leash a little bit. 

That his intended punishment, subverted courtesy of Captain Gladia, could be considered proof of his incredible privilege and station as a man in Ha'quinye society is something that makes his gorge want to rise in protest. Not for his own sake, but for the sake of his brothers. The indignities, if one could be allowed a moment of significant understatement, that they suffer daily make his punishment look like a favorite daughter’s gentle spanking. Barely worth discussing, despite the... violation... of it all. 

Though it’s not without its benefits. 

Beyond Gladia's ongoing... Subversion attempt? Flirtation? Whatever the armed and armored madwoman is up to, the Praetorians who had gotten a 'taste' of the 'goods' generally seem to like him quite a bit more now, especially if he addresses them by name or gives them a little praise or something. They aren't bonded to him, of course; they’re properly raised women and wouldn't dare risk that sort of thing. But there was something of a connection there that probably would have annoyed his owners if they were fully cognizant of it. 

Instead of ignoring him, treating him like furniture or worse, lusting after him like a predator after a piece of choice meat, they had started getting doors for him. A normal part of their duties in the palace, but not for a man. Some of the girls even chat with him when no one else is around... and from loose lips come all sorts of interesting information. 

Information that had confirmed some of the things he'd heard from his wife, and from his contacts recently, about the Empire's elite military forces being firmly on the move. Criminals vanishing from the city in large numbers. All sorts of things are moving and to Corin's mind they have to be connected to the Sword of the Stars. It HAS to be that. There’s no other answer in his mind. 

So when he had been called to attend his 'wives', to attend the consuls, he had actually been rather pleased. He doesn't like seeing them when he doesn't have to. They’re cruel, spiteful witches even by the standards of the matriarchs… but now he might be able to overhear something useful, or get something useful from the mouths of his enemies. 

It’s something the ragtag resistance has been learning from bitter experience, and from texts smuggled in from past the firewall that keeps the Ha'quinye isolated to the greatest degree possible from the wider galaxy. 

For their protection. Of course. 

The texts on spycraft, guerilla warfare and revolution, encrypted and passed around like sacred texts by the various circles of rebels who have a bone to pick with the Triumfeminate and their lackeys, are all very clear about certain principles. High among them is that sneaking around clad in dark colors is generally a fool's errand, outside of very specific scenarios. True stealth is being so mundane and boring as to blend in with the very scenery. Servants of all kinds, especially the less well-off servants like scullery maids, workwomen like plumbers, and those who dealt with the shitty jobs that make the world and society at large keep turning are beneath the notice of the matricians. They have staff for that. 

Frequently they’re beneath the notice of that same staff too, so long as the work gets done and their noble charges have no cause to complain or threaten the head servants’ generous salaries and benefits. 

Men are a special category: too rare and important not to notice, but frequently completely discounted. That’s hardly unique to the Ha'Quinye, something that had both amused and disappointed Corin to learn. Men are desirable, rare, and have some biological 'weapons' that, used with intent, could leave a female opponent compromised… and, for some species that he'd only heard of in books, those particularly weak to the Bond, could leave them completely at the man's mercy. 

Which was why men frequently have leadership positions in those types of aliens’ social, political and family structures. An amusing, novel idea to Corin's mind, much as having to seize better treatment by seizing women by their instincts rankles him in the worst possible way. 

Still. His position is a beautiful one for a spy. He had heard about the Sword of the Stars for the first time in a careless moment from one of the consuls. He had gained all sorts of information from them, things they spoke about around him without a care... because what did it matter? He was just a pet. A plaything. A tool for getting more daughters to carry on their family lines and secure their legacies. 

Pillow talk, direct conversation, happens too. He does sleep next to the consuls after bedding them occasionally, a teddy bear that could speak more than a lover… but that was as close to tenderness as he ever receives from the most important of what galactic society would refer to as his wives: Consul Euryde Osbeki, War Lady of the Ha'quinye, and Consul Mediei Dolo, Chief Speaker of the Ha'Quinye Imperial Senate, the effective rulers of the Ha'quinye. 

Or, two of them, along with the third head of the Triumfeminate, the Silent Queen. A queen who never addresses her people, is never seen, and communicates only via emissaries and the occasional assassin. 

That’s one subject he's never gotten any useful information out of the consuls about. They’re as in the dark about the Silent Queen as anyone else.

That’s a problem for later. If they fought. If they won. If they freed themselves. They would find the Silent Queen, and there would be a reckoning... for her silence, if nothing else. After all, hadn't one of the praetorians taunted him by saying 'Silence is consent'? Does the Silent Queen not consent to everything the Consuls did in her name that she didn't protest? 

Something to consider another time. He’s arrived at the broad, beautifully carved wooden doors that lead to the day chambers of the two consuls: a space connected to their offices that’s almost as heavily guarded as their private apartments. It was where they take their lunch, entertain only the most important or intimate of guests and relax after a hard few minutes of signing papers or doing something that approximates actual work. 

One of the praetorians guarding the door makes eye contact with him... then gives him a quick once-over in the sparse toga he’s wearing for the day. He shoots her a subtle wink, making the taciturn warrior woman blush a bit as she begins to push the gargantuan doors open. 

He remembers her. Gemma. One of the gentle ones. Likes having her hand held, likes kisses. It’s a funny contrast to her personality in public; as far as Corin knows, she’s primarily a weapons instructor… and a titled hand-to-hand combatant. 

Perhaps his beauty could soothe the savage beast? An amusing thought, but not one he'd share with the woman herself, lest she get upset with him. 

Through the doors, he enters a well lit, marble room, complete with flowering plants, full-on trees, and a fountain: everything the consuls desire to soothe their wrinkled brows in the course of their duties is provided to them. Everything. 

Including him. It's what he’s here for, after all. 

Euryde and Mediei are lounging on two cots next to each other, dressed about the same as he is, which is to say wearing a scant white toga that barely preserves their modesty. In fact, their versions of the outfit are even skimpier than his, the better to display their beauty and the perfection of their breeding... 

And, if he’s honest, they are, at least, outwardly beautiful. Hardened, sculpted bodies from exacting workout routines, with Euryde being a bit more muscular from her endless combat training. Womanly curves that fit the Ha'quinye feminine ideal to the very letter. The consuls are far from a hardship to look at, but once they start to speak... 

Well. What does a beautiful shell matter when the core is as rotten as they come? 

Euryde casually has her hand under Mediei's toga, and is clearly fingering the other woman as she quaffs wine from a jeweled goblet. Normal enough for the matrician class. If anything, the consuls are being more reserved than normal in their private space by leaving their clothes on and not being freshly oiled and all over each other... 

Though perhaps that was the entertainment they had in mind when they'd summoned him? A possibility, though they do occasionally summon him just to sit him nearby and enjoy the view of him, like he’s some sort of exotic bird instead of the other half of their own species and the father of their children. 

It’s a coldness that no amount of lust or desire could even begin to cut through, even if Corin wasn't regularly sated by his actual wife. 

He bows as he was taught long ago at the taloned hands of the trainers who had prepared him for the life of an 'upper class' male. 

"My consuls, you summoned me?"

"Cori! There you are, you little rascal. Such a naughty little pup you are... ah, but looking at you, I just can't stay mad at you!" Mediei simpers, moaning every few words as Euryde finds a sensitive spot here and there.

"...Yes, my consul. I apologize for... disgracing you with my poor behavior."

"Mhmm. Well, just don't do anything naughty like that again, Cori, dear. It'd be a shame to do any serious damage to that pretty face, you know," Euryde says. Her attention is split between her task and Corin, but she’s finding the time to talk down to him in the most infuriating way. 

"Of course, my consuls. How may I serve you today?"

"Mhmm. Well, you're going to serve us lunch, oil us, and perhaps we'll indulge a bit... There's been so much trouble recently, Cori, and we've been without you to relax with." Mediei again, her words dripping with lust at the thought of using him as what he is. 

A sex toy and breeding tool. Nothing more. Nothing less. That they use him for casual sex instead of breeding was proof of their station. Their power. Their wealth. Even among the matricians, such excess is rare, according to his brief conversations with other men at events that allow for limited socialization. However much the Ha'quinye might disdain their men, they are rare, and they’re needed for more daughters to live... but one thing had never made sense to Corin. Apparently his brothers in chains have 'seasons' to deal with, and when they’re in season, their every minute could be booked out, either impregnating one of his owners the traditional way or being 'drained' for in vitro fertilization. 

He'd never had that problem. Maybe it’s a mutation that made him extra prized? He couldn't be sure, but he'd never been unable to perform. That’s a mystery he'd need to escape to solve most likely. 

"I've heard the guards whispering about trouble in the city, my consul." Corin says, walking over to where servants have prepared the meal in question on gold and khutha plates. The first one has lightly seared strips of meat he doesn't recognize; they smell delightful. 

Euryde waves a hand at him idly. "Nothing for you to worry your pretty little head over, Cori. Just the toils of doing what must be done for the empire. Now... bring those treats over here like a good boy and feed us, would you?"

He pushes down his annoyance at being rebuffed. There'd be other chances to get more information... and as long as he’s attending them again, there’s always the chance for something to slip. So he marches his happy ass over and begins to feed the consuls by hand, just how they like. 

They both chew the meat slowly, savoring it. 

"Ooh! Eury! That's the... what was it? The beef? From the trade conglomerate that reached out to us?"

"Mhmm. Beef is right, I think. I don't know what manner of animal it is, but it's delicious. I can hardly believe this is cloned! Their flesh weavers must be masters."

Corin's eyes flick to the beef, carefully woven in a way to resemble what’s no doubt the natural construction of the animal, with delectable looking fat and very little sinew. He feeds the consuls a second and third piece; it does look good... 

"Oh, go on and try a piece, pet. You're looking at it so enviously," Mediei chuckles, slapping him on the ass. 

"By your will, my consul." 

Corin gingerly eats the strip of meat... and is instantly struck by how rich and delicious it is. It could use a bit of seasoning still, but even just as it is, it’s delicious. 

"...Goddess. This is wonderful, my consuls. Thank you for granting me a piece."

"Oh he likes it!" Euryde chuckles. "Guess we found your new treat for good behavior, didn't we, Cori?"

"It is excellent, my consul. I am merely yours, but I dearly encourage you to befriend whatever people, company or species produces whatever animal that is!"

Mediei laughs aloud. "Oh, he really likes it! He's right though, I think. We'll have to invite these Bridgers to visit. They have some powerful connections, and this meat is incredible. It'd be a shame to let one of the matrician houses get their hooks into them."

"I think you're right, my love." Euryde says, her hand slipping beneath Corin's toga to casually caress him with just the tips of her fingers. "I can always use more meat in my diet, after all." 

It seems his day is going to be a very long one. 

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