[h3][color=green]On the Seraphim, the Scientist’s flagship[/color][/h3]

Ex-Templars, now renamed to "RADrines" walked the decks in relative peace. Some used to serve on the ship during the Scientist's time, some were newly recruited. Neither side recognised the ship. 

During the civil war, the Seraphim was at the center of the space battles above RADX-001. After multiple hull breaches, a high number of casualties and a deadly virus released upon it, the ship was unrecognizable. Coupled up with the missing paintings, music and any kind of insignia that would make the soldiers remember the Scientist. It was truly a different ship.

A loud beeping noise followed by an alarm rang across the deck. Troopers sprang to motion as Admiral Adam raised his voice and shouted annoyed; 

"[Color=red]Someone stop that bloody alarm and tell me what's going on. [/color]" 

Admiral Adam was one of the few Brute-types that ever achieved the honor to command a spaceship and the first one to ever command the whole Golden Armada after the old admiral died saving the Seraphim. 

Almost immediately, the alarm stopped and an Acolyte turned her head towards the captain.

"[Color=yellow]Ensign Williams reporting in, sir! There is…no this can't be, sir. It looks like the Gateways have three new destinations. [/color]" 

"[Color=red]Three?! That can't be. After this whole time? Are the sensors malfunctioning? [/color]" 

"[Color=yellow]Negative sir. We've got confirmation from the Black Horse situated at the Gateway. [/color]"

"[Color=red]Ensign, tell Black Horse to investigate one of the new systems and get me a direct line to President William. Standard procedure, go in, assess danger, return. If the inhabitants prove dangerous, escape at any cost. We don't want to repeat another PUNT. [/color]"

As the ensign passed the message, the Black Horse, a cruiser type ship, passed through the Gateway.

[right][url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tRnMWzz44gA]Mood Music[/url][/right]

A sickly purple glow, tinged only barely with white bathed the Black Horse. To the starboard side, the hulk of a gas giant. Close enough to the gate to visually make out, though not unaided, some kind of hulking mass of metal, dozens of lights blinking lazily along it. The hulk looked more satellite than it did ship; a flatly octangular center with components folded against each side, a smattering of thrusters on each side.

Strangely, however, the Black Horse’s sensors could not pick up anything else. They were working; they were reading, but the results returned with complete confidence ultimately proved entirely incoherent. Directly ahead of them lay the star, the source of the light; almost the same size as the gas giant they now orbited, though with a luminosity known to no class of star or proto-star. Though they could clearly see it with the naked eye, to their sensors, even the gravitational ones to which it should have been as clear as day, nothing.

The Black Horse went through the Gateway with no issues. Formed out of a joint RADiance/Exalted crew, it was an experiment. One captain, two first mates and two of every important role each responsible for their own crew but only one person in command. 

“[color=fff79a]Status report. [/color]” came the raspy voice of the Exalted captain, [url=https://cdna.artstation.com/p/assets/images/images/029/615/628/large/ron-root-tactical-templar-colored2.jpg?1598113853]John[/url]. A once chameleon type, now cured.

“[color=red]Class B gas giant, a spaceship or maybe a satellite of sorts? Unknown origin. I…can’t detect any life-form nor nothing else, sir. If I were to warrant a guess, something is playing with our sensors. Jammers or interference from the gas giant. [/color]” replied in a curt voice, the first mate of the Exalted side. She was one of the very few remaining Virophage-Exalted types. Once she was nothing more than a crazed beast wishing only to spread its deadly diseases, now, only her almost green skin gave away her past. 

“[color=fff79a]Can one of you explain to me what is that?[/color]” continued John as they pointed to the lights, obviously visible to the naked eye.

“[color=blue]Unknown. Our sensors don’t even detect it. None of them. Whatever interference the giant or jammers are blocking everything. [/color]” replied this time the second first mate of the RADiance side. He was an ex-Zealot, one of the traitor’s very own who surrendered himself shortly after the civil war began.

“[color=blue]Stand by. Incoming transmission. Unknown origin. Old Earth tech. [/color]” 

“[color=fff79a]Everyone, battle stations. Issac, put it through. [/color]” almost immediately, alarms started to ring through the ship as the crew went to man their positions in case they were attacked.

And then, over an obsolete radio band, a singular, raspy voice. It was slow, almost synthesized, with a ponderingly flat tone, “Salient Moon, message to vessel,” a pause, then, “emergency traffic, a storm is coming. Acknowledge,” the warning came through. Unknown origin, jammers everywhere, something [i]was[/i] weird. 

“[color=fff79a]This is Captain John of the joint Exalted-RADiance taskforce. Warning received. What type of storm should we be expecting?[/color]”

Distantly and silently, the octangular vessel began to unfold. On each of the eight faces, rods extended, telescoping out into an array of lattices. Some form of netting, laced in unusual geometric patterns and visibly formed of a metallic material, began to slide out from the vessel. It ran along the lattices, weaving itself together. And then, suddenly, as though emerging from a spell of invisibility, eight small shuttles suddenly came into existence, rocketing towards the vessel.

“Underheaven, message to Salient Moon,” the same pause, down to the second, crackled on the radio, “magnetosphere breach.”

The vessels came to a halt near the lattices, one to each extended face. Their thrusters firing jerkily, they maneuvered themselves in, until with a simultaneous final firing, they slotted into the lattices. The nets extended to meet them. Then, another message over the radio, “Salient Moon, wideband,” again, the pause, “magnetosphere breach. The storm is here. Begin spin.”

The vessel’s lateral thrusters fired in unison, the metallic nets billowing from centrifugal force as it all began to spin. The lights smattered across the vessel all flicked to an ominous red, and then, “Salient Moon, message to John,” the pause was precise, not one second out-of-place, “emergency traffic, the storm is here. Slagstream warning, your vessel does not match exposure standards. Prep emergency suits, match spin and dock; shelter from storm.”

Almost as soon as the warning came, the voice of the first mate, Exalted side could be heard.

"[Color=red]They're not lying, sir. Our sensors are picking up something. They're detecting [i]something[/i] coming off the star. Orders? [/color]" 

John stood still. They had to calculate the danger. Entering a potential enemy spaceship or staying outside to deal with an unknown type of storm.

"[Color=blue]Orders, sir? [/color]" 

"[Color=fff79a]Send an emergency signal and trooper through the Gate. Let them know what we've encountered and prepare a rescue team if needed. Full speed towards the unknown vessel. Get a landing party ready. Weapons drawn. Just in case they decided to not play nice. [/color]" 

Two curt [i]yes, sir[/i] came as the two first mates carried out their commands.

[right][url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f74xrAaAW84]Mood Music[/url][/right]

As the Black Horse began its run to the vessel, what Salient Moon meant by the ‘storm’ became clear in a dazzling, brutal display. By the time it was visible, it was almost on top of them. Great clouds of purple gas billowed by as though a nebula, the ship rattling violently with the pure force of a maelstrom. The force of the blast was not the only concern, however; all at once, systems across the ship began to malfunction or fail entirely in improbable or even thought-to-be impossible ways.

The lights flickered violently. The reactor’s temperature was increasing out-of-control no matter what the engineers did to dampen it. Geiger counters flared with an entirely disparate reading every moment, the dials flying back and forth unnaturally. The terminals went out, all at once. Something exploded. There was a distant keening sob over the radio, emerging from a raw throat. Everywhere, all at once, the alarms flared to life. They were late, and then they were dead. With the sirens of the ship gone, the next loudest noise flared; it sounded as though the ship was in a great hurricane, the very hull being torn apart.

Alarms all over Black Horse rang as the ship was battered by the storm. Radio signals could be heard on the bridge and the whole ship vibrated violently.

"[Color=fff79a]How are we doing? [/color]" the captain's tone didn't betray their slight distress at the prospect of losing their crew. 

"[Color=blue]It's hard to tell, sir. None of our systems respond. Can't tell if those are our people or the status of the ship. But–[/color]" Issac's sentence was interrupted by Toxina, the other first mate's voice. 

"[Color=red]Incoming transmission from the Salient Moon, sir. [/color]"

"[Color=fff79a]Put it through. [/color]" 

Ahead, the satellite spun, leaving behind a pattern of clear space behind its nets, like spinning blades in water. Over the radio, sounding loudly over some quiet pleading from a source unknown, the same flat tone, salted with strained urgency, “Salient Moon, message to John,” this time, though nothing was different with the pause, it felt much longer, “Emergency Traffic! Slagstream! Reactor detonation imminent! Abandon, abandon, jump for Salient Moon! Salient Moon will catch you!”

As an emergency signal was sent and a trooper went flying at high speed towards the Gate, what he'd see behind was hard to explain. It was like the Black Horse was gone. Purple gas enveloped the whole area where the ship used to be. 

The message played out and for the first time, John felt panic before they composed themselves. 

"[Color=fff79a]They didn't lie about the storm. Can't see any reason not to trust them. They know their system better than we do. Everyone…evacuate the ship. If they decide to disarm us and act hostile, Toxina…build up a virus strong enough to kill all of us. Fully destroy our bodies. We're not letting them get our technology. [/color]"

"[Color=red]A-aye, sir! [/color]" shorty after, replied Toxina as her skin started to faintly turn greener than usual. A virus in the making. Death awaiting. For one and all. 

Suddenly the ship rocked to each side and the power went off and then went back on, not for long but long enough for the captain's decision to make sense in everyone's mind.

One by one, the crew jumped outside the ship. They were all armed and tried to hold onto their weapons as much as possible. In the end, John was the last one on the ship. They took a deep breath before jumping into the void. 

Behind them, the Black Horse was in terrible shape; the entire back of the ship had begun to, quite literally, slag. Nuclear fire and globs of overheated material spun from its tail, accelerating away from the ship as the hurricane of purple gasses pulled on it. But, then, the reactor breathed its last; a thermal explosion briefly blinded the entire crew as the whole ship vaporized from a catastrophic failure. Nothing but dust and slag remained.

The satellite, meanwhile, fired its maneuvering thrusters in a pattern; it did not stop spinning, but it began to tear off to the side, preparing to intercept the crew. First, they flew into the pattern of clear space left behind by the nets. As they entered it, it was as though a great weight had been taken off of them, as if they could think and see more clearly. Before such freedoms could be enjoyed, however, the metallic strands of netting hit. It was not gentle, the relative speed of the meeting enough to fracture bones of unenhanced humans.

John could hear their crew's screams all around them but with a few loud words in the Chosen language, it was as if magic was cast upon them. Their screaming turned into grunts, their fear into resolve.

Most of the crew managed to hit the net and while normal humans would certainly have felt the impact, it was nothing in comparison to the G-training all the *types* receive but even so, one or two members of the crew ended up with a fractured bone or similar minor injuries. 

Holding on was another problem entirely. Brought along for the violent spin, the crew – those that had been lucky enough to meet the net – discovered that they would have to hold on for dear life as the centrifugal force attempted to tear them away from the net and out into space, or worse, into the gas giant. On the face they had been caught, an enormous airlock opened, large enough to admit freight containers. The message was clear; climb against the centrifugal force, and to safety.


"[Color=fff79a]Up! Up! Up![/color]" bellowed John as the crew started their ascent and eventually after what seemed like an eternity, reached the airlock.

Just before Toxina went inside, her whole skin turned green. A signal that the virus was now ready to be released whenever she wished for. 

As soon as the last person was in, several closed-circuit cameras watched carefully to verify, the airlock closed behind them and some form of gravity plating kicked in. Suddenly, all the centrifugal force was gone. The whole crew fell to the floor, as the room flooded with air and the interior door opened. Some ancient-looking fluorescent lights hummed to life, though some flickered and some failed entirely. The crew hit the floor hard but as soon as they were down, they went up again. Decades of military training and centuries for others pushed them to ignore the pain, tiredness or any other concerns until the situation was deemed "safe". 

[right][url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_YPMfyX7oPA]Mood Music[/url][/right]

"[Color=fff79a]Form up. TDOH1 position. On the double! [/color]" said John only for the command to be yelled almost straight away by the first mates.

TDOH1 - Tortoise Defense 01. An ancient tactic that still worked to this day. The captain was in the middle, flanked by the two first mates, sergeants on the exterior, while those with some form of natural armor, usually Brutes, would go in the front. All forming a circle of protection from all sides. 

"[Color=fff79a]First mates. Talk to me. [/color]" 

"[Color=blue]7 KIAs for now. Injuries all over but nothing life threatening. [/color]"

"[Color=red]Large space, ship hangar. Pre-Exodus tech. Unknown origin. No lifeforms around us. Yet. [/color]"

"[Color=fff79a]This is Captain John. Anyone around? [/color]" 

After a few minutes of silence, John shook their head and looked at the crew. They were on edge, that’s for sure but they seemed ready for anything.

“[color=fff79a]Alright, move up. Split into teams of 4, if you see anything that resembles aliens or humans, don’t engage. Retreat and report back. Keep in touch with one another, I want to know everyone’s position at all times. [/color]” 

Within, there was a surprisingly small space; enough for four freight containers, and a ladder up into some kind of control room overlooking the entire warehouse. The storm outside was only audible as though a windstorm muffled by the walls of a house. The containers were unlocked, but all that lay within were primitive spare parts, covered in dust and some pitted with rust, long neglected.

In the control room itself, all the equipment looked painfully outdated. CRT monitors dotted the walls, accompanied with simple mechanical keyboards but no mice. Each monitor was opened to a different terminal, all in simple black-and-phosphor-green. Long lines of diagnostics and information ran down them. One detail, however, was out of place: Behind a glass case was a brain, too misshapen and small to be a human’s. It was connected to some kind of life support system, fluids of various colors pumped in and out. Electrical sensors reminiscent of an EKG monitor were attached to various points directly to the surface.

The teams slowly started to make their way around this part of the ship as John, Issac, Toxina and a Brute-type, which struggled a bit, went inside a room that seemed to be some sort of control room. A brain of sorts was linked to different scientific or medical apparatuses.

“[color=fff79a]Toxina, are you ready? Issac, talk to me. [/color]” said John while looking at each person as they talked. Toxina quickly nodded and it was as if her skin started to glow faintly while Issac approached the various terminals and tried to make sense of them. 

While most of the terminals were covered in sprawls of diagnostics that only a specialist could understand, there was one that stood out, three words repeating over and over in an endless scroll.

[center][table=bordered][row][cell=active]
[color=013220]> LOOK AT MELOOK AT MELOOK AT MELOOK AT MELOOK AT MELOOK AT MELOOK AT MELOOK AT MELOOK AT MELOOK AT MELOOK AT MELOOK AT MELOOK AT MELOOK AT MELOOK AT MELOOK AT MELOOK AT MELOOK AT MELOOK AT MELOOK AT MELOOK AT MELOOK AT ME[/color][/cell][/row][/table][/center]

"[Color=blue]It's mostly mumbo-jumbo, sir. Old Earth tech. It doesn't match anything we've got so far. Maybe the Go-scientist herself would've been able to make sense of it but this is too archaic for me. There is one that makes sense. Look![/color]" said Issac while stopping mid-sentence as he almost mentioned the scientist’s old title, considered not a crime but very close to it. The memory of her 300 years long lie still fresh in the mind of everyone. As he stopped he pointed at the screen and the cameras.

A camera in the corner of the ceiling whirred to life, and turned to watch the group of four. Once it was certain the terminal had their attention, the terminal blanked briefly before a new wave of text began to emerge.

[center][table=bordered][row][cell=active]
[color=013220]> THE STORM HAS ALMOST ENDED
> SALIENT MOON WILL DIVERT A HEV-P TRANSPORT
> SALIENT MOON WILL DIRECT UNDERHEAVEN CHANNEL OBSERVATORY
> TREATMENT FOR HEV-P POISONING AT HANUEL MIN MEMORIAL CHANNEL STATION
> GO TO SHIP AT END OF NET. AIRLOCK CODE IS 5332954893202010234445
> WHEN STORM ENDS[/color][/cell][/row][/table][/center]

"[Color=fff79a]Poison treatment at a hospital. I think these people haven't realized what they're dealing with yet. Toxina, if you detect something poisonous, assimilate it and create a cure for it if we aren't already immune. [/color]" said John with a smirk, truly the Chosen were immune or at least highly resistant to all but the most exotic poisons due to their planet's highly toxic environment, something that Ashevelen took into account when designing the Chosen-types. 

"[Color=fff79a]Everyone, this is the captain. Fall back to the airlock. Let's meet these people. [/color]" radioed John.

It was several more minutes before the howling outside began to subside. The entire satellite shuttered as the roar of thrusters vibrated the hull. Some dust kicked up into the air, but otherwise the satellite remained empty. It was truly just the surviving crew of the Black Horse and this brain, installed in the control room. Another few minutes before the thrusters went silent, the satellite once more returned to an eerie silence.

And then the inner airlock door opened, the same one they had first entered the satellite through. The cameras above watched them, and waited.

Within minutes the crew was assembled and each reported their findings on the ship. No lifeforms, old Earth tech. Eventually after a quick chat, they proceeded to climb on the transport ship.

At the end of the net they had climbed up during the storm was the ship; it was a small shuttle, more tanker than anything. The airlock did not open for them until the code on the terminal was entered into a keypad, but once they were inside it was of a similar make to the satellite, though evidently more well-maintained. There were no windows, and the passenger section would have been cramped for four people, let alone the whole crew. 

At the front was an empty cockpit, consisting of little more than a chair and a bank of terminals, all turned off. Over the vessel’s radio, they could hear chatter.

“Salient Moon, message to Underheaven,” a pause, “Tanker four-two-two direct to Channel, belay programmed schedule.”

“Underheaven, message to Salient Moon,” the pause, “Understood. Four-two-two to transit Channel immediately.”

The shuttle lurched with a loud thunk, followed shortly by a strong vibration emerging from the back, the sound of fuel rushing through pipes evident as the thrusters came to life. Some time passed before the terminals sprang to life, providing instrumentation in phosphor-green, though it seemed all the keyboards were locked. Several monitors flashed lines about remote control every so often, making it clear what was happening.

And then, a cassette player embedded in one of the terminals began to play; the cover was locked, seemingly a more permanent installation. The voice was human, almost bored by the tone.

“Welcome to the Zixuang-Akako Energistics Corporation Onboarding Course, tape six, ‘Going far away’,” there was a break in the tape, as though the rest was recorded at a different time, “Zixuang-Akako has long been at the forefront of frontier exploration, aiding astronauts and explorers alike as they face the exotic dangers of the deep dark. From the X-3 shuttlecraft to hypermatter reactors, we keep trade flowing and the lights on. Wherever you may work, from the gleaming cities of Epinnu to the distant mining satellites of Alaktu, Zixuang-Akako is there.”

Another break in the tape, and another latched-on section. The same woman, but audibly older now, “For Zixuang-Akako employees heading to Alaktu, passage from the Hanuel Min district to Alaktu must be scheduled with the Underheaven Channel Observatory. Channel transit opportunities are a highly variable and ephemeral natural phenomenon. As of recording time in two-twenty, Underheaven Channel Observatory staff report a seventy-eight-point-two percent annual success rate for Channel crossings, a significant increase in shuttle survival since oh-fifty. If during transit you experience perception-altering transient events or persistent intrusive thoughts and visions, do not worry. This is common and likely harmless. Please consult medical staff upon arrival to your destination with any concerns.”

The next break in the tape led to a robotic voice, a poor text-to-speech imitation. This one was clearer, much more newly recorded, “Current Channel conditions offer an above-average chance of successful Channel transit of eighty-one-point-six-two percent, with an estimated transit time of twenty-two hours. Please take this time to ensure you have selected the appropriate life insurance policy for your means and needs, and enjoy your trip.”

An hour passed, and the shuttle began to shake violently. The fuel lines could be heard straining to keep up with the demand. They heard the sound of an atmosphere whistling by the shuttle. And then, nothing but an almost-ethereal humming sound. The thrusters had shut off, and the instrumentation on the monitors flickered with seemingly nonsensical data points.

The crew of the former Black Horse milled around patiently on the shuttle, those that could, as the Brute sized radrines had a tough time being bent down as to not damage the shuttle due to their size. Even the other types were a bit squashed but the Brutes had it the worst.  While in the shuttle, John activated his on-armor camera and started recording everything they saw. From the video which seemed old, pre-exodus old to the terminals and the crew. Issac tried to make sense to the best of his ability to make sense of the terminals but alas’ it was just too archaic for him. 

[hr]
[right][color=gray]Onboard the UNFCCV [i]Tanker 244[/i]
One day after Gateway transition[/color]
[url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1qqCPQQoLQw]Mood Music[/url][/right]

A warning suddenly flashed on all the terminals, quickly flashing by with text at an unreadable pace. Suddenly, the shuttle jerked and the lights shut off. The ethereal humming vanished, and there was a heavy clunk as something slammed against the hull. The lights flickered back to life, and less than a minute later, both airlock doors opened to a lanky-looking man, middle-aged and balding wearing a pair of blue coveralls. In his hand, a toolbox. He was standing in an umbilical arm; something had docked the shuttle.

Though he initially looked bored, the moment he saw people, his eyes widened as though dinner plates and he slammed a button repeatedly on the umbilical. Before the crew of the Black Horse could so much as say anything, the airlock doors slammed shut again. Twenty minutes passed until the next occurrence; the terminals all flashed a lockdown notice, and over the shuttle’s radio, an unmistakably human voice, gruff and evidently unamused, though still somewhat surprised, “Tanker two-four-four, this is Marshal Alderhall, smuggling Hev-P is punishable under the United Nations anti-terrorism act of one-forty-eight, with a minimum sentence of twenty-five years, and a maximum of life without parole,” he paused, as though to let it sink in before continuing, “but if you come out with your hands up, and do not resist our security forces, I can speak to the Attorney General and recommend a minimum sentence. Do you understand?”

The crew stood up almost immediately as the voice came through the speakers. Their weapons ready and pointing at the door. Whoever these people were, saved them but they now seem to treat them like criminals.

“[color=fff79a]This is Captain John of the RADiance-Exalted Alliance. Your Gateway has recently reopened and my ship was sent to make contact, determine if you’re a threat to the galactic community and report back to our own system. We don’t know what Hev-P is. We’ve been caught in a storm and a…brain in a jar saved us from certain death. Salient Moon. If you choose to be hostile, we are more than happy to give our lives but make no mistake, we will take you all with us. [/color]” spoke out loud John. Their tone was like steel, more suited to a staff sergeant than a diplomat. 

With an unspoken command, John sent the two Brute types that were left of his crew at the door, completely covering it up with their frames. If these people tried to come in guns blazing, they’ll be met with a wall of steel. 

A series of sounds filtered through the radio; first, the sound of someone speaking indistinctly, not from distance but from the quality of the microphone. Another two voices, and then the sound of rapid clacking. A long pause, and then the voice of Alderhall again, “You arrive, unscheduled, in one of our tankers full of Hev-P, and claim that some..” the radio picked up the sound of somebody speaking again, before there was a slight shuffling sound; a mouth close to the microphone turning back to face it, “gateway from three-hundred odd years ago brought you? Now, only the damn history majors know what the fuck that thing is, but I’m told that it’s been broken down from hev exposure. In short, your alibi’s pretty piss-poor. I’d ask you for proof, but let me guess, your dog ate it all.”

John's patience started to run thin upon hearing Alderhall. They understood that the story was hard to believe but surely just opening the door would've been enough to convince themselves. 

They took a deep breath and raised their voice slightly, their calm tone gone. 

"[Color=fff79a]Look Marshal. There are two ways I can prove this to you. You can open the door and see for yourself or I can order my people to break the door open, by [i]hand[/i] but if you do that, your security forces might start shooting and if they do that…we won't have any choice but to defend ourselves and I've got no intention losing any more of my crew today. Got already to visit 7 families and tell them how their sons and daughters gave their lives to explore an alien world and [b]somehow[/b] make it seem like they were heroes. So, [b]please[/b] just open the door and let's talk face to face. [I]Please[/i] don't be hostile. [/color]" 

As they spoke, the crew of the former Black Horse tensed up. They knew this might turn into a fire fight at any moment now. All over the shuttle they started to prep their weapons, the Brutes in the front bracing themselves for the onslaught of weapons being shot at their armor. 

Alderhall’s voice again, still tinny from the microphone, “You say that like I’ll give you anything to shoot. When I open the door, throw down your guns and we can have a face-to-face. Otherwise, I can blow you into the exclusion zone with the press of a button. There was never a request there.”

The door opened once more, this time there was nobody there to meet them. It was an empty docking vestibule, a long tube with grated flooring. Every so often, there was a visible stretch of fabrics; the telescoping points where the vestibule was extended. Perhaps three hundred feet down the vestibule was another airlock; a thick metal door devoid of windows.

With a nod to their men, John ordered them to drop their weapons. It wasn’t as if they were defenseless, all things considered. The Brutes themselves were more than enough to take out a squadron of normal humans in close quarters, not to add Toxina’s deadly virus. 

“[color=fff79a]Max. Jax. Step forward. Stand tall, let them see what they’re dealing with. Everyone else, close behind them in case they get scared and close the door on us. Toxina in the middle, you know what to do if things go sideways. [/color]” commanded John as the two Brutes stepped through the door and stood up tall for the first time since they stepped into the shuttle. 

Once their guns had been thrown down, the airlock at the other end of the vestibule opened up. Six people could be seen inside the dock proper, five men of various sizes in what looked to be old riot armor. Three carried pistols, and the fourth carried what looked to be a grenade launcher of some sort. All four of them looked jumpy, especially with the size of the brutes in front. The fifth, the only one with a longarm in the form of a polymer-furnished hunting rifle, called out, “I said you’d get your face to face! Don’t reach for those weapons, or we’ll give you a very bad day! If you’ve got proof you aren’t terrorists, now is the time!”

The voice was different in-person, when not filtered through a tinny microphone and old radio equipment, but it was recognizably Alderhall.

John chuckled at the security team sent over. These people were trying to intimidate…them? It was brave, very brave even but…clearly not very smart. 

“[color=fff79a]Mr. Aderhall. Trust me, we don’t [i]need[/i] the weapons. But, nonetheless. We have no intention in fighting you. As I told you over the comms, we are not smugglers of anything. We–[/color]” started John as they stepped forward, in front of the two Brutes, leaving themselves wide open for an attack. They took a deep breath and lifted a hand up, their armor was clearly different from the others from the crew and not only due to the different insignia and color but it was visibly [i]odd[/i].”[color=green]..are a task force formed from the two nations, The Exalted and the RADiance, our Gateway has opened a little over a year now alongside the Gateway of another few nations of survivors of humanity. You might not remember when the Gateways closed but it wasn’t long before I was born. About 15 years. I assume you’re not going to believe me even if you obviously see Max and Jax here, Toxina there in the middle or my crew standing at 2.4 meters tall. [/color]” continued John. The hand they raised prior was becoming invisible as they talked, then slowly it started to steam, putting a hand on the wall next to them, it let out a hiss before pulling their hand away. On the wall, a big handprint that matched theirs was imprinted on it. 

While his security team quivered, keeping their weapons raised, Alderhall himself seemed unimpressed. He looked at the handprint on the wall, and then lowered his rifle, saying, “Well, if you were in a storm like you say you were, we’ll see it on a medical exam,” his hand extended in a beckoning gesture as he gave a signal to the security team, and he continued, “believe me, you’ll want one. Hev-P doesn’t play nice.”

The security team stood down, though their nerves were still clearly frayed. They scattered quickly, though it seemed to be intentional; Alderhall paid them no mind. As he slung his hunting rifle, he said, “Welcome to Hanuel Min Memorial, we’ve only got a few nurses here, but it’ll be better than nothing. At the very least, we can tell you how bad your doses are. Just leave your weapons in the vestibule, you should understand I don’t want armed men on the station.”

The crew followed the “aliens” closely. Toxina’s body kept glowing throughout the whole walk as her virus was getting more and more potent as time passed. John started walking in step with Alderhall with a stoic look on their face. Max and Jax seemed to be the only one that were struggling to walk as they kept having to bend down at times due to their size and the fact that the hallways were made for normal humans. 

“[color=fff79a]Marshal, I hope you’re not going to take offense but we won’t subject ourselves to a medical exam. Our bodies are modified by technology that isn’t meant to be known outside of our alliance. We won’t be infected by this Hev-P of yours, if we are, Toxina my first mate is more than capable of devising a cure. Even if she cannot, which would be a stretch, we’ll have the technology back home to do it. As for “unarmed” men on the station, you should understand that between my crew and I, we possess abilities which make the use of weapons only a formality in a close quarter environment like this. Surely you can imagine that Max and Jax, the two Brutes, are more than capable of getting a shot from that grenade launcher your team has and continue to rampage through your forces before they’re taken down. Oh' and before I forget, tell your men not to try to use our weapons. They're DNA locked and will release a neurotoxin if someone other than the owner touches it.[/color]” spoke John, their tone matching their look. They weren’t lying or boasting, they were just stating facts. 

Alderhall seemed entirely unphased, his voice flat and unimpressed “We don’t keep a fucking genetics laboratory onboard, believe me. You’re going to want that medical checkup, considering you’re under the assumption Hev-P exposure is a disease. Next you’re going to tell me you don’t need it because you’re immune to radiation.”

"[Color=fff79a]We are not immune to it, I'm afraid but due to the high concentration of it on our homeworld, we are highly resistant to radiation, poisons, toxins and a few other dangers. Our planet is very much hostile to humans. [/color]" replied John with a thin smile. 

It was evidently a small station; through gunmetal hallways of steel, grates, and brightly-colored pipes, they came to another door, the same style as the airlock they had originally entered through. Alderhall gave the dog of the door several hard spins, before pushing the heavy metal bulkhead open. Inside, it was depressingly sterile, the gunmetal fff79a replaced with white tiles, clearly designed for ease of cleaning. A man and a woman in scrubs met them at the door, some kind of breathalyzer in their hand. They had clearly been expecting the group, as the man held up the breathalyzer and said, in a comforting tone one might use for the already-terminal, “Here, breathe into this. It’ll tell us the severity of your exposure. Once we’ve got all of your readings, we’ll start treatment.”

"[Color=fff79a]Very well, I'll breathe in your apparatus if that'll make you feel better. I wouldn't suggest you doing the same thing to [i]all[/i] of us. Your analysers might go…haywire. [/color]" said John while throwing a quick look at Max, Jax and Toxina who gave them a tiny nod.

Half a second into the breath, and the breathalyzer was already clicking rapidly. A second in, and it was a solid wail. Two seconds in, and the meter on the front was slammed against the end of the gauge. Both Alderhall and the two nurses backpedaled away. The door slammed behind them as Alderhall retreated, and the breathalyzers were dropped. A brief scramble to the biohazard closet, and the nurses began to dress as though their life depended on the next ten seconds. Then, a dead sprint over to a set of oxygen tanks. Once they established a closed air loop, they looked over at the crew of the Black Horse, as the woman commented, her voice both terrified and sad, “There’s nothing anybody can do for you. All of you have two weeks at best, I’m sorry.”

“[color=fff79a]Or, it is, as I told you. We’re highly resistant to it. Our homeworld is bathing in radiation. If we need to wait two weeks [i]at best[/i], for you people to realize what you’re dealing with…so be it. More than happy to stay here for two weeks [b]but[/b] when our ships respond to the SOS we’ve sent and come en-mass to deal with the kidnappers of a prized crew…you’ll be all alone to deal with them and our allies. Now, can I talk with some sort of leader you’ve got or do we really need to wait for two weeks or break out on our own? [/color]” said John, their patience slowly running thin. 

The woman shook her head slowly, looking at John as though he were an idiot. She backed a little further away, explaining with a slow voice, “It’s not radiation, it’s an exotic material. Radiation shielding doesn’t work, radiation medicine doesn't work, it follows rules entirely opposed to how the,” she paused as if looking for the right word, before stuttering slightly, “the– the whole damn universe works. We can’t even tell what rules those are because they might as well always be changing. I’ve never seen exposure like that, it’s like you went out into a hev storm without a helmet.”

The man added, grimly, “I saw a dose in the upper half of the meter once. A week in, his skin had sloughed off completely, but he was still alive. We ended up shooting him.”

"[Color=fff79a]Is that so? We were outside, yes. Our bodies can survive the void quite easily. But, nevermind that. You'll see soon enough that your exposure won't affect us and if it does, well, our people back home will have a way to fix us. We've managed to rewrite our DNA. We'll manage to find a cure for your disease. So, would you mind opening the door or…[/color]" 

As soon as John finished their sentence, the two Brute approached the door and readied themselves to open the door by force if needed.

The dog of the door spun, and the door abruptly opened. The people on the other side were different from Alderhall, his security team, the nurses, and the station as a whole. Whereas they were all run-down, projecting the visual of an underfunded frontier outpost, this group wore brand-new equipment. Through their masks, even their eyes were brighter, less beaten down by the world.

Their equipment resembled the biohazard equipment the nurses wore, but only superficially. They were clad in thick armor, with some form of exoskeleton attached to their backs, legs, and arms. There were ten in total, three carrying flamethrowers, and the rest carrying what appeared to be SMGs of some form. The man who had opened the door smoothly brought up his SMG, barking out, “Under the Emergency Response Act of two-fifty, the Manuel Hin Memorial Channel Station and all of its occupants are under quarantine order. All of you will immediately accompany us to the Zixuang-Akako Energistics Corporation Asset-Protection Vessel Gnostic Ascension. Failure to comply will result in liquidation of your persons.”

His tone then softened, though it still had a hard edge of authority to it; this was him speaking his thoughts, not a legal declaration, “Comply, and we’ll get you in contact with the higher-ups, understand?”

As the new soldiers came in, everyone backed away into the other side of the room as instructed by John.

“[color=fff79a]There is no need for that. I’ll come with you, my crew will…stay here. Toxina knows what to do in the current situation. Toxina, hostile environment rule 47, activate after we leave. It’s been an honor, all of you. Soldiers, I don’t need to tell you but keep the door closed and let none in for at least 2 hours. [/color]” said John, suddenly somber. 

Hostile Environment Rule 47: In case a team has been compromised and a cure cannot be found immediately or the risk of infection is higher than the chances for a cure, then the team will do their utmost to destroy their bodies and remove any trace of themselves.

Toxina, Issac and the others stood to attention straight away. They all knew the risks of missions such as this, they knew what they signed up for and the rules were clear what to do in this situation. 

As John was being led away by the soldiers and the door closed behind him, the former crew of the Black Horse huddled together. The one or two that were still religious uttered a silent prayer for their souls as the others hugged each other. In just a few minutes, everyone gathered around Toxina who started to sweat profusely as her green skin started to glow more and more before finally a pungent hiss could be heard and some green bright particles appeared. Within minutes, the former crew dropped on the floor as the artificial virus targeted their brains first killing them instantaneously but not before stimulating their pleasure centers of the brain. A few minutes later, their skin started to be eaten. Their armor soon followed.

[hr]
[right][color=gray]Onboard the UNFCMCV [i]Gnostic Ascension[/i]
Two days after gateway transition[/color]
[url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oYAhNUaHwYQ]Mood Music[/url][/right]

The Gnostic Ascension was a much newer and cleaner vessel than the run-down Manuel Hin Memorial Channel Station; though it was still gunmetal-gray and industrial, the stainless steel still lived up to its name and the grates underfoot had not yet been worn to a patina shine. John’s quarters were spartan at best, with an observation room across. A wind rustled the cot at one end of the steel cube of a quarantine room, the air pushed rapidly through one vent and out the other.

John had been given food, evidently food-aid rations, the meal bland and lacking in ingredients, every single bag of vacuum-sealed plastic containing a carefully-calculated mix with the least chance of running afoul of allergies or dietary restrictions. He had seen little of the soldiers since he had been placed in quarantine, only occasionally in the observation room. For entertainment, he had been given a few paperback books, of nothing in particular. It did little to help.

And then, the door to the observation room opened once more. Instead of a biosuited trooper, it was a gangly-looking asian man in a suit, with a pair of heavy-looking spectacles and a clear disposition to balding. He poked a microphone inset on a terminal. John’s quarantine cell squealed with high-pitch feedback. The man winced, then said, “Hello, John, right? My name’s Wú Zǐmò, I’m the liaison for Zixuang-Akako, my colleague with the Frontier Commission got delayed in transit, uh,” he tapped on the terminal a moment, “his shuttle hit some turbulence. Threw him off-course. He should be here soon.”

He clapped his hands as though to change the topic, smiling through the glass, “I’m sorry about the quarantine, by the way. Safety regulations, you get it. Have you been treated well? Do you need anything in there?”

John kept quiet most of the time during their…treatment. Food, water, the usual.

“[color=gray]Hello, yes, John of the Black Horse. Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Zimo. I’d offer you a handshake but I guess that won’t work. Quarantine is absolutely normal when dealing with a strong pathogen such as this. You might’ve discovered already that my crew has been eliminated already for this reason already and if it weren’t for diplomatic purposes, I would’ve joined them. So, yes. I’ve been treated as well as it can be expected. Should we start without your colleague seeing that I’m dying here or…? [/color]” replied John with a grim smile. They were very well aware they were almost dead. Just one thing to do, one message and that’s it.

Zǐmò nodded his head, as he leaned back over to the microphone, responding in a kindly tone, “Of course, let’s go ahead and get started. I’ll get him caught up when he arrives,” he tapped on the keyboard once more, looking up at John, then back to the terminal, then to John again, “I suppose we should start with – are you the diplomat for your people, or just an explorer?”

"[Color=gray]Just an explorer. Our mission was to find out if there's anyone on this side of the Gateway and if so, determine if they're dangerous to the galactic community. You see, there are quite a few of us out there and a nation…declared war on everyone. Not the smartest move but they had the firepower to back it…for a while. We were here to make sure that if someone is here, they won't be too do the same if they did, to give them a fair warning. So, tell me, are your people slavers? Do you enslave aliens you've found? [/color]"

Zǐmò’s eyebrow raised at the question, his response one of almost confusion, “Eperu is under United Nations governance, and is beholden to the declaration of human rights, do you,” he was clearly deep in thought, thrown off-guard by the question, “do you not know about the United Nations? The multinational organization responsible for encouraging peace and freedom for all? Are you from Earth?”

He then held up a finger, asking his second question immediately after, “and – aliens, you have met living aliens? You’ve spoken to them?”

"[Color=gray]Wait. Wait. Wait. Haven't your people already told you who we are? Very well. The RADiance/Exalted Alliance was created 301 years ago when our colony ship left Earth fleeing the cataclysmic. Currently Earth is uninhabited, nothing can live on it. There are a dozen different nations which were born out of the colonist ships which left Earth. I don't know what your United Nations is. Maybe our former priests as they were more intune with Earth's history would know more but I'm assuming you're referring to nations on Earth United under one mission? Yeah, they're not around anymore. Human rights. I am not human, you might even say I'm an alien. Our DNA has been heavily altered to allow us to live on our planet. Yes, aliens exist. We've got a reservation for them on one of our planets but there are more out there. [/color]" said John before launching into a full explanation of the current nations. 

The suited man returned to his kindly smile as he listened intently to John, every so often typing into the terminal as he spoke. Near the end of John’s explanation, however, the door once more opened and a heavyset man sporting a comb-over and a neat beard entered. Zǐmò turned to glance at him, and then, to John, said, “Ah, he’s arrived.”

The man walked up to the terminal, and glanced over John and the room before greeting him with, “Hello, my name’s Richard Evans,” his accent was a clipped English, “You’re.. John, right? Pleased to meet you. I’m the gateway ambassador, or, well.”

He smiled as though in anticipation of his joke, “I will be when the red tape clears. You know how it is, I bet. Your arrival caused some real violence to the timetable. Is Zixuang keeping you comfortable in there? It looks a little utilitarian.”

"[Color=gray]It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Evans. I'm John of the RADiance/Exalted Alliance. I have just finished giving your colleague an explanation of who's who and the current historical events that marked the galaxy. My comfort is of no consequence. After our conversation, I'll be dead either way. It is what it is. [/color]" replied John as they stood up and gave Evans a military salute.

Evans waved his hand as Zǐmò looked on impassively, the englishman speaking quickly, “Oh no, we’ll be getting you home. We will not be returning a corpse. The Gnostic Ascension’s on its way through the Channel soon – we can’t promise you more than a week, but,” he paused, trying to find a way to word his sentence, “we want you to have the opportunity to say your goodbyes to your family on your own terms.”

"[Color=gray]You won't, I will do that. Nothing to worry about, made peace with my fate. As for family? It may be hard to see or for you to understand but I'm over 200 years old. My family was part of the first colonists of RADX-001. They're 3 centuries dead already. They didn't survive the first colonization attempt. No children for the Rejected. Our…reproduction capabilities were a cost we had to pay back then. Now, we're better 'alas…I won't be there to make a new family. [/color]"

“Regardless,” Evans responded, “you will not be dying in quarantine. We’ll be releasing you to your people with an explanation of your condition.”

[hr]
[right][color=gray]Nahikawa City, Colony Tower, Penthouse Suite
Six days after Gateway Transition[/color]
[url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pnJM_jC7j_4]Mood Music[/url][/right]

The initial convoys to the gateway had gone out less than a week from first contact; eight months ahead of schedule. In less fearful times, such violence to the timetable would have bankrupted Zixuang-Akako and the Frontier Commission aside. The initial scouts came out of the gate in even more of a hurry.

It had cost so much, the overnight inversion of global priorities, lost initiative made up as kings and corporations scribbled IOUs on the back of napkins and promised to sort it all out once the heat was off. What were once deep-space outposts, secure by the virtue of remoteness, now stood on the front line of a new paradigm. Habitats had to be refitted for defense against a new vector. Commercial ships on the Tuadesc Loop were conscripted, weaponised, and reassigned; some secured the high ground over Epinnu, while others fell sunward to guard Alaktu and the Channel.

It didn’t matter that the other nations hadn’t fired a shot at any of those targets; the risk could not be afforded. The planetary intranets were alive, debate on all sides, leftovers a week past their expiry date.

In the Colony Tower in Nahikawa, the real decisions were made. The public were irrelevant, bar the effort to sway them. Zixuang-Akako would make the decision, and one way or another all else would fall into line. Here, one woman directed the fates of billions, the relationships that would see Eperu ascendant or broken upon the pyre of outside context.

The day was overcast, a miserable purple-tinted dreary gray. It had been drizzling for two days now, and it seemed neither proper rain nor clear skies lay in the near future. The gleaming Colony Tower, all modernist white-trimming and carefully-maintained stainless steel facades looked entirely out of place in such weather. Here, a glorious monument to power and opulence placed upon a world best described as maliciously dying. The exotic star-stuff far above could not be seen, and yet its cold touch still gripped the whole world.

Below Hatomi Akako, two-hundred stories of cacophony. A hundred thousand office drones, slaving away in the furnace of total economic upheaval. The whiff of fear and uncertainty, of misplaced optimism and nationalistic fear practically wafted up, the air was thick with tension. In all the tower, only the penthouse remained a bed of quiet and calm; all the better to let the most powerful woman in all of Eperu think.

Behind her, the sound of an opened door, frantic footsteps. The perfumed smell of [i]executive assistants[/i], the click of dress shoes too cheap to be acceptable, and far-too-long pained over in service of hiding the former. She didn’t have to look back, it was all too obvious, “Were the engineers correct?”

The footsteps stopped, suddenly. Papers rustled, no doubt buying time as the question was comprehended. They kept rustling; now to find the answer. A familiar voice, one of the more reliable assistants, one that had been around for a while now, “Yes, they’re able to mount directly to the gateway structure without otherwise hampering the portal effect,” they continued on, answering the unspoken question, [i]initiative[/i], “the expansion in powers to our asset-protection teams are being slammed through committee as well; barring any unexpected pitfalls, we’ll be allowed to staff the customs station.”

Hatomi Akako digested the information, and then gave direction, “Draft an export ban on Hev and Hed outside of Eperu.”

The administrative assistant was confused, she could tell, but he was smart enough not to question it. She heard his footfalls as he spun in place, and she listened to him walk out – a fast walk, not quite a jog but also not leisurely. The right pace, in Akako’s eyes. The doors closed, and she was once more left in her steely silence.

[hider=Summary]
The RADs detect new gateway contacts, and they fly a ship named the Black Horse through to one. It turns out to be Eperu, which is about to undergo a solar mass ejection in an act of incredibly bad luck. Luckily, Salient Moon, a mining satellite run by a brain, offers to assist.

The Black Horse blows up in the mass ejection, and the RADrines decide they don’t need no helmets and jump out of their ship to get caught in the mining nets, taking a ton of HEV-P exposure in the process.

Salient Moon takes them inside to shelter, then sends them on a tanker carrying HEV-P through the channel to a station at the Channel’s exit. There, they are mistaken at first for smugglers by the Frontier Commission marshal on the station, but eventually he gets them to throw down their arms and he takes them to the medbay.

Turns out they’re not immune to HEV-P, and have received a dangerous dose of the stuff that makes everyone fear being contaminated as well. An asset protection team from Zixuang-Akako arrives and puts John in quarantine while everyone else suicides.

In quarantine, he gets asked questions by both the megacorp and the government about what’s going on, and is then sent home to say his goodbyes before also dying.
Almost a week later, we get to see Akako, the current CEO of Zixuang-Akako. She’s already making plans about how to leverage the gateway being open.[/hider]