[right][color=gray]Outside the UNFCGSS [i]Autumnal Harvest[/i]
Orbit of Alaktu
[url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FzrjxKsWoT8]Mood Music[/url][/color][/right]

The UNFCGSV [i]Dreadnought[/i] was a blocky, lovingly-painted vessel. It represented the latest and greatest of engineering feats; its prefabbed design crash-graduated from the simulators and assembled, in thousands of parts, across the whole of Eperu's shipyard capabilities. A dozen or more systems were on the far side of experimental, maintained through unforeseen difficulties by the around-the-clock attention of a whole corps of engineers. At its heart, Grey Wind, the first of its kind. This one had been developed far before the [i]Dreadnought[/i], so great were the risks of a premature deployment.

Grey Wind was not a dumb system, or a code name for some new and terrible weapon. No, it was the first of a new species of aggregate computing, an angel on the wing. Squids had always been a popular choice for such a task, their brains already attuned to pattern-matching and the implantation of sapience. [i]If we ever uplift anything, it'll be a squid[/i], so the saying goes. To this end, the sum of Grey Wind's parts were mundane, except in the details, that one word, [i]parts[/i]. It was not just one brain, as Underheaven or the newly-popularized Salient Moon were. No, it was two. They were independent once, two squids with no conception of what they were bred for. 

The extraction, well-practiced from decades of experience, was not painful for them. Lulled into unconsciousness, nerves deadened, they were lowered into a vat of HEV-P derived medicines. Eperu's brightest neurologists, mathematicians, and biologists had been crowded into a room for an operation that would define their careers; decide if they would receive illustrious prizes, or be sequestered for life, guilty of the crime of gross negligence. The two squids never woke again, but Grey Wind, in parallel, did.

And now Grey Wind was the [i]Dreadnought[/i]. The ship's superconductors, chilled near absolute zero, fed a smorgasbord of information into its heart. Grey Wind could flex its lateral thrusters, feel them move up and down, could stretch its gunports, feel the crackling of impacted HEV-P scatter from the joints. It could feel the pain of a crashing system more intuitively and acutely than a legion of working professionals, and warn them before a terminal could update. The ship was not just a hunk of metal, it was [b]alive[/b], a steely body with electric blood coursing through it, little hairless antibodies scampering around it, protecting its guts from exotic disease.

If you wanted to put your best foot forward, there was no better ship than the UNFCGSV [i]Dreadnought[/i]. It could outmaneuver a storm, could outgun a cruiser, and do it all faster than the saccades of a man's eye. At the insistence of the Frontier Commission, slinging reams of memos about diplomatic incidents and hostile architecture at the speed of a clogged bureaucracy, the [i]Dreadnought[/i] was also the stealthiest warship ever to grace the howling dark. All of its cannons could hide seamlessly behind hidden gunports, hidden from the blind eye and sensors alike. It would not look the warship until it was time to be the warship.

It was not alone, flanked by three ships. Smaller, older, workhorses known to pull their weight and then some. If all else went wrong, they would swoop to the rescue, a cavalry not illustrious but certainly welcome. The UNFCMCV [i]Bum Rush[/i] was the second-in-command, ready to seize the initiative and direct its flight if the [i]Dreadnought[/i] valiantly fell. It was a destroyer, designed for light targets, retrofitted with a command deck when it was press-ganged into greater duties. It traded tightbeams and signal flags with the UNFCSCV [i]Two For Flinching[/i] and the UNFCSCV [i]Herald of the Morning[/i]. They were lean ships, corvettes bristling with weapons capable of contesting deep-space habitats. No space spared for fluff, selected for their scrappiness. They could eat hits that would dust lesser fighters and come out kicking for vengeance.

Such precautions had been protested in the Frontier Commission Senate. A military boondoggle, sacrificing diplomacy for expediency. The diplomatic corps had been accused of looking to start a war. Space Command had been served subpoenas, questioned on their integrity. Every time, such arguments were easily countered; one simple fact rained down from above to extinguish the political fires.

You don't fly into the middle of a war-zone without a backup plan.

The [i]Dreadnought[/i] was a ship of two worlds. Below executive conference halls and staterooms sat cargo holds of shells and power-suited marines. For every diplomat, an analyst, running scenarios and formulating battle-plans. [i]I wish for peace and prosperity for all,[/i] the ship seemed to whisper, [i]hit me if you fucking dare[/i]. 

Their computers had been ancient before the gateways were even a dream in a physicist's eye. Eperu had a nasty habit of forcing the hand, strangling complexity and power in a grip that defied every law man ever set in stone for how the universe ought to behave. It was no shock, then, that they interfaced easily. [i]Oh, it's my older brother, so long in the tooth and so dull and shortsighted, let me get that for you[/i] its systems cried to the Grey Wind and the Dreadnought, giving the beating heart of gray matter reflexive control of man's greatest invention.

They hardly even noticed the transition, were it not for the star that awaited them. Sensors snow-blinded for a brief moment, tinting to adjust from the dark confines of Eperu to that of a proper main sequence. When it cleared, all was unfamiliar, save for the war that raged about them, the skirmishing cracks of ordinance easily visible to the highly-trained spotters of the diplomatic procession.

The new visitors were greeted by the arrival of a lone, angular warship, its impressive frame looming over the horizon as neared the edge of the DMZ line. It was one of many of the line of Judgment-class Battlecruisers, it’s hull streaked by a union of ebony, metallic gray, and crimson. Deep within its bowls her scarred Admiral and his staff observed a holographic projection of the surrounding space, the usual greens, and reds representing friend and foe alike. Out of the sea of green and red there was one blip that stood out, several blue figures representing unknown craft that match nothing in the Americana System. “Admiral, we’ve got new contacts entering the system.” One of the Janissary officers reported. 

“Do they match previous contacts?” He inquired, his first officer shaking his head after a few moments. “No sir, these are new signals. 

“Open communications at once.” The Admiral ordered his comms officer, their eyes locking with each other as the young man nodded, taking a few moments to input his commands, a comm line was soon established between the ship and the foreign delegation. “Attention unknown vessels, this is Admiral Ezekiel Hawthorn of the [i]Blissful Wrath[/i] of the 3rd Home Defense Fleet.”  Hawthorn stated. “Identity yourselves.”

A tight-beam lanced out from the [i]Dreadnought[/i], walked its way across the [i]Blissful Wrath[/i]'s hull to the communications dish. The naked hull did not register it; low power, intense only in its focus, designed for a system which did not play kind with invisible light. Clearer than traditional radio, especially at stellar distances, it was the obvious choice of communication for such a sensitive mission. The voice that came through to the [i]Blissful Wrath[/i] was that of a veteran spacer, her voice gruff, "We acknowledge, Admiral Ezekiel. We are the first signalman of the UNFCGSV [i]Dreadnought[/i]. We bring good tidings and hearty greetings on behalf of the United Nations Frontier Commission."

United Nations? That was something interesting to hear. Last the Admiral heard that name was in Old Earth classes back in his youth. Not that he can say much, as his own place of birth has names and titles that honor the legacy of Old Earth, so that humanity does not and will not ever forget. Regardless, this “Frontier Commission” openly comes peace, a pleasant surprise to be sure, especially when half the galaxy has been set against you. “In that case, Signalman, let me be the first to properly welcome you on behalf of the Americana System.” Hawthorn said. “However, I must warn you that this region of space is not safe. Let us escort you away from the combat zone.”

A brief pause, the signalman relaying the message for orders, and then, "Your message is understood and appreciated, Admiral Hawthorn. The [i]Dreadnought[/i] will fall into your wake. Where shall we be escorted?" As the signalman spoke, the thruster bells of the entire procession came to a great, shuttering life, heat blossoming from archaic twentieth-century chemical relics, blasting molten fire into vacuum for thrust. They were far more powerful than they had any conventional right to be, the acceleration far snappier than ships of their size would suggest.

Admiral Hawthorn and his staff were left dumbfounded at the sheer speed of the UN vessels, as the UN group had soon found themselves in close proximity to the [i]Blissful Wrath[/i] in what seemed like no time. The Admiral shook his head as he heard the First Signalman’s voice crack out from the intercom requesting further instructions. “Our destination will be our capital and homeworld, Columbia, there you’ll be able to speak with people more qualified than us.” He turned to his comms officer once more with a new command. "Contact the Throneship, tell them we have new guests."

The tight-beam walked its lock continuously to the communications dish, the voice growing scratchy every time it off-centered, "Please inform your capital and homeworld, Columbia that we carry export to demonstrate; arrangements for a testing field, pre-arranged for the comfort of dignitaries, would be greatly appreciated." Lateral thrusters fired on occasion, the four ships remaining in rough lockstep with the [i]Blissful Wrath[/i]. They flew disconcertingly close to both each other and Admiral Hawthorn's own vessel, visible to the naked eye. The apparent reason why was unusual; there were signalmen in towers extruding from the hulls, trading flag signals to coordinate their movements.


[right][color=gray]Several Days Later
The Throneship
Orbit of Columbia
[url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4NBMF7ZhtXc]Mood Music[/url][/color][/right]


Several days had passed since the arrival of the UN vessels, the journey for the most part had been uneventful, however, they had at long last arrived to the pristine Columbia, standing out like a blue marble in the dark void, not much like Earth once did. Admiral Hawthorn, fresh out of bed had arrived to the [i]Blissful Wrath[/i]’s CIC, letting out an audible yawn as his first officer passed him a cup of….”imported” coffee let’s just say. “We’ve finally arrived home, sir.” The first officer stated. “Shall we inform the Throneship?”

The Admiral nodded as he approached the center of the CIC, all other Janissary officers and staff saluting him. “At ease.” He said as they resumed work. “Contact the UN fleet and send them coordinates to the Throneship. We’ll escort them till that point.”

The UN vessels and the [i]Blissful wrath[/i] proceeded to Columba, maintaining high orbit as they cruised over the horizon, the UN ships greeted by the daunting sight that was the Yulzan Throneship, a massive vessel that was practically a city onto itself, towering spires of clearly alien design protruding from her hull, bright crimson lights illuminating the void like a beacon. Surrounding the throneship was hundreds upon hundreds of more alien vessels of similar design. “Welcome to Columba, welcome to the Throneship.” The Admiral messaged the [i]Dreadnought[/i].

The tight-beam lanced to life once more, tracked to the [i]Blissful Wrath[/i]. This time, the First Signalman was a man, slightly high-pitched. A different shift had since taken over the panels, "We compliment your Throneship, Admiral Hawthorn, and we request docking permissions for the [i]Dreadnought[/i]. Does the Throneship use docking umbilicals? We will require one freight umbilical and three passenger umbilicals for a smooth docking and unloading."

“One moment, [i]Dreadnought[/i].” The comms officer spoke as he relayed new Coordinates, and uploaded them into the [i]Dreadnought[/i]’s systems, leading them into one of the several docking port sectors within the Throneship, this one in particular made in mind for quick umbilical docking and disembarking. With their imminent arrival, a delegation was hastily assembled to give proper greetings to their new guests, one of the High Ascendants even taking part in the occasion. 

As the [i]Dreadnought[/i]'s escorts fanned out into a defensive shield, the flagship itself maneuvered smoothly into the umbilicals. As the connection was made, Grey Wind extended out its own greeting to the systems of the Throneship, [i]hello how do you do pleased to meet you im grey wind who are you thats a big station you have dont see many like it[/i], bits unnecessary for bare operation, but a gesture of one intelligence looking for another of its kind to talk to. Outside of the realm of electricity and data, in the realm of topography and DNA, the unloading proceeded apace.

On the primary passenger vestibule near the front of the ship, the dignitaries of note; a dozen harried-looking men in fine suits, carrying briefcases and followed by an honor guard, marines in dress uniform, saber and all. Behind them, the true power players, a crowd of proper bodyguards, exoskeletons and snub-nosed sub-machine guns, all surrounding a single woman in a black suit-skirt combo. Dark sunglasses covered her eyes, and she had a legion of interns to carry her personal effects.

The other two passenger umbilicals disgorged an eclectic mix of necessary personnel, bureaucrats, lawyers, engineers, and notaries. They flooded out to find their own counterparts, to begin greasing the wheels of bureaucracy as to ensure the smooth and more importantly, immediate implementation of decrees and deals. From the freight umbilical, technicians began to unload an eclectic mix of product, the most notable an old-style anti-tank field gun with several plates of free-standing armor. Several boxes of stand-alone electronic systems came after, bristling with Old Earth technology, all CRTs and physical hard drives.

The people of the Frontier Commission were greeted by a rather unexpected sight. In addition to the assortment of humans in religious garb, and human soldiers glad in black armor, they would also witness their first live sapient alien lifeforms, as the human soldiers would be joined by the insectoid Aldzir, the amphibian Dathu, and standing in the center of the crowd, towering over all individuals present was the High Ascendant Alin’sha. She stepped forward, all those by her side stepping aside in sheer reverence, bowing their heads to her, Alin’sha approached who she would assume to be the higher-ranking members of the UN delegation, giving a slight bow. As she spoke, her voice vibrated the very air as technology far beyond human design assisted her in making audible tones, giving her voice an ethereal sensation. “Greetings, I am Alin’sha of the High Ascendants, I welcome you, most honored guests, to our Throneship, the jewel of the Ascendancy, and its seat of power.”

She raised herself up once more, displaying her sheer height to the humans of Eperu. “Tell me, what brings you here? Besides curiosities and wishing to reconnect with your long-lost kin, and I'm sure you have many questions for my presence as well.”  

The honor guard fanned out to the edges. A man with an embossed press pass attached to his shirt was taking photos. The delegation ordered themselves, almost unconsciously, by hierarchy. At the head, a portly black man, his voice embellished with a slight African lilt, "The honor is ours, Alin'sha. Please, call me Mister Mandla. We are here on a mission of discovery, and hopefully, establishment."

He gave a slight bow in return, the camera snapping a picture of the moment. He then gave her a friendly smile, continuing, "We indeed have many questions, but they can wait. Tonight, the food will be on us. Will you join us in the executive stateroom for a dinner? We have many delicacies to display, and a wonderful stage play. A cultural exchange, yes?"

In the back, the woman surrounded by bodyguards stared impassively at Alin'sha, through the tinted lenses of her sunglasses. Though the assistants and executives behind her fanned out to jockey into positions behind the diplomatic delegation, she did not move a muscle and her bodyguards, in their exoskeletons, continued to tightly circle her. A slight frown flickered on her face, but otherwise she betrayed no emotion nor thought.

Food…the thought of it had sent Alin’sha’s mind elsewhere for a split second. The one thing in all of creation the Yulzan envied the lesser beings for. The last time since Alin’sha tasted solid meat was an eternity ago, she, like the rest of her kin, had long forgotten what real food tasted like…on somedays, the thought drove her and others to pure madness, on others, utter despair, and contempt. 
 
This gift of self-made godhood was both a blessing and at the same time, such a dreadful curse, forever trapped in this painful slowly decaying husk. Her primal mind screaming out for violence…but her better judgment and instincts held that beast back for the time being. Now was not the time to shed blood, now was the time to possibly make new allies. “I..would be honored to join you.” Her voice flowed through the air. “However….for reasons I will l further explain later, I unfortunately won’t be able to enjoy your meals, the rest of my delegation however, will gladly sample your dishes on my behalf.”

Sympathy, closely practiced not to fray too far into pity, writ itself upon Mandla's face. His voice remained even, "Of course, we do not intend to pry. Hopefully, the play will do to whet your appetite. It's an Old Earth play, preserved from our ancient history by the datalinks of our original colony ship. Afterwards, it is my understanding that Zixuang-Akako, one of our foremost corporations, wishes to demonstrate technology they wish you to purchase."

He stepped aside, motioning towards the umbilical, "Please, make yourself at home. No expense has been spared on the stateroom, I am certain you will find it quite beautiful."

A select few of the Janissary Officers and attending Clergymen were the first to enter through the umbilical, Alin’sha following behind. Not too long after, she and her attendants had made their way to the stateroom, the Old Earth classical styles were something to behold, and could make even a Dathu noblemen quite envious.

 The alluring cushions and the aroma of masterfully prepared meals were enough for the officers and clergymen present to forget that a High Ascendant was among them, some sinking themselves into cushioned seats, and others admiring the mini art gallery in display. “Impressive, for humans.” Alin’sha said to herself in a hushed tone. Making sure no unfamiliar, prying ears were within distance. Although in truth, she was curious what this play was all about, she knew very little of Old Earth arts and literature.

The main attraction was indeed the stage, the stateroom arranged in a dinner-theater format. Though there were buffet tables at the sides of the room, replete with gourmet finger foods, each table had menus, lovingly hand-written by a calligrapher. There were five courses in total, each guest given an option between several different items for each course. Each choice was designed to be varied, to give as many different tastes of human food as possible.

As soon as the High Ascendant had seemingly picked a table, Mandla expertly weaved his way through the throngs of people to take a nearby seat. If one were not specifically looking, he worked so smoothly that it looked only natural, or only coincidence. A practiced move from an experienced and competent diplomat. As people were seated and butlers, clad in white-tie formal-wear, assisted them in personalizing their dinners, Mandla said to Alin'sha, "I think you'll like this play; I picked it out myself. It's about one of the prevailing pillars of the United Nations; justice."

He stopped a moment to point out a few items on the menu to a passing butler, before he turned back to her, "It's called Twelve Angry Men. In our legal system, a man is innocent until proven guilty beyond reasonable doubt. Do you know of jury trials?"

Alin’sha nodded. “Yes, your kin on Columbia have shared this concept with us.” She spoke. “My people were very unfamiliar with this “jury trial” at first, but we understand somewhat.” In truth, this was a lie, she understood it quite well in her decades in the Americana System, but she, like the rest of her kind, could care less, as the current regime has corrupted the system. Justice to a Yulzan was simply another tool in their continued oppression of the masses, and often was an excuse to erase any form of dissent among the lesser beings…but that would be best left unsaid, Mr. Mandla need not know the full details. The lights in the room grew dim as the show was about the start.

Mandla left the note in the air, the implication that he understood their differences well enough to pick on such a tense point drifting in the room as he turned to watch the play. His broad smile, however, did not vanish. It was not intended to be a jab, but a message: Despite their vast differences and the similarities they shared with the Yulzan's hated enemies, they had still come to the Yulzan first.

Meanwhile, the woman in sunglasses had not bothered to take a seat. Safe behind an ironclad wall of exoskeletons and weaponry, she gazed around the room. Even under the sunglasses, her gaze was withering, and those who fell under it felt their backs crawl. She didn't look up at the stage as the curtains opened, and the play began.

[right][color=gray]Aboard the Throneship
Orbit of Columbia
[url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pfyaNU-acko]Mood Music[/url][/color][/right]

Sometime after the dinner and the show, it was now time for the product demonstration courtesy of Zixuang-Akako. The field test moved to a more spacious environment within the Throneship, not too far from the docking ports. It was one of many indoor parks that provided a small taste of serene greenery. Presented before Alin’Sha and her entourage of clergymen and high-ranking officers was an assortment of different products both military and civilian in function. The first to be tested was a field gun, used to blast away trees and hastily assembled target dummies representing FRA soldiers, each confirmed “kill” was met with audible cues, followed by claps from the officers, having good fun with just blowing something up.

The field gun was a primitive affair, no better than an ancient artillery piece. Its true variety was in its shell loads and its reliability, dozens of different shells for each situation and guaranteed to always fire. The field gun was lowered into a vat of mud, and then lifted out again and fired several more times without issue. When it was power-washed off, the true demonstrations began.

Several different items were rolled out; a long, rectangular, thin steel plate stood on its edge, a composite plate of the same make, a dark-colored plate of some advanced alloy, and a plate that appeared as though it were steel, though imbued with a purple hue and a vague rainbow sheen. The announcer, some Zixuang-Akako functionary, began to explain, "The very first armor plate we shall test is steel; used for centuries before we traveled to the stars, and sure to be used for centuries to come. It's reliable, it's tough, and we're going to blow a hole through it."

The field gun belched fire. There was a hefty explosion, and then a secondary one. The park filled with sparks and smoke. When it cleared, there the steel plate stood, in two pieces, the dummy behind it obliterated. Once the dust settled and ears had ceased ringing, the announcer continued, "Next, composite plating! Used before the heady days of the gateways, it's stronger and lighter than steel. This plate is the same size, but doubles the effective armor!"

Again, the field gun burped a shell. Again, the smoke and the sparks. This time, the hole was smaller; the plate was not split in two, but the entire upper body of the dummy had been blown off entirely. The announcer let the scene settle, then called over the loudspeakers, "Next, nano-graphene alloys, used by our very own ancestors on the ship that bore us to Eperu! It's lean and it's space-age, quadruple the effective armor of the old-school steel! We've yet to discover armoring better than it on the periodic table."

The field gun fired. There was a great impact, and two explosions. When the dust settled, the plate was intact, roughly. It had spalled material into the dummy, several shards embedded throughout the dummy. A grievous wound, but not an immediately lethal one. The announcer then continued, his voice rising as he presented the true star of the demonstration, "And finally, Hevsteel! Named for the alloying of Hev-P with those cheap and simple steel plates, it is cheap, light, and better than anything else available on the market! One of Zixuang-Akako's greatest inventions, if you're looking for the best of the best, look no further!"

Another shell slung downrange, and another two explosions. There was a slight purplish glare, and the smoke was blown away. The plate was entirely intact; a small scorch mark the only indication that it had been shot at all. The announcer called out, "As you can see, the armor is completely intact! But perhaps you think it's a fluke; let's go ahead and fire a few more shells into it!"

Another belch of fire, and another shell downrange. The same result, the smoke clearing once more as though blasted away. Again, nothing but another scorch mark. This repeated five more times, until finally, with a groan of effort, the girders holding the plate vertical snapped from the stress, the plate falling on the dummy. Surprisingly, the dummy was not crushed, sitting sadly underneath the plate.

“Hmm…quite impressive indeed.” Alin’Sha spoke, this Hevsteel had great potential, one can imagine what damage an army could do in full-plated hevstel armor, made nearly invulnerable. She surveyed her surroundings, looking at the hungry eyes of the Janissary officers, fortunate for her, they too see the promise this product offers. She turns to the ZA delegation. 

“Your Hevsteel is something to behold and to be congratulated. I must say, you humans continue to surprise me to no end.” She paused to give herself a breather. “On behalf of the High Ascendants, it would be our pleasure to do business with you.”

The gaggle of interns, executives, and mid-level marketers practically glowed as they received approval from Alin'Sha. The stands exploded into dealmaking and wheeling as the announcer continued their display, some form of radar system being wheeled out. Alin'Sha could feel something on the back of her neck, like an itch that couldn't be scratched. Behind her, the gaze of the woman in the sunglasses was staring [i]directly at her,[/i] something that had not occurred before. She made a motion, and the bodyguards parted, several of them also staring at the High Ascendant.

It was a beckons, the one opportunity the High Ascendant would be given to speak to the mysterious figure.

[right][url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TL9msDjTl4w]Mood Music[/url][/right]

Alin’sha lightly stomped her way towards the strange woman, allowing her underlings to deal with the rest of the ZA employees on other matters. Both figures came face to face, so to speak, Alin’sha’s imposing figure literally staring down the woman. “Yes?” She asked. 

The woman did not flinch, nor did her bodyguards. She remained silent and stonily still as the High Ascendant stormed up. The bodyguards closed around the two, and warded off a panicked-looking Mandla, the High Ascendant's own attendants, and the rest of the assortment of delegates. The woman replied, coldly, "Alin'sha," she gazed impassively at the Ascendant's body, asking without a hint of intonation, "was it worth it?"

Alin’sha gave a perplexed look. “What ever do you mean?” She asked. The woman raised a single disapproving eyebrow, before she ultimately answered, "To be surrounded by food, and yet to starve. I ask again, was it worth it?" Her tone was still flat, but her body language was almost that of disappointment.

Alin’sha pondered, her facial expression rather conflicted. “In truth? I don’t truly know anymore. When I was first offered the gift, I was young, and foolish, and feared death…perhaps If given another chance, I would’ve chosen death over this fate. But that was then, and this is now. My kind have finally achieved the dream of our most sacred ancestors, godhood born through our own minds and ingenuity, suffering be damned.”

The woman's demeanor returned to utterly impassive, as she looked out at the crowds beyond her circle of bodyguards. Her comment was striking, clearly intended to provoke a reaction, "So you are the Creator and Redeemer of the world: but what a small world it must be."

“What are you getting at, [i]human[/i].” Alin’sha said, her tone clearly agitated. “Even in my current state, I will far outlive all that stand in this room, they will wither to dust, while I still stand, in pain, but in glory.”

Her eyebrow raised once more, a singular act of profound disapproval. She continued, pushing the Ascendant further with that provocatory tone, "And yet your legacy appears, to me, to be a failure of empire. Here you stand, accepting war profiteering from the species of your greatest enemy, because you cannot afford not to."

She gazed out at the mix of Janissaries and marketers mingling amongst each other, before continuing, "Would a god, master of all he surveys, not have dispensed great wrath upon the blasphemers who defied him?"

“Do [i]not[/i] test me, human. “A snarl could be felt vibrating in the air, Alin’sha’s rage mounting. “I can easily end you, here and now, profiteering be dammed.” Her clawed palms beginning to tighten, the urge to end this [i]pest[/i] was too overbearing to ignore. “Our wrath WILL be dispensed, and all humans or any other species that dare stand against us, will be burnt to ashes in our new galactic order.”

All of the bodyguards snapped their heads to Alin'sha, as their exoskeletons whirred with tension. The woman still did not move. Instead, she maintained that raised eyebrow. Even with her eyes behind sunglasses, her body language screamed both disapproval and disappointment. She continued, unperturbed, "You cannot afford to, Alin'sha. Didn't you understand that? Kill me, and [i]we pick a side[/i]."

In an act that Alin’sha would ultimately regret, she very much obliged the stranger. “If I must, we have made many enemies…what’s one more?” She said as in an instant, Alin’sha ignited a plasma blade from a wrist device. “I will NOT be brought low by a human.” Alin’sha then slashed down one of the guards. The Janissaries present, realized what had just occurred, all pulled out their firearms. “Stand down! All of you!” One of them ordered. The clergymen soon dispersed in a panic. 

The explosion of activity was instantaneous. The bodyguards smoothly swiveled to Alin'sha, and unleashed a furious full-auto upon the High Ascendant. Delegates and Zixuang-Akako employees scattered. One of the marines on the honor guard pulled a sidearm, and the rest, in the explosion of sound and violence, followed suite. A technician, in a moment of panic and brilliance, turned the demonstration field gun on a group of Janissaries, and unleashed an anti-personnel shell. In the next few seconds, several of the bodyguards grabbed a hold of the woman, and began to drag her away.

She hadn't flinched. She was still staring at the High Ascendant with undisguised disappointment. She called out, her voice more projecting than yelling, "How sad it must be to be God; and an inadequate God!"

Grey Wind had been watching the demonstration through the camera feeds. It was the love child of three-hundred years of exotic research, medical science, and hard-earned engineering experience. Through its veins ran electrons, encased in steely veins. It could think, and react, beyond the ken of mortal man. The plasma blade had not been fully ignited by the time Grey Wind cried out, the scream scattered across the hundreds of klaxons of the [i]Dreadnought[/i]. The guard had not yet been ran through by the time the gunports had opened, the red alert disseminated and the crew ordered to battle stations.

The fight had not yet started, and Grey Wind was already running tactical simulations. [i]We are close, and close is good to be. Grab them by the belt buckle, and we may fight our way to safety.[/i] By the first shot, Grey Wind had pushed tactical readouts to the captains of the whole fleet. Truly, it was humanity whom held back the [i]Dreadnought[/i].

A wounded Alin’sha fell to the ground, purple blood dripping from her abdomen. She glared at the the fleeing humans, letting out a roar that was a mix of bestial and mechanical. “KILL THEM ALL! YOUR HIGH ASCENDANT COMMANDS IT!” she screeched out, all the while reeling in pain. More and more Janissaries came pouring out from multiple entrance points, a platoon’s worth running out in pursuit of the new visitors, while others remained to tend to their goddess’ wellbeing. Soon a sector-wide alert was sounded, alarms blaring out through the many corridors.

The bodyguards took the halls in a heady sprint. Every unfamiliar man or alien was shot down on sight, afforded no hesitation. Their communications were short, and true to their job, no opening was permitted upon their charge. The woman was being carried now, back to the docking vestibule. Behind them, a cacophony of gunfire as the two sides escalated. This was a losing battle; too many Janissaries, too little marines. The technician on the field gun fell after scattering another dozen Janissaries into a fine mist. The civilians were mercilessly gunned down as they ran or where they lay. The honor guard had lasted the longest, even using enemy guns, but their holdout was forlorn.

When the woman arrived through the docking vestibule a few minutes later, it was as though a switch had been flipped. There was no longer any use in waiting, and only risks to be associated with remaining docked. A series of cannon-shots rocked the [i]Dreadnought[/i] as eighteen-inch main battery guns blew off the dock of the Throneship, severing the vestibules in the process. Its engines came to life as it maneuvered, all cannons blazing in every direction. The fleet was point-blank; now, more than ever, they could damage the Throneship, and perhaps start with the initiative.

Grey Wind assessed the situation; the [i]Bum Rush[/i], [i]Two for Flinching[/i], and [i]Herald of the Morning[/i] were built for pirates and revolutionaries, not open battle against a uniformed enemy. The assistance they could provide was minimal at best, except to harass, distract, and if necessary, shield. It was with this in mind that Grey Wind tasked their crews to counterbattery fire, to disrupt the inevitable response in the trading of blows.

The Gateway was too far. Too many enemies, spread across too great a distance when point-blank was your best option. No, they would have to go for the jungle world, the home of the exiled republic whom had long since warred against this new enemy.

The fleets were on high alert, as a small fleet of Janissary warships, the [i]Blissful Warth[/i] among them, were in now hot pursuit of their new enemies, much to Admiral Hawthorns surprise. From the CIC he watched in bewilderment as he suddenly received orders to hunt down and to destroy the people he escorted to the Throneship. “I don’t know what the hell went on in there, but they sure pissed someone off. Maintain high speed, we know how fast those things can get, we’ll lose them if we’re not careful. Prepare all batteries and tubes and open fire!” The pursuing ships unleashed a volley of torpedoes and anti-ship rounds, hoping to score a hit. 

The [i]Dreadnought[/i] was the largest and most vulnerable target, a fact Grey Wind had taken into consideration. While the rest of the fleet twisted between debris to make themselves hard targets, the flagship was used as bait as it wrecked havoc upon the Throneship. Once the [i]Blissful Wrath[/i] and its supporting vessels had fired upon the fleet, the counterbattery began. The smaller cannons of the escorts opened up on the torpedo tubes and guns of Hawthorne's fleet, with uncanny precision at their near-point-blank range.

The [i]Dreadnought[/i], meanwhile, began its own counterbattery, its secondaries and point defense guns unleashing fury upon the incoming ordnance. With the aid of its precision near-sensors, tuned to fight through interference simply not present outside of Eperu, its weapons were also alarmingly accurate. It ignored near-misses and even duds, focusing streams of bullets and cannon shells towards the truly dangerous ordnance.

What made it through was immaterial. As they impacted the hull against strongpoints, the armor flashed with intense purple light, greater than the demonstration. A plume of purple fire blew outwards, and when it cleared, there was not so much as a scorch.

A number of torpedoes had started to disperse, going into random directions as their systems went haywire from the counter systems, or were shot down from enemy point defense guns. The UN vessels were given breathing room needed to make their escape from the Throneship’s grasp, Hawthorns’ fleet still in pursuit of their targets. Swarms of strike craft would soon launch in the hopes of slowing down their targets, although that may seem futile at this point.

The guns of the three supporting vessels were as pinpoint accurate as those of their larger counterpart, and the counter-battery gave the entire fleet the opening they needed.  The strike craft were a valiant gesture, but an ultimately irrelevant one as the fleet began to flee. They did not flee directly towards safety, however, instead they opted to take one the next nearest group of ships.

Grey Wind's strategy became more clear as the fire from the fleet rapidly grew inaccurate and ineffectual as they made distance, at an alarming rate. If they had fled directly towards safety, they would have been left out in the open, easy targets for a myriad of vessels that outranged them. However, if they moved from ship to ship, fleet to fleet, they could fight too closely for supporting vessels on the line to rip them to shreds from afar.

The strategy was quite effective, as the days had gone by, the UN ships were able to initiate several skirmishes with patrolling Janissary vessels on their terms, exchanging fire before they’re able to flee further away from Yulzan Space, and eventually, had found themselves back into No Man’s Land, a region rife with piracy, and roving groups of FRA and Ascendancy warships, the heart of the war between the two.

As the [i]Dreadnought[/i] broke into No Man's Land, they began to call out on all frequencies, the gruff voice of the signalmen audible through a wave of interference, "This is the United Nations Frontier Commission diplomatic taskforce under command of the UNFCGSV [i]Dreadnought[/i], requesting immediate assistance. We are under attack by Yulzan military assets. We are low on fuel and munitions and request safe harbor," the signalman paused to wait for a response before they repeated the distress call, as Grey Wind maneuvered the fleet for a standoff.

For a moment, there was only silence on the other end, and soon that silence broken by a cacophony of transmissions replying back, unfortunately, it was uncertain if any or all were friendly. A flotilla of Crusader-class corvettes were within distance of the transmission, and like a hungry wolfpack, they set a course in quick succession to their prey, fueled by furious zealotry. In some other corner, a lone Independence-class Battlecruiser, the FAS [i]Dawn’s Early Light[/i], had also received the [i]Dreadnought[/i]’s plea for assistance. “This is Captain Hernandez of the [i]Dawn’s Early Light[/i], we read you and are enroute to your location, stand by for our arrival.”

The fleet turned for a burn to the corvettes, as tight-beams lanced the void, in a desperate search for the receiver of the [i]Dawn's Early Light[/i]. Once once crossed the dish, it walked in and the signalman's voice came again, clearer and only to the battlecruiser this time, "UNFCGSV [i]Dreadnought[/i] acknowledges, [i]Dawn's Early Light[/i]. We are under attack by Yulzan military assets, and are moving to engage. Please render assistance as soon as possible."

As the engines fired once more, they began to burn towards the corvettes, as the three escort vessels flew in wide spirals in front of the [i]Dreadnought[/i]. Their point defense guns swiveled, tracking the intercepting corvettes. Though all the vessels were clearly damaged, they seemed unwilling to concede the fight yet.

The corvettes unleashed a volley of torpedoes towards their targets, charging in a scattered formation, all the while scattering shots from their own point defense guns were let loose, preparing for pitched combat. Within proximity of the battle space, the [i]Dawn’s Early Light[/i] was on fast approach, battle station alerts sounding off throughout her corridors as they braced for combat.

Machine guns opened up all across the UNFC fleet. At first, they tracked the torpedos exceedingly poorly, the guns firing wide and walked slowly towards the target as though by hand. But when they came into close range, the spread tightened and the guns jerked to their targets. Torpedos began to splash, ripped apart by archaic gunpowder weapons that arced metal through the void.

But then one slammed into the [i]Two for Flinching[/i], right in a battered section of armor that had begun to cave in. With a purple flash, the armor yielded, the first breach of their escape. The torpedo detonated, and an explosion rocked the corvette. Secondary explosions blew out of disparate sections; the ship had been hollowed. It spun violently as the power failed and its thrusters deadened.

The [i]Dreadnought[/i], however, had been saved. It was then the formation became clear; the supporting force had been tasked as shields, absorbing blows for the flagship that otherwise might have crippled their largest and most important asset. With the sacrifice of the [i]Two for Flinching[/i], it had been bought enough time to close the distance, unharmed by the barrage, and open up with its main battery against several corvettes. Meanwhile, its supporting vessels rearranged to intercept other groups that had scattered too far away for the [i]Dreadnought[/i] to range.

The ploy had caught the hunters off guard as the [i]Dreadnought[/i] unleashed her fury onto them, two corvettes were left limp and wrecked, others damaged, but still barely holding on. The short battle would soon conclude as wings of strike craft joined the fray, Firehawk bombers letting loose their own volleys of missiles and torpedoes on their weakened foes, downing several more corvettes, the remaining two pulling back from the fight once the [i]Dawn’s Early Light[/i] was within visual range.

The [i]Dreadnought[/i] and its supporting fleet backed off as the [i]Dawn's Early Light[/i] took over the fight; their signalmen exchanged flag codes as the tight-beam walked itself back to their savior's vessel, the signalman's voice once more returning, "[i]Dawn's Early Light[/i], we thank you for the assistance. [i]Two for Flinching[/i] will be operational shortly, but we request medical teams on standby for triage upon arrival to safe harbor. We are no longer operationally capable, and will be unable to lend assistance against further attacks."

As though brought back to life by mention of its name, the thrusters on the gutted [i]Two for Flinching[/i] flared back to life; the vessel looked like a ghost ship, pock-marked with holes and nearly blown in two at the midsection. Fires still raged along the hull, fed by ruptured lines and ammunition that had been slowly cooking off. It limped back into place with the fleet, as it listed to the side, forced to dramatically readjust with its few operational lateral thrusters to maintain course.

“The pleasure’s all ours, [i]Dreadnought[/i].” Captain Hernandez replied. A moment passes before another message is relayed. “Follow us with these coordinates, your people will get all the help needed there.” the UNFC fleet along with its Battlecruiser escort fled the scene before enemy reinforcements could arrive, the closest safe harbor in the FRA’s side of the border was one of the major military staging points, there stood Appleseed Point, an old, but sturdy starbase that withstood all that the war threw at it.

[right][url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JI1UmUA0t58]Mood Music[/url][/right]

An additional couple of days pass as they finally arrive at Appleseed Point, the station made aware of the new arrivals. Medical teams aboard the station were rushing to designated meeting points, ready to receive any injured personnel from the UNFC vessels. Reports of the new arrivals quickly spread back to Roseau, garnering the special attention from the Chancellor. 

Every ship in the fleet had injuries, but none so severe as the [i]Two for Flinching[/i]. The vessel, repaired in the interim to a point that permitted docking, had suffered grave casualties. Medical teams found a charnel pit of a vessel; though the ship had survived, half of its crew had perished when the torpedo had struck its citadel and hollowed its interior. Repairs were slapdash, a firm but jury-rigged testament to the damage control capabilities of the crew. The remaining crew fared little better, as many had died in transit in an overloaded sickbay. Those that survived did so in poor condition, and they flooded even Appleseed Point's hospital.

Meanwhile, the Dreadnought disgorged exhausted sailors, armsmen, and terrified diplomatic delegations in equal number. The former, for their part, immediately began churning the rumor mill amongst the station as they recovered from the ordeal. In the bars, hospital, and barracks they spread dozens of different stories of what had happened. From them, a confused consensus had emerged; [i]The Yulzan lured our people onto their throneship, and then ambushed them, and hoped to ambush us.[/i] From that spurred pride, and began the boasts, [i]They may have killed the ambassador and his men,[/i] they bragged, [i]but they found us a bitter target, and we blew a hole clean through their fancy station. Not only that, but we lived to tell about it.[/i]

The many tales shared by the UNFC survivors very much impressed any and all listeners within the station and provided a much-needed morale boost for the soldiers and sailors present, the UNFC fleet’s daring escape proved the Yulzan weren’t invincible, there was even a slip that one of the UNFC soldiers shot at a High Ascendant of all things, ironically enough, many believe that to be the tall tale aspect of their little chronicle. Regardless, this could be the start of a beautiful partnership. 

Some time passes, and the Chancellor himself arrives at the station, his arrival causing an even bigger commotion, as the media followed him all the way to the frontlines. He moved with purpose down the halls of the Appleseed, with the main intention of speaking with what’s left of the UNFC’s delegation, flanked by members of his cabinet and a few members of the Republican Guard.

The delegation that arose to meet the Chancellor was, surprisingly, a full team. It seemed the [i]Dreadnought[/i] had carried two diplomatic teams; though one was now dead, the second remained. They were all tired, some nursed injuries, and the honor guard were clearly exhausted from days of fighting. Regardless, they backed the ambassador, a lanky, tall man with a goatee and a heavy Russian accent. He held out his hand for the Chancellor, as he commented, "I wish we could have met under better circumstances, sir."

Chancellor Constantine reached out and firmly shook the man’s hand. “Don’t worry, we’re used to this by now.” Constantine said, these unusual means of first contact ironically becoming the usual for the FRA. “I’ve heard reports of your little adventure and quite frankly, if true? I’m damn impressed.”

The Russian offered a thin, weary smile as he straightened his suit, answering, "Thank you, sir. Space is so," he paused, taking a breath as though he had just stepped into fresh air, "clear here, easiest battlefield to fight in most of those men have ever seen, so I've been told." He then reached into his suit jacket's pocket, pulling out a battered VHS tape, "We managed to pull some of the camera footage. If we can get behind closed doors, I'll show you exactly what happened."

Constantine nodded to the Russian. “Of course, of course, lead the way.” He said, motioning the guards to remain where they stood while the Chancellor and the rest of his entourage follow the Ambassador. The Chancellor was also a bit intrigued by the VHS tape, that’s downright ancient technology almost lost to time, although it seems these people have kept the technology alive and well to this point. Before long, the Chancellor and company were led into one of the docked UNFC vessels.

The [i]Dreadnought[/i] was no longer the glorious exhibit of wealth it had once been; the stateroom had been damaged in the fighting, marble and silk no match for the rigors of combat. Further, it had clearly been repurposed into both a munitions dump and a barracks for gunnery crews, cots scattered across the floor and shells stocked in corners. The Russian man led them past the shattered stateroom into a conference room across the way.

It seemed to have, at one point, been used as an emergency infirmary. The wood of the table was cracked and there were bloodstains on the carpet. Some IV stands had been left behind, though the stretchers had been moved out. The ambassador handed the tape to a technician, and soon the projector was running and the lights were dimmed.

The scene was one of the demonstration cameras; focused on the product being displayed. However, the Russian man took a cane and tapped at the corner of the projection, where a High Ascendant entered a ring of bodyguards to speak to a woman. He explained, "Here, the High Ascendant enters Akako's ring of bodyguards. It's an unlikely thing; that woman has tens of thousands of people whose sole job is to do her talking for her. I don't know what they were talking about, but that alien didn't seem to like us."

Right as he finished the explanation, the tape exploded into action. There was a bright arc of plasma, the sudden movement of a bodyguard jumping in the way, and the muted ratter of gunfire. The bodyguards fanned out, and the woman could be seen carried away as several SMGs forced the High Ascendant to a bloody kneel. At the same time, Yulzan troops flooded out onto the projection, and they gunned down indiscriminately. The Russian smacked the cane against a heavyset black man who was cowering on the floor, and whom was shortly after shot by several soldiers. He commented, gravely, "My colleague, Ambassador Mandla."

“My condolences…” Constantine said as he observed the footage, stepping forward to get a closer look, this was really something to behold. He would be the first Chancellor in decades to see footage, if only a small portion, of the interior of the Throneship, and the first to witness one of the High Ascendants to be brought to their knees. “My God.” He let slip. “You people were at the heart of the enemy stronghold, and [i]survived[/i].” He turned to face the Russian. “It may not look it but consider yourselves [i]very[/i] blessed. We’ve have tried for years to cross over to No Man’s Land, all met with failure.” He paused as the footage cycled through once more. “Although, I am curious, what were you people doing there in the first place?”

The ambassador drew a cigarette, and as he lit it, he commented, bitterly, "We're the United Nations. Means we've always got to get in the middle and mediate, yeah?" He turned back to the projection, then, and watched as it looped once more. His eyes were fixed on Mandla, the huff emerging from him forming the unspoken implication, [i]but look where it got him[/i]. He then turned back to the Chancellor, saying, "The idea was we'd make a show of refusing ideological bias by visiting with people least amenable to us first. Mandla would be left there to form an embassy, and I'd be dropped off nice and pretty here."

He peeked back at the ruined stateroom behind him, "Instead, we got a declaration of war. Instead, Mandla is dead. He was one of the best of us. Third in his class at Nahikawa City University. One of the few chumps who actually earned his scholarship, you know?" He pulled the VHS tape, and motioned to the tech as they went to put a new one in, "Was a good friend, [b]was[/b]."

The next tape was a composite of various cameras on the [i]Dreadnought[/i]. It showed the vessel blasting off the docking port, blowing vast chunks out of the throneship with enormous primitive twentieth-century cannons. It showed the standoff with the Yulzan fleet, and the interception of their munitions. And then, it ended at the fleet fleeing, as the Russian commented, "Were it up to me, we'd have gone down then and there, and took that damned station with us."

“I wouldn’t blame you.” The Chancellor said, all the while being mesmerized with the footage, the Yulzan’s perceived superiority had deep down, had always been a lie. While their technology does outclass humanity by some measure, but as the footage displays, the line is quite narrow. “You would’ve done us a favor had you sunk that beast.” Constantine paused as he turned to face the Ambassador. “But I’m glad you lived to tell the tale. “Once more, I’m sorry about your people, and your friend. You didn’t know of the Yulzan’s treacherous nature, the same thing happened to us decades prior. “He paused once more as he remembered his last days on Columbia, the chaos, the panic, the fighting, it was a nightmare. “I lost a home because of their deception and lies.”

The Chancellor kept viewing the looping footage of chunks of the Throneship being blown to bits, just getting the chance to witness this brought a smile to his face. “Know this, you’re among friends, and that your people [i]will[/i] be avenged. This I promise you.”

"Good," the Russian commented, as his tone darkened. He took another drag off the cigarette before he continued, "I'm to stay here and be your liaison, but I'm a diplomat, not a military strategist." As if to continue his point, he waved his hand at another man in the room, who wore a military uniform. On his head, some kind of clunky headset that covered the eyes. He walked over, and held out his hand for the Chancellor.

The Chancellor shook his hand. “A pleasure.” He said, it seems like these people would be sticking around for quite some time, he might do proper introductions. “Forgive my rudeness to all of you, I am Julian Constantine, the currently serving Chancellor of the Free Americanan Republic.” He turns to the two other older men that flanked him the entire time. “This is my Vice Chancellor, Richard Sanders, and my Defense Secretary, Vincent Walton.” The two men nodded their heads.

"I am Dmitry Vasilyev," the ambassador responded, before he waved once more to the man in the military uniform, "and this is the First Officer, Michael Cochrane." The military man spoke next, his voice far gruffer, "Pleased to meet you, Chancellor Constantine. We've been placed in a unique situation here; if you're not aware already, our gate reopening is a recent phenomenon. Our military assets are limited to garrisons and light patrols. Currently we have no concerns about [i]invasion[/i], but our ability to project power is limited at best."

“Ahh, I see, well.” Julian started. “You’ll be very interested to know that we’re not the only remnants of Old Earth out there.” He paused as he took a breather, there was a lot to catch up, but he would have to give the abridged version. “The Gateway phenomenon has been ongoing for the past four years. Gates opening and closing, but we’ve managed to come together to form a galactic community.”

The Vice Chancellor stepped up to assist the Chancellor. “Through our collective efforts, we’ve managed to establish an International meeting place in orbit of Old Earth, the fittingly named “Meeting Place”, you can think of it as your old headquarters back on Old Earth.” Richard paused for a moment. “There, you can establish yourselves in the community, and have a voice for others to hear. We can assist you in that endeavor.”

The Defense Secretary was the last to step up, curious regarding Liaison Vasilyev’s confidence on repealing an invasion. “What makes you think that?” Vincent asked. “If the Yulzan ever manage to discover your location, nothing will stop them from sending a fleet.”

Cochrane was the one to speak up, he answered with an edge that seemed as though the answer should've been obvious, "Well, they may romp around Alaktu for a few days, but, if the malfunctions, ghost ships, exposure, and psychosis don't kill them, the storms will." He further continued, "Their ships are further unoptimized for the kind of combat Eperu demands. Their weapons will malfunction or scatter, they'll be running blind, and when they do see us coming, it'll be far too late to do anything but die."

He made a flourish with his hands, "We wouldn't have to waste any time or resources fighting them, ultimately. The environment will kill them, or they'll kill each other."

“Astounding.” Julian said, intrigued, but at the same time, a little terrified how unpredictable and dangerous the Eperu system can be. “Well, with that concern out of the way. We best make our return to Roseau, we’ll begin preparations to set up a proper Embassy for you and your staff to move in, Mr.  Vasilyev. In the meantime, rest, make yourselves comfortable, and heal.”

"Thank you, Chancellor Constantine. At least some part of the mission will be a success," Vasilyev responded, as he snuffed out his cigarette in an ashtray on the table. Cochrane, meanwhile, followed up with, "Once the embassy staff are dropped off, we will require assistance in returning to the gateway. We are not combat-ready."

Julian nodded “Consider it done.” He spoke. “We’ll prepare you a military escort when the time comes.” Following this, he reached his hand out. “I hope this will be the beginning of a fruitful partnership.”

[hider=Summary]
The UNFC has a fancy new ship called the Dreadnought, rush-built at extreme expense and incorporating an experimental new AI at the center made out of two connected brains. They send it and a small taskforce through the Gateway to the Americana system. There, they meet with the Yulzan in the hopes of being a mediator in the conflict.

Shit happens and a High Ascendant attacks the delegation, leading to a fighting escape by the taskforce that also blows a hole in the Throneship. They survive and meet up at Appleseed Point, where they meet the Chancellor of the Free Republic of Americana and they begin to set up plans to join the war, as the attack is being taken as a formal declaration of war.[/hider]