Neziul
shylarahAnurite Basin, Anuria
0300 Local Time
Psion Manderra Kurath was actually beginning to sweat, no mean feat considering the perfectly controlled climate inside her battle armour. She’d been holding three Jasaran soldiers under a mesmer for quite some time now, and the effort was beginning to get to her. She thought of her rifle, slung over her shoulder. Her long range mod DEL carbine would have gotten the job done a lot faster, but a lot less quietly. Shifting the energy output of the weapon out of the visible spectrum was easy enough, but the Ashtar had yet to implement a way to sufficiently mask the energy against sensors. A concentrated beam of energy, even low level, would easily have been detected.
The alternative was simple enough for the Ashtar. Commonly called mesmer, it was a simple psionic technique useful for incapacitating enemy soldiers quietly. The process involved infiltrating the target mind (easy enough against undisciplined opponents) and essentially hijacking their train of thought, filling their head with abstract musings to distract them from their surroundings. It was a simple and subtle warp that Manderra was quite fond of. All three Jasaran sentries were currently thinking about what might be on the mess menu tonight; under Manderra’s gentle touch, they were completely failing to notice Ashtar commandos sneaking by them and disabling proximity sensors. Food was a favorite distraction of Manderra’s. It was something all soldiers from all species thought about, so there was little in the way of mental disjunction to interfere.
The Ashtar were almost in position. A radio check-in interrupted one of her Jasarans; Manderra shifted more attention to him, gently soothing his mind to absently respond to his com as he always did. He responded, confirming all clear, then got back to comparing his lunch to soggy cardboard. Then Manderra got her own all clear, a simple Now over the tactical psylink.
The night exploded into screams and gunfire as armoured Ashtar seemed to materialize from thin air, practically on top of the Jasaran FOB. Two of Manderra’s targets fell to harsh energy blasts, so she set herself on the third, the gentle whisper of her mind in his turning to a shattering scream as she tore at his mind, battering and smashing it down, ripping and clawing at the inner core of his being. All traces of resistance fell away, and Manderra cast her senses out, looking for another target. She wasn’t sure if her original victim was dead, comatose, or gibbering mad, but he wouldn’t be giving anyone trouble tonight.
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Anuria, Arctic Northlands
Point Jakurna
General Diae and Colonel Telryk gave the Basin battle a cursory glance as real time data was relayed back to Point Jakurna via psynet.
“Seems to be going well enough,” Diae commented absently, poking at the persistent itch around his cybernetic eye.
“If things keep going this way, that base will be ours within the hour. Then just a few more like it until we can launch a viable assault on the main facility. Once we take that I think we can secure supply lines through the area within a week, then secure the build site in the Straites, then begin construction…” Telryk let the list peter off. “Still, at least we are making measurable progress under the new operational directives.”
“Yes. I cannot help but feel we are missing the real war though…”
“Then you have spent too long away from the front lines Lith Diae,” a booming voice echoed across the operations center.
Diae turned abruptly, doing his best to mask (or at least mitigate) his irritation. “Noble Hierarch Arctes. You fell in battle?”
Hierarch Arctes, for it was indeed him, was massive. Modern Ashtar fought their genetics and preferred to be lithe and athletic, since their original heavy gravity adapted bodies tended to develop annoying health complications. Arctes, however, looked like he’d just stepped out of Ayrie’s ancient jungles. He was one of two people on Anuria whose new bodies were still custom tailored, and Arctes’ was riddled with scars, carefully recreated on each new body. His hair was crudely cut short, and his face was broad and chiselled. A DEL carbine was slung over one shoulder, jostling against some kind of elaborate spear. Arctes had a pistol on one hip and a sword on the other. A thumper cannon was strapped to his right arm, and knives protruded from the tops of his boots. Arctes was one of the Ashtar’s five Hierarchs, each embodying and manifesting an aspect of the Ashtar as a whole. Arctes was generally summarized as “Hierarch of War”, and he was ostensibly on Anuria for no more reason than to enjoy the heat of battle.
“A landmine,” Arctes boomed out. “I got careless. Do not belittle this war, Lith Diae. War is fear, madness, strife; fighting for a planet or fighting for galaxies. The grief of the widows and orphans this battle will cause is not somehow lesser than the grief of Faran widows and orphans.”
“Forgive me Hierarch, I mis-”
Arctes cut him off. “Your soldiers laugh when they fall, Lith.”
“So do you, as I remem-”
“They do not laugh in the face of death, as I do. I have seen death, true death, and I am not afraid. They have not, cannot even conceive of anything than the Union’s embrace. No, they laugh because they think it pointless or futile, perhaps even absurd. They have been here so long they have forgotten the consequence of death.”
“Noble Hierarch, I do not under-”
But Arctes still wasn’t finished. “I think we are in need of a funeral for the fallen Jasarans, conducted with battle honours. All of us need a reminder of the sacrifice our enemies here and allies far away make every day of the war.”
Without another word, Arctes strode purposefully out of the operations center, leaving the room somewhat awed. Diae was surprised at how moved he was by the Hierarch’s words. It seemed the Hierarch of War was more than he appeared.
0300 Local Time
Psion Manderra Kurath was actually beginning to sweat, no mean feat considering the perfectly controlled climate inside her battle armour. She’d been holding three Jasaran soldiers under a mesmer for quite some time now, and the effort was beginning to get to her. She thought of her rifle, slung over her shoulder. Her long range mod DEL carbine would have gotten the job done a lot faster, but a lot less quietly. Shifting the energy output of the weapon out of the visible spectrum was easy enough, but the Ashtar had yet to implement a way to sufficiently mask the energy against sensors. A concentrated beam of energy, even low level, would easily have been detected.
The alternative was simple enough for the Ashtar. Commonly called mesmer, it was a simple psionic technique useful for incapacitating enemy soldiers quietly. The process involved infiltrating the target mind (easy enough against undisciplined opponents) and essentially hijacking their train of thought, filling their head with abstract musings to distract them from their surroundings. It was a simple and subtle warp that Manderra was quite fond of. All three Jasaran sentries were currently thinking about what might be on the mess menu tonight; under Manderra’s gentle touch, they were completely failing to notice Ashtar commandos sneaking by them and disabling proximity sensors. Food was a favorite distraction of Manderra’s. It was something all soldiers from all species thought about, so there was little in the way of mental disjunction to interfere.
The Ashtar were almost in position. A radio check-in interrupted one of her Jasarans; Manderra shifted more attention to him, gently soothing his mind to absently respond to his com as he always did. He responded, confirming all clear, then got back to comparing his lunch to soggy cardboard. Then Manderra got her own all clear, a simple Now over the tactical psylink.
The night exploded into screams and gunfire as armoured Ashtar seemed to materialize from thin air, practically on top of the Jasaran FOB. Two of Manderra’s targets fell to harsh energy blasts, so she set herself on the third, the gentle whisper of her mind in his turning to a shattering scream as she tore at his mind, battering and smashing it down, ripping and clawing at the inner core of his being. All traces of resistance fell away, and Manderra cast her senses out, looking for another target. She wasn’t sure if her original victim was dead, comatose, or gibbering mad, but he wouldn’t be giving anyone trouble tonight.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Anuria, Arctic Northlands
Point Jakurna
General Diae and Colonel Telryk gave the Basin battle a cursory glance as real time data was relayed back to Point Jakurna via psynet.
“Seems to be going well enough,” Diae commented absently, poking at the persistent itch around his cybernetic eye.
“If things keep going this way, that base will be ours within the hour. Then just a few more like it until we can launch a viable assault on the main facility. Once we take that I think we can secure supply lines through the area within a week, then secure the build site in the Straites, then begin construction…” Telryk let the list peter off. “Still, at least we are making measurable progress under the new operational directives.”
“Yes. I cannot help but feel we are missing the real war though…”
“Then you have spent too long away from the front lines Lith Diae,” a booming voice echoed across the operations center.
Diae turned abruptly, doing his best to mask (or at least mitigate) his irritation. “Noble Hierarch Arctes. You fell in battle?”
Hierarch Arctes, for it was indeed him, was massive. Modern Ashtar fought their genetics and preferred to be lithe and athletic, since their original heavy gravity adapted bodies tended to develop annoying health complications. Arctes, however, looked like he’d just stepped out of Ayrie’s ancient jungles. He was one of two people on Anuria whose new bodies were still custom tailored, and Arctes’ was riddled with scars, carefully recreated on each new body. His hair was crudely cut short, and his face was broad and chiselled. A DEL carbine was slung over one shoulder, jostling against some kind of elaborate spear. Arctes had a pistol on one hip and a sword on the other. A thumper cannon was strapped to his right arm, and knives protruded from the tops of his boots. Arctes was one of the Ashtar’s five Hierarchs, each embodying and manifesting an aspect of the Ashtar as a whole. Arctes was generally summarized as “Hierarch of War”, and he was ostensibly on Anuria for no more reason than to enjoy the heat of battle.
“A landmine,” Arctes boomed out. “I got careless. Do not belittle this war, Lith Diae. War is fear, madness, strife; fighting for a planet or fighting for galaxies. The grief of the widows and orphans this battle will cause is not somehow lesser than the grief of Faran widows and orphans.”
“Forgive me Hierarch, I mis-”
Arctes cut him off. “Your soldiers laugh when they fall, Lith.”
“So do you, as I remem-”
“They do not laugh in the face of death, as I do. I have seen death, true death, and I am not afraid. They have not, cannot even conceive of anything than the Union’s embrace. No, they laugh because they think it pointless or futile, perhaps even absurd. They have been here so long they have forgotten the consequence of death.”
“Noble Hierarch, I do not under-”
But Arctes still wasn’t finished. “I think we are in need of a funeral for the fallen Jasarans, conducted with battle honours. All of us need a reminder of the sacrifice our enemies here and allies far away make every day of the war.”
Without another word, Arctes strode purposefully out of the operations center, leaving the room somewhat awed. Diae was surprised at how moved he was by the Hierarch’s words. It seemed the Hierarch of War was more than he appeared.
