BZPB: Resurgence

[ City Square, Malchior IV ]

Salem helped Malcovius up from the floor, and in doing so, slid the cataxyn needle into the politician's back. It was tiny - probably too small for Malcovius to notice - but within seconds he had been injected with the same cataxyn poison that had caused Xawel to kill himself. Within moments it would bond with Malcovius's nervous system and remain dormant until it saw a good opportunity to force Malcovius to kill himself - at which point it would generate a nigh-on irresistible urge to do so within his unconscious mind.

"Let's get him to safe room!" Urged Salem, looking around in case any further attackers decided to make an attempt on Malcovius's life - which he knew, of course, wasn't going to happen.

---

[ Vesa Qatoria ]

Vekhta fell limp as Blackout's work concluded, her eyes wide open, twitching. She remembered it all; the Yuzar, her sister Akhan, the citadel on Bendu...

...the conduit underneath it. The ancient mechanism that had been hand-forged by Kanos Jai himself, and kept secret and safe from the rest of the galaxy for ten-thousand years by successive civilizations that had each independently come to recognize the threat it posed to the galaxy. Her sacred duty as a Yuzar was to protect the conduit; a task she, and her people, had failed in.

But maybe they were wrong to shield it in the first place.

The hypothetical slid across her mind and slotted itself into place with a conviction rivaling mathematical certainty. The two Vekhtas - Yuzar Vekhta and Arc Vekhta - were now slowly merging into one, thesis and antithesis colliding, and from that came the first truly original thought Vekhta reckoned she had ever had:

For ten thousand years they had protected the conduit, and for ten thousand years the galaxy had burned. Civilizations had been butchered whilst the Yuzar stood by, refusing to so much as lift a finger - refusing to consider using the conduit that could so easily bring an end to any given conflict, to bring peace to any given system. Was it so wrong that Sefer now intended to use it? Vekhta hated Sefer; truly, certainly, instantly. She now recalled the moment Arkhan died, impaled on the edge of Sefer's blade; she now remembered Gaelia and Vortassis and Rhaqan and every other world Sefer had reduced to so much smoldering dust. But Sefer would bring peace and order to the galaxy. It was possibly too late to even stop her, but Vekhta could not bring herself to prioritize her hatred of Sefer over her own inborn obligation towards peace, and towards order.

But there is no peace without justice.

Vekhta recalled Arkhan's words, and then the balance of the mental arithmetic in her fractured mind shifted. If Sefer was allowed to rule the galaxy, it would be the death of any semblance of justice - justice for Arkhan, justice for the Yuzar, justice for the countless worlds and peoples Sefer had destroyed or warped beyond recognition in pursuit of her new galactic order. She looked up at Blackout - and knew, instantly, why she had been chosen. He, too, had been wronged - deprived of justice - deprived of revenge. They would be deprived no longer.

Vekhta broke her restraints with unnerving ease - Shepard watched on, disturbed as she simply reached up and shattered the psychoresistant alloy she had been shackled with. She knelt before Blackout, gritting her teeth, still shaking from the ordeal - but still knelt, bowing her head.

"What is thy bidding, my master?"

<Vesa Qatoria>

Blackout stood silent for one second, collecting his thoughts. This level of mental attack took a great deal of effort and he had just had to do it twice in a relatively short space of time. He now had an Arc at his disposal - and one linked to Bendu at that, where an ancient, powerful weapon was apparently hidden away and was now controlled by Sefer Yetzirah. Well, that simply wouldn’t do. What Sefer deserved was to see her dreams of imposing her mockery of order and justice on the galaxy fall apart in front of her, and now, if he trod carefully, he could maybe accomplish just that in one fell swoop.

“You did well to bring her to me, Shepard.” he said. As he spoke, his features became more distinct in Vekhta’s eyes, much as they were now in Shepard’s. He then turned back to his new servant.

“First of all, look up, daughter of Bendu. You have been blessed with a chance at redemption, a chance to do your people justice.” he intoned. “We should discuss how best to do this.”

[ Lovian System, Herald ]

The hologram of Arc Plutus finished issuing his command, and Zabaton laughed zirs crackling, chittering laugh. Ze lurched from the chamber ze took meetings in, moving quickly through the strange alien corridors of Herald. The intelligence chamber was filled with Akkar all at various arcane machinery. Zabaton entered in a flurry. "Take me to the system of the Lurians... We have war to make!"


[ Lovian System, Typa Gypsy ]

At a command from Ciro, Bol splashed the call from the pirate lord on the main screen of the bridge, a large panel off to one side. Ozar's face appeared, and Ciro smirked at him.

"Ozar dearest. I suppose Veyelan has lodged a formal complaint with you about my conduct,” she said, her voice sardonic.


[ City limits of Armechius, Vongola ]

Arwell waited a beat before nodding and clasping Figlio's hand, allowing himself to be pulled up.

"It'll be done. Send Cassandra to the planet's Lagrange point. We'll rendezvous there. You can ping the security logs over using this," he said, proffering a small chunk of machinery. Arwell looked directly into the Rider's eyes, holding his gaze.

"See you on the other side Figlio di Armechio."


[ Heyerdahl HQ, New Harpenden, Ordon V ]

"Boss. You should see this." Pavinder pinged a file to Graff's VI. It was a video file; spycam footage from one of his subsidiary's properties. Specifically, spycam footage from the top floor of Monarch Electrodynamics headquarters. The spycam revealed a massive nightclub, all glass and dark mirrored surfaces. Strobe lights pulsed to a throbbing beat, and scantily clad dancers bent themselves around poles as a group of suited men leered from the side. The spycam zoomed in, showing Danssen and his cronies snorting cocaine through rolled up bills. They toasted each other and laughed. 

"How long have you been spying on my employees Pavi?" Graff asked, almost rhetorically.

"Since they started corporate conspiracy."

"What the fuck has that little prick been up to?” Graff growled as he closed the file.

"The cam footage you just watched was taken at 0320 local time last night. Earlier yesterday, I believe a New Order superweapon - a massive railgun - launched a projectile at relativistic speeds at Geihmurs, and utterly destro-"

"Pavi, you can't know that! There's so many ways that Geihmurs could have been obliterated. We don't even know half the shit that goes on out there!"

"- destroying it. Monarch Electrodynamics makes the best, and biggest, electromagnetic components in the galaxy. And Danssen is a known cock."

"Being a known cock doesn't automatically mean you collaborate with genocidal fascists, Pavi."

She shot him a look, and then another file pinged into his VI, and then another and another. Receipts, orders, transmissions, invoices, memos and every other kind of corporate ephemera. "This paper trail proved it. Not only is Danssen a cock, he's a sloppy one."

"Jesus fucking Christ," Graff sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. There was a headache of fucking epic proportions mounting behind his brow. "Pavi. Prepare me a team. Locate Danssen. And for fuck sake, next time, stop them before they commit a war crime that puts the Tanari to shame."

[City Square, Malchior IV]

Gaius Malcovus gasped. He sensed something was wrong, very wrong.

“Y-you…” he whispered as Salem and the guard rushed him away. He tried to wrestle out of their grasp.

“Sir, please calm down!” the Pasajem guard yelled.

“Wait!” Gaius shouted. He reached for his holocommunicator and pressed a few buttons. Suddenly, he was calm again. He smiled at Salem and the Pasajem bodyguard.

“Let us move!” he ordered. The group began to leave to a safe room.

---

[Tower of Willow the Grey]

“I’ll only tell one other person outside of the group going on the mission,” Klak divulged. “His name is Nadle. He helps run one of our intelligence agencies, so you know he’s good with secrets.”

Klak eyed Min-Su suspiciously. He turned towards them.

“Can’t say the same for them though,” he wondered. “Not sure just who they are, really.”

He turned back to Willow.

“But you have my word. No leaks.”

“I’ll try to get something published, make a show out of my visit,” Bob said. “We’ll hop on a cruiser, meet with your contact at The Sea Dragon’s Nest. I figure it might take some time to get information on the guards, so is there anyway you can provide some surveillance using your magic? It could help us speed things up.”

OOS: Feel free to teleport them back in your next post, Ynot.

---

[Military Base, Tanari Prime]

“Shit!” Rain cursed. He dropped his pistol and leaped out of the pod, landing at the feet of some of the Tanari guards. He looked up to them and gulped.

“Suppose you don’t have any coffee after all this insanity?” he asked, surrendering.

---

[Battle of Sards, Vongola]

One by one, the VPR bombers began to pull up. All but two remained on their path to the energized jet. They sped up for a kamikaze run, firing their weapons and priming their bombs to try to take it down.

-

[City limits of Armechius, Vongola]

Figlio half smiled as he stared into Arwell’s eyes. He grabbed the small piece of machinery, still staring.

“See you on the other side, Arwell. I’ll contact some friends to get you that army.”

Figlio nodded, then turned around. As he walked towards his air chariot, flanked by K’thaan guards, he began pressing buttons on his wrist, sending a text message to Pirate Lord Ozar.

---

[Lovian System, Typa Gypsy]

Ozar raised an eyebrow...or whatever eyebrow equivalent reptilians have anyway.

“No,” he replied. “I only called to check in. And to tell you about a job I just learned about. But is there some reason that Veyelan would complain?”

---

[Morrow & The Mlüyuw, Planet Pinacul, Mosqronos System]

A tall, furry creature with an insectoid body shaped like a mantis quietly stepped through the rain towards “Morrow & The Mlüyuw”, a bar perched at a pier at the edge of one of the rainy world’s many lakes ((yes, another fuckening cantina, sue me)). Her soft green eyes glowed in the darkness as she opened the wooden door.

The creature, named Arila, shook herself in an attempt to get all that water off of her caramel hair. Arila glanced around, noticing that the bar was full of patrons of various species. The orc-like bartender nodded at her from afar and pointed at a booth in a corner with his chin. Arila turned and quietly stepped towards the booth, where a human man wearing a white combat outfit and a charcoal grey driving cap sat dejected, morosely eyeing his pint of verdant slop. She sat down in front of the man, who acknowledged her with a grunt.

Arila said nothing as she placed a holographic device on the table in front of the man. A hologram of Fourteen appeared.

“Thiodore ‘Astro’ Astrophel,” Fourteen enunciated. “We’ve been meaning to reach you.”

“I don’t know who you are,” Astro murmured. “Whadda you want?” He chugged his drink.

“My name is Fourteen,” the pirate replied, smiling. “I’m a Liquid Metalliconite with enough connections to have heard about someone like you and to reach you this far away from my Pirate Lord’s territory. You’re a Tanari soldier,”

“Ex-Tanari,” Astro interrupted.

“Ex-Tanari soldier,” Fourteen granted. “Trained in exfils, and a weapons expert. They say you defected right at the Battle of Koftet, and you’re half the reason the Tanari lost there. After that you spent some time working for the Taks, then with the Malchiorians, then as a hired gun. But you never went back to any Tanari world, even after Allman died. Several years after the war, you disappeared. Took some time to find you,”

“I didn’t really want to be found, Fourteen. Nice name, by the way,” Astro slurred.

“Oh, but a man of your skills needs to be found, Astro. We have a job for you, one that puts your talents to good use, and pays handsomely,” Fourteen proclaimed.

“I don’t need money, pal,” Astro told Fourteen. “I appreciate the offer, and sorry you came all this way, Ms. uh…”

“Arila,” Arila croaked.

“Arila,” Astro replied, smiling. “Yeah, I’m good, man.”

He signalled to the bartender, who stomped over to their table.

“Get me another one of these, what did you call ‘em? Gyozaro Blasters? Freaking amazing,” Astro beamed.

“Only if you promise me you’ll pay your tab this time, Astro,” the orc commanded.

“Oh, c’mon,” Astro grumbled. “Look, I’m not as liquid right now, but I’ll get you some credits next time, alright?”

“That’s what you said last week,” the orc growled as he crossed his arms.

“We’ll pay his tab,” Fourteen offered. “And more…if you take the offer, Astro.”

Astro seemed to sober up. He glanced at Fourteen, then at Arila, then at the orc.

“Alright then,” he relented. “What’s the job?”

Klak wrote:

[Somewhere on the planet Iotunort]

The planet Iotunort was a snowy world. It had many frozen tundras and icy glaciers, interrupted by pockets of forests. Only select areas of the planet were habitable, with the poles virtually inhospitable to nonnative life. As such, the planet was not as densely populated compared to neighboring worlds in its system. Iotunort’s sapient denizens primarily belonged to three species: the furry Iotun, the moth-like Zrujim, and the human settlers. At the same time, other species would come to the planet for a variety of reasons, including economic opportunities.

Iotunort was prized for its wealth in minerals, lumber, metals, furs, and even blubber. Scientists also flocked to the world to study its climate, fauna, and rare FLora. It also helped that Iotunort was near a trade hub planet in a system that wasn’t far from a prominent FTL route. Iotunort’s strategic value increased once various intergalactic militaries and agencies discovered they could hide bases in the snowier, less populated areas of the planet.

Among these was a group of FSA installations, all answering to Central Command Base Abraham. The installations were allowed on the planet thanks to a joint agreement with Iotun, Zrujim, and Iotunortite humans. The FSA ran numerous secret operations out of the bases, adopting and updating an infrastructure that dated back to the Galactic Government’s war against the Vrai.

Unfortunately, psychic interrogations led to the New Order learning of all about the FSA’s activities on Iotunort as well as the planet’s decision to align itself with the FSA. Arc Jeriko, a pyrokinetic adamah, led a small force to break through the spacial defenses and destroy all FSA installations on the planet; a prelude to a larger scale invasion that would “convince” all of the Iotunorti of the error of their ways.

Arc Jeriko’s forces successfully captured Base Sigma, but found resistance at Base Theta thanks to Commissar Andrea Ashley Hathaway. The Commissar led FSA forces in a battle to defend Theta, with plans to eventually reclaim Sigma.

Commissar Hathaway fired her submachine blaster into incoming New Order forces. Legions of snowflakes falling on her uniform, and she felt the tiny knives of the frigid air pierce her pores. She nonetheless smiled and shouted at her fellow FSA soldiers.

“This planet’s too cold for these bastards,” she declared, haughtily. “Send them someplace warmer!”

Meanwhile, Malchiorian Captain Aristotle Mutinta and Otivyte Sgt. Stokko Kilardeef each took on squadrons of New Order soldiers on their own. Sgt. Stokko pulled out a beam saber and cut down some of his enemies.

“Come on you asteroid munchers,” Commissar shouted at her FSA soldiers as she fired another mag. “You want to live forever?!”

Meanwhile, underneath the surface in the underground caverns that the Zrujim called home, a group of monks anxiously looked above them, hoping that the mysterious artifact that they were protecting would not fall into the hands of either the FSA or the New Order.

Who will win in the campaign for Iotunort? And will some brave adventurer claim the artifact and unlock its mysteries...or die trying?

And I thought I could take a break from the war...

Lib said to himself, as he looked to see the news from the TV within the city's biggest bar: War had come to the planet of Iotunort, of which with it the two major factions on the planet both vying for its resources amongst other things. Though, unlike many who came for the natural resources, he had come here for an 'artificial' one. Were it not for the fact that the caverns of Zrujim were said to be filled with automated defenses, he would have bought a gun and shot any crazed opportunist during his trip. He had heard that the monks themselves lacked the fighting prowess of other aliens but made it up for their inventive use of automation amongst other things. The rich metals within the underdeep allowed the monks to forge what was known as 'Gosnoticons': Robots built and managed by augmented Zurjim who called themselves 'Sophian', for they were the machine's makers. Though when candidates for new Sophian were lacking, Demiurge-class supercomputers took the roles in defending the vast network of underground caverns that the Zurjim called home.

As to prove that he was no looter or intruder, he couldn't bring any of his weapons underground as to not alert the Gosnoticons patrolling the place. It was an odd idea, but the Zurjim were not proficient in any sort of conventional weaponry and thus couldn't risk any soldiers from either side coming in and stealing everything in sight. Hopefully, his deep traveler built for subterranean travel would be considered not as a weapon, due to the size of the caverns themselves.

The sooner I can get down deep and check what these monks were hiding inside, the sooner I can get out and hope to not get caught with my metaphorical pants down. Maybe if I'm lucky the Zurjim might give me some of their blueprints, if the Gosnoticons see me as a no-threat first.

[ Malchior, Malchior System ]

"The pleasure is all mine, Secretary Russello." Brianna D'Argent greets the man with a polite, diplomatic smile of her own and giving a slight cordial bow of greeting. "And it is my hope as well that our meetings will bear fruit and we can come to a mutually beneficial arrangement for our respective nations."

-------

[ Battleship Mercurus, Diplomatic Meeting Point, Hokka System ]

There was a moment of silence as the Arcs' statement echoes through the room, a moment where Envoy Kurokawa directs his gaze at the two Arcs, his expression neutral and unreadable, the tension practically choking the air. Before abruptly as it happened, the aged Xazari diplomat turns to his gryphon companion, an eyebrow raised and a faintly amused expression on gracing his lips.

"29 minutes. Just barely." Executive Ardogan huffs with a tinge of annoyance strangely directed towards Kohei. "You win this time, old friend."

With a small victorious nod to his colleague, the human then turns his attention back towards the Arcs, his cordial diplomatic demeanour returning with full force, the gryphon likewise returning to inspecting his holo tablet even as their diplomatic aides tense up.

"I believe you are the ones operating under a false assumption, honoured delegates. Though you have the gist of it right, that this is indeed part of what you can call a market analysis, I'm afraid to inform that you are severely mistaken in what it entails." Envoy Kurokawa continues, holding the room's attention as Executive Ardogan directs an aide to place a holographic transmitter on the floor. "You see, currently as part of said analysis, we are conducting an investment meeting. We are here to consider the pitch for your product, that being an alliance with the New Order, and assess whether it is worth the investment of the Xazari State and all its related entities."

"A substantial investment, may I add, that due to our unique position in the galaxy, consists of not only vast manufacturing and production capabilities, but the economic capacity to both in part enrich our investments and to cause no end of financial downturns to the opposite." To underscore the Xazari representative's points, various diagrams, graphics and videos would be projected holographically from the transmitter, from the extensive industrial worlds of Kratom Industria and Monarch Space Industries, to the monolithic Intergalactic Stock Exchange building in the financial center of Xazari Prime, to finally a galactic star map denoting Xazari State territories. "You speak of diversifying assets, as though you are lecturing novices just out of business school. Yet as the foremost trade hub of the galaxy, almost all of galactic trade passes through the Xazari State. This includes those of the various nations currently allied with your New Order. And subsequently, those of the Free Systems Alliance. If we were to put our full backing to one endeavour, and possibly deny the other option the benefits as well, this could prove to be the difference between a long, slow, drawn out campaign that would leave the galaxy in ruins and the galactic economy in non-recoverable state for the foreseeable, or swift, decisive, victories that could see peace brought to the galaxy within the year."

"So you see, honoured delegates. This represents a substantial investment, one that could very well tip the scales for whosever product ends up reaching a deal first. The issue here, is that thus far, we have yet to be convinced that the equity your product, your New Order, offers would outweigh the costs and overhead of our investment. A smart investor does not stake his fortune merely on hope, on promises of the future, and what may or may not come to pass."

-------

[Near Base Theta, Iotunort]

Blizz is not having a good day.

The light-furred female faestir was severely in debt, most of it to people that one would not wish to ever be in debt with, the infamous Pirate Lord Ozar numbering amongst those. Her only lucky streak at gambling a couple of days ago had come to an unfortunate end as she was forced to escape some very irate debt collectors, having to leave most of her winnings behind except for an old map. Upon tracking down the previous owner later and learning more about said map, however, Blizz had thought it the answer to all her problems, for it seems the map could lead to an ancient, and presumably very valuable, treasure on the planet Iotunort. All she needed to do, is to find someone who could decipher said map, and with that in mind, she quickly boarded her junker of a ship with what meagre supplies she had left and made haste as fast as possible to the planet.

What the faestir did not expect, was that the planet currently being a hotzone for the war between the FSA and New Order. Nor did she anticipate having to dodge both factions' space patrols in her approach of the planet, barely escaping without being blown up due to her ship's jury-rigged stealth systems, a wonder in of itself that somehow managed to not result in an explosion as well. Blizz also did not anticipate running out of fuel at the last moment, causing her ship to slowly lose altitude and forcing a crash land somewhere in the snowy wilderness of the planet. And finally, upon disembarking, she did not expect to be instantly surrounded by a group of FSA soldiers, all their guns pointing at her and freezing her to the spot being the only reason she had not yet suffered a mental breakdown.

"I....uh....I-I got lost...?" She managed to stutter out meekly towards the Iotun corporal Bijorn-tar, her bright purple eyes wide and hands raised up as high as she can in surrender.

Blizz is not having a good day.

[ Unspecified Junkyard, Tanari Prime ]

A band of vagrants roamed through the vast industrial junkyard, picking through mountains of salvage in hopes of finding something valuable, whilst in the sky above cargo blimps deposited avalanches of wreckage down into the bleak landscape below. These men were addicts, or troubled war veterans, or criminals - or any of the other hundred and one labels that could find one expelled from Tanari society and forced into a life of poverty. One of the men, Xrillex, knelt down and pulled what he thought was a valuable power cell from underneath a warped beam of metal - only to discover it was just an empty can of energy drink. He sighed, throwing it behind him, then turned as he heard the revving of engines and saw a white truck pull up nearby. Two men got out, dressed in white lab coats, one of them carrying a clipboard - they walked to the back of the truck, opened the container, and then began to yell towards the men.

"Hot food, gentlemen! Come here!"

The scavengers made their way towards the truck as one of the scientists climbed in to the rear of the truck, firing up a kitchenette and preparing meals for the hungry men. The other scientist produced a medical container and opened it; it contained vials of a silvery metallic liquid, as well as medical syringes.

"We're on a welfare mission, gentlemen. We need to get you fed, and we need to get you inoculated. It seems like some of the soldiers returning from Osdurandt brought back a nasty virus with them, and it's spreading like wildfire in the cities."

Xrillex shook his head. "No - no vaccines, no injections! That's how I got in this situation in the first place!" he added, stepping backwards from the scientists.

"That's perfectly fine." replied the scientist, smiling warmly. "It's your decision - I can't force you. But I assure you this vaccination is perfectly safe. I've had it myself."

Minutes later, the men were sitting down to eat bowls of soup and loaves of bread, and most had agreed to have the vaccination that was offered. The scientist was right - the vaccine was perfectly safe. The soup, however, wasn't. It contained enough Cataxyn-T that within days, the men would be mentally transformed into psychopathic terrorists, literally addicted to causing as much violence and destruction as possible. Another cargo blimp loomed overhead, dumping another waterfall of metallic debris; this time however it contained pre-packaged containers of weapons and explosives for the men to find... and to use.

---

[ City Square, Malchior IV ]

A look of concern took hold of Salem's face as he saw Malcovius smile. If he knows about the poison... or has a countermeasure...

...Then at least I still have my gun.

He fell into a protective position as the group made their way to the safe house.

---

[ Krieger's office, FSA Assembly Building, Malchior IV ]

(Theme)

Armed guards burst into Krieger's office, weapons already drawn.

"Sir, get away from the windows and come with us! There's been a terrorist attack - we need to get you to a secure location."

At that moment, the clouds above the FSA assembly building opened and a beam of light shone down on it, harsh illumination flooding into Krieger's office, practically blinding the men. Two Espirutu Santo Archangel-pattern gunships emerged from the opening in the clouds, each one shining brilliantly as the photoreactive shielding around them made them nearly impossible to look directly at. They deactivated their radar and sensor-resistant shielding as they closed in on the building, the glowing aura fading to reveak sleek white stealth gunships from which dozens of smaller drones unfurled and detached. The air defences around the FSA assembly building sprung to life, but to no avail - the location of each and every turret and missile battery had already been pre-programmed into the air defense drones. A ripple of explosions consumed the skyline of the FSA complex as they executed kamikaze runs on their pre-arranged targets, whilst the two gunships slowed and circled around Krieger's floor.

Krieger watched in horror as the angular white hulls of the gunships unfurled to reveal troop compartments; in each was a 14.5mm chemically-fired chaingun, barrels already spinning, each manned by a single Espiritu Santo gunner who stood behind it, as well as and two adherents who knelt either side of it, hands clasped together as they prayed for the success of the weaponry and its ammunition.

Within the cockpit of Ramiel, one of the gunships, Juaréz gave the order for his gunners to fire.

"Execute judgment."

---

[ Espiritu Santo Complex, Vesa Qatoria ]

"Lilith... Heyerdahl."

The response came before Vekhta had even truly considered what Blackout had said; it was an automatic response, almost instinctual.

"Sefer has a single weakness, and that weakness is Lilith Heyerdahl. We should... exploit that fact." she added, not quite ready to suggest outright murdering a noncombatant.

An Espiritu Santo man entered the room, whispering something in Shepard's ear; Shepard nodded approvingly, before turning back to Blackout.

"Master, please excuse me. The situation on Malchior is developing, and I believe our endeavors there will soon come to fruition.

Shepard left, making his way to the command and control lounge within the Complex; a vast array of screens displayed various news reports of the chaos and destruction on Malchior, at which Shepard smiled gleefully.

---

[ Monarch ElectroDynamics HQ, New Harpenden, Ordon IV ]

The partying continued late into the night as Daniel Danssen and his men celebrated nothing in particular - for Daniel, of course, it was a toast to the success of the Narayanastra's initial test-firing, but the rest of the company was completely in the dark about Monarch's involvement in the New Order's superweapon. None of his executives would turn down the opportunity for a party, though, and they had spent the night imbibing alcohol, partaking of various narcotics, and comparing business cards. Danssen had finished his third bottle of the night when he looked across to his security chief Karl Lindstrom, a thin, silver-haired man dressed in a white suit and pink shirt, who had barely touched his drink all night.

"Get some party into you, Karl! We've got plenty to celebrate."

Karl pulled his M1911-style pistol from his jacket, checked the chamber, and returned it to its holster. He ran his eyes across the gathered party-goers, assessing the threat. At Karl's insistence, Daniel and his close companions has chosen a booth where they could sit with their backs to the club's walls, but that was the only acquiescence to Karl's requests that Daniel had made. If Karl had his way, this party wouldn't be taking place, and Daniel would be safely secured in an off-world bunker where Graff couldn't get his hands on him.

"This is still a bad idea, Daniel."

"Relax - Karl - you're forgetting that I'm fucking untouchable. I'm fucking invincible. Graff can't do shit. I've left a paper-trail the size of of a Tanari war memorial detailing the Heyerdahl corporation's involvement with the New Order, and my continued safety is the only thing keeping it private. If Graff tries so much as touching me, the whole galaxy's going to find out what his subsidiaries have been doing - and there'll be no coming back for him. He'll be ruined."

"And you'll be dead."

Daniel chuckled. "It'd be worth it."

Karl sighed, and turned his attention back towards the crowd. For him, this party couldn't be over soon enough.

[ Vongolan Lagrange Point, Stairway to Heaven ]

With a final flurry of bursts from cold-gas maneuvering jets, the Stairway settled into the Star-Vongola Lagrange point. Occasionally, trojan asteroids and particle debris would flare against the silver starship’s shields, pulsing them neon purple glow that was a stark contrast to the surrounding darkness. From the bridge, Dallas Dalton surveyed their surroundings. Gerry Arwell was sitting in a low acceleration couch, his eyes glazed over as he filtered through reams of text scrolling through his virtual vision. The files Figlio had provided him access to were dense, with decades of surveillance operations often detailed in painstaking depth. Arwell began to grasp just how paranoid the younger Rider had become in the years since his father’s imprisonment.

Ing Cai-Wei sat opposite the security agent, an archaic laptop open, splashing neon green graphics into the air around her. The machine was Cai-Wei’s own fabrication. She had an affinity for retromodding, encasing incredibly powerful modern tech within ancient consumer electronics.

The door to the bridge opened and Cassius Calm, a hulking figure with ebony skin and a clean shaved head, strode into the room. The mercenary carried a duffel bag, and was dressed in a grey rollneck sweater and loose black dress slacks. A pair of small, round sunglasses covered his eyes, and a long shotgun was slung over his back. He sat down without comment next to Cai-Wei, who didn’t even glance at him.

The motley group sat in silence for a time until Arwell stood, stretching out his back, which clicked to his immense satisfaction. “Looks like Cassandra is late,” he commented, the frustration in his voice masked by a profound tiredness.

“She’ll come,” Dallas replied. “Cromwell is nothing if not an excellent agent. I can only assume Figlio had some… parting words for her.”

Arwell had to hold in the snort that was his natural response. “Right.”

The group resumed waiting in silence for Cassandra Cromwell to arrive.


[ Typa Gypsy ]

Ciro’s face twitched momentarily with mild surprise before she quickly regained her composure. “The Arc was… captured. But not by us. She was taken away in a shuttle to the outer rimworlds. We are confident it was not the New Order that conducted the grab, though, so it puts the bitch out of the way for the present,” Ciro said nonchalantly as she was passed a small goblet of wine by a maid. “It also appears as though the New Order fleet stationed in the Lovian System is dispersing - my helmsman detected a massive object leaping to jump speed just moments ago. It would seem that your world is safe, for now.”

The Corsair Queen sipped from the goblet before continuing. “This job, Ozar; please do elaborate darling.”


[ Near Base Theta, Iotunort ]

Both the hooded Zrujim and the small congregation of individuals around Blizz’s downed ship heard the thunderous sound as Eternal Horizon swept overhead, the silver starship’s sonic boom washing over the snow covered landscape. The ship pulled a tight turn, looping back around and slowing to subsonic; the air was filled with the intense whine of hyperjet engines as the ship alighted, sending a blizzard swirling across the clearing. Within moments of the ship coming to rest, a slender door opened in the side of the hull, folding down to provide a staircase, down which Tarvias Deep strode. He stood on the last step and surveyed the group who were now alternately pointing weapons at him, or regarding him with questioning surprise.

Deep addressed the faestir surrounded by the armed figures, raising his voice above the dying noise of his craft’s engines.

“Need a hand, or are you alright? I saw your ship go down.”


[ Monarch ElectroDynamics Headquarters, New Harpenden, Ordon V ]

The huge panes of glass that made up the northern window wall of the top floor burst, a cascade of shards turning into a lethal storm of silicates as huge rotor wash forced the night air into the nightclub. Two black stealth helicopters hung outside the tower like vast, predatory birds, from the sides of which jumped a unit of armoured figures, crossing the gap with short thrusts from their jump-packs. A small firefight began almost instantly as Danssen’s men pulled pistols from inside their jackets, but the small calibre rounds simply plinked from the armoured forms, who returned fire in short, controlled volleys of blistering maser fire. Corpses quickly piled up as the nightclub was turned into a battlefield. A single figure strode through the chaos, his helmet off. Graff Heyerdahl crossed the dancefloor in a few long strides, his armour crackling with blue electricity that skittered and writhed across the carbon surface. Danssen stood from his booth and bared his teeth in a snarl at Graff, who reached out with a hand. Blue-white electricity jumped the gap, connecting the two men for an instant, before Danssen recoiled, falling back into the couch, his chest smouldering.

“YOU CAN’T FUCKING TOUCH ME! They’ll fucking string you up by your balls you FUCK!” Danssen yelled over the gunfire, incredulous at the assault on his person that Graff had mounted.

“Oh, you’ll find I very much can,” Graff Heyerdahl spat, fury writ plain across his features.


[ Lurian Defensive Perimeter, Ascheron Kingdom Demesnes ]

Ensign Krieg knew that sound could not travel through vacuum, but he was sure that he felt the dull thud of Herald slamming into realspace. The vast monolith of black rock materialised instantly mere hundreds of kilometers ahead of the Lurian defensive flotilla, which was on high alert due to the political activity within the Kingdom. There was a moment of silence, and then the bridge of the Thulean Perspective was filled with frenetic activity. A klaxon sounded throughout the ship as the crew ran to man battle stations. A squadron of fighter bombers were launched, powering toward the Akkar war barge at high G acceleration. They were obliterated in astonishing fashion, huge flakes of Herald’s outer hull exploding outward like ablative armour, engulfing the incoming craft in a cloud of debris moving at incredible speed. Pink and yellow explosions rippled as the fighter bombers were annihilated, their nuclear payloads detonating in tandem. The Lurain vessel switched tactics, and ship-buster torpedoes sped from launch tubes, silver contrails tracing through the now debris strewn space between the two ships. Again, the Akkar ship shed its rock skin, forming a defensive plume of rock and dust.

Krieg watched this from his console while he sent tight band radio pulses, conveying information to other vessels in the flotilla. It was only in a short lull in his work that he noticed the three jagged splinters of rock speeding toward the Thulean Perspective.

The ship detonated as it was ruptured instantly by the rock, the superstructure of the craft rent asunder. Fuel cells and reactors exploded, and a haze of supercharged particles showered outward as the ship disappeared in a blaze of nuclear fire.

From the bridge of Herald, Arc Zabaton cast a clawed hand forward, and commanded; “Send forth our warriors. Purge every vessel. Kill all. Leave none. I will have the head of the Lurian King!”

<Tanari Prime, Military Base>

As the drone began to circle over Rain’s head in a mildly annoying manner, Anna had to yell to be heard over the loud hum of its engines.

“Sure, whatever.” she said to the other soldiers, gesturing at Rain. “Take the weirdo away.”

Two soldiers began to lead Rain towards what looked like an old, beat-up hotel, and the drone, for some reason, followed.

-----

<Tanari Prime, President’s Residence>

Somewhat anxiously, Silver Eachan began to compose a message to Evangelise Ascheron, in an attempt to gauge to what extent the reported Lurian coup was going to affect his plans.

-----

<Vongola, Battle of Sards>

An armoured hover-truck soon pulled up next to Kane and his helpers. Once they had clambered into the back, it sped off again, heading for the point outside the city where the VRR paratroopers who had taken out the artillery installations were now camped out.

Kane was mildly concerned, but tried not to show it in front of his minions. While he had pulled off a major coup, he had taken slightly longer within the city limits than he had planned thanks to the hover-tank and he was now cutting it awfully close. Retaliation from the VPR, probably in the form of them raining fire and death on Sards, was surely forthcoming, and his means of preventing it - something of an experiment - was perhaps an even greater gamble than anything else he’d done so far. And the one other ace he could possibly pull out of his sleeve appeared, given the lack of response to the message he had sent earlier, to be tied up elsewhere, probably very far away.


As the jet sped up and the arcs of energy continued to extend, the machine began to shudder and shake, and its hull began to buckle in parts, as if the energy it emanated was tearing it apart. Finally, without being hit or even touched by anything, it exploded into an almighty fireball right in front of the bombers. The sky above Sards turned a deep green for a few seconds, and a wave of fire and electricity spread outwards from the point where the jet had exploded, seemingly even sweeping away the clouds in its path.

-----

<Vesa Qatoria>

Blackout nodded at Shepard as he left, then turned back to Vekhta. “So, you propose to target the royal consort of the New Order. A more daring plan than I expected. I suppose we are both still learning about one another.”

His face contorted into what was supposed to be a smirk. “For several reasons, including the fact that I do not wish to lose you, a frontal assault on Sefer Yetzirah and her loved one on the most well-defended world in the galaxy would likely be ill-advised. So, Vekhta, you are the former Arc here. How would you go about luring Lilith Heyerdahl into a trap?”

-----

<Yari III, Horba City>

“About time, Siper.” the unassuming-looking man said, turning away from his acquaintances with whom he was sitting around a table.

“My apologies, Paul. Traffic was quite bad.” Siper replied sheepishly, pulling up a chair.

“No need to apologise.” said Paul. He suddenly grabbed hold of Siper’s hand, took out a small blade, and made a slight cut in it, forcing Sirep’s blood to drip into what looked like a small bowl right in front of him. Siper gritted his teeth, obviously in pain but trying not to show it. Everyone around the table waited with bated breath for one second, and one person seemed to be reaching for a weapon in case something went wrong. But nothing happened - the blood was just that. They all breathed a sigh of relief.

“You can’t be too careful.” Paul shrugged. Siper, still in a bit of pain, nodded in agreement. “Igor, get the man a dermal regenerator, and then we can sort out the details of our plan.”


William Preston walked into his small detached house, shape-shifting out of his formal outfit into a more casual one as he did so. He went into the kitchen to make himself a cup of what appeared to be tea, and then sat down in his living room, a rather small place filled with piles of books of all sorts. Preston lived humbly and was known to do so, something that endeared him to the thousands and thousands of mainly working-class shifters thanks to whom he had been the mayor of Horba City, the capital of Yari III, for the last few years.

Horba City was home to several million Tanari, shifter and Stäbil (as the shifters referred to non-shifter Tanari amongst themselves, the non-shifters themselves tended to dislike the term) alike. Preston led a coalition between the Movement for Rights and Freedoms and the Liberal Party, an anti-Allmanite Stäbil outfit supportive of equality between Stäbils and shifters. While the Liberals were the major opposition force to Silver Eachan and CUSP across the Tanari Confederation, politics on Yari III was strongly polarised along Stäbil-shifter lines and, as a result, the Liberals were a relatively small third party there. Nevertheless, the coalition had been able to implement major reforms to voting rights and law enforcement (which had now become integrated as opposed to entirely Stäbil-controlled) within the city, and the MRF was hoping to reap the fruits of these reforms in the upcoming colony-wide elections.

Preston picked up a dog-eared novel lying on the table next to him, and began reading the final chapter. He was totally oblivious to the fact that the bomb which had been planted under the floor of his house was about to put an end to his life.

-----

[ Battleship Mercurus ]

Arcs Vodoss and Serano considered Kurokawa's words carefully, and then in unison, stood up.

"I do not believe an agreement can be reached between us at this stage. We are concluding these negotations."

"Do not despair. An agreement between our peoples may yet be reached... but it will not be an agreement brokered by either of you."

"There are others within the Xazari who are far more closely aligned with our own ideals. Individuals who are far more motivated by the prospect of survival."

"We will continue our negotiations.. more directly. Guards, escort the honored delegates back to their shuttle."

The Arcs turned and left as Representative Sano remained to exchange pleasantries and technicalities with the Xazari delegation. As they made their way down the corridor away from the meeting room, Vodoss pulled a communicator from his uniform and placed it to his ear.

"Get Vitalik on the line."

---

[ Monarch ElectroDynamics Headquarters, New Harpenden, Ordon IV ]

As Graff approached Danssen, Karl Lindstrom stepped between the two men, aiming his weapon at Graff.

"Calm down, Graff! Think about what you're doing here!"

"Oh, I'm thinking intently about it." replied Graff, a grin of ornery glee on his face as he threw Karl to the side. Karl slid along the floor, lightning crackling about his body. He climbed to his feet, grasping his chest.

"Think about what this will do to your credit scores, Graff!"

"He ain't got nothing to worry 'bout." retorted Danssen, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. "He ain't gonna do shit. He can't. I own you, Graff, and I own your stupid bitch niece. I won before you even walked in here. You touch me and the whole galaxy knows all the dirty business the Heyerdahl Corporation's been involved in. You'll have a Malchiorian invasion fleet in orbit before you step foot outside this building."

"Shut the fuck up, Danssen!" roared Karl. "This is neither the time nor the place."

Danssen backed up towards the glass window behind him as Graff drew ever closer. "No, it's absolutely the time and place. I've kept silent for long enough. Kept silent as I've watched you arrange merger and acquisition after merger and acquisition without ever affording me the respect I'm owed. I've kept silent as you've stepped on me, tried to wipe out everything I've accomplished!"

"What the fuck are you going on about, you little bitch?" roared Graff, loosing another bolt of lightning that shot forth into Danssen, sending the man flying backwards into the glass plane so hard that it cracked, nearly shattering. Danssen climbed back to his feet, grinning.

"And most importantly... I've kept silent long enough for my armour to arrive."

A look of confusion took hold of Graff's face as the roaring of whine vertical lift jets filled the room, and a pair of transport gunships appeared outside of the window, a highly-customized AMX95vG JAGDRHINO suspended between them by two high-strength lift cables. The JAGDRHINO'S AI systems kicked in as it raised its 7.5cm over-the-shoulder repeating cannon and fired into the room, a slow, steady pattern of deliberate shots, each one reducing a member of Graff's strike team to so much red mist and sending a white hot tracer through the entire floor, out of the other side of the building and off towards the midnight horizon. Danssen turned and jumped out of the building, grabbing onto the JAGDRHINO's open cockpit hatch and awkwardly pulling himself into the pilot seat as the armored canopy slid closed around him.

"I have control." said Danssen, signalling for the gunship pilots to release him. The two cables detached, and the JAGDRHINO fell away from the building, accelerating towards the ground before the two massive vernier thruster pods Danssen had installed on his suit flared into life - he slammed back into the building, before kicking off it to give himself horizontal momentum as he shot away from Monarch's headquarters, crossing the New Harpenden Skyline in vast, rocket-assisted bounds and jumps. The JAGDRHINO'S aftermarket navigation system highlighted the direction of Graff's pre-prepared escape shuttle - but all thought of making a quick getaway vanished when he spotted the huge, featureless hemisphere complex that was the Holosystems Megacorp HQ. He grinned as he steered the JAGDRHINO towards it, readying the mech's onboard suite of weapons.

Back in the nightclub, Karl climbed back to his feet, ears still ringing from the assault.

"Graff... Danssen has a pre-fueled escape shuttle at Bergstrom spaceport. And..." he paused, before pulling a small communicator-like device and tossing it towards Heyerdahl, "...well, here's the tracker for his mech suit."

---

[ Vesa Qatoria ]

"Narayanastra." replied Vekhta, solemnly. "It's a... New Order battle-station, and she spends most of her time there, overseeing its development. If we launched a surgical assault, we could... capture her."

She ran through the details in her head, stroking her chin.

"Surgical, though. We need to bring Sefer to justice - not to kill or injure any more New Order soldiers than what's absolutely necessary. They don't have a choice as to whether they're involved in this war or not. They're victims, just as much as us."

[Tower of Willow the Grey]

With the conclusion of business, business Willow fades, and goes back to how Bob and Klak met her first; a studious little mage of no renown or note. A smile adorns her face, her head lilts to the left, eyes close, pushing her glasses back up her nose.

"Glad to hear! After I return you two to your ship, Min-Su, I would like a word with you for a moment. If you wish to leave with the boys, you may. By no means are you obligated to stay, and as soon as you desire departure, you shall have it of course. Anyway, behind you two is a circle engraved on the floor. Step on and I'll activate it's magics. I need not follow you through."

(Assume Bob and Klak do, possibly Min-Su, depending on Paws)

Willow walks over and traces a particular set of glyphs in the air for the fourth time today and the pair blink out of existence, back aboard the ship they came from.

(Assuming Min-Su Stayed to chat)

Willow adopts a persona not in line with the two previous shown. Not jovial, nor sinister. A purring curiosity reverberates from her speech. Her face a mask, emotionless and distant. Her words measured, but probing.

"So what brings you out of solitude? Your kind don't often meddle in the affairs of us mortals."

[Tower of Willow the Grey]

Klak nodded and smiled. Bob grinned as well. They both sauntered up to the engraved circles on the floor.

“Great to meet you, Willow,” Bob said.

“Indeed,” Klak added. “I am happy to help you and the Covenant. It’s a pleasure.”

He glanced over at Min-Su with an inquisitive look.

“I suppose we’ll meet again soon, kumiho,” he guessed, hoping that it would be true. He wanted to know more about this mysterious character that made even Willow gaze in wonder. Klak dwelled on these thoughts as he and Bob shimmered away from the tower and back to the Malchiorian battleship Llon.

Klak reunited with Jefferson Bethlehem, Lance Lopez, Amelias Volkov, and Ambassador Vaish, all of whom miraculously survived the explosion. But Klak winced at the loss of Admiral Kamarov and the rest of this crew and vowed that the fight against the New Order would continue in their memory.

But first, they had to prevent the rise of a new and potentially dangerous enemy, one that threatened Klak and the Covenant alike: The Division. Klak sent a message to Nadle, asking him to prepare a few agents for a secret mission under the guise of an xenoarcheological survey. He specifically requested that one of the agents be the augmented human: Jorten Karzdus. Meanwhile, Bob began to call around to set up a trip to Hy’dorel.

---

[Bar Lib is in, Iotunort]

A man dressed in a hooded olive coat, grey pants, and a gas mask (credit to Tomiphoto) trudged to the bar, the snow crunching beneath his boots. He pulled the door to the bar open, the gusts of winter wind blasting into the edifice.

The man stepped up to the bartender and sat on a stool not far from Lib. He removed his mask and hood, and smiled at the bartender. He asked the Iotun bartender in fluent Iotunian to make him a hot drink. The Iotun nodded and muttered to himself before handing the man a mug. The man thanked the bartender then turned to Lib, raising his mug.

“To a successful treasure hunt! Or whatever you’re on this planet for, stranger,” the man exclaimed, smiling.

He took a sip of the brew, a special drink found only on Iotunort, known for how well it could warm someone up in harsh winters.

-

[Near Base Theta, Iotunort]

“Lost? In a classified area?” a bat-like humanoid FSA soldier taunted, raising her gun at Blizz. “I doubt it! A faestir New Order spy wouldn’t be a first!”

“Easy, Private Ch’rol,” Bijorn-tar growled. “I want to hear what the intruder explain how she ‘got lost’.”

Suddenly, Tarvias Deep arrived.

“Get back!” one of the FSA soldiers yelled at Tarvias, aiming his weapon.

“What the hell are you?,” Bijorn-tar boomed. “If you’re both working together, then this goes deeper than just “accident”. You’re all under arrest. I suggest you cooperate. A storm is coming, and I don’t think any of you are ready for this kind of cold.”

Meanwhile, the approaching Zrujim monk collapsed into one of the snow dunes. One of the Malchiorian soldiers shouted and rushed over to him.

“We need a medvac,” she shouted into her communication device. “We have a fallen civilian!”

Moments later, a mobile gurney floated towards the hooded Zrujim, accompanied by a group of FSA medics. Meanwhile, Bijorn-tar led the group, all in handcuffs, into Base Theta.

The cave-like entrance revealed a large hangar attached to various tunnels, each leading to many rooms for recreation and operations. The hangar buzzed with activity as FSA soldiers of various species brought in the dead and debris from the recently finished battle.

Bijorn-tar and his soldiers started to lead the prisoners towards the hall, when the hooded Zrujim suddenly arose from his gurney.

“Wait!” he croaked loudly. Countless soldiers spun around, staring at the group in confusion. Commissar Hathaway stepped towards them with a confused look on her face. Malchiorian Captain Aristotle Mutinta and Otivyte Sgt. Stokko Kilardeef accompanied her.

“What the hell is going on here?” she inquired.

“We found these two snooping around the base,” Bijorn-tar replied, pointing to Tarvias and Blizz. “The Zrujim collapsed near to us, but we suspect he may be a monk.”

“I am a monk, yes,” the Zrujim replied. “I am not a Sophian, but I am a monk. In your tongues, my name is Amzi’x. I have traversed many miles to get here. The prophecy…” Amzi’x coughed, then continued expounding. “You have heard of our secrets: our treasures, the vast computers which guard our people from our enemies. But the FSA...our new allies...you have yet to learn about the Armor of Abdiel. Long ago...Zrujim monks created this armor...which channels the power of all of Iotunort. It was our ultimate form of protection against all enemies. Only a chosen champion could wield the armor. For ages, that meant only Zrujim, but when we united with the Iotun and the humans, so too could they become champions. But now, for the first time in millennia, the artificial intelligence in the Armor has informed all of us, even the Gosnoticons, that our champion will be an outsider...from another world. They will be chosen as a champion if they solve the Armor’s riddle.”

Amzi’x pointed one of his appendages at Tarvias and Blizz.

“It could be one of them or another. Perhaps even Arc Jeriko. Either way, none of the Zrujim have been able to answer the riddle, for it is forbidden that we know. All we must do now is pray that the Armor falls in the right hands.”

“Hold on, this is a lot to take in,” Commissar Hathaway chimed. “You are saying that there’s a secret armor, which somehow channels the power of an entire planet, hidden somewhere underground. And this armor, which contains artificial intelligence, is now willing to let anyone take it?”

“Only the one who is worthy...they can wield the power of Iotunort, and will be able to command a Gosnoticon regiment. We believe that fate brought your war here so that we could find our champion,” Amzi’x explained. “Some of the dissident Zrujim, even a mad Sophian, have spread word of the armor and our many treasures throughout the galaxy, which makes us suspect that Arc Jeriko knows about the Armor as well. Please, you must help us. The Armor is destined to affect the tide of the Battle for Iotunort, and perhaps even the war against the New Order itself. We beg of you to help us find our champion, and protect our world against the evil forces of the New Order.”

Amzi’x coughed again and shivered.

Commissar Hathaway turned to Bijorn-tar, her face darkening.

“If this Zrujim isn’t a kook…” she whispered incredulously.

“No, he’s right,” Bijorn-tar replied quietly. “I’ve heard the legends of the Armor of Abdiel.”

“Then he may be onto something,” she nodded. “We’re not just defending the FSA’s interests and the freedom of Iotunort here. Your people and the Iotunorti humans have their secrets. The Zrujim happen to have a vast network of AI-run defenses. Couple that with their rumored treasure and this mystical armor, and you get a huge bounty...one that Arc Jeriko and Sefer would love to get their hands on.”

She turned back to Amzi’x.

“Where do we find this armor?” she asked.

“The armor is in a chamber deep under us, but the entrance to the cavern is far away from here,” he warned, then coughed again. “You will need me to guide you, as the Gosnoticons may believe you are all intruders and will kill you. Unless, of course, any of our supercomputers have switched sides to the New Order...in which case they will kill you regardless of my presence.”

Bijorn-tar glared at Tarvias and Blizz.

“Looks like we’re going to need all the help we can get,” he grumbled. “Plus, apparently one of you two might be the champion. Or someone else here.”

“I am happy to explain anything before we leave,” Amzi’x croaked.

“He needs medical attention,” Aristotle Mutinta warned.

“Not to mention the storm that’s going to start outside!” Private Marfa Ch’rol chimed. Stokko Kilardeef’s amber hands stroked his orange chin as he processed all this information.

Commissar Hathaway turned to Tarvias and Blizz, waiting for them to say something.

---

OOS: Please note, Russello’s meeting with Brianna D’Argent takes place the day before the FSA attack.

[LZ Near FSA Building, 1 Day Earlier]

Secretary Russello smiled and bowed in return. The group all got onto a small hover-limo which flew over to the entrance of the FSA headquarters. They all then made their way to a massive conference room decorated with an ochre table and matching chairs. Russello and his three aides sat on one side. He motioned for Brianna and her entourage to sit. Two of the Malchiorians in crimson armor closed the double doors and stood outside, standing guard with the other soldiers (and hopefully the Schorl guards accompanying them as well). A robot strolled up to the diplomats sitting at the table and asked if they would like refreshments before beginning.

“Might I recommend an Otivyte Sunrise?” the Secretary suggested, before ordering one for himself. He smiled again.

The robot fulfilled everyone’s orders. Russello did not take a sip of his drink. He leaned forward and frowned.

“I believe we should begin by discussing the present state of affairs. The war is raging on various fronts throughout the galaxy. Depending on how you see it, the FSA is either winning a pyrrhic victory or losing hopelessly, hilariously. Furthermore, many intelligence agencies are pointing to the possibility that Emperor Yetzirah is building something on Bendu. Add that to the unconfirmed reports of an attack on the planet Geihmurs. Simply put, Signora D’Argent, the situation is a tad bleak. As the newly sworn-in humble Secretary of State, speak for Malchior IV when I say that it is in both of our interests to work together. The New Order is hostile to business, to capitalism, to the very idea of markets. The future Sefer envisions is one in which you are either a slave to the collective or free in death. The future Klak envisions is what Malchior IV and the rest of the FSA are hoping to continue to construct after the war: a galaxy of freedom, where the rights of all sapients are respected and protected. A galaxy where the Xazari, Heyerdahl, and other conglomerates can continue their work as long as it follows the rule of law. As such, I believe the choice is all too clear.”

-

[Undisclosed Location, The Next Day, Malchior IV]

Hercules Splendor burst into the conference room, where Nadle and various other agents and analysts watched holographic footage of the attack happening at the FSA building in shock.

“Send me out there,” Hercules begged. “I’ll help!”

“No,” Nadle replied quietly, staring at the footage. “We intercepted a communique from a double agent of ours who works with the Pirate Lords. Figlio di Armechio is assembling a small crew for some kind of job. Considering recent events, I need you to go undercover and put a stop to it. Plus, if we know about it, it's only a matter of time before the New Order knows too. You’ll receive your briefing in a few.”

Hercules’s eyes widened. He nodded and walked out of the room. As he sauntered down the hallway, he smiled. He, too, was a double agent, and his plan was working out quite well.

-

[FSA Building]

“Oh shit,” Krieger cursed. He leaped behind his desk and pulled out an SMG repeating blaster from beneath it. Krieger jumped up and started firing at the gunners.
Meanwhile, groups of FSA soldiers and security guards assembled below the gunships and began firing their weapons at them. Three armored Malchiorian soldiers rushed across the rooftop of the FSA building and jumped towards the ships, their jetpacks mitigating any fall damage as they landed on top of one of the gunships and pulled out laser cutters in an attempt to breach the hull.

A group of Malchiorian fighters scrambled out of a nearby airbase and began to fly over to the FSA Headquarters.

-

[Sixrings Dunjon City Square, Malchior IV]

The group dashed through the chaos, shifting in and out of the various alleys, paths, and roads until they arrived at an apartment that Gaius Malcovus had bought for when he would be working on Malchior IV. Before they knew it, they had gone up the wooden stairs of the antique-styled building and entered into a spacious and ornate apartment. Gaius rushed over to the window and gasped as he saw the gunships attacking the FSA Building from afar. Despite the distance, the gunfire echoed across the cobblestone streets of Gaius’s neighborhood.

Gaius pivoted to his Pasajem guard.

“Contact the guards, make sure the rest of the Pasajem delegation is secured,” he ordered. “And reach out to the Pasajem government, inform them Malchior is under attack.”

The guard nodded and darted to another room. Gaius’s face darkened, and he turned over to Salem.

“Thank you so much, officer, for your service,” he said, forcing a smile.

An awkward silence followed for a few moments before Gaius continued speaking.

“You know, there is an old festival on Pasajem, one that commemorates the beginning of spring. Every year, we recount the tale of Polaus and Aus’rogana. Polaus was a fiendish trickster and winter imp, Aus’rogana a fair and cunning maiden, queen of spring. It was said that every year Polaus would try to trick Aus’rogana into starting spring later in the year so that he could please his master. Whenever the equinox would come late, it meant he succeeded. But if the equinox came sooner, it meant he failed. There were many ways in which she could cunningly detect Polaus’s tricks, all depending on the story. It was all a children’s fable, spread by my mother’s people for generations. My Rider father instilled a similar lesson in his own way as well. The moral of the story is to be observant, for you never know when Polaus is near.”

Gaius quietly sat down and grinned.

“Malchiorian officers do not position their sidearms like that, at least not in this city,” he observed. “Your accent is also not typical for someone from this region. Normally, these would be minor details that even an observant person would dismiss as coincidences. But suppose I were to tell you that Dachori have heightened nerves and can detect even the smallest pinpricks in their skin? I sensed someone stab me with a small needle. It is no coincidence it came after that fellow committed suicide in front of me. Perhaps it was you, taking an opportunity out of the chaos to poison me. What poison it is, I do not know. But I believe it is in your best interest to give me the antidote soon. Moments ago, when you saw me type something, I was signaling to a contact of mine to release certain information...including Vykonian blueprints...to the desk of President Klak if I do not speak to my contact with a specific code in precisely 48 hours. Your employers would definitely prefer it if this information was retained by me.”

Gaius shifted his head to one side.

“Who are you working for? You can’t be New Order; you would have made your affiliation obvious already. Ascheron? Eachan? Aerenvas? Or someone else?”

---

[Military Base, Tanari Prime]

Rain glanced at the drone uneasily.

“Is that thing supposed to be following us?” he asked the guards as they made their way to the hotel-like structure.

“Where are you taking me, anyway?” he inquired. “I have rights you know! Spacers are people too!”

Rain’s mind sped through various means of escape. Worst case scenario would be using a suicide tooth in case the Tanari’s interrogation went too far. Thankfully it was the least likely possibility, but then again...

“Seriously, what did I do wrong?” he asked aloud. “And what’s with the drone?! Just look at it! The damn thing is staring into my soul like-”

At this moment of distraction, Rain swept the leg of one of the Tanari guards and leaped into the air in an attempt to grab ahold of the drone.  

---

[Battle of Sards, Vongola]

The fireball immediately obliterated the bombers that had been attempting to make a kamikaze run. Meanwhile, the other bombers tried to escape the wave of fire and electricity, but to no avail. All but one were consumed, explosions ripping across the sky.

The remaining bomber quickly twirled back to the city. The pilot gritted his teeth as he unleashed his payload, hoping to hit the rebel positions below.

---

[Typa Gypsy]

“Are you familiar with Figlio di Armechio, the Generalissimo of the Vongolan People’s Republic? I have had some dealings with him in the past.” Ozar explained. “He has informed me of some sort of rescue job he has for us...something about a valuable general that will help him in his civil war. Considering what Akzer said about alliances, as much as it pains me...I don’t want the FSA gaining wind of this. So avoid sharing it with anyone you do not trust. Anyway, it involves some deepwater diving, extractions, and close-quarter combat. We will be paid handsomely. Are you or anyone you know interested, Ciro?”

---

[Vongolan Lagrange Point, Stairway to Heaven]

Cassandra Cromwell’s ship arrived from FTL with a boom. She docked at the Stairway to Heaven and made her way to the bridge. She carried a bag full of weapons with one hand, and guided a floating multi-layered coffin with another.

The Diamond Dogs all stared at her, confused as to why she was bringing such a large coffin with her.

“In case I need a ‘change of clothes’, if you know what I mean,” she clarified. An awkward silence followed, and she cleared her throat. “Some of the mercs the Generalissimo promised you will arrive soon. They’ve been recruited by Pirate Lord Ozar, I’ve heard good things about them.”

Outside of the ship, Hercules’ stealth cruiser arrived from FTL. He put on a crimson plasteel helmet with black and white symbolic markings to obscure his identity, and slowly docked with the Stairway to Heaven.

"For Palermo," he whispered to himself as he emerged from his ship.

Saying nothing, he entered into the bridge carrying a wooden staff, hoping no one but Dallas would recognize him. He removed part of his helmet, revealing only his mouth and nose, and lit up a cigarette.

“That must be one of those mercenaries now,” Cassandra said as Hercules entered.

---

[Somewhere on Liquid Metallicon]

Pirate Lord Akzer smiled at the holograms of an FSA ambassador and an ambassador of the Liquid Metalliconite government.

“So, where do we begin?” he purred.

<Tanari Prime, Military Base>

The Tanari guard tripped and fell, dropping his weapon as he did so. The drone moved down slightly as Rain jumped to make it easier for him to grab on, and once he had done so, it suddenly took off and flew off into the distance, towards the capital city. The other guard shot at it to no avail.

And back at the hangar, the ‘mechanic’ on whose watch the drone had malfunctioned, in reality another Malchiorian agent planted at the base by Nadle, looked on and smiled.

-----

<Vongola, Battle of Sards>

The bombs struck a few isolated rebel positions, but mostly ruins. The other large jet turned its attention to the bomber, and began firing at it.


Just as Kane’s truck reached the city limits and he clambered out, the sky lit up a brilliant green and, far away, the wreckage of the bombers began to fall to the ground. At the same time, his radio burst into life. “Theta Two to Leader. Theta Two to Leader. Theta One is down but it took out all the VPR bombers but one. Mopping up now. Over.” the voice on the other end said.

“Well, I’ll be damned.” he whispered. His experiment had not been quite the success he was hoping for, but he supposed it had gotten the job done. Sards was safe, for now. He moved to the rudimentary camp his troops had set up, hoping to hear more from his lieutenants about how things were going on the ground.

-----

<Vesa Qatoria>

Blackout looked deep into Vekhta's eyes. Strategically speaking, he thought, she was of course correct - kidnapping Lilith could inflict all the damage he needed, and mere New Order lackeys were a distraction. But Blackout was intrigued by something else. Vekhta had been profoundly humiliated and suffered terrible loss, just as he had. Yet she remained concerned with justice and collateral damage. He had been like that too, once upon a time. She may have just sworn loyalty to him, but she was nevertheless one to watch - in case she got soft and screwed something up, if nothing else.

"Very well." he said after a long moment of consideration. "We shall do it that way. A surgical strike is probably best suited to our… collective skill set anyway. When do you think the optimal time would be?"

-----

<Tanari Prime, President’s Residence>

Silver Eachan continued to await a response from the one he believed to be Evangelise Ascheron.

-----

<Moon of Bendu>

Sylen Kurze, dressed in a dull grey T-shirt and shorts, was in the ship’s gym, lifting weights and groaning slightly each time in a way that made the one other crewman he was sharing the gym with somewhat uncomfortable, when suddenly, the lights began flickering. This wasn’t unusual on this rickety ship, but the duration was. Sylen reluctantly stood up and walked over to the intercom.

“Kurze to Bridge, what’s happening?”

“We’re having some bzzzzzzzt of computer probzzzzzzzzzzzzzzt” the chief engineer’s gruff, if distorted voice tried to respond.

“Fuck.” Sylen swore under his breath. He ran over to the bridge as fast as he could, hoping everyone would ignore the fact that he was still in gym clothes and didn’t smell particularly great at the moment.

“What’s happening?” he said as he arrived.

“The computer core seems to be having a fit.” the Scottish-sounding chief engineer explained, as the lights flickered again and random data seemed to flash up on the viewscreen. “It’s doing all sorts of things we don’t want it to and it’s responding intermittently.”

“Er, guys?” the comms officer piped up. “We seem to be sending out a distress signal.”

“Oh, you’re fucking kidding me. Kill it! Kill it now!” Sylen yelled. The comms officer, also panicked, mashed a few buttons.

“I think I did it.” he said, cautiously.

“Do you think the New Order noticed?” someone asked. “We’re sitting ducks down here, especially if we can't even run the ship.”

Sylen sighed. “I guess we’re about to find out.”

[ Battlestation Narayanastra, Asukara System ]

The Gargantuan form of the Narayanstra hung in space like some vast obsidian claymore; the twin propusion blades of the station's primary railgun armament composing fully the forward four-fifths of the structure, the remaining superstructure given over to navigation, power generation, and command and control. The Shinsengumi light carrier Ayanami, by contrast, appeared as little more than a grey speck of dust as it slowly closed in one one of the many vast hangar bays lining the exterior of the station. The cruiser comfortably fit within its assigned hangar - each one built for the repair and resupply of the far larger Semovente-class battlecruisers that composed the Narayanstra's escort fleet - and extended landing gear, touching down ahead of an honor guard composed of no less than a thousand New Order soldiers, standing at attention.

The Ayanami's embarkation ramp unfolded, and, moments later, Lilith Heyerdahl emerged - flanked by two PsyTroopers of the Emperor's personal guard, clad in purple PsyTrooper armor with neon green banding. At the base of the ramp awaited Arc Isha, herself flanked by PsyCommander Adria and newly-promoted Admiral Di-Jonn Massa. Di-Jonn offered a salute, following proper procedure; Adria did not, as PsyTroopers were neither beholden nor programmed to engage in military formality. As Lilith approached the bottom of the ramp she extended a hand towards Isha, who shook it.

"Welcome back aboard the Narayanastra, ma'am."

"I only wish it were under more pleasant circumstances." responded Lilith, who looked across to Admiral Massa. "The prisoner is onboard?"

"He is." responded Di-Jonn, pressing his lips into a wry smile.

"Take me to him."

---

Canaan Jones rolled his head upwards as Lilith entered the interrogation chamber, two guards stepping forwards to release the restraints holding him to the wall. They dragged him into a chair and sat him down, only for Lilith to interrupt them as they went to handcuff him - they instead bowed respectfully and left, closing the door behind them, and leaving the two former allies in silence.

A minute or so passed before Lilith pulled a pack of cigarettes from one of the pouches on her uniform, sticking one in her mouth and lighting it with a quick zap of electricity from between her thumb and forefinger. She looked over to Canaan, pointing the packet towards him; he nodded, and she handed him one, lighting it in the same manner as before as he leaned forwards. The two sat in silence for another minute before a low hum sounded from within the chamber's ventilation system as it began cycling the smoke out of the room.

"I need to understand, or at least begin to understand, why you betrayed us, Canaan."

Canaan considered the question, before responding. "It's a matter of right and wrong."

"You think we're now in the wrong?"

Canaan again considered the question, and took a little longer this time. "I was in a bar," he began, "On Malchior. After the war. Not straight after, but spirits were still high. I met this old guy. Tanari. A politician - Jones, I think his name was. Anyway, I'd had a bit too much to drink, and in fairness so had he, and so we spent hours talking about everything - Malchior, Sefer, Allman, everything. He tells me this theory he has about these certain factors he feels are behind the cycle of conflict this galaxy's been stuck in. The one Sefer always used to go on about ending."

"Sounds like he'd get on well in the New Order."

Canaan shook his head. "No, not quite. The way he words it, Sefer's just the latest in a long line of dictators trying to enforce some kind of Pax Galactica. Each one tells themselves the ends justify the means - they do the arithmetic - they tell themselves the lives they'll save outnumber the lives they'll take. Only they're shit at maths, Lilith. For ten-thousand years now, we sentients have been beating the shit out of eachother as if bloodshed will ever lead to anything other than more bloodshed. I tell him the New Order's different - he tells me, yes, it probably is - but either way, it sure as hell isn't going to outlive Sefer."

"Either you're forgetting, or he's unaware, that Sefer's immortal."

"That's what I said. Immortal. What I didn't say is invincible or invulnerable, and we both know Sefer's neither of those things. He points that out - he starts reciting this poem, from Earth of all places. He has it memorized. He writes it on a napkin, literally, because it's the only thing in the bar he can write on. Tells me to keep it. Tells me to memorize it."

"And did you?"

Canaan closed his eyes, recalling the beer-stained napkin and the way the man had first recited it. "I met a traveller from an antique land who said: "Two vast and trunkless legs of stone stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand, half-sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown, and wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command, tell that its sculptor well those passions read, which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things - the hand that mocked them and the heart that fed, and on the pedestal these words appear:"

He paused, then looked over to Lilith, locking eyes with her for the first time since she entered the room. Her brow was furrowed in confusion.

"'My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings: Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!'" he continued. "Nothing beside remains. Round the decay of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare, the lone and level sands stretch far away."

Lilith waited for a moment, digesting what Canaan had just said, before asking;

"Who's Ozymandias?"

---

[ Malcovius Apartment ]

Salem paced the room, considering Malcovius's question, before reaching down and picking up a TV remote from Malcovius's coffee table. He turned the TV on; the news was showing footage of the ongoing attack at the FSA building, but he began flicking through the channels; first an infomerical, then a drama about a corrupt restaurant owner selling not only fried chicken but drugs as well, and then finally a religious broadcast - a megachurch pastor addressing a crowd of over a hundred thousand people, broadcast live from Malchior. It was obvious to Malcovius's finely-tuned senses that the pastor was a synthetic being - an android disguised as an actual human, no doubt being 'piloted' by an offworld artificial intelligence - but what Malcovius couldn't have known is that the pastor, and the church itself, was a front for Espiritu Santo - funneling millions of credits in church donations from unknowing worshippers, some of which had been used to pay for the two gunships now currently assaulting the FSA headquarters.

"I EXECUTE JUDGMENT ON YOU SEFER YETZIRAH! I EXECUTE JUDGMENT ON YOU SATAN - YOU DESTROYER! YOU KILLER! YOU GET OUT-

Salem turned the TV off, even as thousands of adherents applauded the pastor for seemingly ending the war with the New Order.

"There's your answer, Mr. Malcovius. I'm not quite the same denomination as that man, but I suspect him and I serve the same God. And unlike his followers I'm not receiving my instructions from some replicant in a suit and tie - I'm receiving then from an angel, shining with the light of God. An angel called President Klak."

Salem smiled, sliding his pistol out of its holster and aiming it squarely at Malcovius's forehead.

"He contacted my ministry, as he has many times before, to impart divine wisdom. Lists of demons disguised as his political opponents. So go ahead - leak that information to him - it may actually earn you some measure of redemption."

It was a lie - but Salem knew Malcovius was far too astute to not have his own apartment bugged, and no doubt chaos and outrage would follow should the recording ever be uncovered and released. Chaos and outrage - the two very things Blackout had ordered them to sow throughout the galaxy. Once the Cataxyn took control of Malcovius's body and forced him to kill himself, Salem's goal would be accomplished; his brother Juaréz, on the other hand, had already more than succeeded in this task.

---

[ FSA Building ]

Juaréz watched in horror as one of the gunships went down - spiraling, crashing into the side of the FSA building and exploding in a fireball that shattered nearly every pane of glass in the building. Juaréz's gunner let loose into Krieger's office, mowing down his guards in a white-hot fusilade of air-bursting fragmentation ammunition, tearing the men apart and sending their shredded forms reeling backwards into the rapidly disintegrating wall behind them. The gunner lined up his holographic sight with the thermal outline of Krieger's body as Juaréz emerged from the cockpit, jumping onto the roof of his gunship as the three Malchiorian soldiers attempted to destroy it. Juaréz had no need for a jetpack - his faith was absolute. If the Espiritu Santo - if Blackout - willed that Juaréz would succeed, then he would; there were no other considerations to be made.

"You will destroy no more!"

Juaréz charged towards the soldiers, who were expecting to fight armed terrorists - not an unarmed combat priest engaging them with shadowy martial arts.

---

[ Vesa Qatoria ]

Vekhta considered the question. "If Geihmurs has been destroyed, then the FSA will be aware of Narayanstra's existence - and no doubt plotting a similar assault. It might be prudent for us to... lend a helping hand. They need not know the subtleties of our motivations, and it means we can leverage their intel and resources. Besides - Recently, I've gotten rather good at pretending to be someone I'm not."

She tapped away at her right forearm and produced a holographic display of Narayanastra, drawn from the limited schematics that have been shown to her. "The main weakness with a weapon like this is heat dissipation. It's currently giving off a small exoplanet's worth of heat, but as it cools, that thermal signature's going to diminish rapidly. We need to track it down within the next week, or else that thing's as good as invisible, and we're not going to know about it again until after it's fired."

---

[ Luria ]

The massive dreadnought Prinz Eugen II pulled away from the Lurian home fleet, as if to engage the gargantuan bulk of the Herald in single combat. The dreadnought swung around to the combat asteroid's rear, loosing salvo after salvo into the Herald's fusion nozzle, hoping to score a mobility kill - not that any other type of kill could conceivably be achieved against a literal weaponized asteroid.

"All ships!" came the orders of Admiral Burn Gorman, broadcast to the entire Lurian home fleet. "Vector fire patterns for mobility kill. Once this thing's dead in the water, fall back to maximum engagement range and don't let up until it cracks."

Meanwhile, in the command bunker under Aerisgard, Ascheron relaxed in a plush velvet sofa, eating from a bowl of grapes even as the roof overhead shook from the recoil of Aerisgard's massive orbital defense guns. Eachan's name appeared on Ascheron's communicator, and Ascheron - still assuming the identity and appearance of Evangelise - answered it.

"My father always told me you picked the best times for these types of calls. What can I help you with, President Eachan?"

---

[ Bendu Orbit ]

Sensing a minor seismic disruption in a sensor suite attached to one of Bendu's moons, then Shinsengumi light cruiser Shikinami pulled away from its usual patrol route to investigate...

<New Order Throneship Enumcharad's Wake>

Jeff rubbed his eyes with the thumb and forefinger of his right hand, trying his best to focus on the sight before him. He knew for a fact that his vision was perfect - an eye exam was one of the many physical examinations he had to pass in order to win a post on Arc Keylana’s throneship, after all - so something must have disoriented him. Perhaps it was just exhaustion; he had no idea how long he’d been awake, nor when the day began. He wasn’t even sure what day it was. There was no day and night cycle in Keylana’s inner sanctum, just the dim lights that barely lit each featureless metal corridor in the sanctum. Even if he was allowed to carry a timekeeping device, he doubted Keylana would let him use it. For as long as he was in the sanctum, he was just an extension of her. Her eyes. Her ears. Even her thoughts whispered in his mind, imagining tales of glorious prophecy in between commands. Rest only came when she allowed it, just like everything else.

Jeff often found himself wondering whether this was the Emperor’s goal, too. Was this really what she wanted? To make everyone an extension of herself? What would happen to the universe if Sefer could reach into everyone’s minds, and if he could reach into hers? He felt a sickness in his throat that he quickly swallowed. He would freely admit that he was one of the many who had been swayed to join the New Order by her beauty alone, yet he never realistically expected to meet her. What would he say to her if he did? What would she say to him? And at the end of the day… would he even still exist if she had this kind of power over him? Strangely, whenever he found himself wandering down this train of thought while he was on patrol, his mind would always be mysteriously cleared a few seconds later, these tangential thoughts relegated to the back of his mind if not banished altogether, replaced with Keylana’s mad whispers.

His current task was to interrogate a prisoner in one of the cages in the western block of the sanctum. He had dared to resist the command at first, protesting that his legs would give way if he was not allowed a brief respite, but Keylana had overridden his decision and forced him up. Upon arriving in the block, Jeff found the cage, but he could not find the prisoner. Inside the 10x10ft cage was a purple-colored blur that seemed to leap to the edges of his peripheral vision whenever his eyes located it, darting back and forth with supernatural speed.

“On behalf of Her Prescience Arc Keylana, I extend the greeting of the New Order,” Jeff said stoically, Keylana’s words passing between his lips. “May I ask who...” Jeff’s voice trailed off, and the lieutenant heard Keylana's voice return inside his head.

That’s right, isn’t it Jeff?

“Y-yes, that’s right, s-sir,” Jeff stammered forcefully, feeling ever fainter with each passing second.

“Good,” Keylana’s voice continued through Jeff’s mouth. “May I ask who you are?”

There was no response from the blur inside the cage, though it seemed to change somewhat as if in response to the question. Now, whenever Jeff’s eyes caught up to the blur, his eyes recognized the presence of vague shapes appearing like large, purple, crab-like limbs before fading back into a blur and darting away again. Jeff was sure now that he was hallucinating, though Keylana seemed intent on communicating with this apparition regardless.

“I find it curious that you’re resisting my attempts at communication,” Keylana continued, addressing the blur once more. “I must confess, I don’t usually find species that are able to block my thoughts. Perhaps you would have me think that the physiology of your alien brain renders it incompatible with mine. Or perhaps you would have me think that you’re just a stupid animal, some kind of fungus attached to the side of my ship. But I know better.”

The blur remained, clinging to the edges of Jeff’s vision like a floater that won’t go away.

“I know exactly what you are. I know that you have a purpose in this world beyond trying to hide yourself from me and this meat puppet. I name you, Arokazek.”

At the utterance of this word, the blur slammed against the bars of its cage, emitting a shockwave that knocked Jeff off his feet. As the back of Jeff’s head collided with the cold, metal floor, whatever momentary pain he felt was soon drowned out by the pleasurable sensation of his head resting on a surface after spending so long upright. He begged for Keylana to leave him and allow him respite, however brief it was, but this hesitation proved to be his downfall.

In the next moment, he felt something grasp the legs of his uniform, and in the next, it yanked him towards the cage. Survival instinct kicked in, forcing Jeff’s weary eyes open in order to look at the creature, but it wasn’t quick enough to save him. The last thing he saw were four bony purple claws atop multi-jointed limbs descending towards those precious eyes before his vision, and Keylana’s, went black.

In another part of reality, impossibly close yet impossibly far, a white-skinned woman with long, wispy blonde hair sighed and rose from her silver throne. She dusted off the sleeves of her intricately-designed ceremonial dress, opened her real eyes for the first time in what felt like weeks, and prepared to jump. “If you want something done right…”

A second later, Keylana appeared in her inner sanctum, the soles of her sandals splashing in a pool of Jeff’s blood. The lieutenant’s murderer instantly retracted its claws and turned back into a blur at supernatural speed, almost as if it had predicted her arrival. With her hands behind her back, Keylana looked at the mutilated body of her former puppet and frowned. For a moment, if her guest was capable of perceiving human emotions, it might even have been able to recognize an expression of regret briefly pass across her face.

“A shame. He was one of the good ones,” Keylana spoke, stepping over the corpse towards the cage. Her voice was raspy after weeks of disuse, but also unlike anything that the creature had ever heard from a human. Whenever she spoke, it was like several people were speaking at once, a combination of male and female. “Now. Are you going to tell me why you did that?”

The creature gave no response, electing to give Keylana the same treatment. Though still trapped inside the cage, it darted across the edges of her peripheral vision, avoiding her gaze. Keylana humored it for a moment, enjoying the game, until she had-

“Enough.”

For the first time since its capture, the creature stopped moving, and the purple blur became something that was more recognizable as a living thing. It was a strange thin web of flesh and bone, with four recognizable arms sticking out of a torso that was split into two sections. Protruding from the lower section were four multi-jointed legs that terminated in what could best be described as metallic claws that quickly anchored themselves into the metal floor. Its head contained four pale green pupil-less eyes and a wide mouth containing multiple rows of metallic teeth. Every part of the creature twitched, desperately trying to move, but Keylana would not let it.

“As I was saying,” Keylana continued, eyeing the Arokazek with curiosity despite her instinctive revulsion. “I know what you are. Now that I do, you can’t escape me.”

A shrill, deafening noise emanated from the creature’s mouth. Though unintelligible at first, it seemed to soften into something resembling speech after Keylana applied some more telekinetic pressure to the creature’s throat.

“You… you know nothing.”

“I know you’re an Arokazek. I know you live in the legends of worlds like Nil’nara, K-Opey, and more across the cosmos. I know that the Sovereigns of the Galactic Government spent a lot of time trying to conceal your existence from the rest of the universe, perhaps thinking that the civilized worlds were not ready to learn about you. I believe they were wrong.”

“You… know… nothing,” the Arokazek repeated, still squirming in Keylana’s telekinetic grip.

“I know more than you can possibly imagine,” Keylana replied, a smile forming on her pale lips. “All roads lead to the future. And I believe we can help each other… Xasox.”

Klak wrote:

[Bar Lib is in, Iotunort]

A man dressed in a hooded olive coat, grey pants, and a gas mask (credit to Tomiphoto) trudged to the bar, the snow crunching beneath his boots. He pulled the door to the bar open, the gusts of winter wind blasting into the edifice.

The man stepped up to the bartender and sat on a stool not far from Lib. He removed his mask and hood, and smiled at the bartender. He asked the Iotun bartender in fluent Iotunian to make him a hot drink. The Iotun nodded and muttered to himself before handing the man a mug. The man thanked the bartender then turned to Lib, raising his mug.

“To a successful treasure hunt! Or whatever you’re on this planet for, stranger,” the man exclaimed, smiling.

He took a sip of the brew, a special drink found only on Iotunort, known for how well it could warm someone up in harsh winters.

-

[Near Base Theta, Iotunort]

“Lost? In a classified area?” a bat-like humanoid FSA soldier taunted, raising her gun at Blizz. “I doubt it! A faestir New Order spy wouldn’t be a first!”

“Easy, Private Ch’rol,” Bijorn-tar growled. “I want to hear what the intruder explain how she ‘got lost’.”

Suddenly, Tarvias Deep arrived.

“Get back!” one of the FSA soldiers yelled at Tarvias, aiming his weapon.

“What the hell are you?,” Bijorn-tar boomed. “If you’re both working together, then this goes deeper than just “accident”. You’re all under arrest. I suggest you cooperate. A storm is coming, and I don’t think any of you are ready for this kind of cold.”

Meanwhile, the approaching Zrujim monk collapsed into one of the snow dunes. One of the Malchiorian soldiers shouted and rushed over to him.

“We need a medvac,” she shouted into her communication device. “We have a fallen civilian!”

Moments later, a mobile gurney floated towards the hooded Zrujim, accompanied by a group of FSA medics. Meanwhile, Bijorn-tar led the group, all in handcuffs, into Base Theta.

The cave-like entrance revealed a large hangar attached to various tunnels, each leading to many rooms for recreation and operations. The hangar buzzed with activity as FSA soldiers of various species brought in the dead and debris from the recently finished battle.

Bijorn-tar and his soldiers started to lead the prisoners towards the hall, when the hooded Zrujim suddenly arose from his gurney.

“Wait!” he croaked loudly. Countless soldiers spun around, staring at the group in confusion. Commissar Hathaway stepped towards them with a confused look on her face. Malchiorian Captain Aristotle Mutinta and Otivyte Sgt. Stokko Kilardeef accompanied her.

“What the hell is going on here?” she inquired.

“We found these two snooping around the base,” Bijorn-tar replied, pointing to Tarvias and Blizz. “The Zrujim collapsed near to us, but we suspect he may be a monk.”

“I am a monk, yes,” the Zrujim replied. “I am not a Sophian, but I am a monk. In your tongues, my name is Amzi’x. I have traversed many miles to get here. The prophecy…” Amzi’x coughed, then continued expounding. “You have heard of our secrets: our treasures, the vast computers which guard our people from our enemies. But the FSA...our new allies...you have yet to learn about the Armor of Abdiel. Long ago...Zrujim monks created this armor...which channels the power of all of Iotunort. It was our ultimate form of protection against all enemies. Only a chosen champion could wield the armor. For ages, that meant only Zrujim, but when we united with the Iotun and the humans, so too could they become champions. But now, for the first time in millennia, the artificial intelligence in the Armor has informed all of us, even the Gosnoticons, that our champion will be an outsider...from another world. They will be chosen as a champion if they solve the Armor’s riddle.”

Amzi’x pointed one of his appendages at Tarvias and Blizz.

“It could be one of them or another. Perhaps even Arc Jeriko. Either way, none of the Zrujim have been able to answer the riddle, for it is forbidden that we know. All we must do now is pray that the Armor falls in the right hands.”

“Hold on, this is a lot to take in,” Commissar Hathaway chimed. “You are saying that there’s a secret armor, which somehow channels the power of an entire planet, hidden somewhere underground. And this armor, which contains artificial intelligence, is now willing to let anyone take it?”

“Only the one who is worthy...they can wield the power of Iotunort, and will be able to command a Gosnoticon regiment. We believe that fate brought your war here so that we could find our champion,” Amzi’x explained. “Some of the dissident Zrujim, even a mad Sophian, have spread word of the armor and our many treasures throughout the galaxy, which makes us suspect that Arc Jeriko knows about the Armor as well. Please, you must help us. The Armor is destined to affect the tide of the Battle for Iotunort, and perhaps even the war against the New Order itself. We beg of you to help us find our champion, and protect our world against the evil forces of the New Order.”

Amzi’x coughed again and shivered.

Commissar Hathaway turned to Bijorn-tar, her face darkening.

“If this Zrujim isn’t a kook…” she whispered incredulously.

“No, he’s right,” Bijorn-tar replied quietly. “I’ve heard the legends of the Armor of Abdiel.”

“Then he may be onto something,” she nodded. “We’re not just defending the FSA’s interests and the freedom of Iotunort here. Your people and the Iotunorti humans have their secrets. The Zrujim happen to have a vast network of AI-run defenses. Couple that with their rumored treasure and this mystical armor, and you get a huge bounty...one that Arc Jeriko and Sefer would love to get their hands on.”

She turned back to Amzi’x.

“Where do we find this armor?” she asked.

“The armor is in a chamber deep under us, but the entrance to the cavern is far away from here,” he warned, then coughed again. “You will need me to guide you, as the Gosnoticons may believe you are all intruders and will kill you. Unless, of course, any of our supercomputers have switched sides to the New Order...in which case they will kill you regardless of my presence.”

Bijorn-tar glared at Tarvias and Blizz.

“Looks like we’re going to need all the help we can get,” he grumbled. “Plus, apparently one of you two might be the champion. Or someone else here.”

“I am happy to explain anything before we leave,” Amzi’x croaked.

“He needs medical attention,” Aristotle Mutinta warned.

“Not to mention the storm that’s going to start outside!” Private Marfa Ch’rol chimed. Stokko Kilardeef’s amber hands stroked his orange chin as he processed all this information.

Commissar Hathaway turned to Tarvias and Blizz, waiting for them to say something.

---

If I were you, I would hope to avoid trouble as much as possible. With the two superpowers on the planet, it won't be too long before the underground becomes a lightshow with all the fireworks. Oh well, if the Gosnoticans are distracted with the fighting one might be able to sneak through the three-way mess, heard there's some sort of treasure inside. A suit I think? Can't tell till I go in deep inside. I presume you're also looking for the same thing as I am? The surface of the planet is not like its underground after all.

Lib replied back to the other treasure hunter, as he had just finished his drink. The sooner he can go back to his deep traveler, the better the chance he has at going in and getting the treasure all in one piece. He did wonder if Zurjim from within would work for both sides if at least to protect the inhabitants within the place. Considering who they're dealing with currently, he can't blame if they chose the winning side. However, he did wonder if the supercomputers can be reasoned in terms of logical thinking, either through diplomacy or the more direct method of hacking the thing. Thankfully, while he lacked a map, he know a little secret in these caverns: The more high-end Gosnoticans clustered in one spot, the higher the chance he'll get to see something big and important. Especially when a few Sophians are on the spot, from what he had gathered on rumors on end.

If they're gonna come here, they best know my bar to be a neutral zone. And I mean a Neutral Zone.

The Zurjim barkeep said, pointing back to the back door which contained his self-defense kit in case soldiers from either side decided the bar would be a good place to conduct a skirmish. Most of the inhabitants were buckling down for the war, with stockpiles of weaponary and parts sold with ease to the locals. Even the high-end nobles were sticking their boots to the ground, not wanting for their estates to be blown up by some crazed mercenary group. At least on the plus side crime was an all-time low for the usually-safe planet, if only as a calm before the storm ahead of them.

OOS: Theme of this post is Saint Claude by Christine and the Queens.

<Jumano System>

The Tanari luxury craft rumbled slightly ominously as it exited hyperspace a safe distance from Jumano. The luggage of the original owners of the ship, who were now stuck on Tanari Prime and severely pissed off, fell from the shelves on which it was positioned, one suitcase almost hitting Pes’ head. “Fuck’s sake.” the Terugan moaned.

Ashton, who was helming the ship, turned his head briefly from the ship’s complicated-looking controls. “Sorry, this is a bumpier ride than I expected.”

Amanda spun around in her chair, almost spilling the expensive champagne she was drinking that she’d pilfered from the owners’ stock. “I did say, get the new model! But nooooooo, you insisted on the fancy one!” she said, slurring her words.

“Yeah, you look real broken up about it.” Ashton replied, as Pes laughed and Amanda rolled her eyes.

The ship’s radio then sparked into life. “Unidentified ship, this is Jumano Orbital Control. Please identify yourself and state your purpose of travel.”

“Does this even have a name? Did anyone see a tag or anything?” Pes was, yet again, unnecessarily fretting.

“We could just give it a new name.” Ashton pressed a button to respond. “Jumano Orbital Control, this is the… Amelia. Carrying three people here for tourist purposes. Sea of St. Cardozo.”

“Acknowledged, Amelia. Please engage your autopilot, we are transmitting the coordinates and clearest flight path for that spaceport.”

“Thank you, Orbital Control. Autopilot engaged.” Ashton flipped a switch to turn on the autopilot, and then spun around in his chair, already feeling Amanda and Pes’ three eyes burrowing into the back of his skull.

“Okay, what?” he said, as the ship began to enter Jumano’s atmosphere.

“The Amelia?” Amanda giggled.

“Yeah, what’s your point? It’s a beautiful name.”

“It certainly is. You really miss her, don’t you?”

Ashton sighed and looked down at his shoes. “Yeah.”

The atmospheric entry continued in silence, with Ashton occasionally looking at the controls to check everything was in order and Amanda finishing off her champagne. Finally, the ship emerged and pulled up, now flying over a beautiful, deep blue ocean towards a large platform sticking out of the water, itself connected via a long glass tunnel to a hotel by the beach on Fortune Island.

-----

<Tanari Prime, President’s Residence>

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Eachan said drily. “I wished to congratulate you on the… transfer of power. And to ask if you intend to take up the baton of your father’s bid for secretary-general of the FSA. The Tanari Confederation would, of course, continue to support you.”

-----

<Vesa Qatoria>

“Wonderful plan. Wonderful!” Blackout smiled. “And I have just the thing to facilitate it.”

Vekhta began to receive a vision of what seemed to be an impact crater on another planet, though one clearly under the same sun as Vesa Qatoria. At the centre of it sat what Vekhta might have been able to recognise as a slightly beat-up, but nevertheless functional Tanari freighter, surrounded by cranes, towers, and what looked like warehouses. Espiritu Santo members and some other beings, of a species Vekhta couldn’t identify, were scurrying around it.

“Over the years, we have obtained much technology for our own use. Some purchased, some borrowed.” Blackout’s disembodied voice narrated. “Our latest acquisition is this Tanari freighter, now retrofitted with state-of-the-art long-range sensor technology, among a few other surprises. It was to serve as part of an early warning system. If we are to locate the Narayanastra, I think this is the best we can do. And then, we can go to the FSA with what we have found.”

-----

<Moon of Bendu>

“Sir, a Shinsengumi light cruiser is heading straight for this moon.” one crew member said, her voice shaking slightly.

“Oh, great.” Sylen Kurze said. “How are engine controls?”

“Still on the blink.” The chief engineer shook his head. “They’d probably have enough time to blast us before we made it into orbit anyway. I think this may be it, sir.”

“Like hell it is. Natalya, hail them.”

“Sir?” the confused comms officer asked.

“Just do it. I have an idea.”

“Okay, but this is insane.” Natalya said, hailing the Shikinami.

-----

<Tanari Prime, Parliament>

Aster sat down and, taking a drink of water, looked out on the multi-level contraption that passed for the Tanari Confederation’s parliament. The circular platform she was speaking from slowly retracted itself into the wall. She had just finished her speech against Silver Eachan’s proposed budget on behalf of the MRF. It wasn’t her best one, she thought. The reaction, of course, was the same old scene. The MRF delegates were naturally all applauding, and so were most of the Liberals. By contrast, from the CUSP/Eachanite side there was silence, barring some jeers and shouting from the unreconstructed Allmanites sat on the distant backbenches who didn’t even feel the need to pretend they weren’t so. She had long learned that it was best to not be able to make them out.

As the debate came to close, Aster retreated to her office and made herself a cup of Tanari tea, when her computer flashed into life, showing, much to her surprise, the familiar face of David Robert Jones.

“Hello, old friend.”

“Jones.” Aster said, unenthusiastically. “How can I help you?”

“I wanted to congratulate you on a great speech. And it’s been a while.”

Aster couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “Yes, you haven’t returned a single call since you left for Malchior.”

“Well, it’s been-”

“Save it, David.” she hissed, stressing his first name in a way hardly anyone ever did. “I’ve met Blackout. And Silver fucking Eachan had to explain to me what I’ve missed. Didn’t you think it might be interesting to inform me there’s some kind of malicious spirit out there who likes to meddle in our affairs? I’m only your ‘old friend’. People, my people, the Stäbils, whoever, could get hurt if he continues to fuck about, and we have no way of countering him whatsoever. You always do this. Keep even your closest friends at arm's length for no good reason. Remember when that assassin shot you on Malchior? Just for one example.”

“Look, Aster,” Jones, uncharacteristically, seemed to be stumbling through his words. “I considered telling you. But it is Tanari government policy to not reveal his existence. For good reason. Imagine what the Allmanite remnant would have done, and what Richard would have done in return. I couldn’t be the only one to break. I’m sorry.”

“Well, there’s no need to worry about that anymore.” Aster said. “Richard is dead. I think.”

“He is? What happened?”

“I shot him. He had some insane plan to take a bunch of mercs prisoner to get them to reveal dirt on Eachan. I had to stop him before he put our people in danger, and he went for a gun, so… Blackout was the one to tell me where he was, actually.”

Jones sat back, ashen-faced and stunned into silence as he realised things were escalating back home much more than he thought possible.

Aster, who was getting angrier the longer this conversation went on, pressed her attack. “Yes, while things are going to hell here, you’re doing what? Voting to hand the FSA over to the Ascheron family?”

“I have no input into that…”

“No, of course you don’t. Great contribution you’re making! Your peace and quiet is definitely worth it. Look, Jones, clearly you’ve checked out of real life, and that’s great. But the rest of us haven’t, things are only getting worse, and I need help, not an oblivious courtesy call once a year. Goodbye.”

She disconnected from the call, and returned to her tea.

-----

[ Aerisgard Command Bunker ]

"I will indeed be taking up my father's bid. You see, dear Eachan, I can assure you that there has been..."

He shifted, morphing, slipping back into his original appearance and voice.

"...a full continuity of government." he added, smirking. "And in fact, many of those who were hesitant to vote for Gabriel Ascheron are now more than happy to offer up their vote for Evangelise Ascheron. My support has never been stronger - why, just this morning President Golec announced he would be supporting my bid."

Ascheron leaned forwards, plucking another handful of grapes from a bowl in front of him.

"As for you, Eachan, the rewards for your part in all this needn't wait until my coronation." he said, bringing up a holographic display embedded in his table, and forwarding a video which appeared on Eachan's end. It showed one of Tanari Prime's many vast industrial junkyards - and a white truck, around which scientists were administering vaccines to vagrants and scavengers, before driving off. "Many such incidents, all across Tanari Prime. Someone's making a move on your territory. My agents pulled one of those undesirables off the street - they're infecting these people with some kind of neurogenic compound designed to increase aggression."

Ascheron popped another handful of grapes into his mouth and began to chew noisily.

"My top agent on Tanari Prime thinks they're preparing some kind of terrorist attack - these people are basically sleeper agents, at this point. I have names, locations, as well as fingers on triggers if you'd like my help stopping this before it happens."

He swallowed the mouthful, then paused.

"That's assuming you want to stop these attacks." he added, grinning wryly.

---

[ Espirtu Santo Compound, Vesa Qatoria ]

A hooded acolyte entered, bowing his head respectfully in the direction of Blackout - daring not to look at him directly. He had not been listening in to the conversation - but the acolytes and subordinates of Espiritu Santo possessed a subconscious awareness of the eponymous spirit's wishes at any given time. Blackout's power flowed through these men, and apparently, so did his will.

"I will escort you to the freighter, my masters."

Moments later, the Espiritu Santo gunship Sanhedrin lifted off from Onassis Spaceport, making its way towards the offworld base and the freighter docked within.

---

[ Fort Worth, Vesa Qatoria ]

In the Vesa Qatorian capital, a moot had been called. Bighorn Breaker, ruler of the Breaker clan and of Vesa Qatoria itself, sat in an ornate wooden chair ahead of a round table, at which the other leaders of the great houses were arriving. Each brought with them a relic of Aloysius Anaheim - the fabled first settler of Vesa Qatoria - and only in the combined presence of these relics was a moot of the great houses permitted to be held. Valentina DeRossi, matriarch of the DeRossi clan, took her seat as she laid Aloysius's single-action revolver down on the table; her rival, Cally Onassis, placed Anaheim's spurs across from her as she cast a glare towards the older woman. Geum Baek-Hyeon, mercantile master of the illustrious Geum clan, pulled Anaheim's gun belt off his own waist and placed it gently down on to the table. Brother Saul, representative of the Church of Vesa Qatoria, placed Anaheim's bible down on to the table; the Church held no territory, but was considered a great house as it was Anaheim's son, Byron, who had passed his father's bible down to them. Saul was about to take his seat when the doors swung open and Shepard entered, alone, dressed in a white cassock.

Bighorn grumbled. "Oh, fer the love of -"

"Just a moment of your time." responded Shepard, approaching the table, his arms folded behind his back.

"You shouldn't be here, friend." opined Brother Saul, his displeasure barely concealed beneath a veneer of pained pleasantry. To Saul's eyes, Espiritu Santo were simply terrorists masquerading as Christians, and it was his fear that their actions and notoriety had turned many innocent people away from the path of Jesus Christ - and damned many immortal souls.

"Brother Saul - I'm here to talk about a matter you should be intimately familiar with. As you know, when his flock is threatened, the prince of peace becomes a mighty man of war. It is time for us, as Vesa Qatorians, to do the same."

"You cannot use scripture to justify bloodshed."

Shepard ignored him, and looked to the others - Breaker, DeRossi, Onassis, Geum. "I know that none amongst you think highly of me. But I come here to ask your aid. The New Order threatens this world - threatens our neighbors throughout the Free States. My organization is preparing a strike against the New Order that will rob them of one of their most devastating weapons - that which they used to destroy Geihmurs."

Geum shifted uncomfortably in his seat. His daughter had perished on Geihmurs. Still, he objected: "This is a matter for the Free States Army. And I'm not about to hand over funding or resources to a literal cartel."

"This is the cheapest and easiest way for you to protect Vesa Qatoria. Think of it as an investment - a few good men, a few weapons, and we'll take care of the rest. None of us are safe whilst that weapon's still out there - and Sefer has plenty of reason to point it as us."

"Fuck it, I'm in." announced Cally Onassis, leaning backwards in her chair. The young mechanic-turned-governor already enjoyed a mutually beneficial with Espiritu Santo - allowing them to roam freely in her territory, provided they kept the peace. "I got a few boys back home who are itching for a fight. May as well set 'em off on someone."

DeRossi remained silent, calmly observing the discussion. Keum spoke up.

"One ship. The Incheon. That's all."

"I'm very grateful, Geum."

"Don't be. We were going to scrap it anyway - damn thing barely flies straight."

Shepard turned to Bighorn, who until now had said nothing. Bighorn sighed, rolling his eyes.

"I'll see what I can do."

---

[ Moon of Bendu ]

The Shikinami opened hailing frequencies, transmitting audio only. No identification was offered by the warship - only a demand.

"You are in restricted space. Identify yourself immediately."

[[[ Theme for this post ]]]

[ Vongolan Lagrange Point, Stairway to Heaven ]

Cai-Wei visibly rolled her eyes at Cassandra’s huge case; Arwell rose from the couch and extended a hand for her to shake, trying to put on as amiable a face as he could.

“Glad you could make it. I trust that Figlio allowed you the same level of security clearance he afforded me, so you’ve reviewed the files. This op won’t be easy but we’ve sourced an inside man, and it should -”

Arwell’s words were cut short as the disguised Hercules Splendor swanned onto the bridge. Dallas gave nothing away as he turned and nodded politely at the newcomer. Arwell resigned himself to an awkward mission.

“We’ve sent a missive to notify any others joining the cause to meet us at a staging post one jump out from Vonilla. We’ll be leaving shortly; make your last minute arrangements now,” Dallas said.

Within an hour, the Stairway had leapt to hyperspace, carrying the breakout team toward Uteriach.



[Typa Gypsy]

Ciro cocked an eyebrow at Ozar’s proposal. “Drake was injured in the fight with Vekhta, but when he is healed I shall send him. I don’t care for Vongola, but this last mission didn’t come cheap. I need to recoup losses. The pay better be good, Ozar.” Ciro closed the link, trusting that the Pirate Lord would have his people send over the necessary information.


[ Near Base Theta, Iotunort ]

Deep made ready to resist capture, but when he saw Blizz accept her shackles without too much struggling, he acquiesced, extending his glasslike wrists toward Bijorn-Tar. He was intrigued by the alien’s response to his physicality - and he reveled somewhat in the confusion as the large, furry being snapped the cuffs shut around his wrists. Anyway, his remote control of the Endless Horizon meant that he could command the vessel to help him even from outside the craft.

Deep nodded throughout the monk’s explanation of the armour, but was taken aback at the suggestion that he might be the ‘champion’ that he spoke of. “I think you must be mistaken. As far as I know I’ve been dead for the last two-thousand years. And I’ve never even heard of Iotunort before having come here - though I must confess to having some hazy recollection of the Armour. Perhaps i read it in a book… or dreamt it,” Deep trailed off to a mutter.

Deep’s words seemed to only further confuse the assembly. When Hathaway turned to Blizz and himself, Deep shrugged. “Take the shackles off and I’ll help in any way I can. After all, I don’t even know why I came here. This must be why.”


[ Fort Worth, Vesa Qatoria ]

The balustrade led to one of the larger saloons in Bighorn’s manse, a sprawling hub of buildings that resembled an old colonial plantation house that had grown into a small village. Lady 13 was Warren Willis’ favoured haunt, because the liquor was good and the tables had a waiting service that brought him as many steak sandwiches as he could eat. Though it was midday, there was a cabaret act on stage, a line of dancers kicking legs to the jangly piano played by a droid in the corner. Various Vesa Qatorians stood around tables playing poker (Texas hold’em, naturally), roulette and blackjack. There were a group of Terugans playing Ku-Pla in the corner, a dexterity game involving sticks and dice. Milling throughout the crowds were some of Breaker’s men - marked by the pistols at their hips. The rest of the clientele had been disarmed at the door.

Wearing a black double-breasted suit and a black fascinator and veil, Dame Grace turned off the balustrade and passed through the saloon doors, the men there nodded respectfully as she entered. A waiter immediately handed her a flute of champagne, which Dame Grace downed and placed back on the tray. Warren Willis was sat at the bar, talking to a purple skinned Herulion in a spacer jumpsuit. Dame Grace guessed it was a colleague of Willis’, one of the crew on the Diver vessels. She strode up behind the alien and tapped him on the shoulder. Willis saw Grace and sighed, downing his bourbon. The alien turned, saw Grace, and then nodded to Willis and left. Grace sat on the now vacant barstool.

“Job for you.”

“I ain’t your lackey.”

“Quite. You’re Bighorn’s lackey though, and this is his job. He requested you by name.”

Willis cast her a sidelong glance before pouring himself another belt of bourbon. “And he sent you to tell me, making you his lackey, huh?”

“I am a humble servant of Mister Bighorn, that is true.”

“What's the job?” Willis was already fed up with the verbal sparring.

“How do you fancy hijacking a New Order superweapon?”

Willis snorted in disdain. “I ain’t got no quarrel with the New Order, lest they leave us well enough alone.”

“You know that isn’t a possibility, and you know that is a naïve response,” Grace chided as she lit a cigarette.

“It’s those damn Espiritu Santo what’s put us up to this, ain’t it.Shit. Why can’t they leave damn well enough alone.”

“War’s a -comin’ Willis. Best put down your ploughshare, else it’ll be you - and Mistress Breaker -  in one of those shallow graves. But - I’m not even sure the New Order would bother with the courtesy.”

Willis downed his bourbon.



[ Luria ]

The Prinz Eugen II rocked as impact after impact of massive rock hit the vessel’s now heavily strained shields. Herald had kept up a barrage of projectiles ripped from its own hull as it forged deeper into Lurian space. The wreckages of several smaller Lurian vessels hung dead in space, huge gouts of internal gasses and fuels spilling out to bloom in the void like blood in water.

From the command sphere of the Akkar war barge, Zabaton raised zirs ax-staff above zirs head and ululated a war cry. The assembled Akkar warriors in front of zir repeated the call, a chorus of alien chants filling the bridge with a noise that heralded doom.

Moments later, a cluster of spherical forms detached themselves from the belly of Herald, each carrying three Akkar warriors and a complement of Gurakto, the doglike aliens that the Akkar used as warbeasts. The spheres sped toward the Lurian dreadnought, but instead of slowing for an approach vector, continued accelerating, slamming through the shields of the vessel and embedding themselves in the hull of the ship with a series of concussive explosions. Inside the ruptured halls and corridors of the Prinz Eugen II Lurian crewmen and marines were smashed to pulp by flying shards of rock and metal. Insectoid aliens spilled from the strange attack vessels. Bulkheads were closed off in an attempt to stem the boarding action, but alien technology was deployed, carving through the ceramicsteel with gouts of purple and green flame.

Still, Herald forged deeper into Lurian space.



[ New Harpenden, Ordon V ]

The stealth helicopters turned about, and set off after Dannsen’s mecha, flying low between the huge skyscrapers that made up New Harpenden’s skyline. In the nightclub, Graff’s men arrested the few struggling and wounded men of Danssen’s that had survived the raid, calling for a medivac. Graff snatched the transceiver from Lindstrom’s hand, but then relented and nodded. “Go with my people. You’re technically under arrest, but work with them and I’ll make sure your sentence isn’t as harsh as I want it to be right now.”

Graff looked out over the skyline of his city, the blinking tail lights of the helicopters dwindling toward his facility in the distance. The older man sighed, clipped his helmet into place, and ran at sprint toward the broken window.

Lindstrom stretched a startled hand out as though to stop him, before his mouth formed a shocked expression as Graff Heyerdahl threw himself from the kilometer high building and began flying, a nimbus of electrical energy crackling around him, rocketing out across the night sky in pursuit of Danssen.

Meanwhile, at the spaceport, a man with a long face, slicked curly hair and aviator framed spectacles loaded smart rounds into the magazine of his shotgun and racked the pump. He wore a simple brown leather blouson and black jeans, but the telltale matte-black of ballistic armour showed from under his jacket, and heavy duty boots adorned his feet. Magnus Nilmeister stepped from the back of the dark van and shouldered the gun, aiming at one of the men standing by the refueling drone that was supplying Danssen’s pod with a reason to be out on the tarmac apron at this juncture.

“Freeze and put your hands up. You’re all under arrest!” Nilmeister’s amplified voice boomed. The service staff looked around confusedly, but the security professional saw one at the back grimace and pulled a pistol from his overalls. The gunfight was incredibly short. The mechanic raised his pistol a fraction of an inch, and Nilmeister had already pulled the trigger, the smart submunition of the shotgun’s cartridge separating into a deadly swarm of tracking darts that whistled through the air around the other runway crew to rip Danssen’s man apart in a cloud of red mist. The pulped body slumped to the tarmac even before the screaming started.

<Tanari Prime, President’s Residence>

The President tried not to show his surprise - in vain, as there was no point in doing so. “Clever.” he finally said, though he couldn’t help but feel some disgust at the shape-shifting.

Ascheron’s bombshell also caught him off-guard, but this was something more in his wheelhouse. If the Lurian was telling the truth, then he was just saving a lot of Tanari lives, and him from major embarrassment, and even in the worst-case scenario, if he was lying, then all he had to do was keep a lid on it until after the election.

“I would very much like to stop these attacks, and to know who is doing this and why. So as long as we are clear that all of these… degenerates’ bodies are to be taken in by the local authorities for study, we have a deal.”

-----

<Espiritu Santo Compound, Vesa Qatoria System>

Espiritu Santo members of various races, a few curiously dead-eyed and bedraggled-looking Tanari and some four-armed black and green creatures that gave off a smell not unlike that of leather were scurrying around him, testing the Tanari freighter’s various systems in preparation for the next phase of the plan. Blackout, however, was ignoring them, instead looking up at the vast holographic interstellar map being projected onto the ceiling of the freighter’s bridge one more time. The map was centred on the Asukara system, which, if their deep-space telemetry data was correct, probably contained Sefer’s superweapon.

The map then switched off, and the lights flickered, as the freighter put most of its power into sending out a fake distress signal containing the suspected location of the weapon, a signal perfectly timed to bounce off several spatial anomalies so that it could not be traced to the Vesa Qatoria system but instead would appear to be coming from near Asukara, and would still be strong and clear enough to be intercepted by the Malchiorians.

“Alea iacta est.”

-----

<Moon of Bendu>

“This is the… Coridan starship Viper King. My apologies if this is a restricted area, we don’t intend to be here. We were doing a routine supply run to Pevu Prime when our computer core malfunctioned.” Sylen Kurze lied as his fearful crew looked on at him. He deliberately picked a neutral species that, as far as the FSA knew, was far down the New Order’s list of targets and a real, relatively nearby colony.

“We should be close to getting things under control,” he continued, looking his chief engineer in the eye. “But is there any chance you could help us out? If you can tractor-beam us just to the edge of the system, that should give us just enough time to get out of your hair.”

-----

<Tanari Prime, Bar near Parliament>

“Well, that’s just not true,” Kirsten smiled warmly, refilling her and Aster’s wine glasses. “Kartouche’s first album was the best.”

Kirsten Bluth was one of the pre-eminent Liberal members of Parliament. A lawyer, she was one of the new generation of liberal politicians coming to the fore post-Allman, hoping to remake the Confederation entirely and put the Allman era entirely behind them. She and Aster had developed a shockingly good working relationship in recent years, and were now, if not friends, then at least friendly. And god knew that was one thing Aster craved right now.

“You’re wrong. But whatever.” Aster sipped her wine. “So, tell me. How’s the nomination going?”

“That’s a loaded question.”

“That bad?”

“The committee is deadlocked.” Kirsten sighed. “They’re even considering Peres again.”

“Well, that would be a fucking terrible idea.” Morgan Peres had been the Liberal candidate in the first post-Allman presidential election, a flashy arsehole who, despite favourable polls, had managed to lose to Silver Eachan by a percentage point. Even considering him was a sign of desperation and deadlock on the Liberals’ part, Aster thought.

“It really would. I really don’t want to talk about politics right now, just thinking about that man depresses me. Tell me about literally anything else that’s happened in your life.”

“That’s also a loaded question…”

-----


<Jumano System>

The Amelia safely parked, Ashton, Amanda and Pes’ first order of business was to find three hotel rooms, and then to get changed and head down to the beach.

-----

<Malchior IV, Tanari Club>

The Tanari Club was a well-known part of Malchior IV’s social scene. It was the preferred meeting place for the many Tanari diplomats and businesspeople who congregated in Malchior IV’s capital city now that the war was over and the Confederation was part of the FSA. One fixture of the Club was, of course, David Robert Jones, who had just arrived to meet a friend there.

Instantly upon arriving, Jones was led to a table, and a waiter poured him a glass of fine wine. He sat down, and, sipping his alcohol, idly looked around at the other Tanari sitting around the club. He didn’t note anything unusual about the crowd in today at first - until he saw him.

Robert Clinton, one of Allman’s favourite assassins, the man who had tried to kill him and had succeeded at killing Anthony Nashton and god only knew how many other enemies of Allman, was sitting at a table at the other end of the room, casually chatting away with two other men about some sort of business deal. The muscular man, with his extremely bushy beard, looked faintly ridiculous squeezed into a nice suit, but it wasn’t much of a laughing matter for Jones. If even a man like Clinton had gotten away with his crimes under Eachan, then all the work Jones had put into fighting Allman had just gotten him Allmanism with a human face, and he’d allowed it to happen.

Jones’ musings were interrupted by his friend, Morgan Peres, finally arriving and sitting down opposite him.

“Good evening, Jones.” Peres said. “Have you thought about my proposal?”

-----

OOS: Waiting on Red for the Russello plot and for the rest of Iotunort.

[Bar on Iotunort]

“Hmm,” the man said. He stood up and sauntered towards Lib, his features becoming more apparent.  

“If we play our cards right, maybe our Iotun bartender friend won’t need to do any of that. And yes, I’m after the same thing. I suppose considering the war we should probably work together,” he offered. “While the FSA, the New Order, and the rogue Gosnoticans kill each other, we sneak in, keep an eye out for each other, and take as much as we can. We split it 50-50, go our separate ways. I enjoy the Iotunorti cold as much as the next guy, but a change of scenery would be nice after all this time spent searching.”

The man turned to the Iotun bartender and raised a hand defensively.

“Or 33% each?” he clarified.

“No way,” the Iotun said, dismissing the offer. “I learned not to mess with the Zrujim’s secrets long ago.”

“Fair enough, I’ll slip you a finder’s fee,” the man replied before turning back to Lib. “Anyway, friend, what do you think? Oh, where are my manners!”

He smiled and extended a hand for a handshake.

“Name’s Lake, Kristoffer Lake.”

---

[Somewhere in Deep Space]

Caiaphus grinned as he stood in the middle of the bridge, surrounded by New Order crew. A female commander clad in an armored version of her rank’s uniform She bent down on one knee and bowed in front of Caiaphus. The lights of the bridge reflected on her icy eyes and pallid skin. She was a Faul’dhim, a vampiric race capable of absorbing the life force of other beings.

“What is your bidding, my Arc?” she asked.

“Commander Treveya Q, welcome,” Caiaphus cheered. “I have summoned you to the bridge for a special mission.”

“To Liquid Metallicon?” Treveya guessed while standing up.

“No,” Caiaphus replied, tapping his chin. “It seems someone has kidnapped Arc Vekhta. And now neither Arc Zabaton nor any of the others seem keen to proceed on the mission to take Liquid Metallicon. The Emperor has other plans. Either way, Liquid Metallicon is only a part of the puzzle...Arc Zyandar and I are also after the two Vykonian dissidents. And we’ve come up with a plan that will be set in motion in due time. Meanwhile, I want you to take care of something else for me. Go to Malchior IV, and find Klak.”

“But sir,” Treveya whispered. “Did you not hear what happened to Arc Valorus?”

“Oh no, Treveya,” Caiaphus smiled. “I don’t want you to kill him. I want you to simply observe him. Other orders will follow through later.”

Treveya nodded.

“It will be done, Arc Caiaphus,” she accepted. Treveya stood up and left the bridge. Caiaphus turned back to the windows. His grin widened.

---

[Orbit of Byron]

The Malchiorian frigate intercepted a distress signal.

"Commander!" one of the ensigns shouted. "We're intercepting a communication from Asukara."

The Khaledi-Malchiorian commander walked up to the ensign and read the signal.

"Contact Grand Admiral Perseus," she ordered. "We must investigate this promptly."

---

[Hotel Besson, Fortune Island, Sea of St. Cardozo, Jumano]

Lalli, dressed in a white suit and pink shirt, quietly pretended to read the news on his holo-device. His leg bobbed up and down impatiently. He shifted in his seat and scanned the lounge, full of tourists who had disembarked from the cruise they were just on.

He quickly glanced at Regina, who sauntered down the hallway clad a bright yellow summer dress. A Terugan bellhop crashed into her, the two staggering back. The Terugan apologized profusely, and so too did Regina. They then went their separate ways.

Of course, this was no accident. The Terugan did not even work at the hotel. He was none other than Yot, a disguised agent of their client. The encounter was planned to perfection. Only the keenest of observers would have noticed Regina slipping something into the Terugan’s pocket.

Regina turned back then sat down in front of Lalli, beaming.

“Hey there,” she cooed.

“Hello yourself, darling,” he replied, grinning. “The data’s going to our client. The schmucks over at the mansion still can’t find us. And we get to enjoy a little more of this cruise until we have to ‘leave early.’ Hell of a job.”

“It’s almost perfect,” she smiled. “Nothing but smooth sailing from here on out.”

“Maybe not too smooth,” Lalli quipped and winked. “Anyway, nothing could possibly go wrong after this one. Just a nice little vacation, no enemies or rivals within miles.”

The two stood up and locked arms. They set down a hallway and began marvelling at the hotel. As they were speaking, they passed right by Ashton, Amanda, and Pes.

“I’m seriously enjoying this sort of Riviera style thing they have going along here,” Lalli commented. “It goes well with the--hi Ashton--beach and-”

Lalli froze. Regina’s eyes widened. Lalli pulled out his gun and twirled towards Ashton.

OOS: Theme for the rest of this part of the post.

Back at the lounge, two aliens dressed in 1950s attire sat in front of each other at a table. One of them, female, had a triangular face evocative of an insectoid, with a matching chitinous body. Yet, her face, like her limbs, was humanoid. The male was a Tuvar cyborg. The two smiled maniacally at each other as they enjoyed their Gilclack brand tea.

“I recognize those humans,” the male whispered, smiling.

“Yes, so do I,” the female replied quietly. “Mercenaries Lalli Cain and Regina Faral. They could be trouble.”

“Shall I pursue them and shoot them, Ms. K’tt?” the male asked, quietly raising a pulse pistol underneath the table.

“No need, Mr. Pimoq,” Ms. K’tt dismissed. “Monsieur Melchias Apolion will not be pleased. We have business of our own to resolve, and I’m sure they do too!”

“You are correct, Ms. K’tt,” Mr. Pimoq agreed, smiling. “It would be quite rude to shoot them! I would hate to impose.”

“Oh of course, Mr. Pimoq,” Ms. K’tt said, her smile returning. “And it would be rude to the maitre’d!”

“And after such fine tea too,” Mr. Pimoq lamented. “Wouldn’t that be a bite?! Mother taught me better than that!”

The two finished their tea and stood up. Mr. Pimoq quietly placed a few credits on the table to pay for the tea, along with a generous tip.

“C’mon snake, let’s rattle!” Mr. Pimoq cheered. The pair locked arms and left the hotel, vanishing with nary a trace.

OOS: The rest of this post will not have that theme alright calm down stop yelling at me

---

[Presidential Stateroom, Battleship Llon, On Route to Malchior IV]

Klak sat down and smiled as he gripped his cup of coffee. He glanced at the window, watching as the ship ran through the FTL hyperspace route.
Suddenly, a hologram appeared in the middle of the President’s table. It was Emily, the Chief of Staff.

“Mr. President, I have to brief you on a few important updates,” she said solemnly. “You’ve been gone for some time, after all.”

“Right! It’s already been a while! Time passes so strangely in Willow’s realm, not to mention the time on Vonilla,” Klak noted as a lampshade fell from the ceiling. "I guess this really is a BZPB: Resurgence after all."

“Gabriel Ascheron is dead,” Emily reported. “He was killed in a car bombing.”

“Oh no,” Klak lamented as his eyes widened. “That’s...horrible. I assume Evangelise is in power now?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, I’ll have to send her my condolences once I get back. What else?”

“There was an accident in our orbit,” Emily continued. “It appears that two ships slammed into each other in our orbit. Our defenses and the Xazari diplomats were able to take care of most of the debris. But sadly, the remaining debris landed on Fhirn, a village in the Cuthert region. Roughly 12 dead at Fhirn, 100 injured. 400 people total died on the ships. Secretary Ayad and Regional authorities are taking care of the situation at Fhirn, but you should put out a statement and visit them.”

“Of course, this is horrible,” Klak sighed, shaking his head. “412 lives, snuffed out like that. What a horrific accident.”

If he only knew.

“Additionally,”  Emily stammered. “We’re receiving reports, though they are still unconfirmed, that the planet Geihmurs has been attacked by some New Order superweapon. Some claim...that the planet has been completely destroyed.”

Klak stared at Emily’s hologram in stunned silence.

“I...what? Destroyed?!” he gasped in shocked. “How...was this what she was building on Bendu?”

“We are not certain, sir,” Emily explained. “Some fear Bendu may be something else entirely. Others believe this is it.”

“Fuck…” Klak whispered. He sipped on some of his coffee. “I need to speak with Defense and our intelligence agencies soon, then. Vonilla was one thing, this? This is an escalation.”

“That’s not all, sir,” Emily digressed. “The FSA Headquarters are under attack.”

Klak sputtered.

“WHAT?!”

The wooden door burst open.

“GET ME TO MALCHIOR, NOW!”

---

[Malcovus’s Apartment, Malchior IV]

Gaius Malcovus tilted his head to one side as he processed the information.

“Interesting,” he finally said, breaking the silence. “Though I must remind you that Lucifer was an angel as well. Klak and I have our disagreements. Whether he is truly engaging in assassinations through some cult is hard to believe, but possible. Either way, no one can stop my victory. It will come in some way or another. Do not assume I have sent information only to your angel, my dear minister. But I digress...”

Gaius grinned. His eyes looked up to the pistol trained on his forehead.

“Holding a gun to a poisoned man, minister?” he mocked. “Have you lost faith?”  

-

[FSA HQ, Malchior IV]


“Damn it!” Krieger shouted as he leaped out of his hiding spot and opened fire at the gunner, hoping to suppress him until he could make his way to a safer area.
Meanwhile, the Malchiorian soldiers stepped back in shock as Juarez ran at them. One of them did not react in time; in one fell swoop, Juarez disabled his jetpack and knocked him off the ship. Another aimed his laser cutter at Juarez, while the third pulled out a beam knife and menacingly stepped towards Juarez.

-

[Undisclosed Location, Malchior]

Though Nadle was calling into another Emergency Meeting of Interplanetary Security Council through a hologram, he could feel the tension in the air. Chaos had once again come to Malchior, this time in the form of an attack on the FSA HQ by a mysterious faction.

In the midst of the coordination and debates, Nadle quietly began to put the pieces together. He stood up from his chair and waved his hand at a nearby agent.

“I have a theory,” he revealed. “I can’t tell anyone other than yourself yet, and I’m probably incredibly wrong...but I need you to contact the press. Release that we’re investigating the crash and this attack as being somehow connected, that we believe the reports of a ‘man’ present at the crash may be true.”

“But sir,” the agent replied. “Those were dismissed as a hoax, some kind of space optical illusion!”

“I know, I know, just go with it, please,” Nadle ordered. The agent nodded, then left.

Nadle hacked and coughed as he sat down. He administered a dose using his syringe gun and sighed.

He was not even 100% certain the crash and the attack were connected at all. But the reports of a strange being near the crash over Fhirn, Jones’s warnings about Blackout, and now an attack by a mysterious faction that didn’t seem affiliated with the New Order? Too many coincidences. Nadle believed it was time to bluff with some bait.  All that was left was for Blackout to bite.

---

[Battle of Sards, Vongola Prime]

The pilot closed his eyes as the large jet’s lasers sped towards his bomber. Bright explosions tore through the craft, and he was no more.

Meanwhile, a Tuvar’nloq lieutenant went up to Kane in joy.

“Sir! We’re getting reports of a cease-fire! They’ve surrendered!” he cheered. “They're starting to retreat! Your plan worked!”

-

[Armechius, Vongola Prime]

“My lord Generalissimo,” the Vongolan commander reported. “We’ve faced tremendous losses in Sards. Our artillery positions are gone, and General Julio was killed. The bombing run failed as well. It seems Kane had some sort of superweapon that incinerated most of our fighters and bombers.”

Figlio took a sip of his thieno, which was a Vongolan alcoholic drink similar to whiskey. Suddenly, he slammed the glass against a wall and cursed loudly.

“Tell most of the forces remaining in Sards to retreat,” he hissed. “Tell one of the infantry units to hide and wait for my orders.” The commander nodded then stepped out of the room. Figlio ran his hands through his hair, contemplating the loss. Suddenly, a thought dawned on him.

“Let them think they’ve won,” he whispered to himself, grinning. “Let them stand on their tower of ashes. It will crumble soon. But just in case, I need backup plans.”

---

[Tanari Prime, Military Base]

Rain hung onto the drone for dear life as it sped towards the capital city. Rain gulped as the drone flew towards a series of buildings. He braced himself, then let go, crashing onto a rooftop.

Rain composed himself then climbed down to the streets. He found himself in front of the Tanari bar near Parliament.

“Well, I deserve a drink after that,” Rain whispered to himself. He entered the bar and hailed the bartender.

---

[Khafrite, Karnak Warp Gate, Qurtmoq Orbit][/i]

The solar ship dipped into the Karnak Warp Gate’s portal and traversed across the stars almost instantaneously. Pharaoh Osiris gulped, but not because of the Gate. It was a nearly seamless transition between two distant points in the galaxy. No, the self-proclaimed god was nervous for many reasons. This was always a difficult week for the Amun Collective, a time memorializing their humiliation. Furthermore, he had just witnessed the powers of the President of Malchior...and if the reports about the planet Geihmurs were correct, the powers of the New Order as well. The Pharaoh would not want to admit it to the lesser beings that served him, but he realized that both sides were far stronger than the Collective had anticipated.

The ship finished passing through. In seconds, the Khafrite arrived in front of a gargantuan grey pyramid orbiting a star known as Khepri. Thousands of ships flew in and out of the superstructure, many flowing into a nearby planet. All of them, even the Khafrite, appeared as flickering specks compared to the pyramid.

Moments later, the Khafrite docked at one of the pyramid’s bays. The Pharaoh and his entourage emerged. Osiris then made his way through various halls, eventually arriving at a vast palatial throne room. It stood in contrast to the normal gold and sepia halls. Instead, much of it was cobalt, with stone pillars at each corner. Various tall seats were arranged on each side of a shining blue path. At the end of the path was a series of glass stairs leading to an even larger throne, which itself stood in front of a glass window that showed the star Khepri. Conveniently, whoever sat on the throne could position their head just right to make Khepri look like a solar disk crown.

Osiris trudged up the stairs and turned around. The other seats were occupied by Isis, Horus, Set, Anubis, Sia, Ma’at, Bast, Hathor, Nehebkau, Sekhmet, Thoth, and various other nobles who composed the Amun Collective’s pantheon.

“The pantheon is assembled,” cried a shadowy indigo xeno.

“Honored family and friends,” Pharaoh Osiris boomed. “We gather to discuss the war on the Outer Reaches of the Collective.”

“The Free States Alliance and the New Order?” Sekhmet scoffed. “Pitiful forces! There is no mighty Free States Alliance or New Order, there are only those who are part of the Amun Collective and those who are not. None shall stand before our might, and the sword of our Pharaoh!”

Set stirred some wine in his goblet.

“Sekhmet, I doubt my brother would have called us together if it was just to reiterate how mighty the Amun Collective is,” he groaned.

“Set is correct,” Osiris whispered. “As you may remember, it was my father Ra’s dream that we re-establish contact with the rest of the galaxy. He was only able to see some of that dream thanks to the Armechio family. But his death and oneness with Khepri came before our conquest could be complete. Then came our defeat.”

“A momentary setback, my beloved,” Isis assured.

“Yes, perhaps,” Osiris muttered. He placed his fingers on his temples and rubbed them, sighing.

“I conferred with the President of Malchior, a mortal named Klak,” he continued. “Or at least, I thought he was mortal. He disrespected me, and the meeting went nowhere. Later, a New Order ship attacked the Vonillan’s station and the Malchiorians. The battle appeared to be turning to the New Order’s favor. Suddenly, it stopped. I felt something reach out from beyond. Then, a power surge, unlike anything I have felt in ages. I saw him emerge from the New Order ship unscathed, teleporting across the realms of Sah and Sopdet. He even created a shield around a decaying ship with his bare hands.”

Many of the Amun Collective’s pantheon looked puzzled. Set chuckled, unimpressed.

“You suspect the surge emanated from him,” Ma’at clarified.

“Yes,” Osiris nodded. “I do not know what he is. His powers seemed arcane, yet ancient. He is not Rider, and seems human...but perhaps he is something more ancient.”

“He must be destroyed,” Horus noted. “Before he and his Alliance become a threat to us all.”

“There is more,” Osiris countered. “My spies found reports that the Emperor of the New Order…”

“The Hebrew telepath?” Horus interrupted.

“Yes, it is she. The word has spread. She is constructing a great terror on Bendu, and used another weapon to obliterate a planet.”

Silence swept through the room.

“One possesses the power to destroy worlds, the other a power we do not understand,” Anubis weighed. “The Amun Collective faces a grave challenge.”

“Perhaps we should align with one, destroy the other, and conquer the weakened victor,” Bast proposed.

“Or strike them both rapidly, cripple their weapons,” Set offered. “The fight will be different than it was with Allman and Uteriach. Two successive wars have weakened the galaxy, and they’re too busy fighting each other. Strangle the snakes at their nests. The rest of the galaxy will bow to Pharaoh, and the Amun Collective will rule.”

Osiris shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“We must make the wisest choice,” Ma’at chided.

“Indeed,” Osiris muttered. “One that can doom us all.”

“Or doom them,” Set chimed with a growl.

---

[Vongolan Lagrange Point, Stairway to Heaven]

Cassandra smiled.

“Good to see you, Gerry,” she replied. “That sounds good. And yes, I read everything on the way here. I just hope you know where we’re going to end up landing on Vonilla. I’ve enough bodies in there for a war, but we don’t want the FSA on our tail.”

Cassandra placed the coffin in her quarters, then joined the rest of the crew once they made the jump into hyperspace.

-

[Staging Post, Near Vonilla

A small silver cruiser arrived long after the Stairway to Heaven. It bore the insignia of the crew of Pirate Lord Ozar. Three beings walked across the ground and entered into the Stairway to Heaven.

Thiodore ‘Astro’ Astrophel entered the bridge accompanied by a human mercenary in a black and red exosuit and a female Liquid Metalliconite pirate.

“Greetings honored Diamond Dogs,” she said, nodding respectfully. “I am Raz, I’m with Pirate Lord Ozar’s crew. Pirate Lord Ozar and Fourteen send their regards. Fourteen also told me to remind you, Mr. Dalton, about a Ku-Pla game six years ago. Something about you owing him and a Breaker friend of his money? Regardless, I have brought two of the mercenaries with me: Thiodore ‘Astro’ Astrophel and Gather Round. The others will join you shortly.”

She noticed Hercules at the other end of the bridge.

“Ah, perhaps some have already arrived. I wish you all best of luck in your mission!”

Raz exited the bridge. Gather Round plopped down onto the nearest seat, while Astro quietly searched for the ship’s bar.

“Great to be workin’ with the Diamond Dogs! Especially Dallas Dalton himself!” Gather cheered. “Gather Round’s the name, codes are my game! I can help you hack into the systems keeping our prisoner captive!”

“Yes, hi,” Astro sighed. “Whose leg do I have to pull to get a drink around here?”

Oh crap, Cassandra thought to herself. We’re dead.

Hercules was surprised that Astor was still alive. He had heard about the ex-Tanari, ex-Takemikazuchi, ex-Malchiorian turned mercenary and his unique skill set.

---

[Somewhere on Liquid Metallicon]

An hour into the meeting, both diplomats finally relented. Akzer, on behalf of all of the Pirate Lords of Liquid Metallicon, formed a pact with the Liquid Metalliconite government and the FSA. The Pirate Lords, as a unified entity, would become part of the FSA. The LM government would loosen its grip, overlooking some of the criminal activities in favor of military support from the Pirates. Some of the Pirate Lords, not so coincidentally those that Akzer felt inclined to name, could operate throughout additional parts of the FSA with impunity. In exchange, he would hold off any Pirate Lord attacks on FSA ships, and each Lord would have to join the war if called by the FSA.

Akzer got more than he gave, which filled him with mixed emotions. On one hand, he was joyful. On the other, it seemed too easy. No doubt the FSA would try to screw them over in some way. But, until then, the Pirates could grow in strength while positioning an FSA-sized shield in front of Arc Vekhta and the rest of the New Order. Akzer bought everyone more time. Moreover, that meant all the Pirate Lords, even Veyelan and Ciro, would owe him.

-

Elsewhere, Keichi slammed his fist into a table.

“It’s what the drone showed us,” Quick Billy explained. “Ain’t nothing we can do ‘bout it. But it’s still helpful. Veyelan and Ciro didn’t really win per se. They just got lucky. We all did, in a way. Arc Vekhta’s off our backs, and no doubt the other Arcs will stay away for a little while longer.”

“I hope you’re right,” Keichi spat.

---

Socah punched the ground in pain as his wall had fallen apart again after so long.

[ Aerisgard Command Bunker ]

Ascheron grinned and, tapping away at his console, sent both a command to his men on Tanari Prime, as well as a list of names and co-ordinates to Eachan.

"You'll see I've indicated those individuals which my men are in a position to tackle - you should disregard those, and have your security forces see to the rest." he said, taking a curious scroll through the list itself. "Please... excuse the codenames some of my men have given these deplorables." he added, as he quickly flicked past 'Hungry Man' and 'Dennis'. "Gathering accurate intel on these men is difficult, at best."

---

[ Tanari Prime ]

Xrillex stumbled through the city square, clutching his chest as if to render inconspicuous the wads of explosives stuffed under his jacket. The Cataxyn had completely overtaken him by now - his single goal was violence, and his finger twitched in excitement on the trigger as he approached the city hall. A huge banner was hung over the main entrance - the smiling image of Oriel Matthieu Saint, a former Pro-Allmanite lawyer who had found great success as host of the alternative news talkshow 'The Nation Continues'. He was giving a lecture with his co-host, William Douglas Reed, the Takemikazuchi refugee who, having fled shortly before the rise of the New Order, now proselytized about the evil of the 'unchecked political left' and 'regressive authoritarian politics'. Xrillex made his way to the stairs of the city hall, ready to bring death and destruction to the thousand plus people in attendance.

He would not achieve his goal. The second he placed his foot down onto the steps, a sniper round tore through his knee, and he fell backwards, and then he exploded. The explosion collapsed the front facade of the city hall down onto him, crushing what was left of him; the gathered audience turned around - the wall behind them now missing - and gazed in shock and horror at the debris and destruction outside. They began to scream and fled the building, leaving Oriel and Reed on the stage; the latter reclined in his seat, a wry smile of calm calculation on his face as he observed the smoldering ruins outside.

---

[ Malcovus Apartment ]

Salem lowered his pistol, holstering it.

"I have nothing but faith." replied Salem, before speaking in scripture. "Truly I tell you, if you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, 'Move from here to there,' and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you."

He pulled out a small medical syringe - cap still in place - and tossed it to Malcovius.

"Very well, Mr. Malcovus. There are two possibilities; either I have already injected you with Cataxyn, in which case that vial contains the antidote, or I injected you with a placebo - in which case, that vial contains pure Cataxyn. I will put my faith in the Lord, fully, that He will deliver you towards the outcome He desires."

---

[ Moon of Bendu ]

A number of radar pings appeared on Kurze's display as the Shikinami launched its complement of escort fighters.

"Viper King, you are instructed to cut engine power and prepare to be boarded. Any resistance or deviation will be considered a hostile act and will be met via application of lethal force."

---

[ Luria Orbit ]

As power-armored Force Recon Marines battled back the Akkai intruders with flamethrowers and heavy repeating cannons, the command crew of the Prinz Eugen II inserted their command fobs into the bridge's central command console, recording their nuclear launch codes verbally. Hatches atop the Prinz Eugen II slid open and thermonuclear IPBMs shot out - one, two, three, four - turning dramatically above the ship as their RCS thrusters oriented them towards the Herald, before their primary motors ignited, accelerating them towards the war asteroid. Streams of interceptor fire knocked out one of the missiles, its fail-safe mechanism preventing a nuclear detonation, but the remaining missiles slammed into the fore of the Herald in a triple barrage of nuclear fire, flooding the space between the two ships with a corona of white light.

Within the Herald, alarms sounded and were quickly silenced. The ship held - an external detonation would no doubt fragment a measurable percentage of the ship's exterior structure, but a war asteroid such as the Herald was practically impossible to truly destroy. However, the crew had a new problem. Za'atar - one of Zabaton's lieutenants - looked up from its command console, announcing that the ship was caught in a slow, left-hand spin, with no identifiable cause.

Aboard the Prinz Eugen II, Admiral Gorman observed the thermal readouts of the Herald as they appeared on his viewscreen. The surface that had been hit was glowing white hot - heated to such an extent that the thermal radiation alone was enough to push the Herald off-course. The asteroid was acting like a reverse solar-sail.

"All ships, avoid superheated areas and focus on primary drive cone."

---

[ FSA Headquarters ]

Krieger watched in horror as his bullets simply flew around the gunner - protected by the prayer of the two adherents kneeling either side of him. It was only when one of them was hit by a stray bullet - falling from the gunship itself - that the gunner lost this divine protection, and as such was torn to shreds by Krieger's submachine gun fire. Atop the gunship, Juaréz quickly disposed of the two remaining Malchiorian soldiers - blocking their weapons with his bare palms, the power imbued in him by Blackout shielding him from the cutter and beam knife. He summoned a strong, south wind which pulled them off the gunship - but when he heard his gunner go down, he knew the fight was over. He ran back to the cockpit, climbed in, and tried to fly away.

"Shepard, this is Juaréz... we've failed. Krieger is alive. Krieger is-"

One of the gunship's engines exploded, riddled with damage from the gunfight. The ship rapidly lost altitude, speeding towards a residential neighbourhood. Juaréz struggled with the controls, trying to steer it away from any houses and towards an empty stretch of road.

"You have not failed." came Shepard's calm, conciliatory response over the radio. "You have sown a masterpiece of chaos."

"A-alleluia!"

With that, the gunship slammed hard into the street, exploding in a fireball, and killing Juaréz instantly. Unbeknownst to him, his immortal soul would be going to neither Heaven nor Hell; like the souls of the other Espiritu Santo men who had died today, it was consumed instantly by the nexus of dark energy that Blackout has instilled within him - and with Juaréz's death, Blackout grew just that bit stronger.

---

[ Holosystems Megacorp Building, New Harpenden, Ordon V ]

Danssen landed within the Holosystems Megacorp building, making his way down a huge freight elevator to the Industrial Design core at the center of the structure. The vast, micro-singularity-cooled AI stack stood before him in a monolithic underground chamber - he aimed his rifle at it, and fired.

<Tanari Prime, Bar near Parliament>

“What can I get ya, you prick?” the bartender, a middle-aged looking man with long hair and thick facial hair, said to Rain.

Meanwhile, nearby, Aster and Kirsten were continuing their conversation.

“Yeah, I get it. Look, we’re in a shit business just as everything is going straight to hell yet again. You can never relax and you can’t trust anyone.” Kirsten explained. “That takes a toll on you.”

“Of course it does. But I can’t do anything about that, or those jackasses on the EC will fuck things up as soon as my back is turned. Our idea of a holiday is stump speeches on Yari III.”

“Yari III. Yikes.”

“Not a great place to be a shifter. Not that there are many good ones. And of course, if it stays that way in a few weeks, I’m sure somehow Freya and Leonard will make it my fault.” Aster said. “And of course, we’re right back on politics."

"You need friends outside politics to survive in politics. That's the lesson. Not that I'm one to talk."

"Yeah. Anyway, next round’s on me.”

Aster got up from their table, and walked over to the bar, finding herself next to Rain, who might have recognised her from an intelligence briefing on Tanari politics.

-----

<Hotel Besson, Fortune Island, Sea of St. Cardozo, Jumano>

“Woah, woah, what the hell? Lalli? Regina?” Ashton, who was wearing a garish Hawaiian shirt and shorts, cried, putting his hands in the air.

“I sense you guys don’t like each other very much.” Pes, who was wearing similar clothes, said, slowly doing the same.

“Oh, really? Is that your empathic abilities at play?”

“No, I just have an eye.”

“Guys, guys…” Amanda, who was wearing a sheer, slightly too big white top over a bathing suit, shook her head. “Lalli, Regina, it’s me? Amanda Warren? The robbery on Alpha Centauri? It was us three and that Tanari defector called something starting with Y. Remember?”

-----

<Tanari Prime, President’s Residence>

“Excellent. Thank you very much.” Smiling, Eachan pressed several buttons on his computer, sending the names and coordinates on to the security services. “I sense this is the beginning of a beautiful alliance. Fear not, I shall instruct my ambassador to the FSA to vote for ‘Evangelise’ Ascheron.”

-----

<Vongola, Battle of Sards>

“Excellent. Excellent.” Kane smiled. “Contact VRR forces everywhere. Tell them to come to Sards. From now on, our hand, the hand that shall topple the VPR, will stretch out from here. In the meantime, find me the local military governor. I’ll need to discuss a few matters with him before I can call Kozin and brag.”

-----

<Moon of Bendu>

“Affirmative. Viper King out.” The transmission ended.

“They don’t seem as cooperative as you hoped, sir.” Natalya said.

“No. They definitely don’t. Stands to reason, I suppose.” Sylen began to pace the bridge in an annoying manner and stroke his chin. “Tommy. How’s the computer core?”

“Should be fine right… about… now.” the chief engineer replied from under the floor.

“Everyone get a gas mask. I want anesthezine gas pumped throughout the ship as soon as they board.”

-----

<Yari III, Horba City>

Icala District was one of the most densely populated shifter neighbourhoods. At the end of the working day, as people made their way home - some of whom were wearing black armbands in mourning of William Preston - their attention was drawn to a man with a microphone giving what was supposed to be a rousing speech, accompanied by a few helpers who were handing out pamphlets to passers-by.

“People of Icala! The powers that be have stacked the deck against you! They work us to death, and von Budberg murders our leaders when we fight for the bare minimum! We can’t let the Tanari do this to us! We must stand up for ourselves!” he proclaimed. Most passers-by ignored him completely or thought him ridiculous, but some, mostly young people, stuck around and listened, at least for a little while, and took his pamphlets to read at home.


“Props to you, Igor.” Paul raised a glass. “The bomb you made worked wonders. Not only is Preston dead, but any evidence that could have traced it back to us has been obliterated. The Prime Minister is delighted with our work.”

“Hear, hear.” Siper also raised his glass.

“Thank you, but I don’t think we’re done yet. They really need to know that we won’t tolerate anything other than them going quietly into the night.” said Igor.

“You’re in luck, then.” Siper took out a small holo-device containing an MRF news bulletin. “Guess who’s coming to Yari III to stump for them in the election.”

Much of the front page of the news bulletin was taken up by a large picture of Aster.

“Well, well, well,” This time, Paul raised an eyebrow. “Now this, I like.”


Their meeting concluded, Siper got onto his hover-bike and drove to an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city’s vast spaceport. After looking around to make sure nobody had been tailing him, he entered to find Richard and a number of others milling around the place, setting up some equipment.

“How did it go, Enrique?” Richard asked the newcomer.

“It went perfectly. The fools still believe that superstition about shifter blood. They suspect nothing.”

“Yes, but did they like the idea?”

“Of course they did. It’s only a natural escalation from what they’re actually doing, after all.”

“Excellent.”


Many miles away, in a forest outside the city limits, an eagle-eyed observer, were one available, might have thought a patch of dirt was very slightly off in some way, and they would have been right. Beneath it, in a carefully dug hole, lay the real Siper’s lifeless body, or at least some of it - his head and hands having been disposed of elsewhere.

-----

<Malchior IV, Tanari Club>

“You understand that a great deal would be riding on me.” Jones said. “I’m an old man, Morgan.”

“Of course, of course. But you are no ordinary old man. There are few others in the Confederation with the sort of cachet you have.”

“And what’s in it for you anyway?”

Morgan smiled in an exaggerated manner, sat back and stretched out his arms. “Of course, straight to business. You know what I want.”

Jones rolled his eyes. “You want to be on the holo-networks a lot but do no work.”

“Just for a few years. Just long enough for my name to not be a joke anymore. You understand.”

“And I’m sure everyone else in the damn party would have their own demands too. Policies, people.”

“Well, of course. But it’s not like you disagree very much on the former, despite the mythology you’ve built up.”

“I haven’t built up any mythology.” Jones took another sip of his wine. “I was a Unionist and yet I didn’t see many of your old guard bringing shifters into the halls of power, or a few other things, for that matter. That’s all.”

“They were regrettably timid back then.” Peres said with seemingly genuine sorrow. “But that’s the past. We’ve moved forward and you’ve stagnated. But with your experience, the respect your name still carries, especially with one particular person, all our dreams can still be realised. A genuinely new Tanar. It’s never too late to do the right thing.”

Jones thought about it for a moment. “Things aren’t as simple as you make them out, but I like the sound of your plan. I’ll get back to you in a few days. I have to attend to several matters before I can go ahead with this… assuming I choose to do so.”

“I ask nothing more.” Peres said, finishing off his glass.

-----

[ LZ Near FSA Building, Malchior ]

"Don't mind if I do, Honoured Secretary." Brianna takes a single sip of her drink, the recommended Otivyte Sunrise, before she set it down daintily set it down, giving Russello her full attention when he begins speaking.

"I am all too aware of the New Order's...disposition, Secretary." The Xazari diplomat speaks up a moment after Rusello finishes. "And believe me when I say, most in the Xazari do not exactly have very positive opinions regarding Sefer and her 'vision'. Indeed, the FSA is generally seen as the much better option for foreign alliance among the Xazari, hence why we chose to send envoys to you in good faith."

The faestir takes another sip of her drink, relishing in the taste, before continuing.

"Yes, the situation does look rather...discouraging...now. Though perhaps with the full weight of the Xazari's economical and industrial capacity behind the FSA's military might and determination, I believe that the tides can be easily turned, and victory assured." The diplomat adds with an encouraging tone before she expertly schools her features to one of regret, her voice now containing curated notes of solemnity. "There is a problem, however, I am loathe to say. While, as you said, the choice is all too clear between the Free Systems Alliance and the New Order, the choice isn't as binary as that, unfortunately. There is an increasing sentiment among the Xazari that we may yet be better off striking on our own, investing our resources into our own military strength and projection capabilities, or even that the current state of neutrality is preferable until the war runs its course."

"Though perhaps," Brianna adds on shrewdly, voice steady and face exuding nothing but respect and cooperation. "Such sentiments may be allayed by promises, glimpses, on what a substantial investment into the FSA would bring to the Xazari."

-------

[ Battleship Mercurus, Diplomatic Meeting Point, Hokka System ]

"Yes, I do hope our two nations can continue such negotiations at a later date." Envoy Kurokawa replies to the two Arcs as they turn to leave, his serene smile at odds with his mockingly friendly demeanour as the diplomat failed to resist getting a word in. "Perhaps at the peace conference once the FSA and its allies decide how to divide the New Order territories."

Was that petty? Definitely. Childish? Very much so. Satisfying? Without a single shred of doubt. Envoy Kurokawa could tell the negotiations aren't going to go anywhere the moment the two Arcs decided top get involved. True believers, perhaps excellent administrators, but in the cut-throat game of diplomacy, their lack of tact does them no favours. Still, as the official Envoy of the Xazari, it would be a dishonour to his position if he doesn't make at least some attempt, futile as it may be. Representative Sano seems decent enough, however, if a bit eager to please. He would have made an excellent high-ranking executive in of the corporations back home.

With those thoughts in mind, Envoy Kohei Kurokawa bids a few more empty pleasantries and his farewell to Sano, his tone much less mocking towards the man than with the Arcs, before departing with his group, the aides and honour guards trailing silently as Executive Ardogan fell into step next to him.

"That was petty." His gryphon colleague commented in that flat, clinical tone of his as Kohei tried not to let the amusement show on his face.

-------

[ Supercarrier Amatsukaze, In transit from Hokka System ]

"I suppose you'll also be including what the Arcs let slip into your report?" Kohei Kurokawa queries as he walks the ship corridors back to his quarters, accompanied by Ardogan Yesil and the diplomatic aides doing the same, the honour guard having been dismissed as soon as the shuttle had landed back on the Xazari diplomatic fleet flagship. "I'm sure your employers would appreciate the confirmation of what they no doubt already suspected."

"Perhaps." The gryphon replies, making no attempt to confirm or deny the insinuation in Kohei's last sentence. "It has always been clear that there will be those within the Xazari that will lean towards the FSA or New Order one way or the other, if they even support a foreign alliance. The problem is in separating the opportunists and advocates with the true believers. In any case, the SDI will need to keep their eyes our, follow up on potential leads to more extremist sentiments. With how volatile the internal political situation in Xazari is, the spark to set it all off could come from anywhere."

As if to illustrate Ardogan's point, one of the aides following the two abruptly draws his side arm in a quick, practiced motion and fires without hesitation. There was a faint whistle as Executive Ardogan hurls a knife on reflex the very instant the assassin moved. The shot that would have hit Envoy Kurokawa instead ricocheted off the blade. The disguised assassin wastes no time adjusting his aim for Envoy Kurokawa again as behind them, the other aides had their sidearms out and were attempting to find a clear line of sight to fire around the assassin and VIPs, though the confines of the hallway is a big obstacle.

At that moment, Kohei Kurokawa struck.

For such an elderly man, the diplomat demonstrated a high level of training in his explosive use of violence. In one motion, as if he'd been practicing the move for years, he grabs the assassin's gun arm with both his hands while, at that very same moment, he stomps down at the back of the assailant's right knee. As his enemy stumbled, Kohei turned the man's imbalance into his undoing, slamming his own elbow into the gun arm elbow, while maintaining his own grip with his free hand on the gun itself. The assassin's gun arm bent backward, firing twice as it went. The first of the shots hit the ceiling of the hallway and sent sparks falling around them. The second removed the top of the assassin's head in a splatter of blood, brain and bone.

The entire encounter, from the assassin's first shot to his third, took less than ten seconds.

As the now dead former diplomatic aide fell to the floor, Envoy Kurokawa straightens himself, face dripping with gore. He faces the others with a wry smile.

"It appears we've just avoided one such 'spark', it seems."

-------

[Base Theta, Iotunort]

To say that Blizz is grateful for the arrival of Tarvias Deep was an understatement. When he arrived and caused most of the potentially-hostile guns to stop pointing at her, she was all but ready to grovel at his feet if it meant she has a convenient ally on the unfamiliar planet, after they took care of the soldiers, that is. Speaking of, the faestir had already started to surreptitiously reach for one of the grenades hidden under her coat, before the arrival of the Zrujim monk forestalled the execution of plan, her attention distracted enough by the sight of the monk and what it will mean that she doesn't really protest when she is cuffed and brought to Base Theta.

There, the faestir followed closely near the monk, perhaps trying to see if they might know anything about the supposed treasure she is searching for, though Blizz does take note of the layout of the base she is walked through, for when she no doubt has to make an escape from a military base, again. Soon as the monk mentions Armor of Abdiel, however, Blizz's ears perk up instantly as she snaps her head to the Zrujim. The map was right! Her luck is finally turning around. If both the FSA and New Order is looking for it, then it must be exceedingly valuable. Sold to the right buyer, not only will all her debts be paid, she'd probably be set for life! She starts thinking of the vast riches awaiting her, of a brand new military-grade ship and luxurious food to enjoy every day, of being able to invent and tinker as she sees fit with unlimited resources. Though her deceptively keen mind is still perceptively aware enough that she can still remember the gist of the further discussion that followed, particularly about the Champion and the Armour's potential role in the FSA-NO conflict, she has still diverted enough of her brain power to daydreaming that to an outside observer, the faestir appears to be be staring off into space with an absolutely euphoric expression, eyes unfocused, mouth agape and tongue faintly hanging out, all but salivating in anticipation.

"YES!!!" Blizz yells out loud as she finally snaps out of her deep thoughts a moment after Bijorn-tar's address and Tarvias Deep's reply, before coughing awkwardly in the short silence that followed. "I-I mean, yeah. I'm all up for helping find the trea- the Armour of Abdiel. To save Iotunort against the New Order and all that, yeah."

"I, uh, I need to get back to my ship first, though. We kinda left without locking it. And I didn't get to pick up any of my equipment..." The faestir adds further, looking to the side in lingering embarrassment.

[ Vonilla Staging Post, Stairway to Heaven ]

It wasn’t only Hercules who’d heard of Astrophel. Gerry Arwell practically did a double take as the mercenary entered the bridge. It’d been a long time since he’d seen this particular gun for hire. The last time he’d encountered Astro, they’d been on opposite sides of an information trade gone sour on Karnacks III. The whole situation ended with a dead data broker, Arwell’s arm broken, and Astrophel walking away with a bullet hole in his leg, with a case of mechanical access keys in tow. There were times in the past, however, they’d been on the same side - in name if not spirit. It was strange to know he was going to have to rely on him once more. And his alcoholism clearly hadn’t subsided either. Arwell simply nodded at the mercenary, wondering if the recognition even went both ways.

Dallas nodded with good humour at the reminder put forward by Raz. “Yes, and I’d ask you to remind Fourteen that we were playing Herulion Ku’Pla, not Terugan Ku’Pla. As I recall, the casino that game was played in now belongs to Fourteen’s enterprises anyway - I’m sure he’s more than made his winnings,” he said with a wry smile. Raz didn’t respond, but nodded and left.

At the mention of Gather’s particular skills, Cai-Wei perked up. “So what software suite you running? Paraxis? Obion? I’d be interested to look at your hardware -  see if I can tweak anything?”

Once the chatter had died down, Arwell stood at the command stage of the bridge, Dallas taking a seat and crossing his long legs. “OK people, listen up. We have one primary objective; secure and evacuate the prisoner Uteriach di Armechio from the facility holding him beneath the Manx Sea on the surface of Vonilla. The coordinates for the facility are as yet unknown to us. I want Cai-Wei and Gather Round working the intelligence angle on that front, and to cover our digital footprint when we’re in system, while I’ll operate a full spectrum analysis scan with the crew of the Stairway. Once we’ve got a fix on the facility’s location, It’s Cassius Calm at the helm of Zero's stealth cruiser as we make atmospheric entry. I’ve sourced us a submersible and EVA suits that are rated to 3km depth; any deeper and we’ll have to pull out and reconsider. Naturally, we’re all responsible for security. I want full spectrum weapons loadout; masers, lasers, kinetics and chemicals, plus whatever special gear you folks want to take in. Once we’re in it's a matter of using Cai-Wei and Gather’s hacks to find the VIP, then whatever means necessary to get him out. Turnaround on this op is two hours; we need Armechio out within that window, because that's the kind of time we’re looking at before an FSA warship pulls up and blasts us from orbit. We-”

The bridge doors swished open and Drake Catlow strode into the room, helmet clasped under his arm. There was a sleek black maser carbine on his hip, and a full complement of wasp drones clung to the underside of his jetpack like a cluster of dark black jewels. He nodded curtly at the assembly before motioning with a hand for Arwell to continue. The security specialist wasn’t surprised Drake showed up; after Astro, he wouldn’t have been shocked if his old physics professor walked through the bridge doors too. He and Drake had served aboard a Tanari warship during the Sundowner fiasco.

“We jump in system in an hour. Any questions?”


[ Luria ]

The Akkar warrior raised the heat axe above zirs head, but the Lurian marine was fast, diving forward and plunging the piezoblade deep into the alien’s armoured chest. It brayed a strange sound as it toppled, but the marine had no time to relish his victory as a hail of electric bolts fizzled around him. The downed alien’s comrade aimed again, flashes of energy charging down the barrel of the beam gun as it spat bolts of white lighting at the Lurian, who went down in a haze of superhot energy.

Similar engagements were playing out on every deck of the Prinz Eugen II that the Akkar boarding spheres had hit. Even as the Akkar were sealed off from bulkhead to bulkhead, the Gurakto they deployed found hidden paths through access ducts and crawl spaces, emerging from below the Lurian marines’ positions to tear at their calves and ankles, ripping the men down with animal savagery. It would only be a matter of time before the dreadnought fell to the aliens.

Aboard Herald, a complement of Zabaton’s best warriors, Za’tar in the lead, escorted the Akkar warlord to the command bridge. The room was a wide bay that formed the centre of the command sphere. As Zabaton’s entourage filed into the room, they replaced the current crew serving there, ousting them from their stations. Zaytoun, a smaller Akkar with green-hued skin, took the helm.

From the bridge of the Prinz Eugen II, the Lurian crew watched as the command sphere of Herald detached itself from the now slowly spiralling war asteroid. Four spearpoint flames jetted from the rear of the orb as it accelerated away from the hulking form of the warship that it was once a part of. From the empty space now left in the asteroid, a small fleet of Akkar fighter craft emerged, jagged points of rocky metal that zipped and wove through the space around the command sphere.


[ Espiritu Santo Offworld Base]

The low ceilinged chamber was dimly lit, and what small illumination there was glinted from the various machines and weapons stored within. The walls were padded with nulltherm foam, deadening Warren Willis’ footsteps as he walked toward the large steel doors at one end. He wore a battered orange spacesuit, reminiscent of astronaut attire of old, and his ever present tan stetson hat was pulled low over his brow. A series of straps and pouches covered his waist, holding a variety of gear that he used when on the job; arc cutters, power wrenches and det charges all had their correct and right place on his belt. And, as ever, his antique revolver sat in its tooled leather holster.

The doors at the end of the storage room clunked open, revealing a similar chamber ahead. This room was occupied by various members of Shepard’s crew, picked for the mission personally. Also present were a number of Cally Onassis’ men, wearing a motley of denim and leather. Most carried blaster rifles or maser carbines, and all had flinty looks in their eyes and pistols at their hips. A long, low window on one wall showed the dark landscape beyond, the Tanari freighter docked with the tangled mess of girders and gantries that jutted out into space from the surface of the crater.

Willis took a seat on a bench, pulled his hat down over his eyes, and began to wait.


[ Holosystems Megacorp Building, New Harpenden, Ordon V ]

The coolant that was supplied to the AI stack through vast diamond tubing exploded outward, the room instantly filling with a dense fog that curled around Danssen’s JAGDRHINO in swirling eddies and currents. The CEO grinned as he pumped round after round of high explosive incendiary shells into the delicate machinery of Heyerdahl’s empire. The 7.5cm repeater canon barked out again and again until it clicked, having emptied its bin of ammunition. Danssen discarded the cannon, which skid across the polished granite floor now slick with ice.

The service elevator pinged behind him, and Danssen turned. Graff Heyerdahl stepped from the platform, wreathed in electric energy.

“You pathetic little bitch. You think that throwing a tantrum in the basement is going to get to me?” Graff growled.

“You’re not the big man you think you are Heyerdahl! I’m the one wearing the fucking trousers now,” Danssen said, gesturing at the mech he sat in. The mech mirrored his movements in exaggerated fashion. Graff merely removed his helmet and tossed it to the floor.

Danssen took the initiative, firing all of the dumbfire micromissiles concealed around the mecha’s impressive frame. The room was filled with the whine of rocket motors, contrails streaking through the fog as dozens of explosions rippled around Heyerdahl. Some of the rockets were zapped from the air by bolts of lighting that radiated from the older man, struck like flies. Others made it past the storm of energy, but exploded against Heyerdahl’s armour, which absorbed the blows, redistributing the incoming energies as yet more electrical energy. Small fire burned around the soles of Graff’s boots as the residual chemicals in the coolant rapidly burnt up in the haze.

Graff Heyerdahl shot across the vast hall, becoming a bolt of lightning. His fist connected with the mecha just as Danssen began reeling backward, but it was too late. The front carapace armour of the suit crumpled. The mecha was pushed back, Danssen managing to keep it standing, but slid across the slick floor, colliding with the huge stack of machinery behind him. Blood trickled from Danssen’s lip inside the suit, but he grinned. He swung the mechs arm round, connecting with Graff, who tumbled across the hall, his armour locking to prevent his body being torn apart by the force of the blow. When he hit the wall, he embedded into it, creating a small crater from which a spider’s web of cracks radiated. It was a few seconds before he stepped from the wall, his armour smouldering.

Graff walked forward slowly and with utmost purpose. Danssen readied another punch, but it never connected - a wall of electricity erupted in an instant, blowing the arm of the suit to constituent atoms. Graff strode through the cloud of ionised armour unabated, one hand outstretched. Danssen swore in the cockpit, but the word was ripped from his mouth as a scream as millions of volts poured into the suit.

Moments later, the suit lay in a crumpled heap. All of the plastic and glass parts of the armour had melted and refrozen instantly, strange sculptures of black liquid held in time. Danssen lay at the centre of the heap, grimacing up at Heyerdahl.

“You stupid fuck. I told you - you can’t touch me! I’m bulletproof Heyerdahl. I’ve got the New Order behind me! I built them a fucking planet killer, and its got your name all over it, stamped in every sheet of metal!”

“You think I care about that you little punk? The New Order doesn't scare me.”

“They fucking should! ‘Cos once they find out what you done to me here - you’re a dead man walking!”

“They’re not going to find out, you little shit, and if they did they wouldn’t care.”

“Oh yeah? I’m going straight to them! I’m gonna bring the Narayanastra here and blow this fucking backwater planet to kingdom come!”

“No, you’re not,” Graff said calmly.

“Oh yeah? What’re you gonna do? Kill me?”

Graff Heyerdahl dumped a million volts into Daniel Danssen's body, which exploded instantly in a mist of gore that stained the inside of the cockpit. Heyerdahl straightened up and pinged Pavinder. “Get me a cleanup crew and repair technicians in here. And get me Magnus Nilmeister.”

[ Luria Orbit ]

The Akkar boarding party fought its way through to the bridge of the Prinz Eugen II, wrenching open its protective bulkheads and pouring into it en masse. Rather than the command crew they expected to find, they emerged into an empty, cavernous space, a set of Arabic numerals displayed on seemingly every interface on the bridge. Za'vatage, the Akkai huntmaster present, leaned towards the viewscreen - struggling to comprehend the bizarre decimal system on display. 05. 04. 03. He leaned in closer, clicking his mandibles, attempting to discern whether the number was counting up or down. 02. 01. FOR THE PRESERVATION OF THE IDEALS OF LURIA.

Zabaton's command crew watched through their rudimentary bio-viewscreens as the Prinz Eugen II collapsed in on itself, before exploding outwards as its singularity core went critical. The command sphere rocked and rolled dangerously, fracturing under the immense gravitational stresses, alarms sounding throughout the Akkar ship. The bio-viewscreen twitched and flickered, now showing a view of a corridor within the ship as it collapsed - no, not collapsed, was torn apart as a boarding torpedo drilled through it, before coming to a halt.

Admiral Burn Gorman emerged from the torpedo's disembarkation hatch clad in blood red force recon power armor, a single shoulder pauldron painted in an ornate golden design with the words LURIA emblazoned on it. The great aristocratic houses of Luria each laid claim to multiple antique suits of power armor predating even the modern AKD; the origins of this specific suit were unknown even to the scholars of house Gorman, but its purpose could not have been clearer.

"SIEG LURIA!"

The warcry came even as Gorman's assault squad were still disembarking from the torpedo, bringing heavy repeating cannons, automatic grenade launchers, cyclical bolt casters and light railguns to bare. Gorman brought his wrist-mounted, double-barreled bolt caster up and loosed a wild salvo of airbursting projectiles as a swarm of Gurakto closed in on him, surging wildly towards the invaders. One of Gorman's men knelt down next to him, resting the of bulk an electromagnetic shrapnel caster on his knee, and firing into the mass of Gurakto - with a wicked howl, shards of depleted uranium were accelerated up to a measurable fraction of the speed of light, bisecting, trisecting, quadrisecting the alien forms and figures and leaving so much disfigured biomatter in their wake. The Lurians pushed forwards, charging wildly, gouts of blue perma-flame projected into every corridor and pathway they elected not to personally navigate.

They burst into a hollow chamber, some kind of breeding den for the Gurakto, and were immediately set upon by an ambushing party of Akkai hunter-killers. A whip of blue perma-flame shot out from one of the Lurian marine's forearms, passing harmlessly over an Akkai's chitinous exoskeleton - but instantly igniting his fleshy interior body, incinerating him from the inside out. He turned as another Akkai approached, poleaxe at the ready - but too slowly, as the Akkai slid the blade through a gap in his power armor, ending him. Salvos of electromagnetic shrapnel spun out across the chamber, as well as precise railgun shots that removed limbs and heads from approaching warriors. The door behind them burst open as another party of Akkai charged into the fray - one of them made a dash towards Gorman, but the Admiral turned at the last moment, grabbing the creature's torso within the massive power claw that took the place of his armor's left gauntlet. The creature struggled, its chitinous body armor fracturing and splintering as Gorman crushed the literal life out of it, eyes bloodshot with rage as he exclaimed through clenched teeth:

"Xenos scum!"

---

[ Aerisgard Command Bunker ]

"That would be greatly appreciated. You will be well rewarded in the new FSA that is to come."

With that, Ascheron ended the call, and stood up from his chair. A screen at one end of his bunker displayed a view of the battle in space; one that he believed, with increasing confidence, he was winning.

---

[ Moon of Bendu ]

A dull thud sounded throughout the Viper King as the boarding shuttle docked, followed shortly after by a whine as the two different atmospheric systems interfaced and equalized. Kurze watched a display from within the bridge, showing a view of the hallway beyond the airlock - waiting for the boarding party to come into view. Anesthezine gas was at the ready; it would prove invaluable if the boarders were New Order marines, but considerably less useful if they were boarded by the infamous PsyTroopers that had been discussed so much since the battle of Vonilla. Kurze squeezed his thumb within his fist, waiting for the airlock doors to open.

They eventually did, a faint, misty fog blowing out into the hallway beyond, as was often the case when higher-humidity atmospheres interfaced with lower-humidity environments. Nothing emerged out into the hallway beyond, though - no marines, no PsyTroopers, no boarding party of any kind. Kurze's crew finished slipping their re-breathers into place, and waited with bated breath to see what they were up against. Not PsyTroopers. Please, not PsyTroopers.

And then, the very worst person who could've possibly stepped out of the airlock at that moment, did just that. She stepped forwards, then stood in place, hands in her pockets, casting her gaze down both ends of the hallway - red irises flicking one way, then the other, then up to the camera that was observing her from above. Her gaze locked on Kurze, as if through supernatural will alone the camera feed became a two-way affair. He froze. She smirked.

"I've got a feeling I'm the reason you're here in the first place. So, let's just cut to the chase."

<Vesa Qatoria Offworld Base>

With the transmission sent, there was nothing to do but wait. Blackout tuned the freighter’s communications system to scan Malchiorian and FSA frequencies, so he would hear any news regarding the Narayanastra as soon as it emerged. He stood there, taking in the vast amount of auditory information that would overwhelm most people - most organics, anyway. So far, he could hear little of interest - apart from one thing, a news bulletin alleging a man had been present - in space - at the site of the crash in orbit of Malchior IV. He hadn’t been putting much of his power into hiding, that was true, but there was something odd about the news. Unless the Malchiorians had someone with powerful psychic powers he was unaware of, they shouldn’t be able to declare with this certainty that he was there. They were surely trying to bait him into showing himself, Blackout concluded. Not that it mattered. He was going to make his presence known to everyone soon enough.

-----

<Moon of Bendu>

Sylen Kurze wasn’t much of a gambler. The religion he’d been born into forbade it, and while he personally wasn’t particularly religious, he never partook. It seemed unnatural, and deep down, he disliked the idea of losing.

Looking into the red eyes at the other end of the camera feed, Sylen suddenly felt like a man who had just lost his entire life savings, and then some, in a game of poker. As his crew members sweated, shuddered, and generally tried not to be sick all over the bridge, he tried to respond in a tone that would show some - utterly manufactured - confidence. Even if they were about to die, due to something as stupid as a computer malfunction to boot, he - as their commander and the originator of the plan that was now blowing up in their face - owed it to them to at least try and keep their spirits up for a little while longer.

“Sefer Yetzirah. To what does our humble Coridan transport owe the pleasure?”

-----

<Yari III, Horba City>

In a packed hall, Local 56 of the Yari III Transport Workers’ Union was having one of its regular meetings. After a minute of silence to commemorate Mayor Preston, the trade unionists got on with their mostly rather boring agenda. As they neared the end, the door suddenly burst open, and about half a dozen young shifter men, a few of whom were holding guns, suddenly burst into the room, yelling vulgar slogans implying the Movement for Rights and Freedoms, which the Transport Workers’ Union naturally supported, was in bed with Yari III’s prime minister, Baron Alfred Ernst von Budberg. Those with guns began shooting randomly, injuring a few workers, while those who didn’t have them surrounded the nearest shifter and began to beat him up. One of them shape-shifted his arm into a tentacle and tried to choke him, only to be shoved away and kicked by a burly porter. Having thoroughly exhausted the element of surprise, the radicals beat a hasty retreat.

Such incidents, previously unheard of, were becoming more and more frequent on Yari III after William Preston’s death. The radicals in the MRF seemed to be not only growing in strength, but also positioning themselves against the MRF as a whole and becoming violent. One of the workers in attendance, a veteran of the Tanari-Takemikazuchi war, suggested there was something familiar about the guns the young radicals were using, that they were possibly using Takemikazuchi tech, but nobody who was important wanted to listen to him. After all, that would be ridiculous.

-----

<Tanari Prime, President’s Residence>

Silver Eachan smiled as the call ended. After what seemed like a massive bump in the road, things were going his way again. He began to call David Robert Jones, to give him his new instructions - or, rather, reiterate the old ones.

-----

<Malchior IV, David Robert Jones’ Office>

The life size hologram of Silver Eachan burst into life in front of Jones. “Good evening. I thought you should know that I have spoken with Evangelise Ascheron. She is taking over her… sadly departed father’s bid for the sec gen position, and I have decided the Confederation will continue to support said bid.”

“Why are you still doing this, Silver?” A hint of disappointment could be heard in Jones’ voice, as though he were still hoping he wouldn’t have to cross a particular Rubicon. “You must know these are dangerous people. Allman made the mistake of thinking the Lurians were trustworthy too.”

Eachan dismissively waved his hand, as if to somehow physically bat away Jones’ point like an annoying fly. “Yes, they are dangerous. To the New Order, and to all the enemies of Tanar.”

“All the enemies of Tanar, is it?”

“Ascheron uncovered a dangerous terrorist plot back on our homeworld right in the nick of time. And her forces, together with ours, foiled it. They figured it out before we did. You see, David, this alliance is already bringing dividends.”

“So we’re handing over internal security to the Lurians so you can win re-election. I’m sure there can be no unintended consequences stemming from that.”

The President grew slightly more irritated. “I did not hire you for your strategic advice. If it weren’t for my goodwill and the fact that you, through pure chance, are friends with the bunch currently running Malchior, David, you could be on the homeworld, either rotting in retirement or hanging around with that inexplicably popular shifter whore of yours. I can withdraw my goodwill at any time. Evangelise Ascheron will be secretary-general of the FSA if I have anything to say about it, and your job is to shut up and make that happen.“

“You forget one thing, Silver. You didn’t shut me up, I chose to shut up because it was the easy way out. The only reason you and all your ilk didn’t go to prison or face some Takemikazuchi firing squad is because people like me, unfortunately, allowed it out of sloth and complacency. I'm the one with goodwill to withdraw.”

“What can you do? Resign in protest? Allman is dead, the resistance is gone, order is restored, the people have moved on. People like you are the past, your old heroics mean nothing anymore.”

“I guess we’ll see about that.” Jones said, suddenly turning off the holographic projector and ending the connection. He then tried to call Aster, but as there was no answer, he went back behind his desk and clicked several buttons, sending invitations to a press conference, to be held the next day on his personal starship, to Klak, Nadle, a number of other important figures, and many journalists.

-----

<Malchior IV, David Robert Jones’ Ship>

David Robert Jones stepped out behind the lectern, blinking slightly as cameras flashed in his face. He was flanked by a tall Latino man some of the journalists in the audience might have recognised as Morgan Peres, former candidate for President of the Tanari Confederation.

“Good morning. Thank you all for coming. I would like to announce that, first of all, effective immediately, I am resigning as the Tanari Confederation’s ambassador to the Free Systems Alliance. I do not take this decision lightly. I believe my government’s support for the Ascheron crime family,” he said, borrowing the term Aster had used a few days ago. “Is a grave error. I believe it will lead to a profound transformation of the FSA, its decisive shift away from the ideals that led me to oppose Allmanism at home and the New Order abroad. I call on all those member states currently considering voting for Evangelise Ascheron to reconsider. She is not meaningfully different from her father, she would accomplish nothing positive in the role a more suitable candidate could not, and she would corrupt the institution of the FSA irreversibly.”

The journalists rushed to ask their questions, but Jones ignored them and carried on with his speech. “To give but one example, I was informed yesterday by President Eachan that Lurian forces had gone ahead with an anti-terrorist operation on Tanari Prime. While I am pleased if innocent lives have been saved by this operation, it sets a dangerous precedent if the forces of a fascist regime are allowed to intervene, without oversight, in the internal affairs of other FSA members. If Evangelise Ascheron becomes secretary-general, such involvement will, no doubt, come to extend ever deeper. A dangerous precedent is being set. While I was proud to work for a democratically elected Tanari government, I believe the current administration has become corrupt and arrogant. In a time of crisis, we need better leadership than Silver Eachan can provide. We need a strong, united Tanar. That is why I am resigning from my post, and that is why, with the full and free agreement of the nominating committee of the Liberal Party, I am running for President of the Confederation in the upcoming elections. My dear friend, Morgan Peres, who is joining us today, will be my running mate.”

Jones then stepped aside, allowing Morgan to speak. “Thank you. Thank you. I believe the current administration is pushing for a return to authoritarianism, to the cult of personality, to Allmanism in a velvet glove. The evidence is all around us!” he boomed, seemingly confusing this low-key press conference with a campaign rally. “The enemy within is Allmanism-Eachanism, seeking to hide behind Evangelise Ascheron’s apron strings, keeping good, working men and women down out of fear. The enemy without is, of course, Sefer Yetzirah, who loves the idea of a dysfunctional Tanari Confederation, so she can integrate us, and then the rest of the galaxy into her so-called New Order! These are the challenges we face, and that’s why I am running for Vice President, to create an administration that will pulverise them.”

Much to everyone's relief, Morgan stopped there, and opened the floor to questions.

[Hotel Besson, Fortune Island, Sea of St. Cardozo, Jumano]

Strolling up several meters behind the approaching group, another figure approaches Ashton. This tanari is in a crisp three piece suit of royal blue, every crease of his clothes firm and precise. He carries a briefcase in his left hand, freshly cleaned and cared for, and a wicked blade resting on his shoulder in his right. The only skin visible, his hands and face, are well tanned and toned, his silhouette cutting an impressive figure, wide at the shoulders, narrow at the waist. His face is jovial, a smirk of elation gracing his features. His hair done back slick, in a very business cut. His eyes....not discernable behind the sunglasses he's wearing.

"That tanari's name would be Yenot, and it's a pleasure for you to meet me."

[Capital-Class, Spaceship Yuy]

Grand Admiral Perseus, a Sha’lythe, stood on the bridge of the Spaceship Yuy as it emerged from FTL at the location that the Khaledi-Malchiorian commander told them about. The Grand Admiral hoped the distress signal was not some sort of trap, but not for his sake. He had been seasoned by a long career in military service, having served in many battles, even Sundowner. And despite his position being second only to the leader of the Malchiorian Naval department and the President, he often preferred a hands-on approach. Perseus just hoped to avoid any inconveniences.

“Send out probes, see if we find anythi-”

He stopped. A vast battle station moved like a vast predatory fish parsecs away from the Yuy. At first, Perseus thought he was staring at a modified Semovente-class. But seconds later, it dawned on him that this was an entirely new kind of weapon.

The crew of the Yuy gasped in horror as they gazed upon the Narayanastra. The New Order battle station was the size of a small planetoid, dwarfing even their own massive capital-class dreadnought. Perseus noticed the New Order’s crest on the side of the superweapon, coming to a horrific realization. The Lurian rumors were true; the New Order had built some sort of superweapon. They had to leave before they would be spotted.

“Retreat,” he barked. “Turn back!”

The Yuy pivoted back, and in what felt like an eternity, finally turned around and jumped to FTL travel, escaping just in time.

---

[Base Theta, Iotunort}

“There is always a ‘why’, friend,” Amzi’x decreed.

Commisar Hathaway nodded at both Tarvias and Blizz.

“Bijorn-tar, release them,” she ordered. “Once the storm dies down, you may all go get your things. After that, we’ll meet outside the base and head towards the caverns.”

Bijorn-tar clenched the chains of each pair of handcuffs.

“If either of you tries anything funny,” he growled. The Iotun ripped the chains apart with his hands, setting Blizz and Tarvias free.

The soldiers began to rest until the storm died down. After that, Blizz and Tarvias (hopefully) did everything they needed to do to prepare.

Meanwhile, at the mouth of a cavern several miles away, a New Order transport dropped Arc Jeriko off with a group of soldiers.

Arc Jeriko sniffed and smiled.

“I almost forgot what fresh air smelled like!” he beamed. “Nothing like that crisp, Iotunort air!”

“Arc, will others from the New Order be joining us?” a soldier asked.

“No idea!” Arc Jeriko guessed. “But whoever joins us on either side...we’re going to have a hell of a time!”

Arc Jeriko cackled as he picked up some snow and threw it into the air.

OOS: Waiting on Libees for the rest.

---

[Xazari Meeting, FSA Conference Room, Malchior IV, one day earlier]

Russello nodded and half-smiled.

“We would be offering quicker approval of acquisitions and projects contracts throughout the FSA, same as what I believe was recently offered to the Heyerdahl Corporation for their military and other commitments. I believe I can also persuade the FSA to allow trade access to Iotunort, which is otherwise unavailable to non-FSA members. There would be some restraints and the occasional regulation, of course.” Russello offered. “But, speaking as the Secretary of State of Malchior IV, I believe I can add a little more. Joint military exercises, defense treaties, and right of first refusal to resource rights on the Twelfth Continent of Malchior III--which we are currently exploring. Xazari corporations could make a tremendous profit, and we could jointly, with the rest of the FSA and with Heyerdahl and Ordon V, unleash military and scientific research that will defeat the New Order and usher in a new galactic age.”

-

[Gaius Malcovus’s apartment, Malchior IV]

Gaius Malcovus’s eyes widened. He looked at Salem, then at the syringe. His mind raced through different possible outcomes, filled with uncertainty. He nearly dropped the syringe when the sounds of the explosions from the fallen gunships pulsed through Sixrings Dunjon City, but he successfully caught it. Gaius grit his teeth and injected the contents of the syringe into himself. He kneeled onto the floor.

“If this is the end,” he whispered. “Then tell your angel that he should search my files for Project Blackstar. The Vykonian government in exile...has many secrets.”

-

[FSA HQ, Malchior IV]

The fireball consumed that side of the FSA building, with shrapnel tearing through offices, conference rooms, and exhibits. Despite the fact that many personnel had been evacuated, there were still numerous casualties. The Malchiorian soldiers responding to the scene were all either dead or severely injured.

The explosion flung Krieger back several feet. He crashed into a wall, miraculously remaining conscious for a few moments.

Krieger looked around seeing fire and rubble all around him. He weakly pressed his hand on his abdomen and raised his fingers in front of his face. The fingers were tinted red.

“The sons of bitches got me after all,” Krieger rasped, then smiled. He sighed one last time. “At least I got to give my life...for Malchior.”

And so, Blake Olivio Krieger died.

The Malchiorian fleet of fighters turned back, having gotten just in time to see the explosion.

Moments later, ambulances and firefighter crews arrived, personnel of various species rushing into the smoldering building. Malchiorian police stationed around the area that had been attacked and placed a crime scene barrier around it. Survivors were escorted out, many of them rushed away in ambulances.

The battleship Llon arrived from hyperspace shortly after that. Klak warped to the Malchiorian surface with some of his Presidential Guard and a few aides. Meanwhile, the Llon entered into the Malchiorian atmosphere to dock at a spaceport near the planet’s capital.

Klak tread through the area in dread, watching as paramedics placed the injured and dead in countless mobile gurneys. Suddenly, Klak saw two paramedics guiding the gurney that housed Olivo’s corpse.

“Krieger?” he gasped. Klak rushed over to the gurney. The paramedics stopped. A tear ran down Klak’s face as he sighed quietly.

Klak turned to look at a group of intergalactic journalists who had gathered on the other side of the barrier. Klak climbed up some of the rubble and planted one foot on some debris. He turned to face the journalists.

“We’ll find whoever did this,” he boomed. “I promise you all justice, for Malchior, and for the FSA!” he boomed.

If he only knew.

Klak stepped away from the rubble and began to speak with some of the supervising emergency personnel. He also visited some of the survivors who had been gathered at a nearby tent. Klak stayed for a few more hours to assist with the rescue efforts, then left to comfort the Krieger family.

-

[Presidential Palace, Malchior IV]

OOS: Reminder that this takes place a day after Russello’s meeting with the Xazari, which is why he’s here in this part of the post.

Later in the evening, Klak attended a meeting at the Presidential Palace. Generals, Admirals (including Grand Admiral Perseus), cabinet members, and other Vell administration members (sans Jefferson Bethlehem, who was recovering at a Malchiorian hospital) all were either present in person or through holographic transmissions. Klak entered into the room wearing the traditional Malchiorian presidential wartime armor, which was navy blue with red white rivets and the Malchiorian seal in the center. All those present stood up and saluted.

“At ease,” Klak said. “Any progress with our investigation into the attack at FSA headquarters?”

“We have a few leads, sir. We’ve assessed with some confidence that it was an independent group that attacked the FSA, not the New Order. We have also ruled out the Division, the VPR, or any rogue factions from Tanari or the AKD. We’re set to speak with Gaius Malcovus now, as he claims there was an attempt on his life related to the attack,” the chief of the Malchiorian United Investigation and Police Bureau (MUIB) said.

“What?! Send him my condolences…. See to it we find who did this as soon as possible,” Klak ordered. “How’s the recovery effort?”

“Doing well, thanks to you, sir,” Secretary Ayad commended. “Though we saw lots of casualties, a handful of them ambassadors. So far, 30 people dead, 203 injured.”

“Thank you, keep me updated,” Klak replied solemnly. “I assume this affects the Sec-Gen vote?”

“Interestingly enough, they held an informal remote vote,” Russello exclaimed. “They decided they will meet at the assembly in a few days, claiming that carrying on is what Krieger and the other dearly departed delegates would have wanted. I suppose it helps that the assembly room is far away from the blast.”

“Seems a little insensitive to carry on so quickly, but I suppose there’s nothing we can do about it,” Klak muttered. “What about Fhirn?”

“The cleanup and rescue phases are finished,” Secretary Ayad noted. “Death toll is now at 414.”

“Oh no,” Klak gasped. He sighed and placed his hands on his face. In total, both these recent incidents had killed over 444 people. If only Klak had known that all these tragedies had been borne from the machinations of the same fiend.

“What about Geihmurs and Bendu?” he asked.

“It’s confirmed, sir,” Grand Admiral Perseus spoke solemnly through his hologram. “The AKD was right...Geihmurs is gone. I saw their weapon, it’s a battle fortress...I’ve sent schematics to everyone based on what we saw. It made my ship look like a wolth beetle.”

Holographic displays set all around the room began to show models of the Battle Fortress Narayanastra. Everyone’s eyes widened.

Klak’s jaw dropped as he scanned through the model.

“How long until they use it again?” he croaked.

“We’re not certain, but it may be soon,” Perseus lamented. “The Taks probably have some sort of system to charge it between assaults.”

“Now I see why they wanted to kill Long Shortman and Reed Palermo,” Vice President Weir commented.

“Hold on, I’m not sure that’s what Sefer was building on Bendu,” Nadle cautioned. “It could be something worse.”

“Fair enough,” Weir acknowledged, “But either way, we have to destroy it before the New Order gets another chance to use it.”

“Agreed,” Nadle nodded. “We can mobilize September Dawn, they’ll blow it to Kingdom come.”

“Wait,” General Custoeux warned. “We aren’t exactly certain what we’re dealing with here. All this from a distress signal? We could be walking into a trap.”

Nadle nodded again, solemnly.

“You’re right,” he conceded. “We’d be putting some of our best soldiers in harm’s way. But a full-on assault would be even costlier.”

“Exactly. If we send a fleet, whether Malchiorian or FSA, we would have another Sundowner on our hands,” Perseus added. Unlike most of those present, Perseus knew what that was like.

“What about mercenaries?” suggested Minister Olveda Oba, director of one of Malchior’s intelligence agencies. “My agency, along with some of the others here have contacts in the intergalactic underworld. We hire them to destroy the ship. We avoid the mass casualties, and have deniability in case things do not go as planned.”

“That might work,” Nadle chimed. “But we should send a few of our agents to supervise them, just in case.”

“The FSA needs inspiration,” Klak mused. “It needs hope, which is in short supply nowadays. Even the Lurians have suffered during this hellish week. If the mercenaries succeed, it will lift all of our spirits. The mercenaries get a fortune and a big damn medal. The rest of us show the universe that the New Order can be beaten. If they fail...then I’ll risk another Sundowner to destroy that damn thing...and we’ll keep fighting until Sefer stops her conquest or until I plant an FSA flag on Yamato myself.”

Klak stood up, and everyone else did the same thing.

“With this thing and with Bendu, Sefer wants an escalation, and someday we’ll deliver. But for now, hire the mercenaries and send some of our men to command them,” he ordered.

“Yes, sir,” everyone replied in unison. Klak left the conference room. The following day, he went to David Robert Jones’s speech (see later in this post).

And so, a call went out for mercenaries to join a secret mission, the contents to be described later. Arila notified Fourteen about the call, continuing her secret mission as a double agent for the Malchiorians.

-

[Anh-Dante Cemetery, New Gracewood, Malchior IV]

An elderly man kneeled in front of a grave and brushed the leaves off of it. He quietly muttered a prayer.

“He’s dealing with so much,” he then whispered, as if in a secret conversation with the dead. “And I’m not sure how to help him, or if I even can.”

He sighed and placed a hand on the grave.

“You would have known what to do,” he beamed.

The man stayed for a while, then stood up to leave. On the grave’s epitaph read the words “NORMA “THE NORMAN” VELL, HERO, MOTHER, WIFE” with the date of her lifespan on it.

Dr. Vell made his way out of the cemetery as bronze leaves fell from trees all around him.

-

[Malchior IV, David Robert Jones’ Ship, the following day]

Klak and Nadle both attended David Robert Jones’s speech. Klak had previously commented to a group of journalists that this was only a temporary stop to say hello to an old friend, and not an endorsement of anyone in particular for the Tanari presidential race, but everyone knew that was false. Klak privately hoped that Jones would win, and so too did Nadle.

Klak and Nadle quietly watched as Jones and Peres began to take questions from the press. After that ended, they both went up to Jones and Peres to congratulate them.

“Always good to see you, Jones,” Klak said, smiling. “Speaking privately, I hope you beat Eachan. He’s a little too much like Allman for my tastes.”

---


[Tanari Prime, Bar near Parliament]

Rain raised his eyebrows and smirked.

“There’s that Tanari hospitality,” he mumbled. “Get me some Yari ale.”

He glanced over to Aster.

That’s her, codename Janus, he thought to himself. Things are starting to work out after all.

“I’m sorry, miss,” he asked, once again using his fake accent of unknown origin. He blinked his red and white eyes. “Haven’t I seen you somewhere? Aren’t you that actress?”

Terrible line, but perhaps one that would start a conversation. All Rain needed was a way to get into the shifter group.

---

[Vonilla Staging Post, Stairway to Heaven]

“I wish I were running Obion!” Gather gushed. “My systems seem to prefer Paraxis, never been able to run Obion. But I’d be happy to let you take a look, Ms...?”

Meanwhile, Astrophel nodded back at Arwell and pointed to the leg where he had been shot all those years ago. He smiled, then kept looking for a drink.

Later, when Astro heard Uteriach’s name he entered into a daze. Memories of the Tanari war flooded into his head. He initially did not notice Drake as he entered into the room. Eventually, Astro escaped this state of mind and shook his head.

“I don’t like it,” he expressed. “Uteriach was part of Allman’s terrible trio. People like him killed millions. I’d expect the Vongolans here to know about that, especially you, Arwell. Anyway, I thought with Gabriel Ascheron dying that was the last we’d seen of ‘em, but now you’re telling me Uteriach is alive, and I’m doing an exfil for him? It’s mad.”

“You’re being paid handsomely to do an exfil,” Cassandra chided. “Need I remind you, not all Vongolans are in favor of his imprisonment. Some think breaking him out will actually fix things.”

“Hmm,” Astro humphed. “Then let the record show I’m doing this because I need the money, not because I want to see the bastard alive or anything.”

Astro turned to his side and noticed Drake. His eyes widened and jaw dropped.
“Drake? Drake Catlow? Is that you?” he asked aloud. Astro and Drake embraced, laughing in surprise.

“I don’t believe it!” Astro said. “How the hell are you, you crazy son of a gun! Wait, didn’t you serve at Sundowner too, Arwell? Three of Sundowner’s most notorious men on the same ship on the same mission, with the Diamond Dogs no less! I’m enjoying this already!”

---

[Hotel Besson, Fortune Island, Sea of St. Cardozo, Jumano]

Lalli Cain and Regina Faral glanced at each other for a moment. They then looked back at Amanda and Yenot and smiled. Lalli lowered his gun.

“Amanda Warren, Yenot, so good to see you both!” Lalli cheered. “And Yenot, you got a haircut! What are the odds of all of us meeting here?”

“Indeed! So what brings you all here?” Regina asked.

“Maybe they’re here to kill us,” Lalli joked.

“Ah, imagine that!” Regina replied. The two laughed loudly and awkwardly. Despite the “joke”, Lalli didn’t put his gun away.

“But really, what brings you all here?” Regina asked earnestly. “I didn’t know you were working with Amanda now, Ashton. She’s a hell of a partner. And who’s your Terugan friend?”

---

[Space, on route to Hy’dorel]

Bob’s announcement that he would travel to Hy’dorel was barely noticed on Malchior because of all the horrors the planet had gone through. Yet, Bob hoped that enough people in Hy’dorel’s government and in the Division would read up on it to help provide a decent cover for his mission.

Bob was accompanied by Jorten Karzdus, who posed as a professor, and other Malchiorian soldiers disguised as students. Their transport ship typical Malchiorian warcraft outfitted to look like a university-funded cruiser. Hopefully, their story would be believable enough for them to get onto the planet, and find the Division’s base.

[ Espirutu Santo Offworld Base ]

Vekhta entered the hangar bay in which the mercenaries and combatants had gathered, accompanied by a dull-eyed, hunched-over, middle-aged man named Ben Kovacs who, dressed in a plain brown work jacket and lacking any visible form of armament, seemed entirely out of place amidst the crowd. He found an empty storage crate, upturned it, and stood on top of it, clapping his hands together to draw the attention of the crowd. Present were Espiritu Santo men, who had changed from their trademark white cassocks to casual clothes more suited to the upcoming mission, as well as Vesa Qatorian 'gunmen' sent by houses Onassis and Breaker to ensure the success of the mission. There was a trick to telling the two groups apart; Espiritu Santo men were commonly armed with submachineguns and machine pistols, whilst the Vesa Qatorian gunmen were almost exclusively armed with highly customized and modified lever-action rifles. Vesa Qatorian warrior tradition forbade the use of any firearm that fired more than once for each pull of the trigger - ruling out automatic weapons - and placed a reverence upon weapons that required manual cycling, such as single-action revolvers, lever-action rifles, and pump-action shotguns. The accuracy and skill of these warriors was legendary, and innumerable were the number of foes who had met their demise underestimating the abilities of a Vesa Qatorian armed with an otherwise antiquated weapon.

Ben Kovacs cleared his throat, then spoke in a slow, southern drawl. "Gentlemen, listen close. I'd like to run through the plan. Ever since they lost Kalen Dawn, the FSA's had a policy of using quick-response mercenaries to target key New Order developments. The reality is that the sort of agents suited to this line of work generally don't settle for the kind of pay packets the FSA's various governments can offer. That's where we come in."

Kovacs held up a folder, waving it lazily in the air above him.

"As of this moment you're all agents of the Conquistadors mercenary company. We have all the necessary paperwork to participate in these sorts of engagements, which means the FSA won't have any qualms about accepting our help when we offer it. On paper, we're a perfectly legitimate mercenary enterprise, which means the first rule all of you need to follow is to not fuck that up. Be courteous, be polite, but keep your mouths shut when you're around the FSA men. They don't need to know that Conquistadors is just a shell company I set up a few years back."

Kovacs turned and gestured in the rough direction that the Tanari freighter was moored in. The Incheon, the light cruiser Geum Baek-Hyeon had donated to the effort, sat in orbit above the base, already repainted into a new Conquistadors paint scheme.

"The Incheon is now the Blacksword, and that fancy Tanari freighter is the Darkmount. For the record, I did not get to choose the names - those are just the ones we had the documentation and transponder codes for. I've spent a lot of time, money and effort making sure every aspect of this operation looks legit. Point being, if one of you fucks this up, I will kick your ass so hard you'll be able to fit a Semovente in the footprint."

Vekhta spoke up, her arms folded behind her back - slipping back into the postures and mannerisms of the old Vekhta, Exalted Warmaster of the Yuzari.

"Conquistadors, the FSA has located Narayanastra and we're officially responded to their call for aid. Report to your vessels and prepare for FTL jump."

The gathered forces began making their way to their ships; the Espiritu Santo complement would travel aboard the Darkmount, whilst the Onassis and Breaker forces would travel aboard the Blacksword, reporting to Captain Warren Willis. John Shepard strode into the hall, having concluded matters on Vesa Qatoria itself, leaving the Espiritu Santo garrison there under the command of the trusted Brother Clearwater. Shepard and Vekhta made their way towards Blackout, standing reverently behind him.

"At last, we will reveal ourselves to the New Order." remarked Shepard, gazing out of the window to the Tanari Freighter beyond. "At last, we will have revenge."

---

[ Viper King, Moon of Bendu ]

"Your tone of voice suggests you have some awareness the extreme danger you're currently in."

Sefer disappeared and, instantly, reappeared within the bridge itself. The crew sprung into action, drawing their weapons, flicking safeties on, ejecting magazines and... dropping their weapons to the floor? Sylen paused before realizing what he and his crew had just done - what a deeply personal instinct from within his subconscience had compelled him to do. Tanari intelligence operatives were trained to resist mind control; this was something far beyond mind control. Sefer loosed a smirk as she noticed the look of panic intensify on the now-disarmed Kurze.

"That's good. That awareness is what will keep you and your crew alive. I'm not here to kill any of you, though by rights, I should be."

Sefer began to casually pace the bridge; none present intervened as she leaned forwards towards a command console, disabling both the prepared anesthezine gas and uninstalling the reactor's self-destruct capability. Even with her back turned towards the crew, no conceivable amount of willpower would've allowed them to take even one step towards her, much the same as no conceivable amount of willpower would ever permit a fictional character to break the fourth wall and kill their own author. Sefer was fundamentally on another level. The already impressive reports of her power, dating back from the Tanari-Takemikazuchi war, were evidently terrifyingly out-of-date.

"All things considered I'm in a good mood today, so I'm going to leave your ship and let you go on your way. You're going to tell Silver Eachan what you found here - a significant military presence - and then you're going to kill him."

She paused, turning back to Kurze.

"I'll leave the specifics to you. I'm not going to alter your minds in any way to force you to do this, but please do consider that I have read your minds and as such I know not only your own names and identities, but the names and identities of your loved ones, too. If you should feel that the instruction I have given you is in any way optional, or that any amount of restraint should be exercised, then I would invite each of you to consult your imagination, and hypothesize as to what the most powerful woman in the known galaxy might do with the information she's just stripped from you."

She smirked.

"Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

---

[ The Nation Continues, Tanari holo-net talk show ]

"I go to my doctor," Reed began, and the audience fell silent. "I go to my doctor, and I say to him 'Doc, my lungs hurt'. 'Doc, hurts to breathe, I'm always coughing'. He says to me I've got a cold or the flu or something. I say, 'Doc, no, this is real serious'. He puts his diagnostic device on my chest and turns to me and says I'm not not getting enough air in my lungs. I say 'Doc, I'm breathing, aren't I?'. He shakes his head and says no, I need to expand my lungs, I need to laugh, I need to laugh so that it'll expand my lungs and exercise them. I shake my head, I say to him 'Doc, what have I got to laugh about? I'm living on Tanari Prime, there's no jobs, unemployment's never been higher. I walk to the shop and the church on the corner's still in ruins from when the Tiktaks bombed it back in the war. We got the New Order looming on the horizon, and our only hope is some chickenshit liberal named Klak who's too busy polishing his stars-and-stripes power armor to care about poor old little Tanari Prime. He turns to me and shakes his head and you know what he says to me?"

Reed paused for a moment.

"He turns to me and he says 'Well, David Robert Jones says he's gonna be President.' HAH HAH HAH!" added Reed, bursting into deliberate, forced laughter. The audience exploded in rapturous applause, laughing along with him. "HAH HAH HAH! HAH, HAH, HAH! HAW HAW HAW!"

Reed wiped the tears from his face with his handkerchief, his face bright red. He struggled to collect himself.

"Well, we got some great policy ideas for Jones's campaign. Worker's rights, okay, worker's rights - 30 days a year paid leave to go and fuck off over to Malchior and leave everyone else back home to sort out the reconstruction effort, huh? HAH, HAH, HAH!" he boomed, as the audience erupted into laughter again. "Yeah, that's right up Jones's street - he'll be able to set up a commission to let everyone know where all the good bars and restaurants are on Malchior, because we sure as hell know that's where he's spending most of his time - and most of our money. Or how about this, right, quieten down people-"

The audience fell silent as a wry grin formed of William Douglas Reed's face.

"Tax breaks for twenty-something-year-old dumb blonde bimbos!" he shouted, as the audience exploded once more; Reed rocked back and forth behind his desk, slapping his hands down on it, laughing maniacally. "Shit, shit, fair enough, I might actually vote for him if he promised that. We all love our beautiful blonde women, don't we? Admittedly most of us not quite as much as him. Shit. Shit. Yeah, Tanari Prime's gonna be a really good place to be a blonde woman if he does win. Maybe Lilith Heyerdahl'll move here. Maybe Evangelise Ascheron. Shit, who knows-"

With the tap of a command tablet, one of Eachan's staffers paused the recording, and smirked. This is how we fight back, she thought.

[ Vonilla Staging Post, Stairway to Heaven ]

“Name’s Cai-Wei. Here,” she said as she snaked a data cable from her ancient laptop and proffered it to Gather Round. “Let me see if I can squeeze a bit more performance out for you. I’ll ping you over some peripherals too.”

At Astro’s remarks, Arwell’s face grew steely. “Thank you,” he said, addressing Cassandra before turning to Astrophel. “If your professionalism is compromised by your feelings toward the target then I’ll politely ask you to leave Astrophel. Otherwise, unless you have some intelligence you wish to share, I’d suggest you make your personal arrangements.”

Arwell stepped down off the stage and began to head toward his cabin after delivering the briefing. Drake Catlow clasped Astrophel’s arm in a handshake, but didn’t return his mirth. “It’s… good to see you Astro. Glad you got out of that mess back there. Oh, and don’t worry about Arwell. He’s still cut up about that intelligence trade, I’d imagine.” The ex-Tanari marine clasped his helmet on to his armour suit with a hiss of pressurising atmosphere, and nodded.

An hour later, the assembled team sat strapped into acceleration couches in the Stairway’s ready room. Arwell sat beside Cassandra at the front of the room, Cassius Calm and Cai-Wei in the aisle opposite. There was no sound as they emerged in the Vonilla system, just a slight judder as the Diamond Dog’s starship emerged into realspace. Arwell unclasped his restraints and stood, turning to address the gathered mercenaries. “Ok people, you know the plan. Let’s do this.”

Arwell and the crew of the Stairway worked for 13 minutes on the scan before they had a detailed enough picture of the seabed that they could guess with fair certainty as to where the prison was. A long trench, volcanically formed, had been artificially widened on the bed of the Manx sea. Nestled between the craggy surfaces of the trench’s walls was a squat concrete bunker, 300 metres in diameter, with a series of ancillary buildings attached. None had windows or entryways to speak of - all of the traffic appeared to come in and out via the main airlock on the east side of the large bunker. Arwell let the team know. Cai-Wei sat opposite Gather Round at a desk strewn with various electronic equipment. They were also plugged into the starship's more powerful sensor suite and spectrum arrays.

“I’ve got the firewall down for the place; it wasn’t easy. I had to brute force the subsidiary systems, think I fried most of them. It’s just down to Gather Round to crack these codes,” Cai-Wei reported. Arwell nodded curtly, before moving off to the hangar.

Here, Hercule’s stealth cruiser was being refueled and rearmed, final stage tests being carried out by the Stairway’s complement of droids and drones. The assembled mercenaries were finding their places onboard too, carrying large plasteel crates of their diving and personal equipment into the cramped storage compartment of the small craft. From the cockpit, Cassius Calm gave Arwell a lazy salute, Hercules sitting next to him as co-pilot, disguise still in place.


[ Espiritu Santo Offworld Base ]

Willis strode across the tarmac apron toward the shuttle that would carry his half of the Conquistador force up to the Blacksword waiting above. Breaker men walked close behind, chatting quietly amongst themselves, before a ruckus went up behind them.

“We all know that lily-livered Willis ain’t a captain for shit!” One of the Onassis boys said in a theatrically loud voice. He glanced between the Breaker men and his own compadres, who began laughing and jeering.

Willis stopped dead in his tracks, such that the Breaker men behind him had to hop out of the way lest they crash into his back. Willis turned on his heel and, still looking down with the brim of his hat obscuring his face, strode back across the tarmac to stand feet away from the Onassis men, who were still snickering amongst themselves. He then removed his hat and made a show of knocking out a dent in the felt, then brushing dust from the brim. He replaced the hat and then, and only then, made eye contact with the Onassis boy.

“You questionin’ my authority, boy?”

“Ain’t no question ‘bout it old man. You’re a dried up ole coot!” The Onassis replied to another round of hooting and ‘yeehaws’.

WIth one swift motion Breaker snatched the Onassis man’s revolver from his holster, flipped open the cylinder, tipped the rounds onto the tarmac and then, slowly now, replaced it. The other Onassis boys reached for their guns, fingers twitching. “Learn some manners or I’ll learn you some. Now,” Willis kicked, hard, at the man’s knee, which snapped backward, twisting awkwardly. The man went down in a heap, howling pain. “Sit.”

Willis turned again and resumed his walk across the tarmac. He could feel the aim of the Onassis boys on his back all the way.

The ship formerly known as Incheon had been a blue and white striped vessel with Geum’s family crest emblazoned on the side. Now it wore the Conquistador colors of charcoal grey and hazard orange in a chequerboard pattern, a morion helmet stenciled on the prow in silver. Whilst his men strapped themselves in, Willis took two of the Breakers up to the bridge. Willis had known Kelly ‘Caterwaul’ Wallins and Hudson D. River for many years; they were men he trusted deeply. Beside, they were the most experienced ship’s crew amongst the men he’d been given, so they now took up positions in the bridge as Willis himself settled into the helm.

“Darkmount, this is Blacksword reporting ready status. Locked and loaded, let’s get this show on the road, over.”




[ New Harpenden, Ordon V ]


Graff didn’t have to wait long before his VI flashed an icon showing Magnus Nilmeister opening a call with him. Graff accepted the call.

“Boss.”

“Magnus, Pavi tells me they’re putting together a joint forces team to take the Narayanastra down. I want you on that team. I want you on a flight to rendezvous with that team in an hour. And I want that fucking thing removed from existence. Am I clear?”

“Crystal, Boss. I’ll get right on it.”

The line went dead as Graff climbed into the open door of a waiting car. Pavinder sat in the back of the large black SUV, a compad resting on her knee.

“What have you got for me Pavi?” Graff asked tiredly, pulling a flask of coffee from a small hot/cold box recessed into the furniture of the vehicle.

“Looks like there’s September Dawn agents leading the taskforce.”

“Good. A couple of actual spooks on the team means that Klak is taking this seriously.”

“Deathly. I can only imagine the fallout from Geihmurs and the crash over Malchior…”

“Yeah, real sad.” Graff waited a beat, hoping at least some sincerity was being conveyed. “I want a full scrub Pavinder. You understand? This is a fucking catastrophe the likes of which puts Allman to shame. If the FSA finds out my fucking company helped put the parts together for that thing, its over, we can kiss our sorry asses goodbye.” Graff sipped from the flask aggressively.

“I’ve already got a team on it, boss. Full media surveillance and suppression, full data cleanse of the Monarch files, everything.”

“I knew I could count on you,” Graff growled as he relaxed back into the deep seat of the car.

“One other thing, boss… Kreiger was killed in an attack on his offices earlier today.”

Graff sighed and rested his head in his large hands. “He was a good man. Died serving Malchior, which is what he loved. May he rest in peace.”

Graff’s muscular frame filled the seat even as he lay his head back, closing his eyes. Pavinder knew he wasn’t sleeping. He was working, fully immersed in whatever graphic his VI was playing out across his retinas.


[ Luria Orbit ]

The bulkhead door was a strange, irising circle of rock covered in lines of alien text. Zabaton and zirs bodyguard stood ready, poleaxes raised above zir heads and beam rifles pointed at the door. A bright spot, glowing heat, traced a concentric pattern around the door, plasma-cutters helf by the Lurians on the other side working overtime to chew through the alien rock. The sounds of battle still reverberated through the command sphere, but were getting more and more quiet now, with longer lulls between bouts of gunfire.

Suddenly, the door shuddered in its frame, cracks splintering out from a dent that bulged inward toward the Akkar. Again, the door shuddered, another huge impact further cracking the door. There was now a tiny crack, large enough for light from the corridor outside to spill into the relatively dark bridge. There was silence for a moment, and then a startling howl of sound as a jet of blue permaflame sprayed into the chamber. The air within was eaten up almost immediately as the napalm-like substance clung to every surface, including the Akkar amassed within. They stood ground, shaking off the liquid where best they could. One Akkar brought an extinguisher over and began fighting the fire, but still it burnt away at the consoles of the vessel and bodies of the aliens. Then the door was broken fully, and Burn Gorman stood, panting, his power claw having smashed at least through the rock. He opened his mouth and began to shout - “SIEG LUR-” but was cut off as Za’atar charged forward, the poleaxe extended to imaple the Lurian.

Gorman stepped back, swinging the claw and batting aside the axe. Za’atar fired zirs pulse pistol held by zirs secondary arms, the rounds splashing harmlessly from the Lurian’s crimson power armour. Za’atar stepped in close, permaflame still clinging to zirs armoured carapace. The alien was formidable, standing nearly 10 feet tall as ze reared onto zirs back legs, using a flurry of kicks to press the Lurian captain back into the corridor. The other marines began stabbing at Za’atar, who deftly deflected the swipes with the axe. One marine shot his bolt-caster, the round exploding at the side of Za’atar’s head. Ze reeled back, but was replaced by another Akkar, who swung down zirs power glaive, cleaving through the vambrace of the nearest marine. His severed hand dropped to the rocky floor, arterial gore spraying from his stump as he screamed.

The fight went on for several frantic moments, intense back and forth at the door of the bridge as Akkar and Lurian fought tooth and nail, neither side relenting.


[ Iotunort ]

Deep nodded as Bijorn-Tar broke his manacles. “Thanks. I don’t actually need anything from my ship - I don’t really feel the cold,” he said with a shrug.

While the soldiers rested, Deep sat next to Commissar Hathaway. “So, what’s the down low here? I feel like there’s something I’m missing. Why haven’t your people sourced this armour? Did you just not know it existed? And if not, how? It seems a fairly important legend, especially if the New Order are getting involved.” Naturally, Deep’s face was entirely unreadable - because he didn’t have one - but he tried to make his body language open and amiable.

<Hotel Besson, Fortune Island, Sea of St. Cardozo, Jumano>

“I’ll be the judge of whether it’s a pleasure.” Ashton said grimly as he turned to Yenot, causing Pes to wince slightly as the negative emotions his friend felt at finding out Amanda had worked not only with his enemy Cain, but also with some Tanari, washed over him like a wave. He gave Amanda a knowing look, and she decided she would have to yell at Ashton later. “Ashton Carney, at your service. The Terugan there is Pes, and you apparently already know my other friend, Amanda Warren.”

“Yeah, we’re just here on holiday. Our recent assignment was pretty much hell.” Amanda explained. “It’s good to see all of you too. Pes and I go back a long way, but Ashton here is a newer find. We’ve set up a very profitable partnership of late, despite his... attitude problem.” She gave her blond friend an extremely obvious death glare.

Suddenly, every merc in the room who had their phone on them could hear it chirp with the distinctive sound made by a particular app traditionally used by mercenaries to share job offers. Pes took his out of his shirt pocket. “Er, ladies, gentlemen? Since we’re all apparently friends here, I’d just like to note that the FSA have just put out an ad. Apparently they’re looking for mercs who won’t ask too many questions. Lots of them, and ASAP. The bounties they're quoting are through the roof. Rendezvous point coordinates are in the ad.”

“Shortest holiday ever.” Amanda said under her breath. “Sounds like some of us need to learn to get along anyway.”

-----

<The Darkmount>

“Our vengeance begins here, yes. I will not reveal myself quite yet, though.” Blackout said, as he, Shepard and Vekhta made their way onto the Darkmount. “The FSA will have confirmation of my existence soon enough, but only on my terms. I shall be with you nevertheless, hiding in the shadows of your minds until the right moment.”


“Affirmative, Blacksword. Darkmount also reporting ready status. Over.”

Once everyone was on board, the freighter slowly lifted itself off the ground, and headed off towards the rendezvous point.

-----

<Tanari Prime, Bar near Parliament>

The bartender poured him a perfect pint of Yari ale, then moved on to Aster. “Two Black Holes, please.”

“Actress? What?” The confused Aster began visibly moving away from Rain with her cocktails, assuming he was drunk and/or a weirdo.

-----

<Vongola, City of Sards>

Kane looked on as the first approaching VRR units began to be visible on the horizon. The military governor of Sards had been informed in no uncertain terms that the city of Sards would now be their primary base of operations. While he appreciated the city desperately needed the additional reinforcements, he was not particularly happy about effectively losing his authority. Not that he was in a position to do much about it. Sards was now his, and with some luck, he could make it into a shining city on a hill, a symbol of the new Vongola to come. The old order would return… at least, a broad strokes version of it. After all, it was Kane and his paramilitaries who had shed blood for this bright future, and if he were the one to bring down the People’s Republic, who would say no to him? Questions like this needed to be answered. However, Kane had plenty of time to do so.

Kane’s daydreams petered out, and he returned to reality. He walked into a tent that had been recently set up, and made an encrypted holo-call to Joshua Kozin.

“Good morning, Joshua. A new dawn has broken, has it not?”

-----

<Malchior IV, DRJ’s Ship>

Jones beamed. “It is good to see you too, Klak. And thank you.”

“Eachan is too weak and opportunistic to be another Allman,” Peres chimed in. “But he perpetuates much of his old system. It’s a cancer at the heart of the FSA.”

“God willing, we shall not fail.” Jones said. “Also, give my condolences to Krieger’s family. He was a good man. A royal pain in the arse, but one I’ll sorely miss.”


In a snap poll taken shortly after Jones’ announcement, 60% of Tanari said they would vote for the Jones/Peres ticket, and 39% for Eachan, assuming no MRF candidate. While the poll was taken by a notoriously pro-Liberal holo-news network, the general pattern was clear - unless something changed dramatically between now and election day, David Robert Jones would become the next Tanari President.

-----

<Tanari Prime, President’s Residence>

Silver Eachan sat in the conference room, as several officials briefed him, Vice President North, and General Van Smoot on the terrorist plot Ascheron had warned them about. He would have much preferred not to have North there, having already decided to replace him with Van Smoot on the ticket and move North to Foreign Affairs if he won re-election, but he’d been convinced by his wife it would be best to not make him realise he was being sidelined.

Most of the agents had been eliminated by Tanari or Lurian forces before they could do any significant damage,and their corpses taken into custody to be examined by the Confederation’s best scientists, but there was one exception. One of them had decided to become a suicide bomber, and blew himself up at, inconguously, a lecture being given by Oriel Matthieu Saint and William Douglas Reed, the hosts of the right-wing political talk show ‘The Nation Continues’.

Eachan remembered Reed, of course, as the prime mover in the Allman-era attempt to bring down Sefer Yetzirah through internal political maneuvering. It had failed, of course, but Reed had shown himself to be a serious political operative, and he had made quite a name for himself since taking refuge in the Confederation, especially among people inclined to support Eachan.

The three stepped out of the briefing, North and Van Smoot to go on with their business, and once alone, Eachan walked through a glass tunnel hanging above a large hall where a number of civil servants were lined up, watching one of his pre-recorded speeches, when suddenly a staffer holding a holo-tape ran up to him. “Mr. President, I’m sorry to run into you like this-”

“I should fucking well hope so.” Eachan rolled his eyes at this insolent kid. “Who the hell are you, anyway?”

“Sorry, Mr. President. Sorry.” The staffer looked down at the floor. “I’m Timothy Smithson, from comms. I just wanted to make one suggestion. Of course, your poll numbers are going down…”

“Seriously, finish that sentence and you’re fired.”

“I… just wanted to say maybe we need more effective messaging. And I was just watching this show, The Nation Continues, with William Douglas Reed…”

“William Douglas Reed?” Eachan raised his eyebrow. “You know, that’s the second time I’ve heard that name in an hour.” Maybe the universe was trying to tell him something. He silently walked away from the confused Smithson, and went back to his office. After watching the holotape, which of course contained a recording of the last episode of The Nation Continues, he made a call.

“Good morning, Mr. Reed. This is the President speaking. I wanted to congratulate you on your good fortune, and also to ask you one simple question. Answer carefully, Mr. Reed. Your future career may depend on it.”

“In my place, how would you beat David Robert Jones?”

-----

<Moon of Bendu>

As Sefer made her announcement, hammering home with every word just how fucked they all were, a random crew member finally broke down and vomited all over his console.

“I guess we’ll just have to figure out how to do that.” Sylen finally said, with extremely obvious reluctance.

-----

<The Coldest Story Ever Told>

A long time ago, as the Tanari War was beginning to turn decisively against the Confederation, a brand new type of dreadnought, over five miles long, was pressed into service. The first, and as it turned out only one of its class, the Coldest Story Ever Told, constructed in the grand shipyards of Yari III, was outfitted with the latest, most effective weapons the Tanari had invented - or stolen - and sent out in the desperate hope of making some difference. And it may well have done, we will never know, had Edward Allman and the Tanari high command realised the importance of the human factor. After a single, highly successful engagement with a Malchiorian flotilla, a large portion of the Coldest Story Ever Told’s already demoralised crew seemed to realise, egged on by conversations with the many Malchiorians they’d taken prisoner and a few members of a fringe Tanari religious group who’d also ended up on board, that the destruction the war had already caused and which they were being asked to perpetuate was meaningless.

After a swift mutiny, the few Tanari onboard, mostly officers, who still believed in the Allmanite dream of conquest, were left on a nearby planet to somehow make their way back home, and the ship set off to explore the galaxy, preach the gospel of peace, and help out any innocent people in trouble they might encounter on their journey. On their way, they acquired, through discovery or trade, new technology, and while some crew members died for various reasons or decided to leave and return to their families and old lives, they more than made up for this by picking up new crew members - Tanari, Malchiorian, Takemikazuchi, Vongolan, Terugan, Vrai, Coridan, and a few other species - all weary of the never-ending fighting the galaxy seemed to be mired in. Indeed, the Coldest Story Ever Told became a minor legend in some circles, with some seeing it as a monument to peaceful co-existence, and others doubting its very existence.

On board, in a corner of the ship’s bar, several of the officers were playing a complicated alien card game involving holo-chips.

“Hey,” said Prush, a Takemikazuchi security officer with a complicated tattoo covering part of his face. “I hear David Robert Jones is running for Tanari President. Wouldn’t that be nice? An actually democratic Tanar.”

“We’re talking politics? Now? Really?” complained Ezracellion, a green-skinned science officer and Prush’s partner.

“Don’t get your hopes up, Prush.” replied Praxter, the Malchiorian captain of the ship. Praxter ended up on the ship after his cruiser had been blown up by a New Order mine, and his leadership qualities led to him taking over the ship after the original leader of the mutiny had passed away. “They are a dying empire. We should let them pass.”

“Cheerful. Probably right, mind you.” said Sally, a Tanari shifter who’d been rescued from a Pirate Lord of Liquid-Metallicon who’d kidnapped her entire village, and had soon proven her use to the crew through her interest in astronomy and her, still rather mysterious, psychic powers. “Also, all in.” She pushed all her holo-chips into the centre of the table. Prush groaned and threw his cards down.

-----

<Malchior IV, Anh-Dante Cemetery>

Little did Dr. Vell know that the man wearing a brown long coat, who he thought was there to visit another nearby grave, was actually an Espiritu Santo agent, assigned to figure out where he lived. The agent waited for Vell to be far away enough for it not to seem suspicious, and then followed him out of the cemetery.

-----

[ Agresia, Homeworld of the Agresian species and Headquarters of the ACE Corporation, Xazari space ]

Agresia was a desert world, tidally locked so that one hemisphere received permanent sunlight, and devoid of the sky-scraping infrastructure one typically imagined of a Xazari corporate world. Sandstone and marble architecture like that of a Greek city-state spread entirely across the sun-kissed half of the planet, a vast garden of Babylon stretching out in seemingly every direction, broken up by the occasional spaceport or nature reserve. The lizard-like Agresians were cold-blooded and appreciated hot, flat surfaces to bask in whilst they worked; instead of office blocks or corporate high-rises, the workers of the Agresian Chartered Engineering Corporation worked from wherever they saw fit, tapping away at hovering interface tablets, beaming commands to the armies of construction droids and auto-factories that worked in unending darkness on the far side of the planet.

Basking within a glass-roofed, residential Parthenon, Vitalik tapped away at a floating command tablet, finalizing the arrangements for some variety of loan application. The Agresians were reptilian, but there was something about their form and physique that suggested a centipede or some other invertebrate; a long, lizard-like torso with a backbone covered in articulated, segmented plates; four identical sets of limbs used as both legs and arms, with most Agresians using the latter four limbs for locomotion, giving them a centaur-like gait; a whip-like tail used as much for balance as for combat. Agresians had binocular vision, and a lower jaw split into two separate mandibles, revealing sharp, reptilian teeth. Vitalik's long, venomous tongue shot out as he hissed, dismissing an entirely unreasonable interest proposal.

A low chime sounded within the Parthenon as an incoming holo-communication was received; Vitalik slid over to the holo-emitter and tapped away at it. The vast, imposing visage of Arc Vodoss appeared above him, filling the Parthenon, the roof automatically polarizing to lower the light level within and render greater clarity to the holographic projection.

"Lord Vodosss..." hissed Vitalik, rubbing his clawed hands together. "I am told your trade negotiationsss were a ssstunning sssuccesss..."

"Continue with the Plan." commanded Arc Vodoss, not deigning to respond to Vitalik's pithy comment. Vitalik shook his head, waving a finger.

"I have heard what happened to Dansssen, hmm? I do not believe the New Order can protect itsss corporate partnersss. I require a garrisssson... of PsssyTroopersss."

"PsyTroopers?"

"You tasssk me with undermining the entire collective... there will surely be... reprisssalsss."

"PsyTrooper deployments are at the sole discretion of the Emperor."

A sly grin formed Vitalik's reptilian face.

"Then you will sssurely ssspeak to her on my be-"

Vitalik paused, a faint whine emanating from his throat. He struggled for breath, voiceless, clawing towards his neck. The faintest hint of a smirk formed on Vodoss's face as Vitalik collapsed to the ground, gasping - only after a few seconds had passed did Vodoss release his hold on the Agresian, who clambered back to his feet, breathing slowly and deliberately, rubbing his throat with one pair of arms.

"Let me make one thing abundantly clear, Vitalik. If a garrison of PsyTroopers arrives on your world, it will not be to protect you. Do not overstate your position in all this. Follow the instructions you have been given, and you and your people will be richly rewarded."

"Yesss.... yesss, my lord."

Vodoss's projection disappeared, the Parthenon's roof de-polarizing as it did. Vitalik summoned a pair of his floating holo-panels and began tapping away at them, providing new instructions to his automata on the far side of the planet. The current ruling regime of the Xazari were too narrow-minded and too risk-averse to see the advantages of siding with the New Order... but Vitalik could smell profit from a mile away.

---

[ Viper King, Moon of Bendu ]

"Now, there's a good boy."

With that, Sefer was gone - no flash of light, no noise - just a moment in time after which she was no longer present on the bridge. The instant she left, Kurze and his crew felt knowledge and instinct return to them - knowledge of how to fight as well as how to use it - and only at that point did he realize how completely that aspect of his mind had been suppressed. It dawned on Kurze that for the past minute or so, he didn't even possess the necessary motor skills to throw a basic punch. A low thud sounded throughout the ship as the boarding shuttle undocked, and a radio transmission came through from the battleship Shikinami.

"Viper King, you are requested to follow transmitted co-ordinates and leave this system immediately."

---

[ William Douglas Reed's penthouse, Tanari Prime ]

Reed was used to unsolicited calls, and was half prepared to dismiss this one - until he saw who it was that was calling him. A wry grin formed on his face and he stepped outside onto his balcony before taking it.

"It's a pleasure to speak to you, Mr. President. And to answer your question, well, it's a question of context. You're trying to sell people on the status quo as-is, which means you're automatically at a disadvantage. You need to help voters appreciate just what it is you represent, and what they stand to lose by voting for your opponent."

Reed leaned against the balcony railing, gazing out across the skyline as he spoke.

"All the little things that they currently take for granted. Their children, for example - we all know what Shifters really want is to use their unnatural abilities to spy on people's kids. If Jones wins, your average voter will be sending their kids to school with no idea whether it's other kids they're sat in class with, or Shifters disguising themselves as kids. Your job, Mr. President, is to illuminate the public as to the risk posed by Jones's radical, regressive policies. And candidly speaking, sir, you're not getting the Shifter vote anyway, so feel free to really throw them under the bus."

Reed stepped back into his penthouse, pouring himself a drink as he spoke.

"Find a case like that or something and really blow it up. Introduce new legislation - get on the right side of the story off the bat. Get the story into the news cycle and get people angry. Force Jones to take sides that look bad. He's in favor of Shifters disguising themselves as kids. He's in favor of Shifters getting preferential treatment for jobs. He's in favor of, whatever, look, he's in favor of perversion and moral decline - you're in favor of keeping people safe. What the confederacy needs right now is strength and stability, Mr. President, and right now you're the only one offering that."

Reed downed the drink, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"As for Jones himself, you need to start flinging more mud in his direction. And candidly speaking, Mr. President, I suspect that's an undertaking that'd work best... if I handled it on your behalf."

<Tanari Prime, President’s Residence>

Silver Eachan laughed. Reed was proposing to drag the campaign into the gutter, the total opposite of how he’d won his first term by looking like a dignified moderate next to that wanker Morgan Peres. It’s not the place in the history books he would have preferred, but if he won re-election he’d have plenty of other ways to shape that anyway. Clearly his campaign needed a shake-up, if only one random staffer had the balls to suggest this.

“Excellent stuff, Mr. Reed! Just the sort of thing I hoped you would say. Yes, I think the Committee to Re-elect the President needs someone like you… at its head.”

-----

<Moon of Bendu>

The Viper King, finally fully repaired, slowly launched from the moon’s surface towards the coordinates the Shinikami indicated.

-----

<Merc Rendezvous Point>

The rendezvous point that had been communicated to the mercenaries was a nondescript world in neutral space, not too far from Jumano in fact. It was largely covered in jungle, and was inhabited only by a few primate species, meaning the FSA did not have to worry about being detected.

Near a large freshwater lake on the planet, a few FSA grunts had set up a beacon to indicate the rendezvous point to the incoming mercenaries, as well as a disposable teleport system, so as to save time for when they had to return to the corvette parked just out of sensor range, as an imposing-looking Malchiorian with what looked like a bionic arm, wearing a red beret and sunglasses, looked on and smoked a cigar, flanked by a few others.

“Ya think this is going to work, sir?” one of them asked the Malchiorian.

“The thing about mercenaries is that they’re mercenary. I’d have preferred we use our own troops.” said Colonel Martin Hawkes. “But what’s done is done, and my job - and yours - is to make sure it works.”

-----

<Twenty-First Moon of Jomana>
As the blue dust settled in the rocks, a blue and orange mech suit, shaped like a worm with 8 limbs, crawled behind a rock. Inside the suit was an annelid-esque alien, panicked and tired as he exerted his strength in a chase.

"Well, are you done running? I got two men right that way." The voice came from a bulky, bipedal man, built like an oozing brick brown wall. His eyes glowed red, his top bald. He was wielding a giant rock pillar scavenged from the ground, like a club.

As the annelid looked ahead, he saw two figures with what seemed to be four arms each. The sounds emanating with them was like crystals scraping to each other, then enhancing the reverb on them to a staggering, painful noise.

The two figures rushed to the annelid, and before he could even move, the arms of the creatures had grabbed all the limbs of the mech suit.

"Now or later, Amalgamud?" the figure on the right asked.

The annelid had attempted to push his limbs out, but the claws of the two had embedded themselves into the rock and ground. The ooze tank figure slumped over to the rock. The silhouette of the titan was over the annelid, and the two creatures had a sinister look on their face.
"Let's get a picture first for the bounty," Amalgamud slurrs out.

Buzzing from the top was a small insectoid creature, clad in a black and white suit of symbols over its body. A hologram emanated from it, and it then lowered down and stared at the main vision-port of the mech suit.

"Please don't kill me," the mech suit speaker said out, with a text-to-speech generator.

The mudmuck bipedal then stared at the vision port of the suit, then glanced at his two compatriots.

"No. Break the port open, Yuaj. Shao, picture of the face immediately and record the rest."

The alien of the right then smirked, grinning with a mouthful of teeth. He was colored all red, but had no armor on, just some mish-mash of scales, normal skin, and exoskeletons. His teeth were wrangled in all sorts of forms, but shined like a gem. His multiple eyes were all kinds of colors, each perceiving a different wavelength. The head was triangular shaped. His neck snapped out like a piston, and his head started spinning in a circle, like a saw blade. In a matter of no time, his teeth cut open a circle of the cockpit, then gripped the metal and spit it out.

The insect then lowered down, and the hologram scanned over the annelid. It backed up, and Amalgamud took the rock pillar and smashed the annelid into a puddle of organic parts.

"Wasn't this one worth more alive?" chirped Shao, the insectoid.

"The effort wasn't worth the hike in price. We'd have to go deal with some shitheads in person, and keep them on the ship."

"you dunt get it shao," said Yuaj, the red alien.

"we must always kill. the ship toooooo gud," grinded out the purple creature, adjacent to Yuaj. He was similar in appearance to Yuaj, clearly of the same race. Four arms, a mishmash of eyes and skin types, but no armor of any sort.

"Well, it's at least easier," said Shao.

"Let's head back now," stated Amalgamud. He left the rock pillar where the smashed remains were, clearly in origin of the planet. He motioned the others to come with him. The blue-hued dust blew over the remains, and it seemed a storm approached soon.

-----------

The four arrived back to a giant spaceship, with what really looked like scrambled together parts. Some bulbous and sleek, others angular and tiled, anything one can think of, all formed into the shape of a Z with Ys on two ends. A really odd design, if one must say. The whole thing was only usable because of its main core: A compressed dwarf star, and the pull of it allowed it to all spin around and go as fast as light, instantly.

The four then split into two: Shao and Amalagmud to one end of the Z, with Yuaj and his brother, Taggat, to the other end. Platforms dropped from both ends at the same time, and the groups went into them and into the ship.

As Amalagmud entered, a humanoid shaped creature with extra appendages was in a chair, waiting for him. "What is it, I-C?"

"The F.S.A just released a contract on the network for a job," I.C, a transhuman crustacean-esque thing, said in a stern, cold, almost robotic voice.

"And? What is it?"

"Contents unknown. Numbers are extremely high. Dealing with the New Order."

Amalagmud had a huge grin on his face. "They're really asking anyone for help, huh?"

"Yes. I already got in contact. We can be there in a few hours. I have no clue how many others might show up."

"You know us well, Founder. May The Orphan Makers end the lineage of deez schwoops first."

The Orphan Makers was the name of this mercenary group. Noted for brutal and efficient operations, they were particularly picky in their contracts, but it was known that if accepted, it will be done, no matter how messy. You could say they have morals, but that would be wrong. You could say it's intelligence, knowing only to pick jobs they could finish: You would be wrong. It was a sense of violence, of retribution for the members upbringings.

The founder and communications was I.C, a transhuman mod for ice moon mining. They were human bases, modified with mantis shrimp parts. Their eyes were mantis shrimp eyes, attached to eyestalks that could come out of the skull and look anywhere. They had mandibles of huge size to chip away at rock. Their main arms were huge pincers to replicate mantis shrimp punches: but even larger, for efficient mining. Underneath their large pincers were another set of smaller arms, for dexterous tasks. They also had digitigrade legs: Four sets, but they could be collapsed into one, reverse sized. The second set had flippers on it for more efficient swimming when needed, or be used for stability in mining. Their lungs were collapsible and instead, large gills on the side of the torsos would filter air into the body. They had a thin layer of exoskeleton over their body, in addition to a normal skeleton. Most importantly, among enhancements: was an antifreeze in their body. With that antifreeze, they could also expel freezing nitrogen gas from an organ located between their main flesh and exoskeleton. The nitrogen would freeze between their two layers, and could even be opened up to freeze things outside. The point of this enhancement was to create a temporary form of protection again lack of air, water pressure difference, and needing buoyancy creations in the ocean. They could even go into the vacuum of space for a while. These modded humans had mostly been phased out by remote-robots due to "inhumane existence, and progress in remote transmission controls, but I.C. was part of an outlier ice moon colony, born and raised there.

On that same ice moon, Yuaj and Taggat were from another race. Not necessarily Terran in origin, but instead a species that had a basis in non-differentiated cells. These cells would allow the species to adapt to any environments with enough time. The original species was found by Terran colonists, and mostly kept to a pack mentality of random violence or peace. The Terrans enhanced them with nanites in their cells, allowing them to rapidly adapt to any situation. This made them extremely hard to kill, the perfect fodder for any military or extreme environment physical work. The species also developed space travel and reverse engineered technology extremely quick in early encounters. They did this by eating the brains of individuals and absorbing their knowledge, or even eating machines and getting such. However, the foreign nature of Terran knowledge vs. this alien knowledge caused many to go insane and seek ways to kill themselves. To this end, the only ones widespread in galactic incidences are ones of extremely dumb nature. The ice moon these two were from were using them as manual labor for the service, with the miner transhumans under the seas.

Next-up was the brute Amalgamud. He was a relatively normal, Terran-originated humanoid. He was, however, cursed with a connection to a dimension of ooze and mud. This made him supernaturally enhanced, and followed a different set of rules. The connection altered his body to be like a human slicked over in mud, and built like a truck. His pores ooze constantly, and he's even able to alter the composition of it, for despicable or helpful results. He is able to breathe anywhere as he can regurgitate ooze into his own mouth, or just seal it up and recycle the same old air. Radiation, electromagnetic powers, solar, none of it seems to do much to him with the layer of ooze over his body. Amalgamud himself set out to originally do good and show the universe he was not a disgusting abomination, but time and time again things proved different. He relegated himself to a murdering monster for money to get by, finding others to find solace in universe all too obsessed with appearances with gene-editing common enough.

Last, but not least, was Shao, from a sapient insect species that practiced Buddhist and Taoist Exorcist magicks. They are obviously Terran in origin, but normally come in swarms to quickly apply any spells and papers on demons and exorcists. Shao was a high-level solo exorcists, and joined the group to eliminate all forms of "evil," in the universe, with the money they get just donated to groups. Despite the group being known for extreme methods, they are not too bothered by it.
There are a few others on the ship, but they are not too important at the moment. Their time will come.

Thus the ship lifted out of the area, and the Z rapidly begun spinning in a circle. The next thing you know, they break the speed barriers and are out of the moon, and behind the gas giant shortly after. By the edge of the solar system a few minutes out, I.C. hit the FTL drive and set off for the rendezvous point.

[Hotel Besson, Fortune Island, Sea of St. Cardozo, Jumano]

Yenot smirks in reply. He does not pull out a phone, but reads the message on his glasses, replying to it with a thought, he accepts the contract with his typical covert tag of Ironsides.

"Ah, a profitable venture yet! And networking! Today is a good day. Stretch my legs, piss off a few tyrants. I'll meet the lot of you there. I assume you have travel means. Mine are for personal transport only."

He says, sheathing his blade and pulling an amulet from beneath his shirt. It's a glowing bit of cyan crystal held by an ornate weaving of silver, a glyph engraved on it's center. Giving it a squeeze, he folds into himself, and disappearing. Presumable to the coordinates listed in the ad.

[Hy'Dorel, Airspace control tower 42]

A blip appears on the deep space radar, indicating a craft approaching the planet. Tags identify it's occupants as Bob and Jorten, archeologist and professor respectively. They were expected, as such, raised not an alarm, only a confirmation message to both the ship and the coordinating bodies above the peons that operated the tower.

"Hail Malchiorian Cruiser, seeking confirmation of occupants and intent," The call came over the Malchiorian Warcraft's communication system.

<Yari III, Horba City>

A number of earnest-looking young people sat around the office, apparently engaged in some sort of clerical work. The office was mostly an ordinary one, with the exception of a strange looping holographic image of a sphere of yellow light separating itself into innumerable smaller ones, which drifted apart from each other, and another one next to it that appeared to be of the Coldest Story Ever Told. A screen hanging from the ceiling was showing Baron von Budberg being interviewed by some journalists. “And of course, there was the simply tragic assassination of Mayor Preston the other day. I’m afraid, sir, that this is just what these people do. They can’t be trusted, they’re backstabbers by nature, even to each other, it drives them to violence. That’s why it’s so important to re-elect a trustworthy team to govern this great colony...” The Prime Minister continued droning on. None of the young people seemed to be paying him much mind.

A hover-van drove by the office, and stopped for just a few seconds. Its side door slid open, and the balaclava-wearing man on the other side opened fire with his rifle, smashing the office’s windows to smithereens and forcing the office workers to duck and cover.

“Allman forever!” he cried at the top of his voice, as the van drove off.

[ William Douglas Reed's penthouse ]

"Mr President... serving as your campaign manager would be my honour."

---

[ Six Rings Total Terraforming Parking Lot, Wilson City, A few days later ]

A press conference had been called in the parking lot of Six Rings Total Terraforming, and William Douglas Reed now stood on a stage behind a podium, a huge banner reading 'THE NATION CONTINUES' hung behind him. Many journalists had arrived to question him as he announced his new role within the Eachan campaign, and already the sentiment amongst Eachan's voter base was positive - Reed was widely seen as a firebrand and a natural fit for the role.

"Mr. Reed," came a query from one of the journalists, "In your previous role as the host of The Nation Continues, you made many remarks about David Robert Jones that many commentators characterized as crude, and which have been widely seen as lowering the tone of the Presidential race in general. Would you like to use this opportunity to retract your past comments?"

"No, not all." replied Reed, smiling warmly. "Certainly, my new role calls for a different vocabulary than that previously employed - no doubt about it. But I won't apologise for being a fearless advocate for the Tanari people, and everything I've previously said is just as true now as it was when I said it."

Another journalist stood up. "Mr. Reed, do you feel that your candidate stands a realistic chance in this election? We've all seen his poll numbers."

"I actually consider President Eachan's poll numbers to be very favorable, especially when factoring in the crooked, corrupting influence the fake news media has exercised over those polls. This is a man who has devoted his entire life to the Tanari people - his opponent is a base political opportunist with no worthwhile political-"

A gunshot rang out. Reed fell backwards, a smoking hole in his suit blazer; screams rang out as guards ran to tackle the shooter, Khum Williams, to the ground, kicking his gun away from him. Reed climbed to his feet, unbuttoning his shirt to reveal a bulletproof vest worn underneath.

"I'm okay, I'm okay!" he shouted, catching his breath. Suddenly the attention of the journalists was back on him. "Just this morning I received a death threat from violent, left-wing youths who have been radicalized by Jones's hateful rhetoric. But I won't be cowed, and I won't ever give in. Our children, and our children's children, cannot afford for us to falter at this crucial moment in time and allow Jones to have a stranglehold on our nation! They aren't coming for me, and they aren't coming for President Eachan - they're coming for you - but we're in the way!"

---

[ Narayanastra CIC, Asukara System ]

"One ship, Ma'am. The Yuy. Malchiorian Navy, Capital-Class."

"And it spotted us?" responded Lilith, arms folded behind her back. The young ensign addressing her nodded.

"We believe so. It jumped out the system just after it entered."

"Then," interjected Admiral Di-Jonn Massa, "an assault is coming. We made the capabilities of this station deliberately and definitely clear, and the Malchiorians will try and strike us whilst they can."

Lilith looked over to Admiral Massa. The command crew of the Narayanastra stood around a central computer table, a holographic projection of the Narayanastra and its accompanying fleet hovering above it. Around then, arranged on platforms of varying heights, was the rest of the CIC crew, busily attending to their various consoles and duties. Di-Jonn pressed his lips together, smiling wistfully.

"We have a hundred PsyTroopers on this station. The single greatest concentration in the entire galaxy. We can easily repel any assault."

"You think they'll try and board?" responded Lilith, before looking over to Arc Isha, who had been conspicuously silent throughout the meeting.

Isha shrugged. "The FSA's been dying to get their hands on more New Order technology. I wouldn't put it past them."

"I say let them come. 100 Psytroopers, not to mention 2000 of our finest Kracian warriors - this station's garrison will obliterate any assault force."

"Then let us hope you are right." responded Lilith, gazing down at the holographic projection of the station.

<Merc Rendezvous Point>

The Darkmount dropped out of FTL at the edge of the system containing the planet where the mercs were supposed to meet, presumably followed by the Blacksword. It advanced slowly and cautiously, partly to allow its engines to recharge, and partly to have plenty of leeway in the unlikely event there was a trap waiting for them. It scanned for any other ships in the area.

-----

<Yari III>

“Prime Minister!” the lucky journalist who had managed to force her way to the front of the pack yelled. “Do you have any statement to make on the latest attack on the Unity Party office?”

The Unity Party was the political wing of the Homecoming Church, a religious movement with a relatively small but devoted following throughout the Tanari Confederation. The Church believed that all living things were elements of one higher being that had somehow split itself apart into an infinite number of souls and that, barring evil intervention, all souls would eventually find themselves reunified into that higher being, who would have gained an infinite amount of experience and ‘transcended itself’ in the process. Its strong belief in equality and pacifism made it one of the few genuinely cross-community institutions on Yari III, as well as influenced the crew of the Coldest Story Ever Told, and the Unity Party, with strong support in a few effectively random electoral districts, was a slightly odd but nevertheless faithful partner of the ‘Grand Democratic Alliance’ dominated by the MRF and the Liberals. That, as well as the Church’s sometimes heavy-handed proselytism, in turn made it hated by the CUSP government of Yari III.

“I condemn all violence. Whoever did this will get the justice they deserve.” Baron Alfred Ernst von Budberg replied tersely, obviously annoyed at the question and ignored any follow-up questions as he made his way up the stairs and into the building, where reporters couldn’t follow him.

Von Budberg walked into his office to find Paul, the Allman-era intelligence operative turned top-flight political strategist he’d hired, already waiting for him there, as instructed. “This isn’t what we talked about, Paul.” the monocled older man snapped.

Paul shrugged. “Yeahhhhhh, but also no. I think you’ll find this is exactly what you need.”

“Shifters dying is fine because they’ve been knocking the shit out of each other lately anyway and our voters just want someone to keep them in their place. Apparently whoever shot up the Homecoming loons’ office was yelling ‘Allman forever’. I can’t work with that sort of thing, it looks bad. This can’t help us stop bleeding votes to the Liberals.”

“Not with that attitude, Prime Minister.”

Von Budberg raised an eyebrow. “Oh, for god’s sake. Will you just say what you mean?”

“I had the idea on my own. The Homecoming freaks are pretty obnoxious when they harass you on the street.”

The Prime Minister of Yari III finally decided to sit down in his comfortable chair. “Tell me about it.” he said, almost under his breath. “Well, get to the bloody point already!”

“Prime Minister, you’ve been playing to your base long enough. Now, you get to give a nice, short speech, commemorating the victims and condemning all violence. Something people will remember. Then we start sending leaks about the investigation to the media. Contradictory ones. It’s a false flag. It’s the opposition settling internal scores and trying to make you look bad while they’re at it. Or it really is radical Allmanites taking matters into their own hands. The public won’t know what to think. Times get tough, people flock to the centre. And now you’re the centre.”

Paul leaned forward, smiling and interlacing his own fingers.

“And of course, at the same time, all your enemies know is that they might get shot or blown up any time. But we’ve established that already.”

-----

<Tanari Prime, President’s Residence>

“You hired who to manage your campaign?”

“Like I said, William Douglas Reed. The pundit. You must know him.” Silver said in an obviously irritated tone of voice as he sipped his Alaine whisky.

Shae Eachan was absolutely apoplectic. She had masterminded her husband’s last presidential campaign, nudging or pushing him as necessary towards presenting himself as a sensible, progressive conservative, a man who would move the Tanari Confederation past Allman and gradually integrate the shifters into the polity without scaring the still substantial pro-Allman constituency. It had won him a supposedly unwinnable election against Liberal darling Morgan Peres. While Silver had never really believed in that agenda, he did at least implement parts of it, especially at the beginning of his term. It had legitimised them in the eyes of a sceptical galaxy, even allowing them to become a full-fledged member of the FSA - and had secretly made the Eachans fairly rich in their own right. And now, Silver was about to throw all of that away and piss on it, without having even bothered to ask Shae first.

“Of course I know him.” Shae hissed. “You’re jeopardising everything we’ve worked for, everything we’ve built, everything we’ve earned on the say-so of some Takemikazuchi blowhard off the holo-net. If he’s so fucking good at politics, why is Sefer Yetzirah still around? If we lose after running on this garbage, we’ll lose everything, and even if we somehow win, we’ll still be pariahs. Is that what you want? To be sucking Gabriel Ascheron’s cock forever because no one else wants to return your calls?”

“Who’s ‘we’, Shae?” Silver began to bear down on her, and Shae could very clearly smell the alcohol on his breath. “Without me, you’d still be a fucking secretary, and I’d still be President. Don’t forget your place, and shut up.”

-----

<Tanari Colony>

A few days after their campaign announcement, David Robert Jones and Morgan Peres were holding the first of what was to be a series of rallies all over the Confederation in a huge, packed stadium. They had deliberately chosen a colony well-known for staunch support for the Liberal to kick off their tour. The two stood against the backdrop of a large banner with their new campaign slogan printed on it: “Jones/Peres. For the People.” Morgan Peres was speaking first, to, in his words, ‘warm up the crowd for the main event’.

“For years and years, I’ve been hearing about nothing but how Allmanism is all about Tanari winning again. Well, we here in the real world are still waiting for any of that to trickle down to us, but Silver Eachan seems to think Tanari are so tired of winning he needs to sub us out. His new campaign manager is William Douglas Reed. You know, the funny guy off the holo-net.” Peres yelled into his microphone to laughter from the crowd. “Our glorious leader loves the Tanari people, folks! He loves them so much his anti-terrorist squads are Lurians and his spin doctor’s a Takemik. No wonder unemployment is so high! Maybe next week, we’ll find out he gets the Vrai to do his hair.”

Pleased with the response of the audience, he continued his off-the-cuff speech. “Anyway, Reed got shot at this morning. He was completely fine, of course. Of course he would be, because it was so obviously staged. Real underhanded stuff from the Takemikazuchi, as usual. After all, as his boss keeps telling us, we are at war with the New Order, and if a Tanari actually wanted to kill him, he wouldn’t still be here to look smug about it! But that’s the only way they can win, folks, desperate lies. Because we stand for the people, we stand for all of Tanar!”

Jones, who was standing at the other end of the stage, looked on and tried not to show any emotion. He knew the faithful sometimes needed firing up in ways that didn’t and never would come naturally to him, and he accepted that Peres’ ability to do just that was a potential asset to the ticket - but he always did love to skirt the edge of acceptable discourse, which wasn’t his ideal vibe for a presidential campaign. He just hoped Peres had learned his lesson from the last election and wouldn’t say anything both of them might really regret.

-----

<Base Theta, Iotunort>

Commissar Andrea Ashley Hathaway was initially surprised by her new companion, but then appreciated the gesture despite the seemingly neutral look on his face. She pushed her empty mug into a nearby machine that dispensed a warm, brown, coffee-like concoction into her drink. No doubt a Malchiorian beverage.

She briefly glanced at the mug, then at Tarvias, wondering whether something like him even wanted or needed to drink anything at all.

“Believe me, if we had known about the armor before we would have done something about it,” Hathaway explained. “I suppose all the spies on Iotunort were too busy looking around elsewhere. And I suppose all the civilians on here--even the humans--decided to keep the armor a secret. The Zrujim are diplomatic, but only to an extent. They guard their secrets fiercely, as do the Iotunorti humans and the Iotun themselves. The fact we know about hidden treasures and armor now means they want us to know now, if that makes any sense.”

The Commissar took a sip of her drink. Her eyes narrowed.

“What brings you to this snowball? And your name is...?”

Meanwhile, Captain Mutinta cleaned one of his laser pistols.

OOS: Waiting on Red and Libees for the rest.

---

<Hy'Dorel, Airspace control tower 42>

The Malchiorian pilot’s words came through the control tower’s speakers.

“Hail, control tower,” he announced. “We’ve got several students, a Professor Jay Karzdus, and the xenoarchaelogist Bob Tayku Stone onboard. You might have heard the news. They’re here to do a survey of the area, looking for places to dig. Just sent you our codes.”

The Malchiorian pilot’s transmission ended. Bob leaned over to Jorten Karzdus with an eyebrow raised.

“Nice codename,” he whispered sardonically. Jorten (who looks a lot like a bearded Kurt Russell) shrugged.

---

<Vonilla Staging Post, Stairway to Heaven>

“Gee, thank you!” Gather Round cheered. “This is fantastic.”

Astro tilted his head, slightly stunned that Drake was not as mirthful. He then nodded.

“Fair enough,” he acknowledged. “Though the arm thing was half his fault. At least as far as I can remember, anyway.”

After Arwell and Drake spoke to Astro, Cassandra Cromwell quietly placed her hand near her holster.

“Arwell is right. If you have moral objections to this mission, feel free to leave. We’d also ask that you keep the information to yourself,” she cautioned as she secretly unbuttoned her holster. If Astro was going to abandon the mission, then he needed to be silenced, one way or another.

“Oh no, I’m staying,” Astro replied. “Like I said, I’m doing this for the money, not for that Rider bastard.”

Cassandra forced a relieved smile and crossed her arms.

An hour and 13 minutes later, Cromwell was standing in front of Cai-Wei and Gather Round.

“Good work, Cai,” she muttered. “Gather, make us proud. This will make things a whole lot easier for us once we’re planetside.”

Cassandra made her way to the hangar, having already loaded two of her backup bodies onto it. Astro loaded up some plasteel crates before entering into Hercules’s stealth cruiser. Both he and Cassandra eyed each other suspiciously as their seatbelts clicked.

Meanwhile, Hercules Splendor nodded quietly at Arwell. He glanced at Cassius Calm after his salute.

“Departure vectors set,” he said in his disguised voice. “Hope you know how to fly this thing.”

Back at the ship, Gather Round started pressing buttons and flicking switches.

“The logs tell me there are lots of possibilities,” she commented. Gather clicked her tongue. “Alright, here goes nothing.”

Gather began typing wildly at a large keypad nearby that was connected to their cloud. Each stroke went through various letters and numbers in different languages, combining different possible passwords in accordance with the algorithm.

“Almost there…”

---

<Hotel Besson, Fortune Island, Sea of St. Cardozo, Jumano>

Both Lalli and Regina’s eyes widened at Yenot’s form of transportation.

“I need to get one of those,” Regina whispered.

Lalli turned back to the group, realizing it was best to arrive to the rendezvous point before anyone else.

“Well, you heard the man,” he continued. “Got to be going. Pes, great to meet you.”

“Um, Lalli, our ship’s not on this island, remember? We’re honored guests on the cruise,” Regina reminded.

Lalli breathed in and nodded. Something seemed to dawn on him, and he grimaced in pain, as though someone had just removed a tooth out of him.

“Could you,” Lalli strained and sighed. Asking Amanda for a favor was fine, but asking Ashton? He’ll never live it down. “Kindly take us to our ship? It’s on the shore of the nearest continent, where the cruise first disembarked. Shouldn’t be too far away.”

“After that, we can all get to the rendezvous point,” Regina affirmed. “We each get a cut, then we can finally get that holiday we’ve all wanted.”

OOS: Feel free to take them there in your next post, DRJ.

---

<Bar near Parliament, Tanari Prime>

Rain cleared his throat. Time for Plan B...whatever that was.  

“Sorry, must be getting mixed up,” he digressed. “I’m Taloran Kite, I work in holo-entertainment. We’re shooting a show here about an old friend sending an agent to help an activist. It’s a sequel to a story about a group of people who went to some ancient ruins, fought a Rider, some Nish’Gek, and some guy named Caiaphus. Maybe you remember it? One of my favorites!”

Rain took a sip of his drink, hoping that Aster would understand.  

---

<City of Sards, Vongola>

Kozín’s disdain was palpable through his hologram. Once they had considered themselves sincere comrades, but now, they were reluctant allies.

“Indeed, Sir Kane,” he affirmed halfheartedly. “Indeed. And the sun will one day shine on a better, newer Vongola.”

Kozín paused and swallowed, hoping the words would sink in.

“Congratulations on your victory,” he continued. “I trust you’ll be helping set up waypoints and more bases in that sector? It could be useful to all of us, and it’ll be more good news for our friends in the FSA.”

---

<DRJ’s Ship, Malchior IV>

Klak chuckled at David Robert Jones’ comment about Krieger.

“Sure was,” he replied solemnly. “He kicked my own ass a few times too. Good, friendly, but stubborn. I’ll send your condolences to his family.”

“Good old Olivio,” Nadle lamented.

They remained silent for a few moments, then Klak perked up and looked to Morgan Peres.

“Allmanism may be a cancer, Mr. Peres, but I think the FSA’s existence is the cure,” Klak maintained. “And if you win, and Evangelise loses...we’ll hopefully move past the previous war. Then, once the New Order and the Armechios are gone, we can usher in a new era together. Malchior, Tanari, and all of galaxy, side-by-side.”

“Pax Galactica,” Nadle remarked. “Maybe we’ll live to see the day after all, eh David? Oh, sorry I hadn’t introduced myself, Mr. Peres. I’m Nadle Akutam, I work in Malchiorian intelligence.”

Meanwhile, a few journalists still lingered. One of them, dressed in 1940s-esque attire, quietly watched everyone from a darkened corner. In truth, she was no journalist; it was Treveya Q in a clever disguise to conceal her vampiric Faul’dhim and New Order origins. It was something she put together at the last minute once she heard that Jones would be making an announcement. A great opportunity to begin her surveillance.

Moments later, Klak and Nadle left Jones’ ship.

-

<Malchior IV, Anh-Dante Cemetery>


Dr. Vell arrived at a hover-limousine accompanied by a Presidential Guard. Neither was aware of the Espiritu Santo agent that was quietly stalking their movements.

Dr. Vell by a turned around one more time in the direction of the grave. He quietly did the sign of the cross, then entered into the limousine.

-

<Malchior IV, a MUIB Office On the Outskirts of Sixrings Dunjon City>

Gaius Malcovus emerged from the doors accompanied by multiple Pasajem guards. He glanced at his watch while walking to his speeder.

The guard who had been with him and Salem at the apartment stood in front of the speeder. He held his helmet to his chest and bowed on one knee in front of Gaius; a traditional Pasajem display of sorrow.

“My humblest apologies for not realizing that Malchiorian police officer was an enemy agent, sirrah,” the guard fretted.  

Gaius smiled and held out his arm. He helped the guard up.

“Do not worry,” he replied softly. “There is no way you could have known. Besides, there is a silver-lining to this after all.”

“What do you mean, sir?” an aide asked.

“I found the angel’s dirty face,” he mused cryptically.

---

<The Coldest Story Ever Told>

A tall mosquito-like being with sky blue goggles rested two of his legs at a table near the group. He lifted his goggles, revealing a pair of reptilian eyes.

“You guys sure love that crummy card game,” he said. “I could never figure the damn thing out.”

“Oh pipe down, Tayne,” a Pasajem elven man named Wareshu III chuckled as he approached their table with two mugs of ale. “You’re just grumpy because Barry and Lon aren’t here.”

“Barry’s still on Malchior for some blasted reason, and Lon left for some crazy FSA merc mission,” Tayne grumbled. “I don’t know why I’m the least suicidal friend here.”

Wareshu laughed and placed one of the mugs in front of Tayne.

“Why don’t you deal in? Or we can play another game, I’ll call Athara,” he offered.

“I thought she was busy,” Tayne replied. “Something about trying to convince Izzy Kandar not to play a drinking game with a Nemean?”

“Yep,” Wareshu sighed, shaking his head. “Can you believe it, Captain Praxter? The man challenged a species incapable of getting drunk to a drinking competition. Just when you think Izzy Kandar’s reached the limit.”

“There’s no limit with that guy,” Tayne breathed. “Ugh, fine. Deal me in next round now that Prush is out. Let’s see just how unlucky I really am.”  

---

<Aerisgard Command Bunker>

A robotic bird suddenly appeared to have fluttered in from out of nowhere. It landed right in front of Ascheron, and bowed its head. Its eyes then emitted a hologram of Figlio di Armechio.

“So the news is true,” Figlio enunciated solemnly. “Your father really is dead...I miss him already, despite the...disagreements...he and our father had during the war. It seems we now must both carry the torch for our fathers. How does the crown feel, Evangelise?”

---

<Somewhere on Liquid Metallicon>

“Not exactly, Keichi,” Akzer refuted. “The FSA will see it as a gesture of goodwill as part of our new relationship, especially if they’ve found out about Ozar’s little VPR mission.”

“Since when are you the bloody FSA cheerleader?” Fourteen spat. Keichi chuckled in response.

“Since they became our best bet against the New Order,” Akzer advised. “Arc Vehkta may be gone, but we have other Arcs to worry about. Plus, we can fight hard and win temporarily. But if the rumors are true, we’ll just wind up with another gun to our heads...in more ways than one.”

“Very well,” Ozar declared. “You will go on a cruiser accompanied by some of your crewmembers and some of Veyelan’s.”

“Mmm, and I’ll send Quick Billy to help as well,” Keichi croaked.

---

<Merc Rendezvous Point>


Pirate Lord Akzer’s frigate entered in from FTL over the rendezvous point. It wasn't his favorite ship in his crew, but it was the most appropriate for this mission.

He stood on the bridge and gazed at the activity below. Quick Billy stared out into the cosmos and noticed the Orphan Makers’ ship nearby.

“Well I’ll be a son of a gun,” he remarked. “Even the Orphan Makers are here.”

Meanwhile, a Malchiorian soldier walked up to Colonel Hawkes and saluted him.

“Sir, the representatives from September Dawn have arrived.” he announced.

A Malchiorian woman of Hispanic descent, clad in a leather jacket and slacks, sauntered up to Colonel Hawkes. She was accompanied by two other agents: one an enhanced human clad in an exosuit with a helmet shaped like a Plague doctor mask, the other a red, sentient gelatinous blob.

“Colonel Hawkes, I’m Commander Onyx,” the woman said. No doubt a codename. “That’s the Shadow Operative, and our blob friend is Herd Stir.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Herd Stir exclaimed, despite seemingly lacking any visible speech organs. The Shadow Operative said nothing.

“September Dawn?” an Aloussian FSA soldier whispered as he cleaned his pulse rifle. “I thought they were a myth.”

A human FSA soldier and a green-skinned Malchiorian both shrugged.

[ Malchior, Malchior System ]

Brianna nods at Russello's words, seemingly contemplative of the offer as she idly swirls the drink in her hand.

"A tantalising offer, and one that speaks well of the potential gain from out investment." She replies with a small smile after a moment. "Though it seems more than fair, I will have to consult with my superiors before we can come to a final decision."

The Xazari faestir drains the glass before placing in on the tray in front of her and Secretary Rusello.

"While you do make a compelling case, I'm afraid that bureaucracy and internal politics are not the most accommodating of diplomats. Perhaps we may adjourn for a recess while I lay your case to my superiors and we can pick up this meeting again at a later time?" She says to Rusello, her tone cordial and assuring. "It should not take more than a day, I assure you, and within that time, there might be more knowledge that would come to light."

A brief glance downwards to Brianna D'Argent's empty glass would reveal to Rusello that it now contains a small information drive, the device somehow placed there by the Xazari diplomat without no one noticing beforehand.

"If you would show us to our rooms, Secretary Rusello?" Brianna asks politely on behalf of her delegation.

-------

[Base Theta, Iotunort]

The rattling and clanking of a veritable armoury's worth of loose equipment signals the arrival of Blizz, the faestir having returned from the trip back to her ship with a large backpack jammed pack with weapons, equipment and various other items of varying qualities , more strapped to a tactical rig overlayed over a well-worn coat, including what appears to be some kind of lethal energy weapon, though it's unclear whether the lethality refers more towards the enemy or the user considering its rather unstable-looking appearance.

"I'm back! Ship's secured and I'm roarin' to go!" Blizz calls out cheerfully as she joins Tarvias, Hathaway and the others, more than a bit excited at the prospect of the upcoming adventure. And money.

Approaching a suitable spot in the gathering place, she slams the heavy backpack on the ground, freezing in place for a moment as an ominious whirr and subsequent ticking sound was audible from the mess of contained items, before breathing a sigh of relief as the sound subsided and nothing happened after exactly 10 seconds. Sitting down on top of the backpack, Blizz turned to the others as though nothing happened.

-------

[ Merc Rendezvous Point ]

"The balance must be upheld."

A mercenary warship, formerly a civilian yacht now upgraded with military-grade weaponry and armour, dropped out FTL at the perimeter of the system, the ship one among others of its kind heading towards the rendezvous point. A diverse array of mercs comprised the inside of the ship, some practicing drills in the hangar bay, some relaxing in the passenger room or doing equipment checks in the armoury and others lounging around the ship's bar, gathering liquid courage. The mercs come from all sorts of backgrounds, from ex military of the FSA or various other nations of the galaxy, to petty criminals and thugs looking to make a quick buck. Some come in well-equipped and trained teams, while others have decided to push their luck solo. Whatever it is, whatever the reason, all of them today have gathered to answer the FSA's call for mercenaries.

"The conflict must run its course."

Among the mercenaries is a young human woman, long black hair falling over her shoulders as she sits on the edge of the bed in her room on the ship, going through some final equipment checks. Adjusting her tactical vest over her sleeveless shirt, she clips on the energy shield module onto its side, before slipping a plasma-edged combat knife to a front scabbard. All of this is done in near mechanical precision, the room all but silent except for the calm breathing of the woman, the pre-combat ritual something she had done countless time before.

"You know your orders."

As the ship full of independent mercs nears the rendezvous point, the woman finishes her preparations and stands up without a word. She presses a finger on a watch-like device on her left wrist, the apparel letting out a chipper beep before it opens up a small holoscreen, which the girl glances for a quick minute, as if confirming something, before she deactivates it, raises her gaiter over the lower half of her face and strides out the door of the room, grabbing an assault rifle on the way out.

"We expect results, 404."

[ Kharabad ]

"You must always have a knife in the darkness."

Transiting a Firegate was never a pleasant experience. As the Vengeance emerged, wreathed in flame, into the blackness that surrounded the rogue world of Kharabad, Captain Jeremiah Thule felt his stomach clench. Arc Plutus, the silver-skinned synthetic that stood next to him on the bridge, made no external indication of discomfort whatsoever. Thule wondered whether the being could even feel discomfort. Thule often wondered many things.

Take Kharabad, for example. Thule had fought during the conquest of Kharabad, many years ago, and that time Kharabad had not been a rogue planet - it had orbited a sun, and had an atmosphere. Now it hung beyond the galactic rim, so far away that there were not enough interim systems to transit to it via conventional FTL jumps; so far away that had necessitated the construction of a pair of linked Firegates, great hundred-kilometre wide discs of subspace flame that Thule deeply suspected were not suitable for use by biological life. And, try as he might, Thule could not summon an answer as to how Kharabad had been moved - even with his extensive knowledge of the arsenals of both sides of the conflict, he knew there existed neither the technology nor the sheer fissile mass to perform such a feat.

Yet, it had happened. And Thule had learned to stop wondering openly.

Arc Kyydan remained aboard the ship as it sunk into a low orbit over Kharabad, the extragalactic starfield dim and dull compared to that back home, painting the Vengeance in darker tones than usual. Thule and Plutus made their down to the planet's surface in an armed lighter, arriving within minutes; from there, they were escorted by hooded, robed acolytes into the depth of the monolithic onyx compound that serves as the sole identifiable landmark on Kharabad's surface. Thule knew, as most officers within the New Order did, that Kharabad was the birthing world of the PsyTroopers; he had therefore expected to see a modern industrial facility laden with medical equipment, but instead found the bleak, empty hallways of the compound to be monastic in appearance. Cold, polished stone lead into open chambers where unborn PsyTrooper bodies hung above the ground in translucent bio-synthetic sacs, twitching occasionally, devoid of consciousness.

And it was quiet - deathly quiet. As he made his way through the central chamber, once or twice he heard a splash as a newly reincarnated PsyTrooper burst out of its birthing sac and onto the cold stone below, but beyond that, nothing.

Their destination was an undercroft in which defective PsyTrooper bodies were stored, their Shaddaic glands removed to disconnect them from the PsyTrooper neural network. One had been prepared for Plutus's purposes; garbed in a featureless grey medical gown, seemingly crucified against the wall of the interrogation chamber, its forearms and shins missing - or more accurately, never installed, as PsyTroopers were instead born with skeletal hardpoints to allow their mechanical forelimbs to be attached after birth.

Plutus calmly walked up to the body and pressed two fingers into its forehead, his silver digits seemingly liquefying and flowing into it, before he pulled them back. It awoke, screaming - gasping, struggling, flailing, all to no avail. It ran its eyes around the room as if blind, hyperventilating; with a hiss, a current of tranquilizing agent entered the PsyTrooper's body, administered by the crucificial medical gantry it was anchored to.

"Where... where am I?"

"You're in Yuy Memorial Hospital, Malchior IV." responded Plutus, speaking with a voice that was very obviously not his own. Thule made a mental note of what was yet another unexplained characteristic exhibited by one of his superhuman coworkers.

"I'm.... I'm on Malchior?" responded the PsyTrooper, its eyes running around the room - fruitlessly, as that body's optic nerves had been chemically deactivated.

"That's right. Your body's been badly damaged - it's in surgery at the moment, but at President Klak's request we've transferred your brain into a medical cybershell. He's got a few questions he'd like to ask you."

"President Klak's here?" replied the PsyTrooper, grinning. "I... "

"Don't worry, Marine, I won't take up too much of your time." responded Plutus, switching over to a perfect replica of Klak's voice. "Ross, I don't know how much you've been told, but you were shot down by the New Order. They think they've killed you, which gives us the advantage. We think an attack is incoming. The FSA headquarters has been bombed and Admiral Perseus is dead - I need your help."

Thule froze, looking to Plutus. Ross. Ross 'Reed' Palermo - the pilot who had been killed by Arc Vekhta - was dead. Thule had read the report - the 'Shortman' incident had been a setback for the entire New Order.

Either that, or the reincarnation technology Sefer had developed for the PsyTroopers had disturbing applications Thule hadn't considered.

"My god... Sir, of course, anything I can help with."

"I need you to tell me everything you know about September Dawn. Deployments, FOBs, mission profiles."

The PsyTrooper body inhabited by Palermo paused. "Sir, you're the President. Don't you know all this?"

"Until a few hours ago I thought I did. September Dawn was behind these attacks - Nadle betrayed me, and the entire FSA. We think he sold you and Long Shortman out."

"My god, oh my god. Sir, I'll tell you everything I know."

"Thank you." responded Plutus, a wry smirk forming on his silver face. "I'd appreciate that... a lot."

---

[ ONV Ban Seed, Asukara System ]

Arc Judmon's inner sanctum, like the sanctum of any true Kracian war-chief, was a three-dimensional tapestry depicting his past heroics and conquests. The arms and armor of defeated enemies were hung from the walls around him; Ta'har daggers, Ventraadi battle glaives, the helmets of fellow Kracian warlords whom he had overcome in battle. The history of Judmon Vaul was one of victory - near ceaseless victory. He had fought valiantly against the New Order during their conquest of his homeworld, even holding the capital for three days whilst outnumbered forty-to-one. When the hammer of Kyydan had finally come down and ended the war, Vaul bent the knee as tradition dictated, and took up his new role within the New Order - without a shred of resentment.

For war was the fundamental underlying constant of the universe. The people of Krace understood that better than anyone - their devotion to it was simply an acknowledgment of a truth most of the galaxy would rather try to ignore. Vaul stood up from his meditative stance, stretching his muscles, arming himself. The time for battle was rapidly approaching. He had no interest in the motive or disposition of the forces coming to assail the Narayanastra, beyond what element of their battle strategy he could gleam from such an understanding. Everything else was superfluous - and much the same, Vaul had genuinely little interest in the machinations of the Emperor he now served.

"It makes no difference what men think of war. War endures. As well ask men what they think of stone."

The Ban Seed vectored in closer to the Narayanastra, accompanied by its sister ships the Ban Hama and Ban Mora. Three Semovente-class warships with crimson hulls - the unmistakable coloration of Judmon's Third Wave Fleet, a far cry from the subtle black-and-grey coloration of the New Order's conventional military forces.

"War was always here. Before man was, war waited for him. The ultimate trade awaiting its ultimate practitioner."

The Kracian forces gathered within the vast hangar bays of the Narayanastra repeated each line as Arc Judmon spoke, punctuating with the stamping of armored feet. The warring clans and tribes of Krace that had been shattered by Kyydan had been reforged by Judmon into something far deadlier; given purpose, and more importantly, a common foe to bind them together.

"That is the way it was and will be. That way, and not some other way."

From his dais ahead of the vast energy barrier separating the atmosphere of the hangar bay from the cold vacuum of space outside, Judmon cast his gaze down at his men. A thousand Kracian warriors, still proudly displaying their individual clan sigils, still armed with arms and armor of their choosing, but all now donning the crimson colors of Judmon's forces. Behind them, tanks and APCs were arrayed; each crew a family, and each family loyal to him. And outside, crewing the ships of his fleet were a thousand more Kracian warriors, each one ready to give their life in pursuit of total, absolute victory.

Judmon turned, gazing out through the energy barrier to the blackness of space beyond. The enemies of the New Order were coming. And they were coming to die.

---

[ Rendezvous Point ]

Ben Kovacs made his way to the bridge of the Blacksword, slumping down into a navigator's seat, casting a respectful nod to Willis as he did. The two men enjoyed an unspoken camaraderie; they were, after all, old men in a profession where most died young.

He leaned over the navigation console and pressed down on a button, transmitting a broadcast to the entire mercenary fleet.

"This is Ben Kovacs aboard the Blacksword. All forces aboard the Blacksword have been briefed and we are ready for insertion jump. Unless anybody has any objections, I'm setting mission start time for 15 minutes from now. Once we hit Asukara, I will transmit navigation co-ordinates from the Blacksword for target hangar bay for all friendly IFFs. Let's secure a beachhead... and then we can sort the rest out from here."

He cut the link, slumping back down in the chair. Hudson D. River turned around in his pilot's seat, grinning.

"Damn, Kovacs. Don't try and sound too motivational."

"When Bighorn pays me to sound motivational, I will." retorted Kovacs. "Now, how about you shut your mouth, and focus on plotting that FTL jump?"

Hudson raised his hands. "Aight, aight."

A few minutes later, the Blacksword, as well as many of the other ships within the mercenary fleet, made the jump.

<Hotel Besson, Fortune Island, Sea of St. Cardozo, Jumano>

“Me too.” Amanda whispered back to Regina.

Ashton smiled, noticing Lalli’s grimace. “Sure, we can drop you off. Our ship’s parked nearby.”

“And then, we actually have a proper holiday.” Amanda said. “A civil one, too.”

All of them went to the Amelia, which took off and first dropped Lalli and Regina off at their ship before proceeding to the rendezvous point.

-----

<Merc Rendezvous Point>

“Glad you could join us, Commander.” Hawkes said, his gaze still fixed on the deep blue water of the lake. He took a puff of his cigar, and slowly turned around to face Onyx.

“I don’t know if you were told about my reservations about this mission. But for the record, I don’t trust mercs. I was at Supermax 52, Commander. I’m sure you’ve read the files.” he continued, knowing she had almost certainly not read the classified files. However, if she looked closely, she might have noticed LII tattooed on the shoulder of his bionic arm.

“We’re about to go into a snake den, and I expect all of you September Dawn hot-shots to watch these guys very closely. Can’t have any of them go off to pursue their own agenda on the side and leave us to the PsyTroopers. I’m sure this isn’t your first rodeo with mercs anyway.”



Within a few hours, all the mercenaries had arrived and assembled on the shore of the lake. Hawkes and the September Dawn were standing on a slope in front of them.

“Alright, people, listen up! My name is Colonel Martin Hawkes of the FSA, with me are Commander Onyx, Herd Stir, and the Shadow Operative. We are in charge of this mission.” he yelled in-between still taking puffs of his cigar.

“So far, the mission objective has not been explained to you. There is a good reason for that. We have located a massive New Order battle station in the Asukara system. We know little about its capabilities, but based on the data we do have, we believe it was recently used to destroy the planet Geihmurs. Obviously, we can’t allow them to run rampant with that sort of shit. And that’s where all of you come in. Our objective is to infiltrate the battle station. Once we have carved out a beachhead and found some way to access its internal schematics, we will attempt to claim strategically important locations on the station. We’ll figure out if the station can move under its own power, and if it can, we will attempt to do so, using any weapons and internal security mechanisms it may have to accomplish this. If it can’t, we’re going to steal as much tech and data as we can, sabotage it and, if possible, destroy it, and get the hell out of there. If that sounds like something any of you aren’t up for, you may leave now. Does anyone have any questions before we set off for Asukara?”

-----

<Tanari Prime, Bar near Parliament>

The tipsy Aster raised her eyebrow. “Ah, yes. I’ve seen that movie. Good one. Nice to meet you, Mr. Kite, although you’ve not really come at the best of times.” she said quietly. “Now, before my friend starts to think I’m ditching her on a night out, which I do not intend to do, care to tell me more about the plot of this show? If the main character doesn’t fully explain to the very busy activist what his game is, I don’t think they’re going to have very much chemistry.”  

Once Rain had answered the question, she silently nodded, taking her and Kirsten Bluth’s drinks over to their table, beckoning to Rain to follow her.

“Who’s he?” Kirsten asked, pointing at Rain.

“Kirsten, this is Taloran Kite, a friend of mine from Malchior.” she said, sliding her friend’s drink over to her. “Taloran Kite, meet Kirsten Bluth, hopefully the next Tanari justice minister. The two of us will be heading over to Yari III tomorrow afternoon on behalf of our parties.”

“Oh, stop it.” Kirsten shook Rain’s hand. “How’d you two meet? It’s funny, we were just talking about how you need friends to survive in politics, and one just pops up right out of the blue. Isn’t that funny?” she said, quickly shooting Aster a confused look, to which Aster could only respond with another look that conveyed the pure awkwardness of their current situation if nothing else.

-----


<Malchior IV, Anh-Dante Cemetery>

The Espiritu Santo agent noted Dr. Vell getting into the limousine, and crouched behind the short brick wall surrounding the cemetery. His entire body froze and turned a pure silver, and then morphed into the form of a bird, in which he then flew off and flew over the limo. Once he had comfortably overtaken it, the agent shape-shifted again, now into the form of an angel with jet-black wings. Several passers-by took notice and stopped, stunned by the sight. Now hovering about a metre off the ground in front of the limo, he pulled out a plasma submachine gun.

“Sieg Luria! Sieg Ascheron!” the agent yelled, deliberately loudly enough for all the witnesses to hear him as he opened fire on the limo, targeting both Vell and the Guard.

-----

<Vongola, City of Sards>

“You could say that.” Kane laughed. “Once the rest of my forces arrive, we’ll secure the Sards area as a whole and set up some additional outposts and infrastructure, of course. Can’t have Figlio returning here. ‘Tis but the beginning, but the sun will one day shine indeed… and our allies, insofar as they care, will surely be pleased too.”

“I’m sure you too are pleased, Joshua. After all, this is the biggest coup our rebellion has pulled off in a while.”

-----

<The Coldest Story Ever Told>

The group laughed at the mention of Izzy Kandar. “Yeah, that guy cracks me up. The guys in Medlab really hate him, though. He’s never out of there.” Praxter said.

“Remember when he tried to operate the teleport himself? ‘Trust me! I know how to do it! I’ve read the manual!’” Sally said, trying not to giggle at her own impression of him. “Next thing we know, it’s a mad scramble to teleport him back out of that Vrai prison before they notice.”

Prush moved slightly closer to Ezzie in the booth, making room for Tayne, as Praxter dealt him in.

“Speaking of mad lads, have you guys heard about Guillaume? Apparently he’s somehow got his hands on a shipment of fresh Takemikazuchi coffee. We could be living that sweet, sweet Sefer Yetzirah lifestyle soon.” Ezzie smiled at the very thought.

“Better not be like his last business deal. Turned out to be that Pirate Lord, Zaragoza.” Prush tried to remember his last name.

“Yeah, I mean, I can see why you’d be upset, that ‘business deal’ got us Sally and is therefore the reason you keep bombing at this game.”

“It’s not fair! She’s a psychic!”

“Please, I don’t need my powers for this.” Sally waved her hand dismissively, and then dropped a green holo-chip into the centre of the table. Praxter soon did the same, while Ezzie put down two. “You just suck.”

-----

<Malchior IV, DRJ’s Ship>

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Akutam.” Morgan shook Nadle’s hand. “I hope we will have a very productive relationship.”

“Aye. We can only hope.” Jones said to Klak, before turning around, having noticed Treveya out of the corner of his eye. “Can I help you, ma’am?”

-----

[ Aerisgard ]

A stunned look took hold of Ascheron's face as he watched the bird flutter in. The Aerisgard command bunker was supposed to be rated for protection against all known nuclear, chemical and biological threats - yet somehow, robotic birds kept getting in. This can't keep happening, he thought, grinding his teeth in anger.

"Figlio... the crown is heavier than one might expect." replied Ascheron, faking a sorrowful expression. "You're right in that we're both now torchbearers for our fathers' legacies. And I've been meaning to ask... where do you intend to lead that legacy?"

<Conference Room, Malchior IV>

Secretary Russello frowned, but then forced a slight smile. Suddenly, he noticed the data drive. He stood up and grinned wider.

“Of course, Signora D’Argent,” he replied warmly. “I will accompany you in the transport to your hotel.”

He quickly slipped his hand into her glass and grabbed the data drive, slipping it into his pocket.

Secretary Russello walked over to the door of the room, which was opened by the guards from earlier. He held out his arm to allow the faestir to exit first.

OOS: Remember, the attack on the FSA happens the next day

---

<Base Theta, Iotunort>

“Uhh...just what do you have in there?” Stokko asked, staring at Blizz’s backpack with widened eyes.

“I believe the proper question is ‘what don’t you have in there?’” Mutinta quipped, laughing as he dragged his cigar. Stokko smiled, but Bijorn-tar said nothing.

“You will need all that and more for what is to come, young faestir,” Amzi’x mused.

“She just braved a storm, I’m sure she can help us out well,” Stokko replied with an optimistic beam on his face. “We’ll wait for the crystal fellow and Commissar Hathaway to finish and we will be off.”

---

<Sea of St. Cardozo, Jumano>

Lalli and Regina thanked Amanda, Ashton, and Pes, and set off on their ship.

---


<Merc Rendezvous Point>

Onyx smiled and crossed her arms.

“Nope,” she responded. “I’ve done some jumps at Vongola, that old merc playground. I was part of the team that took down an artillery installation at Sards. Slept like a baby after that.”

“There’s nothing September Dawn can’t handle, sir,” Herd Stir declared cheerily.  

-

Meanwhile, Lalli and Regina’s ship arrived from hyperspace. Lalli whistled upon seeing all the ships gathered there.

“It’s a damn army out here,” he remarked.

“Sweet mother...Was that Ben Kovacs I just heard on the transmission?” Regina asked.  “The Breakers are involved in this, then.” She had worked alongside both groups in the past.

“The Breakers? Fucking hell,” Lalli replied, breathlessly. He had never worked with the Breakers before, but knew of their reputation. “And that’s Pirate Lord Akzer’s ship there. There are some others I recognize, and some I don’t.”

“They’re paying big money to a lot of people,” Regina whispered in amazement. “This mission is costing the FSA a fortune. Just what the hell do they want us to do?”

Lalli’s ship slowed down next to 404’s ship. He continued looking around and noticed the Darkmount. For some reason he felt a chill run down his spine, but attributed it to mission jitters, and thought nothing of it.

Later, Lalli and Regina were part of the group that was listening to Colonel Hawkes. Regina’s eyes widened upon hearing the news about the weapon, and Lalli’s jaw dropped.

“The New Order...figured out how to destroy...a planet?” Lalli enunciated, his mind wrestling with the horrible thought. “And you want us to either steal it or blow it up?”

“Sounds like suicide!” a random pirate shouted. “I’m not going on a Tak ship!”

“Like the Colonel said, you are free to leave if you can’t handle it,” Onyx declared. “But if you stay, you will be doing the FSA, and the entire galaxy, a great service. And you’ll be paid well.”

The same random pirate shouted something about it “not being enough credits” and started to leave.

“Of course, if any of you leave and breath any word of this, you’ll do time for treason,” The Shadow Operative barked. “Don’t think you can hide from us. One slip of the tongue to Sefer and I’ll see to it any traitors are stuck doing sanitation on Oquro. Understood?”

“Crystal clear,” Akzer replied with a devious smile.

---

<Aerisgard Bunker>

Figlio’s lips curved into his trademark devilish smile.

“That depends, Evangelise,” he said. No use planning to save the universe if I can’t win my war...or if you can’t win yours. I wonder if there’s a way we can help each other should there be any...changes on the horizon.”

---

<Tanari Prime, Bar near Parliament>

“Personal protection, and investigating any threats both in and out of her movement,” Rain offered. “A lot of eyes on her, not just on Tanari either. The activist’s friend thinks she and her work are too important to let some assassin go at her, whether from her enemies, or the New Order, Vongola, or anyone else.”

Rain smiled at Kirsten and raised his glass at her.

“How are ya?” he replied in an exaggerated form of Malchior’s Whitechurch accent. “I’m actually in holo-film production, figured I’d shoot on location on Tanar. I heard about Ms. Aster here and I think I might follow her for research for my story. Plus, I have some very powerful friends who might make contributions to her movement, here and there.”

Rain winked and sipped from his drink. His attempts to defuse the awkwardness likely catastrophically failed.

---

<Outside Von Budberg’s Office, Yari III>

A tall man named Raven Forsythe sat quietly in the waiting room. He wore a dark coat, charcoal grey shirt, matching color pants, and dark leather boots. He rubbed his palms together with a paradoxically cold and impatient look on his face.

Raven was a Stäbil who once served as a soldier under Allman. He was an early supporter of the Tanari tyrant and fought fanatically in the Tanari-Takemikazuchi War. After Allman’s defeat, Raven was one of many top soldiers in his rank who Eachan pardoned. He was recruited into a Tanari black operations unit, but much of his work was related to the CUSP. He eventually became a de facto “fixer” for the party, employing his skills for assassinations, blackmail, and political tricks to help serve Eachan’s interests. In fact, the CUSP named him a “Special Advisor” last year. Though he was far more willing to get his hands dirty, and was less inclined to provide actual political advice compared to Paul. Although Raven served Eachan, he remained a loyal Allmanite, and privately hoped that one day Eachan...or someone else...would restore the “Tanari golden age” and stop the shifters.

---

<City of Sards, Vongola>

Joshua leaned back and forced a smile.

“Absolutely,” he agreed. “Cause for celebration throughout the liberated territories. We should arrange some of the logistics I told you about later. Now, I think it’s time to celebrate.”

Joshua reached out for a bottle of thieno, opened it, and poured it in a glass. His hologram raised a glass, and he nodded.

“Congratulations, Sir Kane,” he continued. “Biggest coup indeed.”

---

<The Coldest Story Ever Told>

“Right, Ozar, or something like that,” Wareshu III commented, chuckling. “Bet the coffee is from the Breakers this time!”

Wareshu laughed out loud.

Tayne sighed as he put down two green holo-chips.

“Doesn’t take a psychic to beat you all,” Wareshu teased. “And it doesn’t take a genius to know the only winning move when Sally is playing is to not play.”

---

<Malchior IV, Anh-Dante Cemetery>

The limousine swerved, dodging most of the plasma attacks. Dr. Vell was rocked side to side in confusion. One of the plasma attacks hit one of the wheels, but the driver continued to accelerate, hoping to escape.

A Presidential Guard emerged from the sunroof manning a small plasma turret. He began to return fire on the Espiritu Santo agent.

---

<DRJ’s Ship, Malchior IV>

Treveya glanced up calmly.

“Yes, sorry,” she replied in a sham surprised tone. “Mr. Jones, do you have any comment on the situation after the Geihmurs attack? What is your administration going to do against a world destroyer? Some say it seems a bit awful to play politics when Tanari itself is on the line.”  

“What outlet did you say you were from, Miss?” Klak hissed.

---

<Uteriach’s Prison, Deep Underwater, Vonilla>

Uteriach glared at a holographic recording of President Klak.

“I have a lot going on. That’s why I come to you belatedly…” Klak said. “Or rather, through this recording. There was even an incident in your orbit.”

“How would I know, you won’t even let me see the stars,” Uteriach muttered.

“I had hoped we would have had the chance to meet while I was here, but you know how it is,” Klak continued. “But I still wanted to let you know: Sefer is building something on Bendu. Something dangerous. Plus, there are rumors she’s built some sort of planet-destroying weapon and used it on Geihmurs.”

Uteriach stood up in shock.

“That’s why our projects have been so useful. You’re paying for what you’ve done in this prison, but you’re also doing the galaxy a great service,” Klak commended. “You told us where to find the Aleph Point, you helped us find the Mirror of Souls....and soon you’ll help us get to the Infinite Blight. We were once enemies, Uteriach. But now we’ve got a mutual enemy, one that threatens us both...so I trust you’ll continue to be cooperative. See you around.”

The hologram disappeared.  

“I only cooperate in small bursts to prolong your projects,” Uteriach snarled. “Long enough for me to find a way out of this hell...whenever that will be.”

Uteriach turned to a holographic simulation of a forest inside of his cell. His mind raced through what Klak had told him about Bendu and Geihmurs. He walked himself through his dream and the terrors he witnessed. Such a surreal vision was becoming far too real.

“Though perhaps the real hell is out there,” he muttered.

[ Vonilla Staging Post, Stairway to Heaven ]

The clamps holding the stealth cruiser down in its bay released with a mechanical clunk, and RCS thrusters fired, guiding the small ship out of the hangar. The submersible Arwell had sourced clung to the underside of the ship like a strange crustacean. Once a bright hazard orange, it had been repainted matte black, and now carried a variety of arc cutters, plasma torches and active stealth systems.

Once the stealth cruiser had put some distance between itself and the Stairway, exotic energy formatters in the nose cone purred into life, and the FTL drive kicked in. The ship jumped into the Vonilla system, slipping into realspace and immediately going dark as Cassius and Hercules activated the full suite of stealth systems. All radiation was nullified as it splashed across the hull; the ship would appear as a dark smear against the blackness of space.

In the cramped hold, the tension was palpable. Most tried to busy themselves with last minute gear checks or simply sat in stoic silence. All were professionals, but that only meant that they all knew what lay ahead. The intercom buzzed and Cassius Calm’s baritone voice sounded out. “15 minutes until we hit the atmosphere,” he said. “Strap yourselves in. Shit might get bumpy.”

The next fifteen minutes passed in silence that seemed to both stretch eternally and end instantly. The ship hit Vonilla’s upper atmosphere with little spectacle; it would have appeared merely as a shooting star to anyone below observant enough to notice. With the active stealth suite soaking up the thermal input from atmospheric friction, there was only the faint shimmer of the craft’s camouflage outline visible.

Once above the Manx sea, the ship’s engines rotated and burnt a short burst, slowing the craft to hover mere metres above the choppy ocean below. The intercom buzzed again.

“We have reached our destination. Now get your asses off this ship. Schedule’s tighter than the proverbial so I’d appreciate it if we could make this quick.”

The submarine retracted its locking mechanisms with a nudge from the VI, and fell the few metres to splash into the sea, where it bobbed amongst the waves. A single hatch opened on the bottom of the stealth cruiser. Drake Catlow stepped up to the hatch and secured his helmet. He nodded at his fellows and then jumped clean through the hatch, passing into the waiting submersible below. Arwell, now clad in a tactical armoured vest over his plaid shirt and with a sleek black carbine slung about his chest, followed suit, dropping through the hatch.



[ Iotunort ]

“Oh, I’m Tarvias Deep,” he said with a slight cock of his head. “Pleasure is all mine.”

Deep waited a beat before answering Hathaway’s question. “I’m not really sure why I’m here. There’s something within me, some energy or purpose; that brought me here.” Deep shrugged. “Anywhere is better than where I spent the last 2000 years; death is a strange place,” he said enigmatically, before standing and joining the others, leaving Hathaway sat on her crate.

***