NiNES: A Broken Galaxy

[Symphony D.]

OOC: I just noticed this: am I the only one who thinks it's ironic there are cat people at the Dog Star?

 

[Nylan]

OOC: I just noticed this: am I the only one who thinks it's ironic there are cat people at the Dog Star?

That hadn't occurred to me.....

Maybe he is the one that should be getting Cleric's pirate points instead of me....

EDIT:

On second thought....


THEY'RE MINE I TELL YOU! MINE!

/stupidity

 

[LBaeldeth]

Anything fictional "on fire" is funny. Reality is less so, hence fire departments.

 

[Symphony D.]

OOC: Orders sent. I will try and get out a story or two tomorrow. In the meantime, sleep and studying.

 

[Erik Mesoy]

OOC: Actually, they're not. It's an opt-in system, not a given. Who gives away stock for free? Even employees must choose the option in lieu of pay, or purchase stock seperately with such funds.

Sorry, I must have been misremembering one of your posts. Is the editing of "all considered expected to be" satisfactory?

Also, there is the problem of our security forces currently having orders to vaporize whosoever comes through our gates unannounced, should they not send an RSVP. One does not merely jump into Epsilon Eridani...

Right, the RSVP will take roughly this form: "Hello, some of those people that are your sole source of trade income would like to set up local stations for greater profit. We'll write letters home, and those letters will preferably state that we've been well received and there is no conflict whatsoever between our two factions, and we're all profiting."

Note that the ESIPA is meant to be mostly internal to prevent further assassination attempts or the like.

 

[Lord_Iggy]

Orders for the DAH away.

 

[Niklas]

11.5h left and I'm missing exactly one set of orders. Stop procrastinating!

 

[BananaLee]

The Capellan Broadside​

1 C-Bill

26th day of Eros, 7YM​

Incubus to Have Sister​

It has been announced earlier today that the cruiser CSS Incubus is to have a sister ship laid down to defend Capella. Tentatively dubbed the Succubus, the two ships are seen to be the flagships of the burgeoning Capellan Navy.
In a recent press conference, spokesperson egghead Tania Wuhrer said the Navy's purpose is entirely for defending the vast claims made by Capella, now known to cover four systems.
"Until our Kearny-Fuchida drives are working to pre-Scourge levels again, we'll need to cover such vast areas with numbers - and the new drone factory system will handle the required load," she says.

Government Announces Fugle Rehabilitation Scheme​

Fugles - those of you who can read that is - shall not despair anymore. In a series of experiments run by private company Lovetalk Medical, genetic tweaking can now be done on Fugles to improve their looks (and thus mental and emotional makeup).
Research by both Lovetalk Medical and independent bodies have proven that improved looks increase concentration as well as self-confidence improving almost every single aspect of life.
The Capellan Government has opened a limited rehabilitation programme on a limited basis with applicants being able to apply to offices setup in their districts - following which a selection process will choose worthy Fugles to be beautified.

BUSINESS - Pleasure Circus Company Goes Public​

Tony Fernandes, CEO of Golden Globes, one of the latest pleasure circuses to go live has announced his intention to place his company onto the Capellan Stock Exchange (CPX). The latest prospectus from the company has set out a plan to establish true pleasure circuses all around the area, including pleasure tours to and from Sezuren as well as Benalia.
By using ships purchased from Benalia or establishing command circuits, Fernandes hopes to create an annual tourist route between our neighbours and Capella.
In related news, Trade Minister Bul Gaki has announced the possibility of providing Government grants to companies which attempt interplanetary trade and is expected to improve and revitalise the civilian shipbuilding industry.

ADVERTISEMENT​

​

OPINION - I Have My Moments​

You know how it's like. First you're all against the whole exploitation by Eskimo Rye, and all of a sudden pleasure circuses are part of our culture again. What the <deleted> is going on with society today?
I fought my arse out against the Fugles who had a grip on our lives a mere 13 years ago and now the circuses are popping up like mushrooms after a storm. Sure, that Fernandes fellow thinks that it's right now because it's voluntary, but selling our bodies is just plain wrong.
- Proud Beaut
[ed note: The Capellan Broadside does not take any responsibility for the content posted by our readers]

SPORT - Touring Racer Champ Rampup​

It is only one month before the Touring Racer Champ season begins again. Last year's inaugural season was an exciting one with BL Motorworks, Team NikBerg and Goober Reels fighting hard for a 1-2-3 finish separated by a mere 4 points between all of them.
Team NikBerg manager Niklas Bergbro just revealed the new racing vehicle to the press in a party last night coinciding with the launch of their new flagship sports saloon model the NikBerg Lancaster. He says the Lancaster racer is capable of taking on the main competition although its only modifications are the removal of rear seats and a race-tuned dual-force induction engine.
We can only see what racers the other teams will reveal in time.

 

[Erik Mesoy]

OOC:

Government Announces Fugle Rehabilitation Scheme​

Fugles - those of you who can read that is - shall not despair anymore.

How... the... censored did your system develop a subliterate 'caste' so quickly?

 

[Kozmos]

By sexploitation.

 

[Niklas]

Deadline is here, still missing one set of orders. If I get them before the update I will consider them still.

 

[BananaLee]

By sexploitation.

Finally, a man who understands me

 

[Kozmos]

State Committee, Tarsus
14:18 / April 8th / 0015 AC​

"Moving on to the next order of business, funding. I have decided this year to focus on redevelopment of our production capabilities. Now it may be hard to adjust to a diminished amount of recourses this year, but it means we will have much more to work with later."

Boris supported his claims "AI simulations confirm this and I fully agree with his decision."

"Cuts, cuts, cuts, budget cuts everywhere. You people are trying to drive me insane. How I am supposed to maintain or even build a fleet of ships when you axe all my projects!"

"I can feel for my fellow military man. I dont even have tanks, and what about my infantry weapons! Do I have to arm my men with flashy gun lights and tell them to go pew, pew, pew when they see an enemy?"

Kozmos thought to himself "Why I must be surrounded by frickin' idiots! Whine, *****, rant. It's all they do. Good thing they cant read my mind. Except Selene, she reads me like a open book. But it's her job to do so, she's in the CIA."

Sergei continued "TANKS! BUILD MORE TANKS!"

Boris intervened "How bout NO, you crazy Russian bastard."

"Will you all shut up? I cant hear myself think. Almost all of us are crazy russian bastards here. I dont want any discrimination in here. Selene any news on the missing scout? Also I want to know how those cat people, who you rated as a crazy, but peaceful faction just started a war at what seems to me a corporate entity."

"The scout arriving to Anser should be in communication range in a couple of days. For the Nekomi, well they are crazy cat people there was absolutely no way we could know."

"Unacceptable. Get your **** together or I'm shipping your hot leader-clad ass to Craggy Island to clean the local radome installation there. And stop looking me with those eyes, it's not going to work this time. Ivan how far you on the whole mass drone. work. force. thing?""

"Good, with the large research budget you assigned to this project I'm certain it should be completed soon and we can start enjoying the benefits almost instantly."

"Excellent. What about the 'laser' project?"

"We had to dip in the black budget for that, but here are some videos."

Ivan tapped a few buttons on his attached arm computer and the room went dark as the holoprojector activated. He continued "This is your ordinary pulse laser. Notice it's small power and how little damage it does to the test plating." The videos indeed showed a small, feeble pulse laser desperately trying to break through the test plate.

"We werent satisfied with that at all, so we decided to try something else. This is the prototype heavy microwave laser. Basically it's like a normal laser but on steroids and crack. Do notice the blinding red light and the complete lack of the test plate and three wall sections after it is shut down."

Ooohs and ahhs were heard in the room. Kozmos smiled and turned to Sergei "General I assume you would want something like this for you army?"

"Yes, it is perfect, it's like a message from God."

"See, this is why I am the Chairman of the CD." Kozmos tried to lean back into his chair with a smug face, but then the chair snapped in half and Kozmos fell flat on his back. Everyone chuckled a bit, but then they remembered he had a really short temper.

"Goddamn *********** chair. I am going to kill that maintenance man. He knows I like to lean on my chair." Kozmos got back up and pushed the intercom button. "Kara, send in the chief maintenance officer"

"So you think the staff has some kind of plot?" Selene asked, barely containing her laughter.

"Yes. They do it on purpose, screwing up my chair whenever they can."

The maintenance officer rushed inside the room with a grin on his face. He obviously knew what was going on. "What is the problem sir?"

"YOU are the problem, you insolent little bastard. I'm going to have you liquidated."

"What!? I didnt do anything!"

"Right and I'm clinically sane. QAI activate the shark trap!"

The floor below the chief maintenance officer opened up and he fell into an aquarium of sharks with frickin lasers attached to their heads. He flapped his arms wildly screaming for help until one of the sharks used a laser to cut of his legs and the other gnawed his arm off. Filled with blood the shark pool trap promptly closed. The rest of the folks at the table just looked at Kozmos uneasily while QAI complimented him.

"Master just when I believe my photoreceptors have recorded the last potential aspect of your cruelty to my memory core, you commit a new atrocity that leaves me analyzing its impact for days. I applaud you."

"What are you looking at!? I firmly believe all creatures deserve a warm meal. Now everyone get out of here, this meeting is postponed until my chair gets fixed."

 

[Global Nexus]

Niklas, I'm sorry. I know it's my set of orders that are missing. This's because I was hospitalized for internal bleeding the past three days. I'll try to get orders in ASAP.

 

[Symphony D.]

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ACTION STATIONS
UNKNOWN LOCATION
04:02 UTC, AUGUST 8, 0009AE
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“Incoming missiles detected, bearing 2-27-9, impact in ninety seconds.”

“Helm, take evasive action.”

It isn’t working. They’re too fast. Missiles big enough to do any real damage to a spaceship aren’t too maneuverable but they just go too damn fast at velocities below relativistic…

“Evasive maneuvers ineffective, sir.”

“Deploy countermeasures.”

“Affirmative, deploying countermeasures.”

It’s a little bit better than chaff these days. There’s that certainly, molten lead bricks for thermal, ultraviolet pulsers, ECM squawkers, all kinds of things. The aftermath of a capital ship launching countermeasures is like watching a garbage vehicle willingly spill its cargo all over a public road; all sorts of bizarre stuff goes flying out the back.

“Missile courses are not altering, sir.”

Unfortunately a capital ship is also a large, rather unambiguous target… and missiles are a lot smarter than they used to be.”

“Activate laser interception.”

“Activating.”

“Impact in forty seconds.”

The lasers come online and extend invisibly through the void toward the inbound missiles, flaring off their casings as flashes of intense, dazzling light—at the same time revealing their defenses to such things: layered reflective and ablative armor designed to defeat such things. Something that big can afford to have thick skin.

“No effect sir, missiles are shielded to an unknown capacity. Unlikely our equipped laser batteries can penetrate their casings to an appreciable degree.”

“Impact in thirty seconds.”

“…”

“Sir, if I may, broadside railgun salvo, targeted shots!”

“With what, Lieutenant? It’s hard to hit a bullet with another one…”

“Sir, with all due respect the missiles are large and moving non-relativistic, area-effect weapons may be effective at shredding their armor, advise sand and nuclear payloads.”

“Impact in fifteen seconds.”

“… Railgun salvo, automated firing on inbound missiles on my mark. Mark!”

The railgun turrets silently turn toward the approaching glare of the missiles, their barrels gleaming in the brilliant sunlight.

“Impact in ten seconds. Nine, eight…”

Soundlessly they spit white hot glowing slugs towards the inbound offenders, one after another, the whole side of the ship firing off round after round.

“Seven, six…”

Some of the rounds glance off the armored prows of the missiles. One managed to get through and one missile veers wildly off course before erupting in a silent shower of fire and steel. The rest press on as different rounds explode, spraying glittering sunlight across the depths of space as fist-sized chunks of diamond shear through the sides of two more missiles, exploding in brilliant concussions as their fuel detonates.

“Five, four…”

And then come the flashes of mankind’s old specter: the atomic bomb. A half dozen go off in a dispersed spread, consuming several more missiles in their great white plasma bursts, taking several inbound hostiles offline as they go. Systems automatically compensate visual sensors and electronics to dim the effect on the human observers but the beasts still rival the sun, glaring ominously in space.”

“Three more missiles inbound.”

“Two, one…”

The bridge rocks before the helmsman can say “impact”, and battlelights flicker at power disruption.

“Damage report!”

“Port side turrets five through eight, ten, and twelve are offline.”

“Engine power cut to 70%.”

“Decks twelve and thirteen are open to vacuum, no report from stationed personnel.”

“Port sensor cluster is offline.”

“We’re still combat capable sir.”

“It would seem your suggestion has let us at least survive the simultation this time, Lieutenant.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“SIMULATION CONCLUDED, ALL PERSONNEL STAND DOWN AND PREPARE FOR DEBRIEFING.”

 

[Symphony D.]

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ACTIVATION
ASTEROID BELT, KAPTEYN, CORE WORLDS
16:54 UTC, JANUARY 6, 0009AE
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GBU-001 drifted idly through space as it always had, for untold eons before now. From this vantage point it silhouetted the distant but still potent sun, obscuring it but giving a faint glow around its edges. It was monolithic, a giant black mass against the sky, a missing gap in the stars as if it were some manifestation of an irregular black hole. But that diffuse glow highlighted how GBU-001&#8217;s nature had changed irrevocably from its previous existence. All along its circumference and even in its shadow was the faint blue glow of plasma torches cutting, welding, and slicing, and toward its terminator which split dark from light was the massive cluster of capital ship drives. These were not its first changes, however. Previously it had been simply some unnamed M-type, nickel-iron asteroid of oblong shape, approximately 940x326x456 meters in measurement&#8212;puny as such asteroids go&#8212;which had orbited Kapteyn at approximately 0.8AU for untold time. The first change in its fate was the granting to it of a name: Gatebuster Unit 001.

&#8220;It looks like a potato,&#8221; said McMillan, a distinct air of being unimpressed in his voice.

&#8220;A what, sir,&#8221; asked Philips uncertainly.

McMillan turned halfway toward the man and gave him a quizzical glance, one eye-brow up-quirked in bemusement. &#8220;Philips,&#8221; he began &#8220;are you honestly telling me you don&#8217;t know what a potato is?&#8221;

&#8220;No sir, Admiral,&#8221; responded Philips.

McMillan shook his head and turned back toward the viewscreen of the drifting GBU-001, muttering &#8220;Kids these days.&#8221;

The pair stood in silence for some time before McMillan asked &#8220;What is the ETA on completion?&#8221;

&#8220;Ahead of schedule, Admiral,&#8221; answered Philips, consulting a PDA, before gesturing at the flares of electric blue that lit up the &#8220;night-side&#8221; of GBU-001, &#8220;the use of laser-drills has greatly accelerated the installation of the necessary hardware.&#8221;

McMillan pursed his lips a little and mused aloud &#8220;I wonder if it will work.&#8221;

&#8220;The specifications are rather quite stunning, sir, I&#8217;ve gone over them myself a number of times,&#8221; said Philips quickly.

McMillan halfway turned again and regarded the man with a slight measure of disdain. &#8220;Really, Philips,&#8221; he asked, adding &#8220;Do you think it will do what the white-coats suggest?&#8221;

Philips blinked and replied &#8220;It should come close enough sir.&#8221;

McMillan stared for awhile longer before tossing back his head and letting out a hearty laugh. Philips blinked, never having seen the Admiral express himself so. McMillan continued to laugh for quite awhile, the noise reverberating through the small observation room, before at least he restrained himself, and smiled ruefully. &#8220;Close, Philips,&#8221; he said, &#8220;only counts in horseshoes, hand-grenades, and nuclear war&#8212;on the other hand, we appear to be playing all three at once.&#8221;

McMillan turned away from the screen and gestured a hand back toward it &#8220;I trust you will keep me informed of their progress, Philips.&#8221;

&#8220;Yes, sir,&#8221; said Philips immediately, before snapping to attention and saluting.

McMillan saluted back and went to leave, before saying &#8220;And make sure they get it under its own power and en route for deployment by the fifteenth, it&#8217;ll take that long to work up to speed, and Stardust waits for no one.&#8221;

Philips nodded &#8220;You can count on me, sir!&#8221;

McMillan nodded gruffly and as he left said into a communicator &#8220;Prep the shuttle for return to Crimson Fleet immediately.&#8221;

A garbled response could be heard as the door slid shut behind him.

 

[Symphony D.]

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CUSTOMS INSEPCTION
SOL GATE, OUTER SHELL, EPSILON ERIDANI, CORE WORLDS
10:17 UTC, SEPTEMBER 4, 0009AE
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“This assignment is so damn boring,” whined Miria.

Chizuru rolled her eyes and shook her head while Zhou exhaled and said “Miria, for the last damn time, would you rather be hunting down Furballs?”

Miria clenched her jaw and glared at him, before crossing her arms and saying “No, I guess not, I was never much good with firearms.”

Chizuru rolled her eyes again and stated “He doesn’t mean it literally you moro—“

Zhou silenced her with a hand before looking at Miria “Then do your job and stop complaining.”

Miria let out a displeased “Feh,” but gave no further verbal resistance, continuing to type away at her scanner station.

“Honestly,” murmured Chizuru, “sometimes I wonder how you got selected for this assignment.”

“I happen to be very intelligent when I put my mind to it,” said Miria haughtily.

“More like if,” said Chizuru.

“Both of you shut up,” exclaimed Zhou, lowering the immersion visor for his console over his eyes.

Chizuru and Miria exchanged glances but remained quiet.

“Alright, what’s the registry and serial number on this one,” inquired Zhou.

“SS Mahatma, Serial 0632-645-1924, laid down at Utopia Planitia Shipyards, Mars, Sol System, 0004AE; constructed by Ares Aerospace, licensed by Tyrol Associates; current passenger manifest lists 427 passengers and 36 crew along with bulk cargo tonnage of 916.2 kilotons,” said Miria.

Zhou worked his fingers over the keyboard while using sub-vocal commands to navigate through the synesthesia that was beginning to pour in. It always came first like a drop, then a trickle, a stream, a river, and a flood, by the end a tsunami of information ready to sweep one up and away. Prototype field AI had been helping out more and more but one still always had to be careful and keep pace with the flow. “Data on cargo and passengers,” he said coolly.

“Diving now,” stated Chizuru, before lowering her own immersion visor.

And with that she was gone, down into the files of the SS Mahatma. The UPNCS knew the drill pretty well; Shuurai didn’t trust the Nekomi to honor Sol’s neutrality—why should they, when they’d damn well used it before?—and had a standing policy of making bad things happen to anyone who came through uninvited. It hadn’t been used thus far, but it was rather implicit that the results would be unpleasant. It was fairly simple: a certain number of slots were allocated for a given time period. Those slots would be doled out by respective governments coming through Sol however they so-chose. Ships would come through at a scheduled time and dock for inspection. Inspection was covered remotely utilizing cargo-scanners and so on. But it never was enough to just scan cargo.

“Retrieving crew and passenger manifests and all related documents,” Chizuru, adding “Should just about have them…”

“Spider is almost in position,” said Maria dully.

Within seconds Zhou’s vision flooded with 463 individual faces, biographies, places of birth, genome sequences, and all the other assorted details necessary for safe-spaceflight and registry in your average transport vessel. He quickly suppressed most of the data, calling up genealogy catalogs and assigning the AIs to make connections with the available data while categorizing the data and filtering it for necessary information. AIs turned up no traces of artificial genetic strings inserted into the individuals in the data, but that wasn’t a sure proof.

“Spider is in position,” stated Maria.

“Release the isotope,” said Zhou.

“Affirmative,” chimed Maria.

In a view window to one side of the synesthesia of all parties came the view of the spider’s vision and its small diagnostics window as it released the aerosol particles into the water-recycling section of the life-support systems of the ship. It was a faint, mostly untraceable radioactive isotope, indistinguishable from background levels unless one had very-finely tuned scanners. It was harmless to humans except as a highlighting agent for such scanners, and was remarkably persistent, staying within the bloodstream for up to a universal month. Water made it easy to introduce into the body, while at the same time preventing easy contamination with other individuals later. If anyone did have a retroviral reconfiguration implant to reconfigure their genetic structure later, it wouldn’t do them a damn bit of good.

“Isotope away, retrieving spider; just keep’em sitting tight for a few more hours and they’ll be good,” said Maria.

The spider turned within their collective vision and began silently crawling its way back the way it had come, fading from the vision of Zhou and Chizuru as it lost importance to the mission.

“Got pretty much all I’m going to get on the people and cargo,” said Chizuru, adding “I’m jacking out.”

She flipped up her visor and rubbed her eyes. Zhou sat intently in silence for several moments, cycling through and cross-referencing scanner-data with cargo-manifests and readings from another spider. Molecular composition checked out. There was nothing of note hiding in the cargo-bay.

“Recall all spiders and sever hardlines and begin filing your reports,” he said, lifting up his visor. Maria quietly groaned.

 

[Niklas]

Niklas, I'm sorry. I know it's my set of orders that are missing. This's because I was hospitalized for internal bleeding the past three days. I'll try to get orders in ASAP.

I must admit I was a bit worried, seeing how you hadn't been online at all since Monday. Seems I was right to be worried, glad to hear you're better again.

Your lateness hasn't affected my updating any though, I had enough to work with yesterday and I wouldn't have finished even with your orders (this won't always be the case though, so don't make it a habit to miss the deadline, that's for all of you, there are no guarantees that your orders will be considered ). In any case I managed to do enough last night that I can promise y'all an update today. Stats are all done (minus Colonials), update is half written, bonuses are left to assign (you'd be surprised how much time bonuses take)...

 

[Symphony D.]

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DETECT BUT MISS
UNKNOWN LOCATION, SIRIUS, CORE WORLDS
22:32 UTC, JANUARY 18, 0009AE
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“I hate these damn ears, Fred,” said Johan flatly.

“I dunno, Joe, I kinda like’em myself, makes hearing things easier,” said Fred.

He turned and wriggled them a little “Plus they’re a real hit with the local ladies.”

Johan’s glower did not improve, and in fact worsened as he muttered “Just doesn’t feel right.”

Fred smirked while lifting up his snoopers and dialing them in on the vast object in the distance “Oh, come on, didn’t seem to stop you with that one girl, what was her name, Julia?”

Johan remained quiet. Fred grinned as he dialed the vision in “I gotta say those catgirls are pretty cute, some of’em get pretty wild too.”

Johan rolled his eyes at this and checked the clip on his PDW “Yeah, I guess so, too bad their leaders are all crazy.”

Fred shrugged a little, “Crazy ain’t too bad, means we fit right in, eh?”

Johan looked up at him quizzically, before Fred continued on “In the old days they’d have found us long before now, and might’ve figured some things out; that’s the thing about being crazy Joe, you get used to enough odd things that you aren’t so observant.”

“I don’t imagine you’d be so observant either if you were downing catnip all the time,” said Johan.

Fred laughed “Oh, so is that how you got that Julia girl, didn’t think you one for low-tricks, Joe!”

“I did not,” insisted Johan.

Fred just continued laughing for awhile while observing the target.

It was a spaceship. Not just any spaceship, no, but a rather large one, at least capital class, and apparently much bigger. The Nekomi had the same problems as Shuurai did at the moment in that most all of their orbital facilities were offline, so initial construction had to be done on the ground and then the frame could be boosted up into orbit for final outfitting and rigging. It was a time-consuming process, and whatever this thing it was a lot bigger than anything Fred had seen before. He surveyed the perimeter. Several other smaller vessels were under construction. This wasn’t so unusual, this being the main Nekomi shipworks after all. They had a number of targets to choose from. He continued to pan around. Security was pretty tight around the perimeter; a few tanks patrolling here and there, defense emplacements, security personnel. Ah but it was a funny thing to see a soldier run around with a tail sticking out of his pants.

“Ah, the gears of war; hey, Joe, you remember that civie research lab we lit up,” asked Fred

“Yeah, well enough,” murmured Johan.

It hadn’t been a terribly fun job. The security there had been fairly lax; weak perimeter around the place. It wasn’t weapons development so it hadn’t been afforded too strong a guard. It had been fairly simple to make their way inside during shift rotations. The hard part was making the whole thing look like an accident, but that had been done easily enough. PDWs are fairly obvious in that they leave behind a lot of bullet holes, but an electrolaser air-taser doesn’t leave much in the way of evidence except an area of irritation that went away soon enough, and besides, dead cat people tell no tales. They’d taken out the lab personnel, overloaded a particularly dangerous looking experiment, and lo-and-behold had overridden the building’s auxiliary generators, causing a massive electrical fire. Everyone still up had officially died of either fire or smoke-inhalation. A terrible accident, or so the news media had reported. It hadn’t been a pretty job, but this was war, and in war you do what you have to. They’d brought it on themselves.

“Well, I figure we’re gonna have to do something like that,” said Fred frankly.

Johan pulled out his own snoopers and surveyed the yard for a few minutes before stating “No way we can take out all those guys, Fred, it’d take a whole division to break into that place.”

Fred shook his head a little and smirked “Never presume a man does not have ninja at his disposal, Joe.”

Johan turned and looked at Fred in befuddlement at the comment. Fred glanced over at him and smiled “What I mean to say is, there’s always a way inside.”

Johan shook his head a little “After three years on this stupid rock you still confuse me.”

Fred shrugged and went back to snooping the base “How you fancy pushin’ a mop?”

“What,” asked Johan.

“Janitors,” said Fred, “anybody can be a janitor so long as they check out.”
He went on, saying “Got to haul in lots of supplies and cleaning agents, access to most parts of the base, maintenance on the repair bots, so on.”

“If we execute an attack it will blow our cover,” said Johan.

“Only if ‘we’ don’t ‘die’ in the ‘terrorist attack’ and by ‘we’ I mean ‘two guys who share our builds’ and by ‘die’ I mean ‘become incinerated beyond all recognition as originally being human in origin.’”

Johan had an unhappy look on his face. But then again he usually did, so there was nothing new there. “Alright then, lets hear your meow.”

“What,” asked Johan again.

“Your meow,” said Fred, “we’re gonna have to work on blendin’ in.”

“I’m not a fraking cat,” said Johan sternly.

“You got the ears of one,” replied Fred, “now meow, like you did when that Julia girl was all over you.”

Johan twitched an eyebrow and let out a low hiss. Fred shrugged a little and stated “Close enough for now, keep working at it.”

 

[Symphony D.]

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FORWARD DEPLOY
OUTSKIRTS OF NEO AKO, KAPTEYN, CORE WORLDS
15:09 UTC, JANUARY 27, 0009AE
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“All aboard the Rana Express,” shouts LT.

“Knew we’d get sent to frakin’ Rana,” murmurs Ditirich over the squad comms.

“Can it,” I say with a hint of venom.

Redeployment zone is a few miles outside of Neo Ako, where they set up Fort Koizumi, which is the main stationing post on Kapteyn Ichi. Word in the system is we’re on redeployment to Fomalhaut, part of an armed expeditionary force to secure the flank against possible Nekomi attack from an unexpected direction. I dunno that anyone actually buys this story, but it seems plausible at least, since last I heard not much relay data on Fomalhaut is publicly available. Hell, I don’t know anything about the system. But the truth is we’re on our way to meet up with Crimson Fleet at Rana Gate, and D-Day is in 105 hours. They just told us about this job this morning. I can’t say I’m much enthused. Real hush-hush, they said, no leaks. I guess there weren’t any, because apparently we were the last ones to know. Then again, that’s usually how it goes.

Rank and file we climb up into the belly of the beast that is the SIS Katushya. I’ve never really savored the thought of being put into a tin-can named after an old-time rocket launcher since that has bad implications as to what my function is in this world, but I’m not in a position to rename ships.

“Suddenly guard duty don’t seem so bad, eh,” murmurs Ramirez.

“I said can it,” I repeat.

Ditirich and Ramirez both let out mumbled curses while Gage maintains his typical eerie silence. I still don’t get that guy, always so cool. Never seen him get jarred—kinda unnerving. Them again I myself appear to be the local frigid ***** so what do I know?

We start making our way up the loading ramp and through the drop bay to the barrack sections with out packs and gear.

“They tell you anything more about the target zone, Sarge,” asks Ramirez.

“I got the same briefing as you did, Corporal, LT doesn’t just rain secrets on me all the live long day,” I say.

Ditirich groans.

“On the positive side,” says Gage, “odds are we won’t be deployed onto major strategic objectives immediately.”

Both Ramirez and Ditirich look at him, before looking at me. I shrug. The man has a point though—all the spacer boys and girls get to have the first crack at things, then us grunts go in. I don’t put much stock in the whole “Navy does the flying, we do the dying” mantra though, personally. If you’re likely to buy it someplace without a chance to fight back or even know you’ve bought it, it’s gonna be in space. Just look at what happened to those Furballs at Eridani. They barely had a chance. Me, I’ll be happy when I’m on the ground, whether that’s a space rock or a mudball.

Right behind us is Kurosawa’s squad and then that’s all of us, LT following in last. “Alright you apes,” he proclaims over platoon comms, “we’ve got a little over four days to sit back, relax, and enjoy ourselves before every Furball and their frakin’ grandmother is shooting at us.”

“Now the spacers have some kind of crazy plan cooked up they say’s gonna save our bacon, but personally, I hate being in this damn flying bathtub regardless, so lets all just be nice and quiet and reflective on the possibility of our glorious sojourn to Valhalla and not frakin' fight with the other platoons or each other, alright,” he concludes

“Yes, sir,” comes the drone of the troops in the bay.

LT’s helmet bobs back and forth as he nods “That’s what I thought, now get to barracks and get secured so this crate can get off the ground.”

I miss that damn power armor. And with that it’s off we go to the barracks, stacked five high and ten deep in puny berths. I’m getting too old for this.